So, madam, what! you still take care, I see,
To let the world believe I love you not.
This outward mourning now has malice in't,
So have these sullen disobedient tears;
I'll have you tell the world I dote upon you.

Lady A. I wish I could-but 'twill not be believ'd. Have I deserv'd this usage?

Glost. You have—you do not please me, as at first.
Lady A. What have I done? What horrid crime

committed ?
Glost. To me the worst of crimes ; outliv'd my

liking. Lady A. If that be criminal, just Hea'vn be kind, And take me while my penitence is warm; Oh, sir, forgive and kill me. Glost. Umph! no—the meddling world will call

that murder, And I would have them think me pitiful: Now, wert thou not afraid of self destruction, Thou hast a fair excuse fort. Lady A. How fain would I be friends with death!

Oh, name it. Glost. Thy husband's hate: nor do I hate thee,

only From the dull'd edge of sated appetite, But from the eager love I bear another. Some call me hypocrite-what think'st, thou now? Do I dissemble? Lady A. Thy vows of love to me were all dissem

bled. Glost. Not one-for when I told thee so, I lov'd : Thou art the only soul I never yet deceiv'd; And 'tis my honesty that tells thee now, With all my heart I hate thee. If this have no effect, she is immortal! [Aside.

Lady A. Forgive me, Heav'n, that I forgave this Oh may my story, told in after ages,

Give warning to our easy

sex's

ears; May it unveil the hearts of men, and strike Them deaf to their dissimulated love!

Enter Catesby.
Glost. Now, Catesby-
Catesby. My lord, his Grace of Buckingham at-

tends your highness' pleasure.
Glost. Wait on him—I'll expect him here.

[Exit CATESBY. Your absence, madam, will be necessary.

Lady A. 'Would my death were so ! (Exit.
Glost. It may be, shortly.

[CATESBY passes over the back of the Stage.

Enter BUCKINGHAM. My cousin, what say the citizens? Buck. Now, by our hopes, my lord, they are sense

less stones : Their hesitating fear has struck them dumb! Glost. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's chil

dren?
Buck. I did, with his contract to lady Lucy;
Nay, his own bastardy, and tyranny for trifles,
Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace;
Your bounty, justice, fair humility;
Indeed left nothing that might gild our cause,
Untouch'd, or slightly handled in my talk:
And when my oration drew towards an end,
I urg'd of them that lov'd their country's good,
To do you right, and cry, Long live King Richard !

Glost. And did they so?
Buck. Not one, by Heav'n—but each like statues

fix'd,
Speechless and pale, star'd in his fellow's face:
Which, when I saw, I reprehended them,
And ask'd the Mayor what meant this wilful silence?

The Mayor should lose his title with his office!
Well, who knows ? he may be won.

Lord M. Ah, my lord !

Buck. See, he comes forth-my friends, be resolute;
I know he's cautious to a fault: but do not
Leave him, till our honest suit be granted.

Enter Gloster, with a Book.
Glost. Cousin of Buckingham,
I do beseech your grace to pardon me,
Who, earnest in my zealous meditation,
So long deferr'd the service of my friends.
Now do I fear I've done some strange offence;
That looks disgracious in the city's eye. If so,
'Tis just you should reprove my ignorance.

Buck. You have, my lord: we wish your grace,
On our entreaties, would amend your fault.

Glost. Else wherefore breathe I in a christian land?

Buck. Know then, it is your fault that you resign
The scepter'd office of your ancestors,
Fair England's throne, your own due right of birth,
To the corruption of a blemish'd stock;
In this just cause, I come, to move your highness,
That on your gracious self you'd take the charge,
And kingly government of this your land,
Not as protector, steward, substitute,
Or lowly factor for another's gain;
But as successively from blood to blood,
Your own by right of birth, and lineal glory.

Glost. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence,
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof,
Fits best with my degree, or your condition;
Therefore, to speak in just refusal of your suit,
And then in speaking not to check my friends,
Definitively thus I answer you:
Your love deserves

my
thanks; but

my
Unmerituble, shuns your fond request;
For, Heav'n be thank'd, there is no need of me;

desert,

Catesby. My lord, he humbly does entreat your

grace
To visit him to-morrow, or the next day:
He's now retir'd with two right reverend fathers,
Divinely bent to meditation ;
And in no worldly suits would he be mov’d,
To interrupt his holy exercise.

Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke:
Tell him, myself, the Mayor and Citizens,
In deep designs, in matters of great moment,
No less importing than our general good,
Are come to have some conference with his grace.

Catesby. My lord, I'll instantly inform his high

ness.

Buck. Al, my lord ! this prince is not an Edward : He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed, But on his knees at meditation; Not dallying with a brace of courtezans ; But with two deep divines in sacred praying: Happy were England, would this virtuous prince Take on himself the toil of sov’reignty.

Lord M. Happy indeed, my lord. He will not, sure, refuse our proffer'd love? Buck. Alas, my lord! you know him not: bis

mind's Above this world-he's for a crown immortal. Look there, his door opens; now where's our hope ? Lord. M, See where his grace stands, 'tween two

clergymen! Buck. Ay, ay, 'tis there he's caught—there's his

ambition. Lord M. How low he bows, to thank them for their

care! And see! a prayer-book in his hand !

Buck. 'Would he were king, we'd give him leave to

pray!

Methinks I wish it, for the love he bears the city.
How have I heard him vow, he thought it hard

The Mayor should lose his title with his office!
Well, who knows ? he may be won.

Lord M. Ah, my lord !
Buck. See, he comes forth—my friends, be resolute;
I know he's cautious to a fault : but do not
Leave him, till our honest suit be granted,

Enter Gloster, with a Book.
Glost. Cousin of Buckingham,
I do beseech your grace to pardon me,
Who, earnest in my zealous meditation,
So long deferr'd the service of my friends.
Now do I fear I've done some strange offence;
That looks disgracious in the city's eye. If so,
'Tis just you should reprove my ignorance.

Buck. You have, my lord: we wish your grace, On our entreaties, would amend your fault.

Glost. Else wherefore breathe I in a christian land?

Buck. Know then, it is your fault that you resign
The scepter'd office of your ancestors,
Fair England's throne, your own due right of birth,
To the corruption of a blemish'd stock;
In this just cause, I come, to move your highness,
That on your gracious self you'd take the charge,
And kingly government of this your land,
Not as protector, steward, substitute,
Or lowly factor for another's gain;
But as successively from blood to blood,
Your own by right of birth, and lineal glory.

Glost. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence,
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof,
Fits best with my degree, or your condition;
Therefore, to speak in just refusal of your suit,
And then in speaking not to check my friends,
Definitively thus I answer you:
Your love deserves

my
thanks;

but

my desert, Unmeriluble, shuns your fond request; For, Heav'n be thank'd, there is no need of me;