A queen in jest, only to fill the scene." Where is thy husband now; where be thy brothers;

Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy? Who sues and kneels, and says "God save the queen?"

Where be the bending peers that flattered thee; Where be the thronging troops that followed thee?

Decline all this, and see what now thou art:
For happy wife, a most distresséd widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sucs;
For queen, a very caitiff crowned with care:
For one that scorned at me, now scorned of me;
For one being feared of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obeyed of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheeled about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst usurp my place; and dost thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burdened
yoke:

From which even here I slip my wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.
Farewell, York's wife,-and queen of sad mis-
chance,-

These English woes shall make me smile in
France.

Q. Eliz. O thou well skilled in curses, stay awhile,

And teach me how to curse mine enemies.

Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast

the day;

Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, And he that slew them fouler than he is: Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse. Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

Q. Eliz. My words are dull; O quicken them with thine!

Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and
pierce like mine.
[Exit.

Duch. Why should calamity be full of words?
Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes;
Airy succeeders of intestate joys;
Poor breathing orators of miseries!
Let them have scope: though what they do impart
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.
Duch. If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with

me,

And in the breath of bitter words let 's smother My damnéd son, that thy two sweet sons smothered. [Drum, within. I hear his drum: be copious in exclaims.

Enter KING RICHARD and his Train, marching.
K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition?
Duch. O, she that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her accurséd womb,
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast
done.

Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden

crown,

Where should be branded, if that right were right, The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown, And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers?

Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children?

Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence;

And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?

Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

Duch. Where is kind Hastings?

K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets! strike alarums, drums!

Let not the heavens hear these telltale women
Rail on the Lord's anointed.-Strike, I say.-
[Flourish. Alarums.

Either be patient and entreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
Duch. Art thou my son?

K. Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and yourself.

Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience.
K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your con-

Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
Or 1 with grief and extreme age shall perish,
And never look upon thy face again.
Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse;
Which in the day of battle tire thee more
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
My prayers on the adverse party fight:
And there the little souls of Edward's children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies,
And promise them success and victory.
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end:
Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend.

[Exit.

Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard, They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens: And therefore level not to hit their lives.

K. Rich. You have a daughter called Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? O let her
live,

And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;
Slander myself as false to Edward's bed;
Throw over her the veil of infamy.
So she may live unscarred of bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
K. Rich. Wrong not her birth; she is of royal
blood.

Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say she is not so.
K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth.
Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her
brothers.

K. Rich. Lo at their births good stars were opposite.

Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were

contrary.

K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes

destiny.

If

My babes were destined to a fairer death, grace had blessed thee with a fairer life. K. Rich. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.

Q. Eliz. Cousins indeed; and by their uncle cozened

Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hands soever lanced their tender hearts,
Thy head all indirectly gave direction :

No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys
Till that my nails were anchored in thine eyes;
And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
Like a poor bark of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise
And dangerous success of bloody wars,
As I intend more good to you and yours
Than ever you or yours by me were harmed!
Q. Eliz. What good is covered with the face
of heaven,

To be discovered, that can do me good?
K. Rich. The advancement of your children,

gentle lady.

Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?

K.Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune; The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it: Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all, Will I withal endow a child of thine; So in the Lethe of thy angry soul Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs Which thou supposest I have done to thee.

Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy

Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her? K. Rich. That would I learn of you, As one being best acquainted with her humour. Q. Euz. And wilt thou learn of me? K. Rich.

Madam, with all my heart.

Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew
her brothers,

A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave
"Edward and York:" then haply will she weep:
Therefore present to her (as sometime Margaret
Did to thy father, steeped in Rutland's blood)
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body;
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds:
Tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake
Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt
Anne.

K. Rich. You mock me, madam. this is not the way

To win your daughter.

Q. Eliz. Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, And not be Richard that hath done all this.

There is no other way;

K. Rich. Say that I did all this for love of her? Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,

Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now amended:

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends I'll give it to your daughter.
If I have killed the issue of your womb,
To quicken your increase I will beget
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.
A grandam's name is little less in love
Than is the doting title of a mother:
They are as children but one step below;
Even of your mettle, of your very blood:
Of all one pain, save for a night of groans
Endured of her for whom you bid like sorrow.
Your children were vexation to your youth,
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
The loss you have is but a son being king,
And by that loss your daughter is made queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul

Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity:
The king that calls your beauteous daughter wife,
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother:
Again shall you be mother to a king,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repaired with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see:
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
Shall come again, transformed to orient pearl;
Advantaging their loan with interest
Of ten-times-double gain of happiness.
Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;
Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
Of golden sov'reignty; acquaint the princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys:
And when this arm of mine hath chastiséd
The petty rebel, dull-brained Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed:
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victress; Cæsar's Cæsar.
Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's
brother

Would be her lord: or shall I say her uncle:
Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honour, and her love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?

K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this

alliance.

Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with stilllasting war.

K. Rich. Tell her the king, that may com

mand, entreats;

Q. Eliz. That at her hands which the king's

King forbids.

K. Rich. Say she shall be a high and mighty

queen.

Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth
K. Rich. Say I will love her everlastingly.
Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title "ever"

last?

K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet

life last?

K. Rich. As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.

Q. Eliz. As long as hell and Richard likes of it. K. Rich. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject

low.

Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loaths such

sov'reignty.

K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to he

Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

K. Rich. Then in plain terms tell her my loving tale.

Q. Eliz. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

Q. Eliz. O no, my reasons are too deep and dead:

Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam: that is past.

Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings break.

K. Rich. Now by my George, my garter, and my crown,

Q. Eliz. Profaned, dishonoured, and the third usurped.

K. Rich. I swear,

Q. Eliz. By nothing: for this is no oath. Thy George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour; Thy garter, blemished, pawned his knightly virtue;

Thy crown, usurped, disgraced his kingly glory.
If something thou wouldst swear to be believed,
Swear then by something that thou hast not
wronged.

K. Rich. Now by the world,-
Q. Eliz.

'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

K. Rich. My father's death,—
Q. Eliz.

Thy life hath that dishonoured.
K. Rich. Then by myself,-
Q. Eliz.

Thyself is self-misused.

K. Rich. Why then, by God,

Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. If thou hadst feared to break an oath by Him, The unity the king thy brother made Had not been broken, nor my brother slain. If thou hadst feared to break an oath by Him, The imperial metal circling now thy head Had graced the tender temples of my child; And both the princes had been breathing here, Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust, Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now?

Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast Misused ere used, by times ill-used o'erpast.

K. Rich. As I intend to prosper and repent:
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
Of hostile arms: myself myself confound:
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours:
Day yield me not thy light, nor night thy rest:
Be opposite all planets of good luck
To my proceeding,-if with pure heart's love,
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,

I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter.
In her consists my happiness and thine:
Without her, follows to myself and thee,
Herself, the land, and many a christian soul,
Death, desolation, ruin, and decay.
It cannot be avoided but by this:
It will not be avoided but by this.
Therefore, dear mother (I must call you so),
Be the attorney of my love to her.
Plead what I will be, not what I have been :
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve.
Urge the necessity and state of times,
And be not peevish found in great designs.

Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.
Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself to be myself?
K. Rich. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong

yourself.

Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children.
K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury

them;

Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. Q. Eliz. I go.-Write to me very shortly, And you shall understand from me her mind. K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so farewell.

[Kissing her.-Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH. Relenting fool, and shallow changing woman! How now what news?

Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following. Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western

coast

Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
Unarmed, and unresolved to beat them back.
'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral :
And there they hull, expecting but the aid
Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

K. Rich. Some lightfoot friend post to the
Duke of Norfolk:

Ratcliff, thyself,-or Catesby; where is he?
Cate. Here, my good lord.

Cute. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.

K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither: post to Salisbury:

When thou com'st thither,-Dull unmindful villain, [TO CATESBY. Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke? Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' pleasure,

What from your grace I shall deliver to him. K. Rich. O true, good Catesby:-bid him levy straight

The greatest strength and power he can make, And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.

Cute. I go.

[Exit.

Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?

K. Rich. Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?

Rat. Your highness told me I should post before.

Enter STANLEY.

K, Rich. My mind is changed.-Stanley, what news with you?

Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with the hearing;

Nor none so bad but well may be reported.
K. Rich. Heyday, a riddle: neither good nor

bad!

What need'st thou run so many miles about, When thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way? Once more, what news?

Stan.

Richmond is on the seas.

K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on him!

White-livered runagate, what doth he there? Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

K. Rich. Well, as you guess?

Stan. Stirred up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,

He makes for England, here to claim the crown. K. Rich. Is the chair empty; is the sword unswayed;

Is the king dead; the empire unpossessed?
What heir of York is there alive but we?
And who is England's king but great York's heir?
Then tell me what makes he upon the seas?

Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.
K.Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your

liege,

You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear,

Stan. No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust

me not.

K. Rich. Where is thy power, then, to beat him back?

Where be thy tenants and thy followers?
Are they not now upon the western shore,
Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?
Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the
north.

K. Rich. Cold friends to me! What do they in the north,

When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty king:

Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave,

I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace Where and what time your majesty shall please. K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond:

I will not trust you, sir. Stan.

Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful:

I never was nor never will be false.

K. Rich. Well, go muster men. But hear you, leave behind

Your son, George Stanley: look your heart be firm,

Or else his head's assurance is but frail. Stan. So deal with him as I prove true to you. [Exit STANLEY.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devorshire,

As I by friends am well advertised,
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,
With many more confederates, are in arms.

Enter another Messenger.

2nd Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in arms;

And every hour more competitors
Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.

Enter another Messenger.

3rd Mess. My lord, the army of great Buckingham,

K. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of death? [He strikes him. There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 3rd Mess. The news I have to tell your ma

jesty

Is that, by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham's army is dispersed and scattered;
And he himself wandered away alone,
No man knows whither.