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K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd—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 unscarr'd 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.
A'. Rick. 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.
JT. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny: My babes were destin'd to a fairer death, If grace had bless'd 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
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enternrize,
Q. Eiiz. What good is cover'd with the face of
heaven, To be discover'd, 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 kindness Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.
K. Rich. Then know, that, from my soul, I love
thy daughter. Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her
K. Rich. What do you think?
So, fromjhy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers; And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it.
K. Rich. Be not so hasty to'confound my meaning: I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter, And do intend to make her queen of England.
Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be
her king? K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen; Who
else should be? Q. Eliz. What, thou? K. Rich. Even so: What think you
of it, madam?
Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her?
As one being best acquainted with her humour.
Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave,
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 you daughter.
Q. Elit. There is no other way;
Unless thou could'st put on some other shape,
K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her?
Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but
have thee, Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Even of your mettle, of your very blood;
Of all one pain,—save for a night of groans
Endur'd 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
Repair'd 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, transform'd 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 chastised