Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;

I had a Rutland too, thou holp'ft to kill him.

2. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him.

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death:
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood;
That foul defacer of God's handy-work;
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
Thy womb let loofe, to chafe us to our graves.-
O upright, juft, and true-difpofing God,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother's body,
And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!

Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes;
God witness with me, I have wept for thine.

2. Mar. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it.

Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
Young York he is but boot, because both they
Match not the high perfection of my lofs.

Thy Clarence he is dead, that ftabb'd my Edward;
And the beholders of this tragick play,

The adulterate Haftings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely fmother'd in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;
Only referv'd their factor, to buy fouls,
And fend them thither: But at hand, at hand,
Enfues his piteous and unpitied end:
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, faints pray,
To have him fuddenly convey'd from hence :-

Cancel

Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to fay, The dog is dead!

2. Eliz. O, thou didst prophecy, the time would come, That I should wish for thee to help me curfe

That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad.

2. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my fortune; I call'd thee then, poor fhadow, painted queen: The presentation of but what I was,

A

queen

The flattering index of a direful pageant,
One heav'd a High, to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou waft; a garish flag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot;
A fign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
in jeft, only to fill the scene.
Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where be thy two fons? wherein doft thou joy?
Who fues, and kneels, and fays-God fave the queen?
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and fee what now thou art.
For happy wife, a moft diftreffed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being fued to, one that humbly sues ;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care:
For one that fcorn'd at me, now fcorn'd of me ;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to mine;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didft ufurp my place, And dost thou not
Ufurp the juft proportion of my forrow?

Now

Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke;
From which even here I flip my wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.

Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance,—
These English woes fhall make me fmile in France.
2. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while,
And teach me how to curfe mine enemies.

2. Mar. Forbear to fleep the night, and fast the day;
Compare dead happiness with living woe;
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
And he, that flew them, fouler than he is :
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-caufer worse ;
Revolving this will teach thee how to curfe.

2. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them with thine!

2. Mar. Thy woes will make them tharp, and pierce [Exit 2. MARGARET.

like mine.

Duch. Why should calamity be full of words? 2. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes, Airy fucceeders of intestate joys,

Poor breathing orators of miferies!

Let them have scope: though what they do impart
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.

Duch. If fo, then be not tongue-ty'd go with me,
And in the breath of bitter words let's fmother
My damned fon, that thy two sweet fons fmother'd.
[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, fhe, that might have intercepted thee,

By

By ftrangling thee in her accurfed womb,

From all the flaughters, wretch, that thou haft done.
2. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden crown,
Where should be branded, if that right were right,
The flaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown,
And the dire death of my poor fons, and brothers ?
Tell me, thou villain-flave, where are my children?
Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother
Clarence?

And little Ned Plantagenet, his fon?

2. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey? Duch. Where is kind Haftings?

K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets!—strike alarum, drums! Let not the heavens hear thefe tell-tale women Rail on the Lord's anointed: Strike, I fay.

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

-

[Flourish. Alarums.

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 condition, That cannot brook the accent of reproof.

Duch. O, let me speak.

K. Rich.

Do, then; but I'll not hear.

Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words.

K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.
Duch. Art thou fo hafty? I have ftaid for thee,
God knows, in torment and in agony.

K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?
Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'ft it well,
Thou cam'ft on earth to make the earth my hell.
A grievous burden was thy birth to me;

Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;

Thy fchool-days, frightful, defperate, wild, and furious; Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous ; Thy age confirm'd, proud, fubtle, fly, and bloody, More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred : What comfortable hour canft thou name,

That ever grac'd me in thy company?

K. Rich. 'Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd your grace

To breakfast once, forth of my company.

If I be fo difgracious in your fight,

Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.—
Strike up the drum.

Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance,

Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;

Or I 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 fouls 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 ferves thy life, and doth thy death attend. [Exit. 2. Eliz. Though far more caufe, yet much less spirit

to curfe

Abides in me; I fay amen to her.

I

[Going K. Rich.