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By false intelligence, or wrong surmise,
Q. Eliz. A holy-day shall this be kept hereafter :-
Glo. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this,
[They all start. You do him injury, to scorn his corse.
K. Edw. Who knows not he is dead? who knows he is? Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest ?
Dor. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence, But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.
K. Edw. Is Clarence dead? the order was revers'd. Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear; Some tardy cripple bore the counterinand, That came too lag to see him buried :God grant, that some, less noble, and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood,
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
Stan. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman, Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. "
K. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was bitter death. Who sued to me for him ? who, in my wrath, Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advis'd ? Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love? Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury, When Oxford had me down, he rescu'd me, And said, Dear brother, live, and be a king? Who told me, when we both lay in the field, Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in bis garments; and did give himself, All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But, when your carters, or your waiting-vassals, Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac'd The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon ; And I, unjustly too, must grant it you:-. But for my brother, not a man would speak,Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself For him, poor soul.- The proudest of you all Have been beholden to him in his life; Yet none of you would once plead for his lifc.-
O God! I fear, thy justice will take hold
[Exeunt King, Queen, Hast. Riv. Dor. and Grey.
[Exeunt. SCENE 11. The same. Enter the Duchess of YORK, with a Son and Daughter
of CLARENCE. Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead? Duch. No, boy.
[breast; Daugh. Why do you weep so oft? and beat your And cry-O Clarence, my unhappy son!
Son. Why do you look on us, and shake your head,
Duch. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both;
Son. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.
[well : Duch. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death.
Son. Grandam, we can : for my good uncle Gloster Told me, the king, provok'd to’t by the queen, Devis'd impeachments to imprison bim: And when my uncle told me so, he wept,
And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek;
Duch. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes,
Son. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, grandain?
Son. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?
Dorset following her.
Duch. What means this scene of rude impatience ?
Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragic violence:-
Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow,
Son. Ah, aunt! you wept not for our father's death; How can we aid you with our kindred tears!
Daugh. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd, Your'widow-dolour likewise be unwept!
Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation, I am not barren to bring forth laments : All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Ah, for my husband, for my dear lord Edward!
Chil. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Clarence! Duch. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!
(gone. Q. Eliz. What stay had I, but Edward ? and he's Chil. What stay had we, but Clarence? and he's
Duch. Was never mother, had so dear a loss.
Dor. Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeas'd,
Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son: send straight for him. Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives : Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.
Which ware to be thus op ebt it lent your ful mother: