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London. Another Street. | |
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Enter the corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, borne in an open coffin; Gentlemen bearing halberds to guard it; and LADY ANNE, as mourner. | |
| Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load, | |
| If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, | |
| Whilst I a while obsequiously lament | 5 |
| The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. | |
| Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! | |
| Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! | |
| Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! | |
| Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, | 10 |
| To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, | |
| Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter’d son, | |
| Stabb’d by the self-same hand that made these wounds! | |
| Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, | |
| I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. | 15 |
| O! cursed be the hand that made these holes; | |
| Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it! | |
| Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! | |
| More direful hap betide that hated wretch, | |
| That makes us wretched by the death of thee, | 20 |
| Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, | |
| Or any creeping venom’d thing that lives! | |
| If ever he have child, abortive be it, | |
| Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, | |
| Whose ugly and unnatural aspect | 25 |
| May fright the hopeful mother at the view; | |
| And that be heir to his unhappiness! | |
| If ever he have wife, let her be made | |
| More miserable by the death of him | |
| Than I am made by my young lord and thee! | 30 |
| Come, now toward Chertsey with your holy load, | |
| Taken from Paul’s to be interred there; | |
| And still, as you are weary of the weight, | |
| Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry’s corse. [The Bearers take up the corpse and advance. | |
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Enter GLOUCESTER. | 35 |
| Glo. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. | |
| Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend, | |
| To stop devoted charitable deeds? | |
| Glo. Villains! set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, | |
| I’ll make a corse of him that disobeys. | 40 |
| First Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. | |
| Glo. Unmanner’d dog! stand thou when I command: | |
| Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, | |
| Or, by Saint Paul, I’ll strike thee to my foot, | |
| And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. [The Bearers set down the coffin. | 45 |
| Anne. What! do you tremble? are you all afraid? | |
| Alas! I blame you not; for you are mortal, | |
| And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. | |
| Avaunt! thou dreadful minister of hell, | |
| Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, | 50 |
| His soul thou canst not have: therefore, be gone. | |
| Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. | |
| Anne. Foul devil, for God’s sake hence, and trouble us not; | |
| For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, | |
| Fill’d it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. | 55 |
| If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, | |
| Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. | |
| O! gentlemen; see, see! dead Henry’s wounds | |
| Open their congeal’d mouths and bleed afresh. | |
| Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, | 60 |
| For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood | |
| From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells: | |
| Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, | |
| Provokes this deluge most unnatural. | |
| O God! which this blood mad’st, revenge his death; | 65 |
| O earth! which this blood drink’st, revenge his death; | |
| Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, | |
| Or earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick, | |
| As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood, | |
| Which his hell-govern’d arm hath butchered! | 70 |
| Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity, | |
| Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. | |
| Anne. Villain, thou know’st no law of God nor man: | |
| No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. | |
| Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast. | 75 |
| Anne. O! wonderful, when devils tell the truth. | |
| Glo. More wonderful when angels are so angry. | |
| Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, | |
| Of these supposed evils, to give me leave, | |
| By circumstance, but to acquit myself. | 80 |
| Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus’d infection of a man, | |
| For these known evils, but to give me leave, | |
| By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. | |
| Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have | |
| Some patient leisure to excuse myself. | 85 |
| Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make | |
| No excuse current, but to hang thyself. | |
| Glo. By such despair I should accuse myself. | |
| Anne. And by despairing shouldst thou stand excus’d | |
| For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, | 90 |
| Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others. | |
| Glo. Say that I slew them not. | |
| Anne. Then say they were not slain: | |
| But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. | |
| Glo. I did not kill your husband. | 95 |
| Anne. Why, then he is alive. | |
| Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward’s hand. | |
| Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw | |
| Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; | |
| The which thou once didst bend against her breast, | 100 |
| But that thy brothers beat aside the point. | |
| Glo. I was provoked by her sland’rous tongue, | |
| That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. | |
| Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, | |
| That never dreamt on aught but butcheries. | 105 |
| Didst thou not kill this king? | |
| Glo. I grant ye. | |
| Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? Then, God grant me too | |
| Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! | |
| O! he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. | 110 |
| Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him. | |
| Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. | |
| Glo. Let him thank me, that help’d to send him thither; | |
| For he was fitter for that place than earth. | |
| Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell. | 115 |
| Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. | |
| Anne. Some dungeon. | |
| Glo. Your bed-chamber. | |
| Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest! | |
| Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. | 120 |
| Anne. I hope so. | |
| Glo. I know so, But, gentle Lady Anne, | |
| To leave this keen encounter of our wits, | |
| And fall somewhat into a slower method, | |
| Is not the causer of the timeless deaths | 125 |
| Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, | |
| As blameful as the executioner? | |
| Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs’d effect. | |
| Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; | |
| Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep | 130 |
| To undertake the death of all the world, | |
| So might I live one hour in your sweet bosom. | |
| Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, | |
| These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. | |
| Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty’s wrack; | 135 |
| You should not blemish it if I stood by: | |
| As all the world is cheered by the sun, | |
| So I by that; it is my day, my life. | |
| Anne. Black night o’ershade thy day, and death thy life! | |
| Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. | 140 |
| Anne. I would I were, to be reveng’d on thee. | |
| Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural, | |
| To be reveng’d on him that loveth thee. | |
| Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, | |
| To be reveng’d on him that kill’d my husband. | 145 |
| Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, | |
| Did it to help thee to a better husband. | |
| Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. | |
| Glo. He lives that loves thee better than he could. | |
| Anne. Name him. | 150 |
| Glo. Plantagenet. | |
| Anne. Why, that was he. | |
| Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature. | |
| Anne. Where is he? | |
| Glo. Here. [She spitteth at him.] Why dost thou spit at me? | 155 |
| Anne. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! | |
| Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. | |
| Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. | |
| Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes. | |
| Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. | 160 |
| Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead! | |
| Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once; | |
| For now they kill me with a living death. | |
| Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, | |
| Sham’d their aspects with store of childish drops; | 165 |
| These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear; | |
| No, when my father York and Edward wept | |
| To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made | |
| When black-fac’d Clifford shook his sword at him; | |
| Nor when thy war-like father like a child, | 170 |
| Told the sad story of my father’s death, | |
| And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, | |
| That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, | |
| Like trees bedash’d with rain: in that sad time, | |
| My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; | 175 |
| And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, | |
| Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. | |
| I never su’d to friend, nor enemy; | |
| My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing words; | |
| But, now thy beauty is propos’d my fee, | 180 |
| My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. [She looks scornfully at him. | |
| Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made | |
| For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. | |
| If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, | |
| Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; | 185 |
| Which if thou please to hide in this true breast, | |
| And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, | |
| I lay it open to the deadly stroke, | |
| And humbly beg the death upon my knee. [He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword. | |
| Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry; | 190 |
| But ’twas thy beauty that provoked me. | |
| Nay, now dispatch; ’twas I that stabb’d young Edward; [She again offers at his breast. | |
| But ’twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [She lets fall the sword. | |
| Take up the sword again, or take up me. | |
| Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, | 195 |
| I will not be thy executioner. | |
| Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. | |
| Anne. I have already. | |
| Glo. That was in thy rage: | |
| Speak it again, and, even with the word, | 200 |
| This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love, | |
| Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love: | |
| To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. | |
| Anne. I would I knew thy heart. | |
| Glo. ’Tis figur’d in my tongue. | 205 |
| Anne. I fear me both are false. | |
| Glo. Then never man was true. | |
| Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. | |
| Glo. Say, then, my peace is made. | |
| Anne. That shalt thou know hereafter. | 210 |
| Glo. But shall I live in hope? | |
| Anne. All men, I hope, live so. | |
| Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. | |
| Anne. To take is not to give. [She puts on the ring. | |
| Glo. Look, how my ring encompasseth thy finger, | 215 |
| Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; | |
| Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. | |
| And if thy poor devoted servant may | |
| But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, | |
| Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. | 220 |
| Anne. What is it? | |
| Glo. That it may please you leave these sad designs | |
| To him that hath most cause to be a mourner, | |
| And presently repair to Crosby-place; | |
| Where, after I have solemnly interr’d | 225 |
| At Chertsey monastery this noble king, | |
| And wet his grave with my repentant tears, | |
| I will with all expedient duty see you: | |
| For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, | |
| Grant me this boon. | 230 |
| Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me too | |
| To see you are become so penitent. | |
| Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. | |
| Glo. Bid me farewell. | |
| Anne. ’Tis more than you deserve; | 235 |
| But since you teach me how to flatter you, | |
| Imagine I have said farewell already. [Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKELEY. | |
| Glo. Sirs, take up the corse. | |
| Gent. Toward Chertsey, noble lord? | |
| Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming. [Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER. | 240 |
| Was ever woman in this humour woo’d? | |
| Was ever woman in this humour won? | |
| I’ll have her; but I will not keep her long. | |
| What! I, that kill’d her husband, and his father, | |
| To take her in her heart’s extremest hate; | 245 |
| With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, | |
| The bleeding witness of her hatred by; | |
| Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, | |
| And nothing I to back my suit withal | |
| But the plain devil and dissembling looks, | 250 |
| And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! | |
| Ha! | |
| Hath she forgot already that brave prince, | |
| Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, | |
| Stabb’d in my angry mood at Tewksbury? | 255 |
| A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, | |
| Fram’d in the prodigality of nature, | |
| Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, | |
| The spacious world cannot again afford: | |
| And will she yet abase her eyes on me, | 260 |
| That cropp’d the golden prime of this sweet prince, | |
| And made her widow to a woeful bed? | |
| On me, whose all not equals Edward’s moiety? | |
| On me, that halt and am misshapen thus? | |
| My dukedom to a beggarly denier | 265 |
| I do mistake my person all this while: | |
| Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, | |
| Myself to be a marvellous proper man. | |
| I’ll be at charges for a looking-glass, | |
| And entertain a score or two of tailors, | 270 |
| To study fashions to adorn my body: | |
| Since I am crept in favour with myself, | |
| I will maintain it with some little cost. | |
| But first I’ll turn you fellow in his grave, | |
| And then return lamenting to my love. | 275 |
| Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, | |
| That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit. | |
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