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, To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! Cursed be 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, 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 May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness! If ever he have wife, let her he made A miserable by the death of him As I am made by my poor lord and thee! Come, now towards 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.
GREY In that you brook it in, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. I long to hear you tell it.
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As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord, Lord! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! What ugly sights of death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? O God! I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. The palace. Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. Boy Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast, And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!
As loath to lose him, not your father's death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Boy Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will importune With daily prayers all to that effect. Girl And so will I. Boy Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him : And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child.
He is my son; yea, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. Boy Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? Boy I cannot think it. Enter two Citizens meeting First Citizen Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast? Second Citizen I promise you, I scarcely know myself: Hear you the news abroad? First Citizen Ay, that the king is dead. Second Citizen Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better: I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world. Enter another Citizen.
YORK Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper, My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow More than my brother: 'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester, 'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:' And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste. YORK Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd, I could have given my uncle's grace a flout, To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine. I pray thee, let me hear it.
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Grandam, this would have been a biting jest. YORK Grandam, his nurse. Enter a Messenger. A street. The trumpets sound. Those uncles which you want were dangerous; Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, But look'd not on the poison of their hearts : God keep you from them, and from such false friends!
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Enter the Lord Mayor and his train. Enter a Messenger Messenger What, ho! Messenger A messenger from the Lord Stanley. GREY God keep the prince from all the pack of you! A knot you are of damned blood-suckers! O thou bloody prison, Fatal and ominous to noble peers! Within the guilty closure of thy walls Richard the second here was hack'd to death; And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink. O, remember, God To hear her prayers for them, as now for us And for my sister and her princely sons, Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt.
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