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,
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.
He lays his breast open; she offers at with his sword.
Nay, do not pause, for I did kill King Henry,
But ’twas thy beauty that provokèd me.
Nay, now dispatch; ’twas I that stabbed young Edward,
But ’twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
She falls the sword.
Take up the sword again, or take up me.
Anne
Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death,
I will not be the executioner.
Richard
Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
Anne
I have already.
Richard
That was in thy rage.
Speak it again, and even with the word,
That 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 àccessary.
Anne
I would I knew thy heart.
Richard
ʼTis figured in my tongue.
Anne
I fear me both are false.
Richard
Then never man was true.
Anne
Well, well, put up your sword.
Richard
Say then my peace is made.
Anne
That shalt thou know hereafter.
Richard
But shall I live in hope?
Anne
All men, I hope, live so.
Richard
Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne
To take is not to give.
Richard
Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger.
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.
Anne
What is it?
Richard
That it would please thee leave these sad designs
To him that hath more cause to be a mourner
And presently repair to Crosby House,
Where, after I have solemnly interred
At Chertsey monast’ry 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.
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.
Richard
Bid me farewell.
Anne
ʼTis more than you deserve;
But since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said farewell already.
Exeunt two with Anne.
Richard
Sirs, take up the corpse.
Gentlemen
Towards Chertsey, noble lord?
Richard
No, to Whitefriars; there attend my coming.
Exeunt all but Richard with the corpse.
Was ever woman in this humour wooed?
Was ever woman in this humour won?
I’ll have her, but I will not keep her long.
What, I that killed her husband and his father,
To take her in her heart’s extremest hate,
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of my hatred by,
Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,
And I no friends to back my suit withal
But the plain devil and dissembling looks,
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
Stabbed in my angry mood at Tewkesbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
Framed 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,
That cropped 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 halts and am misshapen thus?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I do mistake my person all this while.
Upon my life, she finds (although I cannot)
Myself to be a marv’lous proper man.
I’ll be at charges for a looking-glass
And entertain a score or two of tailors
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 yon fellow in his grave
And then return lamenting to my love.
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass.
Exit.
Scene 3Enter the queen Mother [Elizabeth], lord Rivers, and lord Grey [and the marquess of Dorset].
Rivers
Have patience, madam. There’s no doubt his majesty
Will soon recover his accustomed health.
Grey
In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse.
Therefore, for God’s sake, entertain good comfort,
And cheer his grace with quick and merry eyes.
Elizabeth
If he were dead, what would betide on me?
Rivers
No other harm but loss of such a lord.
Elizabeth
The loss of such a lord includes all harms.
Grey
The heavens have blessed you with a goodly son
To be your comforter when he is gone.
Elizabeth
Ah, he is young, and his minority
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,
A man that loves not me nor none of you.
Rivers
Is it concluded that he shall be Protector?
Elizabeth
It is determined, not concluded yet,
But so it must be if the king miscarry.
Enter Buckingham and Stanley Earl of Derby.
Grey
Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby.
Buckingham
Good time of day unto your royal grace.
Stanley
God make your majesty joyful, as you have been.
Elizabeth
The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby,
To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.
Yet Derby, notwithstanding she’s your wife
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.
Stanley
I do beseech you, either not believe
The envious slanders of her false accusers,
Or if she be accused on true report,
Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds
From wayward sickness and no grounded malice.
Rivers
Saw you the king today, my lord of Derby?
Elizabeth
But now the Duke of Buckingham and I
Are come from visiting his majesty.
Elizabeth
What likelihood of his amendment, lords?
Buckingham
Madam, good hope. His grace speaks cheerfully.
Elizabeth
God grant him health. Did you confer with him?
Buckingham
Ay, madam. He desires to make atonement
Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,
And between them and my Lord Chamberlain,
And sent to warn them to his royal presence.
Elizabeth
Would all were well, but that will never be.
I fear our happiness is at the hight.
Enter Richard and Hastings.
Richard
They do me wrong, and I will not endure it.
Who is it that complain unto the king
That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not?
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly
That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.
Because I cannot flatter and look fair,
Smile in men’s faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.
Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,
But thus his simple truth must be abused
By silken, sly, insinuating jacks?
Grey
To who in all this presence speaks your grace?
Richard
To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.
When have I injured thee? When done thee wrong?
Or thee? Or thee? Or any of your faction?
A plague upon you all. His royal grace,
Whom God preserve better than you would wish,
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing while
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.
Elizabeth
Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter.
The king, of his own royal disposition,
And not provoked by any suitor else,
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
That in your outward actions shows itself
Against my children, brothers, and myself,
Makes him to send, that he may learn the ground.
Richard
I cannot tell. The world is grown so bad
That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
Since every jack became a gentleman,
There’s many a gentle person made a jack.
Elizabeth
Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester.
You envy my advancement and my friends’.
God grant we never may have need of you.
Richard
Meantime, God grants that I have need of you.
Your brother is imprisoned by your means,
My self disgraced, and the nobility
Held in contempt, while great promotions
Are daily given to ennoble those
That scarce some two days since were worth a noble.
Elizabeth
By Him that raised me to this careful height
From that contented hap which I enjoyed,
I never did incense his majesty
Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been
An earnest advocate to plead for him.
My lord, you do me shameful injury
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspècts.
Richard
You may deny that you were not the mean
Of my Lord Hastings’ late imprisonment.
Rivers
Richard
She may, Lord Rivers, why, who knows not so?
She may do more, sir, than denying that.
She may help you to many fair preferments,
And then deny her aiding hand therein,
And lay those honours on your high desert.
What may she not? She may, ay, marry, may she.
Rivers
What, marry, may she?
Richard
What, marry, may she? Marry with a king,
A bachelor, a handsome stripling too.
I wis your grandam had a worser match.
Elizabeth
My lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne
Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs.
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty
Of those gross taunts that oft I have endured.
I had rather be a country servant maid
Than a great queen, with this condition,
To be so baited, scorned, and stormèd at.
Small joy have I in being England’s queen.
Enter old queen Margaret.
