The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

When I am cold in love to you or yours.

[They embrace]

KING EDWARD. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.

There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here To make the blessed period of this peace.

BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time,

Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliff and the Duke.

Enter GLOUCESTER, and RATCLIFF

GLOUCESTER. Good morrow to my sovereign king and Queen;

And, princely peers, a happy time of day!

KING EDWARD. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.

Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity, Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

GLOUCESTER. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord.

Among this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence or wrong surmise, Hold me a foe-If I unwittingly, or in my rage,

Have aught committed that is hardly borne To any in this presence, I desire

To reconcile me to his friendly peace: ‘Tis death to me to be at enmity;

I hate it, and desire all good men’s love.

First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service; Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,

If ever any grudge were lodg’d between us; Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset, That all without desert have frown’d on me; Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of you; Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen-indeed, of all.

I do not know that Englishman alive

With whom my soul is any jot at odds

More than the infant that is born tonight.

I thank my God for my humility.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter.

I would to God all strifes were well compounded.

My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

GLOUCESTER. Why, madam, have I off’red love for this, To be so flouted in this royal presence?

Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead?

[They all start]

You do him injury to scorn his corse.

KING EDWARD. Who knows not he is dead! Who knows he is?

QUEEN ELIZABETH. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!

BUCKINGHAM. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?

DORSET. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.

KING EDWARD. Is Clarence dead? The order was revers’d.

GLOUCESTER. But he, poor man, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear;

Some tardy cripple bare the countermand That came too lag to see him buried.

God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion!

Enter DERBY

DERBY. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!

KING EDWARD. I prithee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow.

DERBY. I Will not rise unless your Highness hear me.

KING EDWARD. Then say at once what is it thou requests.

DERBY. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant’s life; Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman

Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

KING EDWARD. Have I a tongue to doom my brother’s death, And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?

My brother killed 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 bid 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 rescued 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 his 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 race 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. [DERBY rises]

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 beholding to him in his life; Yet none of you would once beg for his life.

O God, I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this!

Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence!

Exeunt some with KING and QUEEN

GLOUCESTER. This is the fruits of rashness. Mark’d you not How that the guilty kindred of the Queen Look’d pale when they did hear of Clarence’ death?

O, they did urge it still unto the King!

God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go To comfort Edward with our company?

BUCKINGHAM. We wait upon your Grace. Exeunt

SCENE 2.

London. The palace

Enter the old DUCHESS OF YORK, with the SON and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE

SON. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?

DUCHESS. No, boy.

DAUGHTER. Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast, And cry ‘O Clarence, my unhappy son!’?

SON. Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us orphans, wretches, castaways, If that our noble father were alive?

DUCHESS. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both; I do lament the sickness of the King, As loath to lose him, not your father’s death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that’s lost.

SON. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead.

The King mine uncle is to blame for it.

God will revenge it; whom I will importune With earnest prayers all to that effect.

DAUGHTER. And so will I.

DUCHESS. Peace, children, peace! The King doth love you well.

Incapable and shallow innocents,

You cannot guess who caus’d your father’s death.

SON. Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester Told me the King, provok’d to it by the Queen, Devis’d impeachments to imprison him.

And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And pitied me, and kindly kiss’d my cheek; Bade me rely on him as on my father,

And he would love me dearly as a child.

DUCHESS. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape, And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!

He is my son; ay, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

SON. Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?

DUCHESS. Ay, boy.

SON. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?

Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her ears; RIVERS and DORSET after her QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and weep,

To chide my fortune, and torment myself?

I’ll join with black despair against my soul And to myself become an enemy.

DUCHESS. What means this scene of rude impatience?

QUEEN ELIZABETH. To make an act of tragic violence.

EDWARD, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.

Why grow the branches when the root is gone?

Why wither not the leaves that want their sap?

If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the King’s, Or like obedient subjects follow him

To his new kingdom of ne’erchanging night.

DUCHESS. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband!

I have bewept a worthy husband’s death, And liv’d with looking on his images; But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are crack’d in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, That grieves me when I see my shame in him.

Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother And hast the comfort of thy children left; But death hath snatch’d my husband from mine arms And pluck’d two crutches from my feeble hands-Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I-Thine being but a moiety of my moan—

To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries?

SON. Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father’s death!

How can we aid you with our kindred tears?

DAUGHTER. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan’d; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Give me no help in lamentation; I am not barren to bring forth complaints.

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!

CHILDREN. Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence!

DUCHESS. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!

QUEEN ELIZABETH. What stay had I but Edward? and he’s gone.

CHILDREN. What stay had we but Clarence? and he’s gone.

DUCHESS. What stays had I but they? and they are gone.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Was never widow had so dear a loss.

CHILDREN. Were never orphans had so dear a loss.

DUCHESS. Was never mother had so dear a loss.

Alas, I am the mother of these griefs!

Their woes are parcell’d, mine is general.

She for an Edward weeps, and so do I: I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she.

These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I: I for an Edward weep, so do not they.

Alas, you three on me, threefold distress’d, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow’s nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentation.

DORSET. Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeas’d That you take with unthankfulness his doing.

In common worldly things ‘tis called ungrateful With dull unwillingness to repay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you.

RIVERS. 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.

Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF

GLOUCESTER. Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can help our harms by wailing them.

Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee I crave your blessing.

DUCHESS. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

GLOUCESTER. Amen! [Aside] And make me die a good old man!

That is the butt end of a mother’s blessing; I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.

BUCKINGHAM. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers,

That bear this heavy mutual load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other’s love.

Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son.

The broken rancour of your high-swol’n hearts, But lately splinter’d, knit, and join’d together, Must gently be preserv’d, cherish’d, and kept.

Me seemeth good that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet Hither to London, to be crown’d our King.

RIVERS. Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude The new-heal’d wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern’d; Where every horse bears his commanding rein And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented.

GLOUCESTER.