A batchelor, a handfome ftripling too:
I wis, your grandam had a worfer match.
Queen. My Lord of Glo'fter, I have too long born
Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter fcoffs:
By heav'n, I will acquaint his Majefty,
Of those grofs taunts I often have endur'd.
I had rather be a country fervant-maid
Than a great Queen with this condition,
To be thus taunted, fcorn'd and baited at.
Small joy have I in being England's Queen.
Q. Mar. And leffen'd be that fmall, God, I befeech thee! Thy honour, ftate, and feat is due to me.
Glo. What! threat you me with telling of the King?
Tell him and spare not: look, what I have faid
I will avouch in presence of the King:
'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot.
Q. Mar. Out, devil! I remember them too well;
Thou kill'dft my husband Henry in the Tower,
And Edward, my poor fon, at Tewksbury.
Glo. Ere you were Queen, ay, or your husband King, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;
A weeder out of his proud adverfaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends;
To royalize his blood I fpilt my own.
Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his or thine. Glo. In all which time you and your husband Gray Were factious for the house of Lancaster;
And, Rivers, fo were you; was not your husband,
In Margret's battel, at St. Albans flain?
Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
What you have been ere now, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.
Q. Mar. A murth'rous villain, and fo ftill thou art. Glo. Poor Clarence did forfake his father Warwick,
Ay, and forfwore himself, (which Jefu pardon!)
Q. Mar. Which God revenge!
Glo. To fight on Edward's party for the crown,
And for his meed, poor Lord, he is mew'd
I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's,
Or Edward's foft and pitiful, like mine;
I am too childish, foolish for this world.
Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for fhame, and leave this world, Thou Cacodæmon! there thy kingdom is.
Riv. My Lord of Glofter, in those busie days,
Which here you urge to prove us enemies,
We follow'd then our Lord, our Sov'reign King;
So fhould we you, if you fhould be our King.
Glo. If I fhould be! ---I had rather be a pedlar;
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof.
Queen. As little joy, my Lord, as you fuppofe
You fhould enjoy, were you this country's King,
As little joy you may fuppofe in me,
That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.
Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the Queen thereof; For I am fhe, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient.
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
In fharing that which you have pill'd from me;
Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
If not that, I being Queen, you bow like fubjects;
Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels?
Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!
Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'ft thou in my fight! Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou haft marr'd, That will I make, before I let thee go.
A husband and a fon thou ow'ft to me, [To Gloucefter. And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance; [To the Queen. The forrow that I have, by right is yours,
And all the pleasures you ufurp, are mine.
Glo. The curfe my noble father laid on thee,
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,
And with thy fcorns drew'st rivers from his eyes,
And then to dry them gav'ft the Duke a clout,
Steep'd in the faultlefs blood of pretty Rutland;
His curfes, then from bitterness of foul
Denounc'd against thee, are now fall'n upon thee;
And God, not we, has plagu'd thy bloody deed.
Queen. So just is God, to right the innocent.
Haft. O, 'twas the fouleft deed to flay that babe,
And the most merciless that e'er was heard of.
Riv. Tyrants themselves wept, when it was reported.
Dorf. No man but prophefy'd revenge for it.
Buck. Northumberland, then prefent, wept to fee it.
Q. Mar. What! were you fnarling all before I came,
Ready to catch each other by the throat,
And turn you all your hatred now on me?
Did York's dread curfe prevail fo much with heav'n,
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's lofs, my woful banishment,
Could all but answer for that peevish brat?
Can curfes pierce the clouds, and enter heav'n?
Why then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curfes,
If not by war, by furfeit die your King!
As ours by murther to make him a King.
Edward thy fon, that now is Prince of Wales,
For Edward our fon, that was Prince of Wales,
Die in his youth, by like untimely violence!
Thy felf a Queen, for me that was a Queen,
Out-live thy glory, like my wretched felf!
Long may'st thou live to wail thy children's lofs,
And fee another, as I fee thee now,
Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death,
And after many length'ned hours of grief,
Die, neither mother, wife, nor England's Queen!
Rivers and Dorfet, you were ftanders-by,
And fo waft thou, Lord Haftings, when my fon
Was ftabb'd with bloody daggers; God, I pray him,
That none of you may live your natural age,
U
By fome 'unlook'd for accident` all cut off!
Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag.
Q. Mar. And leave out thee? ftay, dog, for thou fhalt
If heav'ns have any grievous plague in ftore, [hear me.
Exceeding thofe that I can wifh upon thee,
O, let them keep it, 'till thy fins be ripe,
And then hurl down their indignation
On thee, thou troubler of the poor world's peace!
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy foul;
Thy friends fufpect for traitors while thou liv'st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends:
No fleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while fome tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
Thou elvish markt, abortive, rooting hog,
Thou that wast feal'd in thy nativity
The flave of nature, and the fon of hell:
Thou flander of thy heavy mother's womb,
Thou loathed iffue of thy father's loins,
Thou rag of honour, thou detefted-
Glo. Margaret.
Q. Mar. Richard.
Glo. Ha!
Q. Mar. I call thee not.
Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think
That thou had'ft call'd me all these bitter names.
Q. Mar. Why, fo I did, but look'd for no reply.
Oh, let me make the period to my curfe.
Glo. 'Tis done by me, and ends in Margaret. [self. Queen. Thus have you breath'd your curfe against your Q. Mar. Poor painted Queen, vain flourish of my forWhy ftrew'ft thou fugar on that bottel'd fpider, [tune, Whofe deadly web enfnareth thee about?
Fool, fool, thou whet'ft a knife to kill thy felf:
The day will come that thou shalt wish for me,
To help thee curfe this pois'nous bunch-back'd toad.
Haft. Falfe boading woman, end thy frantick curfe,
Left to thy harm thou move our patience.
Q.Mar. Foul fhame upon you, you have all mov'd mine. Riv. Were you well ferv'd, you would be taught your duty.
Q. Mar. To ferve me well, you all should do me duty,
Teach me to be your Queen, and you my fubjects:
O, ferve me well, and teach your felves that duty.
Dorf. Difpute not with her, fhe is lunatick.
Q. Mar. Peace, mafter Marquifs, you are malapert
Your fire-new ftamp of honour is scarce currant.
O that your young nobility could judge
What 'twere to lofe it, and be miferable!
They that ftand high have many blasts to shake them, And if they fall, they dafh themfelves to pieces.
Glo. Good counfel, marry, learn it, learn it, Marquifs. Dorf. It touches you, my Lord, as much as me. Glo. Ay, and much more; but I was born fo high, Our Ai'ry buildeth in the cedar's top,
And dallies with the wind, and fcorns the fun.
Q. Mar. And turns the fun to fhade; alas! alas!
Witnefs my fon now in the fhade of death,
Whose bright out-fhining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
Your Ai'ry buildeth in our Ai'ry's neft;
O God, that feeft it, do not fuffer it!
As it was won with blood, fo be it loft!
Buck. Peace, peace, for fhame, if not for charity.
Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor fhame to me;
Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
And shamefully my hopes, by you, are butcher'd.
My charity is outrage, life my fhame,
And in my fhame ftill live my forrow's rage!
Buck. Have done, have done.
Q. Mar. O Princely Buckingham, I'll kifs thy hand, In fign of league and amity with thee:
Now fair befall thee and thy noble house!
Thy garments are not fpotted with our blood;
Nor thou within the compafs of my curfe.
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