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Clar. As red as fire! nay, then her wax muft melt. Gray. Why ftops my Lord? fhall I not hear my task?

K. Edw. An eafy task, 'tis but to love a King. "Gray. That's foon perform'd, because I am a fubject. K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee.

Gray. I take my leave with many thousand thanks. Glo. The match is made, the feals it with a curt'fy. K. Edw. But ftay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I

mean.

Gray. The fruits of love I mean, my loving Liege, K. Edw. Ay, but I fear me, in another fenfe. What love, think'ft thou, I fue fo much to get? Gray. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;

That love which virtue begs, and virtue grants.

K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean fuch love.

Gray. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.

K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my mind, Gray, My mind will never grant what I perceive Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright.

K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee,
Gray. To tell you plain, I'd rather lie in prifon.
K. Edw. Why, then thou fhalt not have thy huf-
band's lands.

Gray. Why, then my honefty fhall be my dower? For by that lofs I will not purchase them.

K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'ft thy children mightily.

'Gray. Herein your Highness wrongs both them and

me.

But, mighty Lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the fadnefs of my fuit;
Please you difmifs me, or with ay, or no.

K. Edw. Ay, if thou wilt fay, Ay, to my request:

No;

No, if thou doft say, No, to my

demand.

Gray. Then, No, my Lord. My suit is at an end,
Glo, The widow likes him not, the knits her brows.
Clar. He is the blunteft wooer in Chriftendom.
K. Edw. [Afide.] Her looks do argue her replete
with modefty.

Her words do fhew her wit incomparable,
All her perfections challenge Sovereignty;
One way, or other, fhe is for a King;

And she shall be my love, or else my Queen.
Say, that King Edward take thee for his Queen?
Gray. 'Tis better faid than done, my gracious Lord;
I am a fubject fit to jeft withal,

But far unfit to be a Sovereign.

K. Edw. Sweet Widow, by my State, I fwear to thee,
I speak no more than what my foul intends;
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love.

Gray. And that is more than I will yield unto.
I know I am too mean to be your Queen;
And yet too good to be your Concubine.
K. Edw. You cavil, Widow

Queen.

;

I did mean, my

Gray. 'Twill grieve your Grace, my fons fhould call you father.

K. Edw. No more than when my daughters call thee

mother.

Thou art a widow, and thou haft fome children;
And, by God's mother, I, being but a batchelor,
Have other fome. Why, 'tis a happy thing,
To be the father unto many fons,

Answer no more, for thou shalt be my Queen.
Glo. The ghoftly father now hath done his fhrift.
Clar. When he was made a fhriver, 'twas for shift.
K. Edw. Brothers, you mufe what Chat we two
have had.

Glo. The widow likes it not, for fhe looks fad.
K. Edw. You'd think it ftrange, if I should marry

her.
$

Clar

Clar. To whom, my Lofd?

K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself.

Glo. That would be ten days Wonder at the leaft. Clar. That's a day longer than the wonder lafts. Glo. By fo much is the Wonder in extreams.

K. Edw. Well, jeft on, Brothers; I can tell you both,

Her fuit is granted for her hufband's lands.

Enter a Nobleman.

Nob. My gracious Lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prifoner to your Palace-gates. K. Edw. See that he be conveyed unto the Tower: And go we, Brothers, to the man that took him, To question of his Apprehenfion.

Widow, go you along Lords, ufe her honourably.

[Exeunt.

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Glo. Ay, Edward will ufe women honourably.
'Would he were waited, marrow, bones, and all,
That from his loins no hopeful branch may fpring,
To cross me from the golden time I look for.
And yet between my foul's defire and me,
The luftful Edward's Title buried,

Is Clarence, Henry, and his fon young Edward;
And all th' unlook'd for iffue of their bodies,
To take their rooms ere I can place myself.
A cold premeditation for my purpose!
Why, then I do but dream on Sov'reignty,
Like one that ftands upon a promontory,
And fpies a far-off fhore where he would tread,
Withing his foot were equal with his eye,

And chides the Sea that funders him from thence,

Say

Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way;
So do I with, the Crown being fo far off,
And fo I chide the means that keep me from it;
And fo, I fay, I'll cut the caufes off,

Flatt'ring my mind with things impoffible.

My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,
Unless my hand and ftrength could equal them.
-Well, fay there is no Kingdom then for Richard,
What other pleasure can the world afford?
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,

And 'witch fweet ladies with my words and looks.
Oh miferable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden Crowns.
Why, Love forfwore me in my mother's womb;
And, for I fhould not deal in her foft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with fome bribe
To fhrink mine arm up like a wither'd fhrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where fits deformity to mock my body;
To fhape my legs of an unequal fize;
To difproportion me in every part,
Like to a Chaos, or unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impreffion like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd?

Oh, monftrous fault, to harbour fuch a thought!
-Then fince this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to check, to o'erbear fuch
As are of better perfon than myself,

* Unlick'd bear-whelp.] It was an opinion which, in fpite of its abfurdity, prevailed long, that the bear brings forth only fhapelefs lumps of animated flefh, which the licks into the form of bears. It is now well known that the whelps of the bear are

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I'll make my heav'n to dream upon the Crown;
And, while I live, t'account this world but Hell,
Until the mif-fhap'd trunk that bears this head,
Be round impaled with a glorious Crown,
And yet I know not how to get the Crown,
For many lives ftand between me and home,
And I, like one loft in a thorny wood,
That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns,
Seeking a way, and ftraying from the way,
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling defp'rately to find it out,
Torment myself to catch the English Crown,
And from that torment I will free myself,
Or hew my way out with a bloody ax.
Why, I can fimile, and murder while I fmile;"
And cry, Content, to that which grieves my heart;
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,

And frame my face to all occafions.

I'll drown more failors than the Mermaid fhall;
I'll flay more gazers, than the Bafilifk;
I'll play the orator as well as Neftor:
Deceive more flily than Ulyffes could;
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.
I can add colours ev'n to the Camelion;
Change Shapes with Proteus, for advantages;
And fet the murd'rous Machiavel to fchool.
Can I do this, and cannot get a Crown?
Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.

in his mind, and would counter-
ballance by fome other fuperio-
rity, thefe advantages which they.
feel themfelves to want. Bacon
remarks that the deformed are
commonly daring, anditis almoft
proverbially obferved that the
are ill-natured. The truth is,
that the deformed, like all other
men, are difpleafed with infe-
riority, and endeavour to gain

[Exit.

ground by good or bad means, as they are virtuous or corrupt.

And fet the murth'rous Machiavel to School.] As this is an Anachronism, and the old quarto reads,

And fet th'afpiring Catiline to
School,
I don't know why it fhould not
be preferr'd.

WARBURTON.

SCENE

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