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And the beholders of this tragic play,

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Th' adulterate Haftings, Rivers, Vaughan, Gray,
Untimely fmother'd in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer,
Only reserv'd their factor to buy fouls,
And fend them thither; but at hand, at hand,
Infues his piteous and unpitied end;

Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, faints pray, for

vengeance

Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,

That I may live to fay, the dog is dead

kon Queen. Oh! thou didst prophefy, the time would

come,

That I should wish for thee to help me curfe

That bottl'd spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad.

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Q. Mar. I call'd thee then vain flourish of my fortune,

I call'd thee then poor fhadow, painted Queen,
The prefentation of but what I was;
'The flatt'ring index of a direful Page;
One heav'd on high, to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou waft; a garish flag,
To be the aim of ev'ry dang'rous fhot;
A fign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
A Queen in jeft, only to fill the fcene.

Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where be thy children? wherein doft thou joy?
Who fues and kneels, and fays, God fave the Queen
Where be the bending Peers, that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and fee what now thou art;

6 Th' ADULTERATE Haftings, I believe ShakeSpeare wrote.

Th' ADULTERER Haftings,

WARBURTON.

7 The flatt'ring index of direful PAGEANT.] Without doubt Shakespeare wrote -direful PAGE.

WARBURTON.

Y 3

For

For happy wife, a moft diftreffed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being fu'd to, one that humbly fues;
For Queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one that fcorn'd at me, now fcorn'd of mea
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the courfe of juftice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;

Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou dift ufurp my place, and doft thou not
Ufurp the juft proportion of my forrow?
Now thy proud neck bears haif my burden'd yoke;
From which, even here I flip my wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.

Farewel, York's wife, and Queen of fad mischance,
Thele English woes fhall make me fmile in France,
Queen. O thou well skill'd in curfes! ftay a while,
And teach me how to curfe mine enemies.

Q. Mar. Forbear to fleep the night, and fast the day,

Compare dead happiness with living woe;

Think, that thy babes were sweeter than they were,
And he, that flew them, fouler than he is;
Bett'ring thy lofs makes the bad caufer worse,
Revolving this, will teach thee how to curfe

Queen. My words are dull, O! quicken them with thine.

Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them fharp, and pierce like mine. [Exit Margaret. Dutch. Why should calamity be full of words? Queen. Windy attorneys to their client-woes, Airy fucceeders of inteftate joys,

*

Poor

In former editions this line The emendation is Sir Thomas was read thus:

Win fy-attorneys to your client's

woes.

Hanmer's.

8

Airy Succeeders of inteftine
Joys,] I cannot understand

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Poor breathing orators of miferies!

Let them have fcope, tho' what they do impart
Help nothing else, yet they do ease the heart.

Dutch. If fo, then be not tongue-ty'd; go with

me,

And in the breath of bitter words let's fmother
My damned fon, that thy two fweet fons fmother'd.
[Drum, within.

I hear his drum, be copious in exclaims.

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Enter King Richard, and bis Train.

K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition?
Dutch. O, fhe, that might have intercepted thee
By ftrangling thee in her accurfed womb,

From all the flaughters, -wretch, that thou haft done.
Queen. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden

crown,

Where should be branded, if that right were right,
The flaughter of the Prince that ow'd that crown,
And the dire death of my poor fons and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain-flave, where are my children?
Dutch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother
Clarence?

And little Ned Plantagenet, his fon?

Queen. Where is kind Haftings, Rivers, Vaughan,
Gray?

K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets! ftrike alarum,

drums!

Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women

this Reading. I have adopted
another from the Quarto in 1597.
Airy Succeeders of inteftate
joys,

i. e. Words, tun'd to Complaints,

fucceed Joys that are dead; and unbequeath'd to them, to whom they should properly descend.

Y 4

THEOBALD.

Rail

Rail on the Lord's anointed. Strike, I fay.

[Flourish. Alarums,

Either be patient, and intreat me fair, Or with the clamorous report of war.. Thus will I drown your exclamations. Dutch. Art thou my fon?

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K, Rich. Ay, I thank God, my father, and your¬ felf.

Dutch. Then patiently hear my impatience,

K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your con dition,

That cannot brook the accent of reproof.

Dutch. Lwill be mild and gentle in my words. K. Rich. And brief, good mother, for I am in haste, Dutch. Art thou fo hafty? I have ftaid for thee, God knows, in anguifh, pain and agony.

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K. Rich. And came I not at laft to comfort you Dutch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'ft it well, Thou cam'ft on earth to make the earth my hell. A grievous burden was thy birth to me, Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;

Thy school-days frightful, defp'rate, wild and furious; Thy prime of manhood, daring bold, and venturous Thy age confirm'd, proud, fubtile, fly and bloody, What comfortable hour canft thou name,

That ever grac'd me in thy company?

i

K. Rich. Faith none but Humphry Houre, that call'd your Grace

To breakfast once, forth of my company.

If I be fo difgracious in your fight,

Let me march on, and not offend your Grace,

-Strike up the drum....

Dutch. I pry'thee, hear me fpeak.

A touch of your condition.] A pice or partitle of your temper pr difpofition.

That ever grac'd me.] To

grace feems here to mean the fame as to blifs, to make happy. So gracious is kind, and graces are favours,

K. Rich,

K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.

Dutch. Hear me a word,

For I fhall never speak to thee again.

K. Rich. So ?

Dutch. Either thou'lt die by God's just ordinance,
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
Or I with grief and extream age fhall perish,
And never look upon thy face again.

Therefore take with thee my moft heavy Curfe;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more,
Than all the compleat armour that thou wear'ft!
My prayers on the adverfe party fight,
And there the little fouls of Edward's children
Whisper the fpirits of thine enemies,
And promife them fuccefs and victory!
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end!

› Shame ferves thy life, and doth thy death attend.

[Exit. Queen. Tho' far more caufe, yet much lefs fpirit to

curfe

Abides in me. I fay Amen to her.

[Going K. Rich. Stay, Madam, I muft fpeak a word

with you.

Queen. I have no more Sons of the royal blood For thee to flaughter; for my daughters, Richard, They shall be praying Nuns, not weeping Queens; And therefore level not to hit their lives.

K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Queen, And muft fhe die for this? O let her live, And I'll corrupt her manners, ftain her beauty, Slander myself as falfe to Edward's bed, Throw over her the veil of infamy;

Shame ferves thy lie.] To ferve is to accompany, fervants being near the perfons of their mafters.

3 Stay, Madam,] On this

dialogue, 'tis not neceffary to beftow much criticism: part of it is ridiculous, and the whole improbable.

So

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