Glo. I grant ye. Anne, Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then, God grant me too, Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed! Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath him. Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place, than earth. Anne. And thou unfit for any place, but hell. Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. Anne. Some dungeon. Glo. Your bedchamber. Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest ! Glo. And fall somewhat into a slower method";- Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd effect. Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's wreck, You should not blemish it, if I stood by: As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life. Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life! 3 a slower method ;] As quick was used for spritely, so slower was put for serious. Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee. Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. Glo. Anne. Plantagenet. Why, that was he. Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature. Anne. Where is he? Glo. Here: [She spits at him.] Why dost thou spit at me? Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes. Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead! Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Sham'd their aspécts with store of childish drops: These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,Not, when my father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made, When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him: Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death; And twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time, "No, when," &c.-MALONE. My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never su'd to friend, nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word; My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. [He lays his Breast open; she offers at it with his Sword. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry; But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young ward: Ed [She again offers at his Breast. But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [She lets fall the Sword. Take up the sword again, or take up me. Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be thy executioner. Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. Glo. That was in thy rage: Speak it again, and, even with the word, This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. ↑ But 'twas thy beauty -] Shakspeare countenances the observation, that no woman can ever be offended with the mention of her beauty. JOHNSON. VOL. VI. I hope, live so. Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. Anne. To take, is not to give. [She puts on the Ring. Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; And if thy poor devoted servant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Anne. What is it? Glo. That it may please you leave these sad designs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby-place': Where-after I have solemnly interr'd, 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 Berkley, go along with me. t 5 "Then never man was true."-MALONE. Crosby-place :] A house near Bishopsgate-street, belonging to the duke of Gloster, now Crosby-square, where part of the house is yet remaining. Glo. Bid me farewell. Anne. 'Tis more than you deserve: But, since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already. [Exeunt Lady ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKLEY. Glo. Take up the corse, sirs †. Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord? [Exeunt the rest, with the Corse. Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming. Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won ? I'll have her, but I will not keep her long. With 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! Hat! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,— Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,— That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, 6 "Sirs, take up the corse."-MALONE. "all the world to nothing, ah !"—MALONE. a beggarly denier,] A denier is the twelfth part of a French sous, and appears to have been the usual request of a beggar. |