Act1Scene2_edited.txt

London. Another Street.

Enter the corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, borne in an open coffin; Gentlemen bearing halberds to guard it; and LADY ANNE, as mourner.

Set down, set down your honourable load,	 
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,	   4
Whilst I a while obsequiously lament	 
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.	 
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!	 
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!	   8
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!	 
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,	 
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,	 
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter's son,	  12
Stabb by the self-same hand that made these wounds!	 
Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,	 
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.	 
O! cursed be the hand that made these holes;	  16
Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!	 
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!	 
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,	 
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,	  20
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,	 
Or any creeping venom thing that lives!	 
If ever he have child, abortive be it,	 
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,	  24
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect	 
May fright the hopeful mother at the view;	 
And that be heir to his unhappiness!	 
If ever he have wife, let her be made	  28
More miserable by the death of him	 
Than I am made by my young lord and thee!	 
Come, now toward Chertsey with your holy load,	 
Taken from Paul to be interred there;	  32
And still, as you are weary of the weight,	 
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry corse.

Enter GLOUCESTER.

Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.	  36
What black magician conjures up this fiend,	 
To stop devoted charitable deeds?	 
Villains! set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,	 
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.	  40
My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.	 
Unmanner dog! stand thou when I command:	 
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,	 
Or, by Saint Paul, I'lll strike thee to my foot,	  44
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.	 
What! do you tremble? are you all afraid?	 
Alas! I blame you not; for you are mortal,	 
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.	  48
Avaunt! thou dreadful minister of hell,	 
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,	 
His soul thou canst not have: therefore, be gone.	 
Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.	  52
Foul devil, for God's sake hence, and trouble us not;	 
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,	 
Fill it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.	 
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,	  56
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.	 
O! gentlemen; see, see! dead Henry wounds	 
Open their congeal mouths and bleed afresh.	 
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,	  60
For is thy presence that exhales this blood	 
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells:	 
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,	 
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.	  64
O God! which this blood mad it, revenge his death;	 
O earth! which this blood drink it, revenge his death;	 
Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead,	 
Or earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick,	  68
As thou dost swallow up this good king blood,	 
Which his hell-govern arm hath butchered!	 
Lady, you know no rules of charity,	 
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.	  72
Villain, thou know it no law of God nor man:	 
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.	 
But I know none, and therefore am no beast.	 
O! wonderful, when devils tell the truth.	  76
More wonderful when angels are so angry.	 
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,	 
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave,	 
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.	  80
Vouchsafe, diffus infection of a man,	 
For these known evils, but to give me leave,	 
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.	 
Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have	  84
Some patient leisure to excuse myself.	 
Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make	 
No excuse current, but to hang thyself.	 
By such despair I should accuse myself.	  88
And by despairing shouldst thou stand excus’d	 
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,	 
Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.	 
Say that I slew them not.	  92
Then say they were not slain:	 
But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.	 
I did not kill your husband.	 
Why, then he is alive.	  96
Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.	 
In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw	 
Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood;	 
The which thou once didst bend against her breast,	 100
But that thy brothers beat aside the point.	 
I was provoked by her slandous tongue,	 
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.	 
Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,	 104
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries.	 
Didst thou not kill this king?	 
I grant ye.	 
Dost grant me, hedge-hog? Then, God grant me too	 108
Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!	 
O! he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.	 
The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.	 
He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.	 112
Let him thank me, that help to send him thither;	 
For he was fitter for that place than earth.	 
And thou unfit for any place but hell.	 
Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.	 116
Some dungeon.	 
Your bed-chamber.	 
I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest!	 
So will it, madam, till I lie with you.	 120
I hope so.	 
I know so, But, gentle Lady Anne,	 
To leave this keen encounter of our wits,	 
And fall somewhat into a slower method,	 124
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths	 
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,	 
As blameful as the executioner?	 
Thou wast the cause, and most accurs effect.	 128
Your beauty was the cause of that effect;	 
Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep	 
To undertake the death of all the world,	 
So might I live one hour in your sweet bosom.	 132
If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,	 
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.	 
These eyes could not endure that beauty wrack;	 
You should not blemish it if I stood by:	 136
As all the world is cheered by the sun,	 
So I by that; it is my day, my life.	 
Black night orshade thy day, and death thy life!	 
Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.	 140
I would I were, to be reveng on thee.	 
It is a quarrel most unnatural,	 
To be reveng on him that loveth thee.	 
It is a quarrel just and reasonable,	 144
To be reveng on him that kill my husband.	 
He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,	 
Did it to help thee to a better husband.	 
His better doth not breathe upon the earth.	 148
He lives that loves thee better than he could.	 
Name him.	 
Plantagenet.	 
Why, that was he.	 152
The self-same name, but one of better nature.	 
Where is he?	 
Here. Why dost thou spit at me?	 
Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!	 156
Never came poison from so sweet a place.	 
Never hung poison on a fouler toad.	 
Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes.	 
Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.	 160
Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!	 
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,	 164
Sham their aspects with store of childish drops;	 
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear;	 
No, when my father York and Edward wept	 
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made	 168
When black-face Clifford shook his sword at him;	 
Nor when thy war-like father like a child,	 
Told the sad story of my father death,	 
And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,	 172
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,	 
Like trees bedash with rain: in that sad time,	 
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;	 
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,	 176
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.	 
I never sue to friend, nor enemy;	 
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing words;	 
But, now thy beauty is propos my fee,	 180
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.
Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made	 
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.	 
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,	 184
Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;	 
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast,	 
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,	 
I lay it open to the deadly stroke,	 188
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry;	 
But was thy beauty that provoked me.	 
Nay, now dispatch; was I that stabb young Edward;	 192
But  was thy heavenly face that set me on.	 
Take up the sword again, or take up me.	 
Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death,	 
I will not be thy executioner.	 196
Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.	 
I have already.	 
That was in thy rage:	 
Speak it again, and, even with the word,	 200
This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love,	 
Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love:	 
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.	 
I would I knew thy heart.	 204
is figur’d in my tongue.	 
I fear me both are false.	 
Then never man was true.	 
Well, well, put up your sword.	 208
Say, then, my peace is made.	 
That shalt thou know hereafter.	 
But shall I live in hope?	 
All men, I hope, live so.	 212
Vouchsafe to wear this ring.	 
To take is not to give.	 
Look, how my ring encompasseth thy finger,	 
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;	 216
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.	 
And if thy poor devoted servant may	 
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,	 
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.	 220
What is it?	 
That it may please you leave these sad designs	 
To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,	 
And presently repair to Crosby-place;	 224
Where, after I have solemnly interr’d	 
At Chertsey monastery this noble king,	 
And wet his grave with my repentant tears,	 
I will with all expedient duty see you:	 228
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,	 
Grant me this boon.	 
With all my heart; and much it joys me too	 
To see you are become so penitent.	 232
Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.	 
Bid me farewell.	 
is more than you deserve;	 
But since you teach me how to flatter you,	 236
Imagine I have said farewell already.
Sirs, take up the corse.	 
Toward Chertsey, noble lord?	 
No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming.	 240
Was ever woman in this humour woo?	 
Was ever woman in this humour won?	 
I'll have her; but I will not keep her long.	 
What! I, that kill her husband, and his father,	 244
To take her in her heart extremest hate;	 
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,	 
The bleeding witness of her hatred by;	 
Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,	 248
And nothing I to back my suit withal	 
But the plain devil and dissembling looks,	 
And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!	 
Ha!	 252
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,	 
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,	 
Stabb in my angry mood at Tewksbury?	 
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,	 256
Fram in the prodigality of nature,	 
Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,	 
The spacious world cannot again afford:	 
And will she yet abase her eyes on me,	 260
That cropp the golden prime of this sweet prince,	 
And made her widow to a woeful bed?	 
On me, whose all not equals Edward moiety?	 
On me, that halt and am misshapen thus?	 264
My dukedom to a beggarly denier	 
I do mistake my person all this while:	 
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,	 
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.	 268
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,	 
And entertain a score or two of tailors,	 
To study fashions to adorn my body:	 
Since I am crept in favour with myself,	 272
I will maintain it with some little cost.	 
But first I'll turn you fellow in his grave,	 
And then return lamenting to my love.	 
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,	 276
That I may see my shadow as I pass.