Shakespeare's First Folio Part 411

An. Would it were mortall poyson, for thy sake

Rich. Neuer came poyson from so sweet a place

An. Neuer hung poyson on a fowler Toade.

Out of my sight, thou dost infect mine eyes

Rich. Thine eyes (sweet Lady) haue infected mine

An. Would they were Basiliskes, to strike thee dead

Rich. I would they were, that I might dye at once: For now they kill me with a liuing death.

Those eyes of thine, from mine haue drawne salt Teares; Sham'd their Aspects with store of childish drops: These eyes, which neuer shed remorsefull teare, No, when my Father Yorke, and Edward wept, To heare the pittious moane that Rutland made When black-fac'd Clifford shooke his sword at him.

Nor when thy warlike Father like a Childe, Told the sad storie of my Fathers death, And twenty times, made pause to sob and weepe: That all the standers by had wet their cheekes Like Trees bedash'd with raine. In that sad time, My manly eyes did scorne an humble teare: And what these sorrowes could not thence exhale, Thy Beauty hath, and made them blinde with weeping.

I neuer sued to Friend, nor Enemy: My Tongue could neuer learne sweet smoothing word.

But now thy Beauty is propos'd my Fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speake.

She lookes scornfully at him.

Teach not thy lip such Scorne; for it was made For kissing Lady, not for such contempt.

If thy reuengefull heart cannot forgiue, Loe heere I lend thee this sharpe-pointed Sword, Which if thou please to hide in this true brest, And let the Soule forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly begge the death vpon my knee,

He layes his brest open, she offers at with his sword.

Nay do not pause: For I did kill King Henrie, But 'twas thy Beauty that prouoked me.

Nay now dispatch: 'Twas I that stabb'd yong Edward, But 'twas thy Heauenly face that set me on.

She fals the Sword.

Take vp the Sword againe, or take vp me

An. Arise Dissembler, though I wish thy death, I will not be thy Executioner

Rich. Then bid me kill my selfe, and I will do it

An. I haue already

Rich. That was in thy rage: Speake it againe, and euen with the word, This hand, which for thy loue, did kill thy Loue, Shall for thy loue, kill a farre truer Loue, To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary

An. I would I knew thy heart

Rich. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue

An. I feare me, both are false

Rich. Then neuer Man was true

An. Well, well, put vp your Sword

Rich. Say then my Peace is made

An. That shalt thou know heereafter

Rich. But shall I liue in hope

An. All men I hope liue so.

Vouchsafe to weare this Ring

Rich. Looke how my Ring incompa.s.seth thy Finger, Euen so thy Brest incloseth my poore heart: Weare both of them, for both of them are thine.

And if thy poore deuoted Seruant may But beg one fauour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirme his happinesse for euer

An. What is it?

Rich. That it may please you leaue these sad designes, To him that hath most cause to be a Mourner, And presently repayre to Crosbie House: Where (after I haue solemnly interr'd At Chertsey Monast'ry this n.o.ble King, And wet his Graue with my Repentant Teares) I will with all expedient duty see you, For diuers vnknowne Reasons, I beseech you, Grant me this Boon

An. With all my heart, and much it ioyes me too, To see you are become so penitent.

Tressel and Barkley, go along with me

Rich. Bid me farwell

An. 'Tis more then you deserue: But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I haue saide farewell already.

Exit two with Anne.

Gent. Towards Chertsey, n.o.ble Lord?

Rich. No: to White Friars, there attend my comming

Exit Coa.r.s.e

Was euer woman in this humour woo'd?

Was euer woman in this humour wonne?

Ile haue her, but I will not keepe her long.

What? I that kill'd her Husband, and his Father, To take her in her hearts extreamest hate, With curses in her mouth, Teares in her eyes, The bleeding witnesse of my hatred by, Hauing G.o.d, her Conscience, and these bars against me, And I, no Friends to backe my suite withall, But the plaine Diuell, and dissembling lookes?

And yet to winne her? All the world to nothing.

Hah!

Hath she forgot alreadie that braue Prince, Edward, her Lord, whom I (some three monthes since) Stab'd in my angry mood, at Tewkesbury?

A sweeter, and a louelier Gentleman, Fram'd in the prodigallity of Nature: Yong, Valiant, Wise, and (no doubt) right Royal, The s.p.a.cious World cannot againe affoord: And will she yet abase her eyes on me, That cropt the Golden prime of this sweet Prince, And made her Widdow to a wofull Bed?

On me, whose All not equals Edwards Moytie?

On me, that halts, and am mishapen thus?

My Dukedome, to a Beggerly denier!

I do mistake my person all this while: Vpon my life she findes (although I cannot) My selfe to be a maru'llous proper man.

Ile be at Charges for a Looking-gla.s.se, And entertaine a score or two of Taylors, To study fas.h.i.+ons to adorne my body: Since I am crept in fauour with my selfe, I will maintaine it with some little cost.

But first Ile turne yon Fellow in his Graue, And then returne lamenting to my Loue.

s.h.i.+ne out faire Sunne, till I haue bought a gla.s.se, That I may see my Shadow as I pa.s.se.

Enter.

Scena Tertia.

Enter the Queene Mother, Lord Riuers, and Lord Gray.