Shakespeare's First Folio Part 429

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Enter old Queene Margaret

Mar. So now prosperity begins to mellow, And drop into the rotten mouth of death: Heere in these Confines slily haue I lurkt, To watch the waining of mine enemies.

A dire induction, am I witnesse to, And will to France, hoping the consequence Will proue as bitter, blacke, and Tragicall.

Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes heere?

Enter Dutchesse and Queene.

Qu. Ah my poore Princes! ah my tender Babes: My vnblowed Flowres, new appearing sweets: If yet your gentle soules flye in the Ayre, And be not fixt in doome perpetuall, Houer about me with your ayery wings, And heare your mothers Lamentation

Mar. Houer about her, say that right for right Hath dim'd your Infant morne, to Aged night

Dut. So many miseries haue craz'd my voyce, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.

Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward, payes a dying debt

Qu. Wilt thou, O G.o.d, flye from such gentle Lambs, And throw them in the intrailes of the Wolfe?

When didst thou sleepe, when such a deed was done?

Mar. When holy Harry dyed, and my sweet Sonne

Dut. Dead life, blind sight, poore mortall liuing ghost, Woes Scene, Worlds shame, Graues due, by life vsurpt, Breefe abstract and record of tedious dayes, Rest thy vnrest on Englands lawfull earth, Vnlawfully made drunke with innocent blood

Qu. Ah that thou would'st a.s.soone affoord a Graue, As thou canst yeeld a melancholly seate: Then would I hide my bones, not rest them heere, Ah who hath any cause to mourne but wee?

Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reuerent, Giue mine the benefit of signeurie, And let my greefes frowne on the vpper hand If sorrow can admit Society.

I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him: I had a Husband, till a Richard kill'd him: Thou had'st an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him: Thou had'st a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him

Dut. I had a Richard too, and thou did'st kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou hop'st to kill him

Mar. Thou had'st a Clarence too, And Richard kill'd him.

From forth the kennell of thy wombe hath crept A h.e.l.l-hound that doth hunt vs all to death: That Dogge, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry Lambes, and lap their gentle blood: That foule defacer of G.o.ds handy worke: That reignes in gauled eyes of weeping soules: That excellent grand Tyrant of the earth, Thy wombe let loose to chase vs to our graues.

O vpright, iust, and true-disposing G.o.d, How do I thanke thee, that this carnall Curre Prayes on the issue of his Mothers body, And makes her Pue-fellow with others mone

Dut. Oh Harries wife, triumph not in my woes: G.o.d witnesse with me, I haue wept for thine

Mar. Beare with me: I am hungry for reuenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it.

Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward, The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward: Yong Yorke, he is but boote, because both they Matcht not the high perfection of my losse.

Thy Clarence he is dead, that stab'd my Edward, And the beholders of this franticke play, Th' adulterate Hastings, Riuers, Vaughan, Gray, Vntimely smother'd in their dusky Graues.

Richard yet liues, Hels blacke Intelligencer, Onely reseru'd their Factor, to buy soules, And send them thither: But at hand, at hand Insues his pittious and vnpittied end.

Earth gapes, h.e.l.l burnes, Fiends roare, Saints pray, To haue him sodainly conuey'd from hence: Cancell his bond of life, deere G.o.d I pray, That I may liue and say, The Dogge is dead

Qu. O thou did'st prophesie, the time would come, That I should wish for thee to helpe me curse That bottel'd Spider, that foule bunch-back'd Toad

Mar. I call'd thee then, vaine flourish of my fortune: I call'd thee then, poore Shadow, painted Queen, The presentation of but what I was; The flattering Index of a direfull Pageant; One heau'd a high, to be hurl'd downe below: A Mother onely mockt with two faire Babes; A dreame of what thou wast, a garish Flagge To be the ayme of euery dangerous Shot; A signe of Dignity, a Breath, a Bubble; A Queene in ieast, onely to fill the Scene.

Where is thy Husband now? Where be thy Brothers?

Where be thy two Sonnes? Wherein dost thou Ioy?

Who sues, and kneeles, and sayes, G.o.d saue the Queene?

Where be the bending Peeres that flattered thee?

Where be the thronging Troopes that followed thee?

Decline all this, and see what now thou art.

For happy Wife, a most distressed Widdow: For ioyfull Mother, one that wailes the name: For one being sued too, one that humbly sues: For Queene, a very Caytiffe, crown'd with care: For she that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me: For she being feared of all, now fearing one: For she commanding all, obey'd of none.

Thus hath the course of Iustice whirl'd about, And left thee but a very prey to time, Hauing no more but Thought of what thou wast.

To torture thee the more, being what thou art, Thou didst vsurpe my place, and dost thou not Vsurpe the iust proportion of my Sorrow?

Now thy proud Necke, beares halfe my burthen'd yoke, From which, euen heere I slip my wearied head, And leaue the burthen of it all, on thee.

Farwell Yorkes wife, and Queene of sad mischance, These English woes, shall make me smile in France

Qu. O thou well skill'd in Curses, stay a-while, And teach me how to curse mine enemies

Mar. Forbeare to sleepe the night, and fast the day: Compare dead happinesse, with liuing woe: Thinke that thy Babes were sweeter then they were, And he that slew them fowler then he is: Bett'ring thy losse, makes the bad causer worse, Reuoluing this, will teach thee how to Curse

Qu. My words are dull, O quicken them with thine

Mar. Thy woes will make them sharpe, And pierce like mine.

Exit Margaret.

Dut. Why should calamity be full of words?

Qu. Windy Atturnies to their Clients Woes, Ayery succeeders of intestine ioyes, Poore breathing Orators of miseries, Let them haue scope, though what they will impart, Helpe nothing els, yet do they ease the hart

Dut. If so then, be not Tongue-ty'd: go with me, And in the breath of bitter words, let's smother My d.a.m.ned Son, that thy two sweet Sonnes smother'd.

The Trumpet sounds, be copious in exclaimes.

Enter King Richard, and his Traine.

Rich. Who intercepts me in my Expedition?

Dut. O she, that might haue intercepted thee By strangling thee in her accursed wombe, From all the slaughters (Wretch) that thou hast done

Qu. Hid'st thou that Forhead with a Golden Crowne Where't should be branded, if that right were right?

The slaughter of the Prince that ow'd that Crowne, And the dyre death of my poore Sonnes, and Brothers.

Tell me thou Villaine-slaue, where are my Children?

Dut. Thou Toad, thou Toade, Where is thy Brother Clarence?

And little Ned Plantagenet his Sonne?

Qu. Where is the gentle Riuers, Vaughan, Gray?

Dut. Where is kinde Hastings?

Rich. A flourish Trumpets, strike Alarum Drummes: Let not the Heauens heare these Tell-tale women Raile on the Lords Annointed. Strike I say.

Flourish. Alarums.

Either be patient, and intreat me fayre, Or with the clamorous report of Warre, Thus will I drowne your exclamations

Dut. Art thou my Sonne?

Rich. I, I thanke G.o.d, my Father, and your selfe

Dut. Then patiently heare my impatience

Rich. Madam, I haue a touch of your condition, That cannot brooke the accent of reproofe

Dut. O let me speake