ACT 1
Scene 2
...count my gains.
Enter the corse of Henry the Sixth on a bier, with Halberds to guard it, Lady Anne being the mourner, accompanied by Gentlemen.
Set down, set down your honorable load,
If honor may be shrouded in a hearse,
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
Th’ untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
They set down the bier.
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king,
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster,
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 slaughtered son,
Stabbed by the selfsame hand that made these wounds.
Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
O, cursèd be the hand that made these holes;
Cursèd the heart that had the heart to do it;
Cursèd the blood that let this blood from hence.
More direful hap betide that hated wretch
That makes us wretched by the death of thee
Than I can wish to wolves, to spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venomed thing that lives.
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
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
More miserable by the death of him
Than I am made by my young lord and thee.—
Come now towards Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul’s to be interrèd there.
They take up the bier.
And still, as you are weary of this weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry’s corse.
...set it down.
What black magician conjures up this fiend
To stop devoted charitable deeds?
...down the bier.
to the Gentlemen and Halberds
What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid?
Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal,
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.—
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell.
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body;
His soul thou canst not have. Therefore begone.
...not so curst.
Foul devil, for God’s sake, hence, and trouble us not,
For thou hast made the happy Earth thy hell,
Filled it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. She points to the corpse.
O, gentlemen, see, see dead Henry’s wounds
Open their congealed mouths and bleed afresh!—
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,
For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells.
Thy deeds, inhuman and unnatural,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.—
O God, which this blood mad’st, revenge his death!
O Earth, which this blood drink’st, revenge his death!
Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead,
Or Earth gape open wide and eat him quick,
As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood,
Which his hell-governed arm hath butcherèd.
...blessings for curses.
Villain, thou know’st nor law of God nor man.
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.
...am no beast.
O, wonderful, when devils tell the truth!
...to acquit myself.
Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man,
Of these known evils but to give me leave
By circumstance to curse thy cursèd self.
...to excuse myself.
Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make
No excuse current but to hang thyself.
...should accuse myself.
And by despairing shalt thou stand excused
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
...slew them not.
Then say they were not slain.
But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.
...kill your husband.
Why then, he is alive.
...by Edward’s hands.
In thy foul throat thou liest. Queen Margaret saw
Thy murd’rous falchion smoking in his blood,
The which thou once didst bend against her breast,
But that thy brothers beat aside the point.
...my guiltless shoulders.
Thou wast provokèd by thy bloody mind,
That never dream’st on aught but butcheries.
Didst thou not kill this king?
...I grant you.
Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me too
Thou mayst be damnèd for that wicked deed.
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.
...that hath him.
He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.
...place than Earth.
And thou unfit for any place but hell.
...me name it.
Some dungeon.
... Your bedchamber.
Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!
...lie with you.
I hope so.
...as the executioner?
Thou wast the cause and most accursed effect.
...your sweet bosom.
If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.
...day, my life.
Black night o’ershade thy day, and death thy life.
...thou art both.
I would I were, to be revenged on thee.
...that loveth thee.
It is a quarrel just and reasonable
To be revenged on him that killed my husband.
...a better husband.
His better doth not breathe upon the earth.
...than he could.
Name him.
... Plantagenet.
Why, that was he.
...of better nature.
Where is he?
... Here.
(She spits at him.)
...spit at me?
Would it were mortal poison for thy sake.
...sweet a place.
Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
...have infected mine.
Would they were basilisks’ to strike thee dead.
...to speak.
She looks scornfully at him.
...upon my knee.
He kneels and lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword.
...set me on.
She falls the sword.
...take up me.
Arise, dissembler. Though I wish thy death,
I will not be thy executioner.
...will do it.
I have already.
...thou be accessory.
I would I knew thy heart.
...in my tongue.
I fear me both are false.
...was man true.
Well, well, put up your sword.
...peace is made.
That shalt thou know hereafter.
...live in hope?
All men I hope live so.
...wear this ring.
To take is not to give.
He places the ring on her hand.
...his happiness forever.
What is it?
...me this boon.
With all my heart, and much it joys me too
To see you are become so penitent.—
Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.
...Bid me farewell.
’Tis more than you deserve;
But since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said “farewell” already.
Two exit with Anne. The bier is taken up.
ACT 4
Scene 1
...Farewell, gentle friends.
Enter Queen Elizabeth, with the Duchess of York, and the Lord Marquess of Dorset, at one door; Anne, Duchess of Gloucester with Clarence’s daughter, at another door.
...Daughter, well met.
God give your Graces both
A happy and a joyful time of day.
...sister. Whither away?
No farther than the Tower, and, as I guess,
Upon the like devotion as yourselves,
To gratulate the gentle princes there.
...will see them.
Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother.
Then bring me to their sights. I’ll bear thy blame
And take thy office from thee, on my peril.
...this dead-killing news!
Despiteful tidings! O, unpleasing news!
...haste was sent.
And I with all unwillingness will go.
O, would to God that the inclusive verge
Of golden metal that must round my brow
Were red-hot steel to sear me to the brains!
Anointed let me be with deadly venom,
And die ere men can say “God save the Queen.”
...thyself no harm.
No? Why? When he that is my husband now
Came to me as I followed Henry’s corse,
When scarce the blood was well washed from his hands
Which issued from my other angel husband
And that dear saint which then I weeping followed—
O, when, I say, I looked on Richard’s face,
This was my wish: be thou, quoth I, accursed
For making me, so young, so old a widow;
And, when thou wedd’st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife, if any be so mad,
More miserable by the life of thee
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord’s death.
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Within so small a time my woman’s heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words
And proved the subject of mine own soul’s curse,
Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest,
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awaked.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick,
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
...pity thy complaining.
No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.
...welcomer of glory.
Adieu, poor soul that tak’st thy leave of it.
...your stones farewell.
They exit.
ACT 5
Scene 3
...fair England’s sake.
Enter the Ghost of Lady Anne his wife.
(to Richard)
Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife,
That never slept a quiet hour with thee,
Now fills thy sleep with perturbations.
Tomorrow, in the battle, think on me,
And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die!
(To Richmond.)
Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep.
Dream of success and happy victory.
Thy adversary’s wife doth pray for thee.
She exits.