K. Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.Brother, we have done deeds of charity; Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling, wrong-incensed peers. Glo. A blessed labor, my most sovereign liege.Among this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, If I unwittingly, or in my rage, Have aught committed that is hardly borne To reconcile me to his friendly peace: I hate it, and desire all good men's love.- If ever any grudge were lodged between us;- Q. Eliz. A holiday shall this be kept hereafter:- Who knows not that the gentle duke is dead? You do him injury to scorn his corse. [They all start. K. Edw. Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is? Q. Eliz. All-seeing Heaven, what a world is this! Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest? Dor. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence, But his red color hath forsook his cheeks. K. Edw. Is Clarence dead? The order was reversed. Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear; Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried:God grant that some, less noble, and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion. Enter STANLey. Stan. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! K. Edw. I pr'ythee, peace; my soul is full of sor row. Stan. I will not rise, unless your highness hear me. K. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou request'st? Stan. The forfeit,' sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman, Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. K. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? 1 He means the remission of the forfeit. All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters, or your waiting vassals, you all But for my brother, not a man would speak,- [Exeunt King, Queen, HASTINGS, RIVERS, DORSET, and GREY. Glo. This is the fruit of rashness!-Marked you not, How that the guilty kindred of the queen Looked pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death? O! they did urge it still unto the king: God will revenge it. Come, lords; will you go, To comfort Edward with our company? Buck. We wait upon your grace. SCENE II. The same. [Exeunt. Enter the DUCHESS of YORK,2 with a Son and Daughter of CLARENCE. Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead? 1 Hastings was lord chamberlain to king Edward IV. 2 Cecily, daughter of Ralph Neville, first earl of Westmoreland, and widow of Richard duke of York, who was killed at the battle of Wakefield, 1460. She survived her husband thirty-five years, living till the year 1495. Daugh. Why do you weep so oft? and beat your breast; And cry-O, Clarence, my unhappy son! Son. Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us-orphans, wretches, cast-aways, If that our noble father be alive? Duch. My pretty cousins,' you mistake me both; I do lament the sickness of the king, As loath to lose him, not your father's death; It were lost sorrow, to wail one that's lost. Son. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will impórtune Daugh. And so will I. Duch. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father's death. And he would love me dearly as his child. Duch. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice! He is my son, ay, and therein my shame, 2 Son. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, grandam? Duch. Ay, boy. Son. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? 1 The duchess is here addressing her grand children; but cousin seems to have been used instead of kinsman and kinswoman, and to have supplied the place of both. 2 This word g ve no offence to our ancestors; it was used even in the most refined poetry. Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, distractedly; RIVERS, and DORSET, following her. Q. Eliz. Ah! who shall hinder me to wail and weep? To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I'll join with black despair against my soul, Duch. What means this scene of rude impatience? If That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow, As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband's death, But now two mirrors of his princely semblance To overgo thy plaints, and drown thy cries! Son. Ah, aunt! you wept not for our father's death; How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Daugh. Our fatherless distress was left unmoaned; Your widow-dolor likewise be unwept! Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation; I am not barren to bring forth laments: 1 The children by whom he was represented. |