And says-a wizard told him, that by G
His issue disinherited should be ;
And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought, that I am he:
These, as I learn, and such like toys* as these,
Have mov’d his highness to commit me now.
Glo. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by wo-

men :-
'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower;
My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she,
That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she, and that good mạn of worship,
Antony Woodeville, her brother there,
That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower;
From whence this present day he is deliver'd ?
We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe.

Clar. By heaven, I think, there is no man secure But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore. Heard you not, what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?

Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity, Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. I'll tell you what, I think, it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, To be her men, and wear her livery : The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herselft, Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen, Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge, That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother. Glo. Even so ? an please your worship, Braken

bury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speak no treason, man ;--We say the king Is wise and virtuous; and his noble queen Well struck in years; fair and not jealous; # Fancies.

We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip,
A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks :
How say you, sir ? can you deny all this?
Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to

do. Glo. Naught to do with mistress' Shore? I tell

thee, fellow,
He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best to do it secretly, alone.

Brak. What one, my lord ?
Glo. Her husband, knave:-Would'st thou betray

me ? Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me; and,

withal, Forbear your conference with the noble duke. Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will

obey. Glo. We are the queen's abjects*, and must obey. Brother, farewell : I will unto the king; And whatsoe'er you will employ me in, Were it, to call king Edward's widow-sister, I will perform it to enfranchise you. Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood, Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; I will deliver you, or else lie for you : Mean time, have patience. Clar.

I must perforce; farewell. [Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er re

turn. Simple, plain Clarence !—I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?

# Lowest of subjects.

Enter Hastings. Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord !

Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain ! Well are you welcome to this open

air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks, That were the cause of my imprisonment, Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence

too; For they that were your enemies, are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

Hast. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd*, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

Glo. What news abroad?

Hast. No news so bad abroad, as this at home :The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy; And his physicians fear him mightily.

Glo. Now, by saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And over-much consum'd his royal person ;
"Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, is he in his bed ?
Hast.

He is.
Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you.

(Exit Hastings.
He cannot live, I hope; and must not die,
Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven.
I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live :
Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy,
And leave the world for me to bustle in !
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter:
What though I kill'd her husband and her father ?
The readiest way to make the wench amends,
Is to become her husband, and her father :

The which will I; not all so much for love,
As for another secret close intent,
By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes : Edward still lives, and

reigns ; When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

[Exit.

Enter the corpse of King Henry the Sixth, borne in

an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberds, to guard it; and Lady Anne as mourner. Anne. Set down, set down, your honourable

load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, 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! 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'd son, Stabb'd 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 : 0, cursed be the hand that made these holes ! 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, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping, venom'd thing that lives !

If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to ligbt,
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, toward Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
And, still as you are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse.
[The Bearers take up the corse and advance.

Enter Gloster.
Glo. Stay you that bear the corse, and set it

down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this

fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds? Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by saint

Paul,
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

i Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I com

mand :
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,
Or, by saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

[The bearers set down the coffin.
Anne. 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 hast but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone.

Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and

trouble us not: For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,