When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,
And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes;
And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout,
Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland ;-
His curses, then from bitterness of soul
Denounc'd against thee, are all fallen upon thee;
And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.
Queen. So just is God, to right the innocent.
Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed, to slay that babe,
And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of.

621

Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

Dors. No man but prophesy'd revenge for it.
Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.
Q. Mar. What! were you snarling all, before I

came,

Ready to catch each other by the throat,

And turn you all, your hatred now on me?

629

Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven,

That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,

Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment,

Could all but answer for that peevish brat?

Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven ? Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick

curses!

Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,
As ours by murder, to make him a king!
Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales,
For Edward my son, that was prince of Wales,
Die in his youth, by like untimely violence!

640 Thyself

Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Out-live thy glory, like my wretched self!
Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss;
And see another, as I see thee now,

Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine !
Long die thy happy days before thy death;
And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief,
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!-
Rivers-and Dorset-you were standers by-
And so wast thou, lord Hastings-when my son 650
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers; God, I pray him,
That none of you may live your natural age,
But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag.

Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.

If heaven have any grievous plague in store,

Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
O, let them keep it, 'till thy sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their indignation

659

On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!

No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,

Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!

Thou elvish-mark'd abortive, rooting hog!
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity

The

The slave of nature, and the son of hell!
Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb !
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins !
Thou rag of honour! thou detested-

Glo. Margaret !

Q. Mar. Richard!

Glo. Ha!

670

Q. Mar. I call thee not.

Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think, That thou had'st call'd me all these bitter names.

680

Q. Mar. Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse. Glo. 'Tis done by me; and ends in-Margaret. Queen. Thus have you breath'd your curse against

yourself.

Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my

fortune!

Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider,
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me
To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-back toad.
Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantick curse;
Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience.
Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you! you have all mov'd

mine.

690

Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught

your duty.

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me duty,

D

Teach

Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects:
O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty.
Dors. Dispute not with her, she is lunatick.

Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert;

Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current:
O, that your young nobility could judge,

What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable!

700

They that stand high, have many blasts to shake

them;

And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

Glo. Good counsel, marry;-learn it, learn it,

marquis.

Dors. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. Glo. Ay, and much more: But I was born so high, Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.

711

Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade; -alas! alas!Witness my sun, now in the shade of death; Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest :O God, that see'st it, do not suffer it; As it was won with blood, lost be it so Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity. Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me; Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. My charity is outrage, life my shameAnd in my shame still live my sorrow's rage! Buck. Have done, have done.

720

Q. Mar. Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I'll kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Now fair befall thee, and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

Buck. Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky,

730

And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.
O Buckingham, beware of yonder dog;
Look, when he fawns, he bites; and, when he bites,
His venom tooth will rankle to the death :

Have not to do with him, beware of him;

Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks upon him;
And all their ministers attend on him.

Glo. What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?
Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.
Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle

: counsel?

And sooth the devil that I warn thee from? I
O, but remember this another day,
When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow
And say, poor Margarét was a prophetess.
Live each of you the subjects to his hate,

And he to your's, and all of you to 'God's!

740

[Exit.

Buck. My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.
Riv. And so doth mine; I wonder, she's at liberty.
Glo. I cannot blame her, by God's holy mother;

She hath had too much wrong, and I repent
My part thereof, that I have done to her.

Dij

750 Queen.