THE

LIFE and DEATH

O F

RICHARD III, &c.

ACTI SCENE I.

Enter Richard Duke of Glo'fter, folus.

Wreaths,

OW is the Winter of our Difcontent,
Made glorious Summer by this Sun of York:
And all the Clouds that lowr'd upon our
House,

In the deep Bofom of the Ocean bury'd.
Now are our Brows bound with Victorious

Our bruifed Arms hung up for Monuments;
Our stern Alarums chang'd to merry Meetings;
Our dreadful Marches to delightful Meafures.
Grim-vifag'd War hath smooth'd his wrinkled Front;
And now, inftead of mounting Barbed Steeds,
VOL. IV,
G #

To

To fright the Souls of fearful Adverfaries,
He capers nimbly in a Lady's Chamber,
To the lafcivious pleafing of a Lute.

But I, that am not fhap'd for fportive Tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous Looking-glafs,
I, that am rudely ftampt, and want Love's Majefty,
To ftrut before a wanton ambling Nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair Proportion,
Cheated of Feature by diffembling Nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, fent before my time
Into this breathing World, fcarce half made up,
And that fo lamely and unfashionable,
That Dogs bark at me, as I halt by them:
Why I (in this weak piping time of Peace)
Have no delight to pafs away the time,
Unlefs to fee my Shadow in the Sun,
And defcant on mine own Deformity.
And therefore, fince I cannot prove a Lover,
To entertain thefe fair well-fpoken Days,
I am determined to prove a Villain,
And hate the idle Pleafures of these Days.
Plots have I laid, Inductions dangerous,
By drunken Prophefies, Libels, and Dreams,
To fet my Brother Clarence and the King
In deadly hate, the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as True and Juft,
As I am Subtle, Falfe and Treacherous,
This Day fhould Clarence clofely be mew'd up,
About a Prophefie, which fays, that G

Of Edward's Heirs the Murtherer fhall be.
Dive Thoughts down to my Soul, here Clarence comes.
Enter Clarence, and Brakenbury, guarded.
Brother, good Day; what means this armed Guard
That waits upon your Grace?

Clar. His Majefty, tendring my Person's safety,
Hath appointed this Conduct to convey me to th' Tower.
Glo. Upon what Cause?

Glo. Alack, my Lord, that Fault is none of

Clar. Becaufe my Name is George.

yours:

He should for that commit your Godfathers.
O belike, his Majefty hath fome intent,

That

That you fhould be new Chriftned in the Tower.
But what's the Matter, Clarence, may I know?
Clar. Yea Richard, when I know; but I proteft
As yet I do not; but as I can learn,

He harkens after Prophefies and Dreams,
And from the Crofs-row plucks the letter 6;
And fays a Wizard told him, that by G,
His Iffue difinherited fhould be.

And for my Name of George begins with G,
It follows in his Thought that I am he."
Thefe, as I learn, and fuch like toys as thefe,
Have mov'd his Highnefs to commit me now.

Glo. Why this it is, when Men are rul'd by Women.
'Tis not the King that fends you to the Tower;
My Lady Gray his Wife, Clarence, 'tis fhe,
That tempts him to this barth Extremity:
Was it not the, and that good Man of Worship,
Anthony Woodvil her Brother there,

That made him fend Lord Haftings to the Tower From whence this Day he is delivered.

We are not fafe, Clarence, we are not safe.

Clar. By Heaven, I think there is no Man fecure
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 Haftings was 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 her felf,
Since that our Brother dub'd them Gentlewomen,
Are mighty Goffips in our Monarchy.

Brak. I befeech your Graces both to pardon me,
His Majefty hath ftraightly given in charge,
That no Man fhall have private Conference,
Of what degree foever, with your Brother.
Glo. Even fo, and please your worship, Brakenbury!
You may partake of any thing we fay:
We speak no Treason, Min we fay the King

Is wife and virtuous, and his noble Queen
Well ftrook in Years, fair, and not jealous.
We fay, that Shore's Wife hath a pretty Foot,

A cherry Lip, a bonny Eye, a palling pleafing Tongue:
That the Queen's Kindred are made Gentle-folks.

How fay you, Sir? can you deny all this?

Brak. With this, my Lord, my felf have nought to do.
Glo. Naught to do with Miftrefs Shore?

I tell thee, Fellow, he that doth naught with her,
Excepting one, were beft to do it fecretly alone.
Brak, What one, my Lord?

Glo. Her Husband, Knave--would'ft thou betray me?
Brak. I do befeech your Grace

To pardon me, and withal forbear

Your Conferencs with the noble Duke.

Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. Glo. We are the Queen's Abjects, and must obey.

Brother farewel, I will unto the King,

And whatfoe'er you will employ me in,
Were it to call King Edward's Widow, Sister,
I will perform it to infranchife you.

Mean time, this deep difgrace of Brotherhood,
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.
Clar. I know it pleafcth neither of us well,
Glo. Well, your Imprifonment fhall not be long,
I will deliver you, or elfe lye for you:
Mean time have patience,

Clar. I muft perforce; farewel

Ex. Brak. Clar,

Glo. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return:

Simple plain Clarence I do love thee fo,
That I will fhortly fend thy Soul to Heav'r,
If Heav'n will take the Prefent at our Hands;

But who comes here? the new deliver'd Haftings?
Enter Lord Haftings.

Haft. 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 Imprifonment?
Haft. With patience, noble Lord, as Prifoners mufta
But I thall live, my Lord, to give them thanks
That were the caufe of my Imprifonment,

Glo.

Glo. No doubt, no doubt, and fo fhall Clarence too,
For they that were your Enemies are his,
And have prevail'd as much on him, as you.

Haft. More pity, that the Eagles fhould be mew'd, Whiles Kites and Buzzards play at Liberty.

Glo. What News abroad?

Haft. No News fo bad abroad as this at home:
The King is fickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his Phyficians fear him mightily.

Glo. Now by St. John, that news is bad indeed.
O he hath kept an evil Diet long,

And over-much confum'd his Royal Perfon: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. Where is he, in his Bcd?

Haft. He is.

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

[Exit Haftings. He cannot live, I hope; and must not die, 'Till George be pack'd with post-horfe up to Heav'n. I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence, Which lyes well fteel'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 buftle in.

For then, I'll marry Warwick's youngest Daughter:
What though I kill'd her Husband, and her Father,
The readieft way to make the Wench amends,
Is to become her Husband and her Father: -
The which will I, not all fo much for Love,
As for another fecret clofe intent,

By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my Horfe to Market:
Clarence ftill breaths, Edward ftill lives and reigns,
When they are gone, then muft I count my Gains.

[Exit.