KING RICHARD III. William Shakespeare

thee, fellow,

       He that doth naught with her, excepting one,

       Were best to do it secretly alone.

       BRAKENBURY

       What one, my lord?

       GLOSTER

       Her husband, knave:—wouldst thou betray me?

       BRAKENBURY

       I do beseech your grace to pardon me; and, withal,

       Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

       CLARENCE

       We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

       GLOSTER

       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.

       Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood

       Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

       CLARENCE

       I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

       GLOSTER

       Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;

       I will deliver or else lie for you:

       Meantime, have patience.

       CLARENCE

       I must perforce: farewell.

       [Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and guard.]

       GLOSTER

       Go tread the path that thou shalt ne’er return.

       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-delivered Hastings?

       [Enter HASTINGS.]

       HASTINGS

       Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

       GLOSTER

       As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain!

       Well are you welcome to the open air.

       How hath your lordship brook’d imprisonment?

       HASTINGS

       With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must;

       But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks

       That were the cause of my imprisonment.

       GLOSTER

       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.

       HASTINGS

       More pity that the eagles should be mew’d

       Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

       GLOSTER

       What news abroad?

       HASTINGS

       No news so bad abroad as this at home,—

       The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy,

       And his physicians fear him mightily.

       GLOSTER

       Now, by Saint Paul, that news is bad indeed.

       O, he hath kept an evil diet long,

       And overmuch consum’d his royal person:

       ‘Tis very grievous to be thought upon.

       What, is he in his bed?

       HASTINGS

       He is.

       GLOSTER

       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.]

      SCENE II. London. Another street

       [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 awhile obsequiously lament

       Th’ 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 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 adders, spiders, toads,

       Or any creeping venom’d 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;

       And still, as you are weary of this weight,