Within their innocent alabafter arms:
Their lips were four red rofes on a stalk,

And in their fummer beauty kifs'd each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay,

Which once (quoth Forrest) almost chang'd my mind:
But, oh! the devil-there the villain stopt:
When Dighton thus told on-we fmothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature,
That from the prime creation e'er fhe framed.—
Hence both are gone with confcience and remorse;
They could not fpeak, and fo I left them both,
To bear these tidings to the bloody King.

Enter King Richard.

And here he comes. All health, my Sovereign Lord!
K. Rich. Kind Tirrel-am I happy in thy news?
Tir. If to have done the thing you gave in charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then;

For it is done.

K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead ?
Tir. I did, my Lord.

K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tirrel ?

Tir. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them, But where, to fay the truth, I do not know.

K. Rich. Come to me, Tirrel, foon, foon after fupper, When thou shalt tell the process of their death.

Mean time-but think, how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy defire.

Farewel, till then.

- [Exit.

Tir. I humbly take my leave. K. Rich. The fon of Clarence have I pent up close : His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage: The fons of Edward fleep in Abraham's bosom: And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night. Now, for I know the Briton Richmond aims At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter; And by that knot looks proudly on the crown; To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.

Catef. My Lord,

Enter Catesby.

K, Rich. Good or bad news, that thou com'ft in fo bluntly?
Catef. Bad news, my Lord; Morton is fled to Richmond.
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,
Is in the field, and fill his power increaseth.

K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near,
Than Buckingham and his rafh-levied army.
Come, I have learn'd, that fearful commenting
Is leaden fervitor to dull delay;

Delay leads impotent and fnail-pac'd beggary.
Then fiery Expedition be my wing,

Jove's Mercury, and herald for a King.

Go mufter men; my council is my fhield,

We must be brief, when traitors brave the field. [Exit,
Enter Queen Margaret.

Q. Mar. So now profperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death:
Here in these confines flily have I lurk'd
To watch the waining of mine enemies.
A dire induction am I witnefs to;

And will to France, hoping, the confequence
Will prove as bitter, black and tragical.

Withdraw thee, wretched Margret ! who comes here?

Enter the Dutchess of York, and Queen.

Queen. Ah, my poor Princes! ah, my tender babes! My unblown flowers, new-appearing fweets!

If yet your gentle fouls fly in the air,

And be not fixt in doom perpetual,

Hover about me with your airy wings,
And hear your mother's lamentation.

Q. Mar. Hover about her; fay, that right for right
Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.
Dutch. So many miferies have craz'd my voice,
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,

Edward

Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

Queen. Wilt thou, O God, fly from fuch gentle lambs, And throw them in the intrails of the wolf?

When did'st thou fleep, when fuch a deed was done?

Q. Mar. When holy Henry dy'd, and my fweet fon. Dutch. Dead life, blind fight, poor mortal living ghoft, Woe's fcene, world's fhame, grave's due, by life ufurp'd, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Reft thy unreft on England's lawful earth, Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.

Queen. Ah, that thou would't as foon afford a grave, As thou canft yield a melancholy seat ;

Then would I hide my bones, not reft them here.
Ah, who hath any caufe to mourn but we ?

Q. Mar. If ancient forrow be most reverent,
Give mine the benefit of figniory;

And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
If forrow can admit fociety,

Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine..
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him :-
I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him.
'Thou had'ft an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him
Thou had'ft a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.

Dutch. I had a Richard too, and thou did't kill him: [him. Q.Mar. Thou had'ft a Clarence too, and Richard kill'ď From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death: That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood; That foul defacer of God's handy-work Thy womb let loofe, to chafe us to our graves. O upright, just, and true-difpofing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur Preys on the iffue of his mother's body; And makes her pue-fellow with others moan!

I had a Rutland too, thou holp'ft to kill him.

Dutch. Oh, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes:

God witnefs with me, I have wept for thine.

Q. Mar. Bear with me: I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it.

M 4

Thy

Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward:
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward:
Young York he is but boot, because both they
Match not the high perfection of my lofs.
Thy Clarence he is dead, that ftab'd my Edward;
And the beholders of this tragic play,

Th' adulterate Haftings, Rivers, Vaughan, Gray,
Untimely fmother'd in their dufky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer,
Only referv'd their factor to buy fouls,

And fend them thither: but at hand, at hand,
Infues his piteous and unpitied end.

[vengeance. Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, faints pray for Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,

That I may live to fay, the dog is dead!

fortune,

Queen. Oh! thou did'ft prophefy, the time would come, That I fhould wish for thee to help me curfe That bottl'd fpider, that foul bunch back'd toad. Q. Mar. I call'd thee then vain flourish of my I call'd thee then poor fhadow, painted Queen, The prefentation of but what I was ; The Hatt'ring index of a direful pageant; One heav'd on high, to be hurl'd down below: A mother only mock'd with two fair babes; A dream of what thou waft; a garish flag, To be the aim of ev'ry dang'rous fhot; A fign of dignity, a breath, a bubble; A Queen, in jeft, only to fill the scene. Where is thy husband now ? where be thy brothers ? Where be thy children? wherein dost thou joy? Who fues and kneels, and fays, God fave the Queen ? Where be the bending Peers, that flatter'd thee? Where be the thronging troops, that follow'd thee? Decline all this, and fee what now thou art. For happy wife, a moft diftreffed widow ; For joyful mother, one that wails the name; For one being fu'd to, one that humbly fues; For Queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care; For one that fcorn'd at me, now fcorn'd of me; For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;

For

For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the courfe of juftice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;

Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou did❜ft ufurp my place, and doft thou not
Ufurp the juft proportion of my forrow?
Now thy proud neck bears half my

burden'd yoke;
From which, ev'n here I flip my wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.

Farewel, York's wife, and Queen of fad mifchance,
Thefe English woes fhall make me fmile in France.
Queen. O thou well-skill'd in curses, stay awhile,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies.

Q. Mar. Forbear to fleep the night, and fast the day: Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think, that thy babes were fweeter than they were, And he, that flew them, fouler than he is: Bett'ring thy lofs makes the bad caufer worse, Revolving this, will teach thee how to curfe.

like mine.

Queen. My words are dull, O! quicken them with thine.
Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce
[Exit Margaret.
Dutch. Why should calamity be full of words?
Queen. Windy attorneys to your client's woes,
Airy fucceeders of inteftate joys, (21)
Poor breathing orators of miferies!

Let them have scope, tho' what they do impart
Helping nothing else, yet they do ease the heart.

Dutch. If fo, then be not tongue-ty'd; go with me,
And in the breath of bitter words let's fmother
My damned fon, that thy two fweet fons fmother'd.
[Drum, within.

I hear his drum, be copious in exclaims.

(21) Airy fucceeders of inteftine jys,] Thus the generality of the editions, from the oldest folio impreffion. But I cannot underfland the reading. I have adopted another from the quarto in 1597, which, I think, must be the true one:

Airy fucceeders of inteftate joys,

i. e. Words, turn'd to complaints, facceed joys that are dead; and mabequeath'd to them, to whom they should properly defcend.

M 5

Enter