King Richard III | Page 7

their aspects with store of childish drops: These eyes,
which never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and
Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When
black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike
father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death, And twenty
times made pause, to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet
their cheeks, Like trees bedash'd with rain; in that sad time My manly
eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not
thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I
never su'd to friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet
smoothing word; But, now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, My proud
heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.
[She looks scornfully at him.]
Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made For kissing, lady, not for
such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend
thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true
breast And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the
deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee, Nay, do not
pause; for I did kill King Henry,--
[He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword.]
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that
stabb'd young Edward,--
[She again offers at his breast.]
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
[She lets fall the sword.]
Take up the sword again, or take up me.
ANNE. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be thy
executioner.
GLOSTER. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
ANNE. I have already.
GLOSTER. That was in thy rage: Speak it again, and even with the
word, This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love; Shall, for thy love,

kill a far truer love; To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
ANNE. I would I knew thy heart.
GLOSTER. 'Tis figured in my tongue.
ANNE. I fear me both are false.
GLOSTER. Then never was man true.
ANNE. Well, well, put up your sword.
GLOSTER. Say, then, my peace is made.
ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter.
GLOSTER. But shall I live in hope?
ANNE. All men, I hope, live so.
GLOSTER. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
ANNE. To take is not to give.
[She puts on the ring.]
GLOSTER. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, Even so thy
breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them
are thine. And if thy poor devoted servant may But beg one favour at
thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.
ANNE. What is it?
GLOSTER. That it may please you leave these sad designs To him that
hath most cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby Place;
Where,--after I have solemnly interr'd At Chertsey monastery, this
noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears,-- I will with all
expedient duty see you: For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,
Grant me this boon.
ANNE. With all my heart; and much it joys me too To see you are
become so penitent.-- Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.
GLOSTER. Bid me farewell.
ANNE. 'Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to
flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already.
[Exeunt Lady Anne, Tress, and Berk.]
GLOSTER. Sirs, take up the corse.
GENTLEMEN. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?
GLOSTER. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming.
[Exeunt the rest, with the Corpse.]
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this
humour won? I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. What! I that
kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest

hate; With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness
of her hatred by; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against
me, And I no friends to back my suit withal, But the plain devil and
dissembling looks, And yet to win her,--all the world to nothing! Ha!
Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I,
some three months since, Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A
sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,-- Fram'd in the prodigality of nature,
Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,-- The spacious world
cannot again afford: And will she yet abase her eyes on me, That
cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to
a woeful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me,
that halt and am