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Clar. As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt.
L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear my task?
K. Edw. An easy task; 'tis but to love a king.
L. Grey. That's soon perform’d, because I am a subject.
K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely give
L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand thanks.
Glo. The match is made; she seals it with a curt'sy.
K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean.
L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.
K. Edw. Ay, but I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks, my
prayers; That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants.
K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. L. Grey. Why, then you mean not as I thought you
did. K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my mind.
L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.
K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.
L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.
K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's
lands. L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower; For by that loss I will not purchase them.
K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them and
Bụt, mighty lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadness of my suit;
Please you dismiss me, either with
ay, or no.
K. Edw. Ay; if thou wilt say ay, to my request :
No; if thou dost say no, to my demand.
L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. Glo. The widow likes him not, she knits her brows.
[Aside. Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.
[Aside. K. Edw. (Aside.] Her looks do argue her replete with
Her words do show her wit incomparable ;
All her perfections challenge sovereignty :
One way, or other, she is for a king;
And she shall be my love, or else my queen.-
Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen?
L. Grey. "Tis better said than done, my gracious lord :
I am a subject fit to jest withal,
But far unfit to be a sovereign.
K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee,
I speak no more than what my soul intends ;
And that is, to enjoy thee for my love.
L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield unto:
I know, I am too mean to be your queen ;
And yet too good to be your concubine.
K. Edw. You cavil, widow; I did mean, my queen.
L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace, my sons should call
K. Edw. No more, than when thy daughters call thee
mother. Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor,
Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing
To be the father unto many sons.
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.
Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.
[ Aside. Clar. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift.
[Aside. K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have
had. Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad. K. Edw. You'd think it strange if I should marry her. Clar. To whom, my lord ? K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least. Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes.
K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers : I can tell you both, Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.
Enter a Nobleman.
Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,
And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.
K. Edw. See, that he be convey'd unto the Tower :-
And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
To question of his apprehension.-
Widow, go you along ;-Lords, use her honourable.
[Ereunt King EDWARD, Lady GREY, CLARENCE,
and Lord. Glo. Ay, Edward will use women honourably. 'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for!
And yet, between my soul's desire and me,
(The lustful Edward's title buried,)
Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies,
To take their rooms, ere I can place myself:
A cold premeditation for my purpose !
Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty ;
Like one that stands upon a promontory,
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye;
And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,
Saying-he'll lade it dry to have his way:
So do I wish the crown, being so far off;
And so I chide the means that keep me from it;
And so I say—I'll cut the causes off ;
Flattering me with impossibilities.-
My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,
Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard ;
What other pleasure can the world afford ?
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
O miserable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns !
Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb :
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where sits deformity to mock my body;
To shape my legs of an unequal size;
To disproportion me in every part,
Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impression like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov’d ?
0, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!
Then, since this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to check, to o'erbear such
As are of better person than myself,
I'll make my heaven—to dream upon the crown;
And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell,
Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head,
Be round impaled with a glorious crown.
And yet I know not how to get the crown,
For many lives stand between me and home :
And I,—like one lost in a thorny wood,
That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns;
Seeking a way, and straying from the way;
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling desperately to find it out,-
Torment myself to catch the English crown :
And from that torment I will free myself,
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.
Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile;
And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart;
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions.
I'll drown inore sailors than the mermaid shall;
I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk ;
I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,
Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy ;
ļ can add colours to the cameleon ;