The Complete Works of William Shakespeare · William Shakespeare
SCENE II. London. Another street
Enter the corse of King Henry the Sixth, with Halberds to guard it, Lady Anne, being the mourner, Tressel and Berkeley and other Gentlemen. 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 slaughtered son, Stabbed 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, cursed be the hand that made these holes; Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it; Cursed 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 venomed 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 interred there; And still, as you are weary of this weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry’s corse.
RICHARD. Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. ANNE. Villain, thou know’st nor law of God nor man. No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. RICHARD. But I know none, and therefore am no beast. ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! RICHARD. More wonderful when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed crimes to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffused infection of a man, Of these known evils but to give me leave, By circumstance, to accuse thy cursed self. RICHARD. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. ANNE. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current but to hang thyself. RICHARD. By such despair I should accuse myself. ANNE. And by despairing shalt thou stand excused For doing worthy vengeance on thyself That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. RICHARD. Say that I slew them not? ANNE. Then say they were not slain. But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. RICHARD. I did not kill your husband. ANNE. Why then he is alive. RICHARD. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward’s hand. ANNE. In thy foul throat thou liest. Queen Margaret saw Thy murd’rous falchion smoking in his blood, The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point.
RICHARD. I was provoked by her sland’rous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. ANNE. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, That never dream’st on aught but butcheries. Didst thou not kill this King? RICHARD. I grant ye. ANNE. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed. O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. RICHARD. The better for the King of Heaven that hath him. ANNE. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. RICHARD. Let him thank me that holp to send him thither, For he was fitter for that place than earth. ANNE. And thou unfit for any place but hell. RICHARD. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. ANNE. Some dungeon. RICHARD. Your bed-chamber. ANNE. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest! RICHARD. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. ANNE. I hope so. RICHARD. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall something into a slower method: Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner? ANNE. Thou wast the cause and most accursed effect. RICHARD. Your beauty was the cause of that effect: Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.
ANNE. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. RICHARD. These eyes could not endure that beauty’s wrack; You should not blemish it if I stood by. As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life. ANNE. Black night o’ershade thy day, and death thy life. RICHARD. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. ANNE. I would I were, to be revenged on thee. RICHARD. It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth thee. ANNE. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that killed my husband. RICHARD. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. ANNE. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. RICHARD. He lives that loves thee better than he could. ANNE. Name him. RICHARD. Plantagenet. ANNE. Why, that was he. RICHARD. The selfsame name, but one of better nature. ANNE. Where is he? RICHARD. Here. [_She spits at him._] Why dost thou spit at me? ANNE. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake. RICHARD. Never came poison from so sweet a place. ANNE. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.