596 Rich. In all which time, you and your Husband Grey

597Were factious, for the House of Lancaster;

598And Riuers, so were you: Was not your Husband,

599In Margarets Battaile, at Saint Albons, slaine?

600Let me put in your mindes, if you forget

601What you haue beene ere this, and what you are:

602Withall, what I haue beene, and what I am.

603Q.M. A murth'rous Villaine, and so still thou art.

604Rich. Poore Clarence did forsake his Father Warwicke,

605I, and forswore himselfe (which Iesu pardon.)

606Q.M. Which God reuenge.

607Rich. To fight on Edwards partie, for the Crowne,

608And for his meede, poore Lord, he is mewed vp:

609I would to God my heart were Flint, like Edwards,

610Or Edwards soft and pittifull, like mine;

611I am too childish foolish for this World.

612Q.M. High thee to Hell for shame, & leaue this World

613Thou Cacodemon, there thy Kingdome is.

614Riu. My Lord of Gloster: in those busie dayes,

615Which here you vrge, to proue vs Enemies,

616We follow'd then our Lord, our Soueraigne King,

617So should we you, if you should be our King.

618Rich. If I should be? I had rather be a Pedler:

619Farre be it from my heart, the thought thereof.

620Qu. As little ioy (my Lord) as you suppose

621You should enioy, were you this Countries King,

622As little ioy you may suppose in me,

623That I enioy, being the Queene thereof.

624Q.M. A little ioy enioyes the Queene thereof,

625For I am shee, and altogether ioylesse:

626I can no longer hold me patient.

627Heare me, you wrangling Pyrates, that fall out,

628In sharing that which you haue pill'd from me:

629Which off you trembles not, that lookes on me?

630If not, that I am Queene, you bow like Subiects;

631Yet that by you depos'd, you quake like Rebells.

632Ah gentle Villaine, doe not turne away.

633Rich. Foule wrinckled Witch, what mak'st thou in my (sight?

634Q.M. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd,

635That will I make, before I let thee goe.

636Rich. Wert thou not banished, on paine of death?

637Q.M. I was: but I doe find more paine in banishment,

638Then death can yeeld me here, by my abode.

639A Husband and a Sonne thou ow'st to me,

640And thou a Kingdome; all of you, allegeance:

641This Sorrow that I haue, by right is yours,

642And all the Pleasures you vsurpe, are mine.

643Rich. The Curse my Noble Father layd on thee,

644When thou didst Crown his Warlike Brows with Paper,

645And with thy scornes drew'st Riuers from his eyes,

646And then to dry them, gau'st the Duke a Clowt,

647Steep'd in the faultlesse blood of prettie Rutland:

648His Curses then, from bitternesse of Soule,

649Denounc'd against thee, are all falne vpon thee:

650And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.

651Qu. So iust is God, to right the innocent.

652Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that Babe,

653And the most mercilesse, that ere was heard of.

654Riu. Tyrants themselues wept when it was reported.

655Dors. No man but prophecied reuenge for it.

656Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

657Q.M. What? were you snarling all before I came,

658Ready to catch each other by the throat,

659And turne you all your hatred now on me?

660Did Yorkes dread Curse preuaile so much with Heauen,

661That Henries death, my louely Edwards death,

662Their Kingdomes losse, my wofull Banishment,

663Should all but answer for that peeuish Brat?

664Can Curses pierce the Clouds, and enter Heauen?

665Why then giue way dull Clouds to my quick Curses.

666Though not by Warre, by Surfet dye your King,

667As ours by Murther, to make him a King.

668Edward thy Sonne, that now is Prince of Wales,

669For Edward our Sonne, that was Prince of Wales,

670Dye in his youth, by like vntimely violence.

671Thy selfe a Queene, for me that was a Queene,

672Out-liue thy glory, like my wretched selfe:

673Long may'st thou liue, to wayle thy Childrens death,

674And see another, as I see thee now,

675Deck'd in thy Rights, as thou art stall'd in mine.

676Long dye thy happie dayes, before thy death,

677And after many length'ned howres of griefe,

678Dye neyther Mother, Wife, nor Englands Queene.

679Riuers and Dorset, you were standers by,

680And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my Sonne

681Was stab'd with bloody Daggers: God, I pray him,

682That none of you may liue his naturall age,

683But by some vnlook'd accident cut off.

684Rich. Haue done thy Charme, y^u hateful wither'd Hagge.

685Q.M. And leaue out thee? stay Dog, for y^u shalt heare me.

686If Heauen haue any grieuous plague in store,

687Exceeding those that I can wish vpon thee,

688O let them keepe it, till thy sinnes be ripe,

689And then hurle downe their indignation

690On thee, the troubler of the poore Worlds peace.

691The Worme of Conscience still begnaw thy Soule,

692Thy Friends suspect for Traytors while thou liu'st,

693And take deepe Traytors for thy dearest Friends:

694No sleepe close vp that deadly Eye of thine,

695Vnlesse it be while some tormenting Dreame

696Affrights thee with a Hell of ougly Deuills.

697Thou eluish mark'd, abortiue rooting Hogge,

698Thou that wast seal'd in thy Natiuitie

699The slaue of Nature, and the Sonne of Hell:

700Thou slander of thy heauie Mothers Wombe,

701Thou loathed Issue of thy Fathers Loynes,

702Thou Ragge of Honor, thou detested---

703Rich. Margaret.

704Q.M. Richard. Rich. Ha.

705Q.M. I call thee not.

706Rich. I cry thee mercie then: for I did thinke,

707That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.

708Q.M. Why so I did, but look'd for no reply.

709Oh let me make the Period to my Curse.

710Rich. 'Tis done by me, and ends in Margaret.

711Qu. Thus haue you breath'd your Curse against your self.

712Q.M. Poore painted Queen, vain flourish of my fortune,

713Why strew'st thou Sugar on that Bottel'd Spider,

714Whose deadly Web ensnareth thee about?

715Foole, foole, thou whet'st a Knife to kill thy selfe:

716The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me,

717To helpe thee curse this poysonous Bunch-backt Toade.

718Hast. False boding Woman, end thy frantick Curse,

719Least to thy harme, thou moue our patience.

720Q.M. Foule shame vpon you, you haue all mou'd mine.

721Ri. Were you wel seru'd, you would be taught your duty.

722Q.M. To serue me well, you all should do me duty,

723Teach me to be your Queene, and you my Subiects:

724O serue me well, and teach your selues that duty.

725Dors. Dispute not with her, shee is lunaticke.

726Q.M. Peace Master Marquesse, you are malapert,

727Your fire-new stampe of Honor is scarce currant.