2.txt

row to wail one that’s lost .
Then , you conclude , my grandam , he is dead .
The King mine uncle is to blame for it .
God will revenge it , whom I will importune
With earnest prayers , all to that effect .
And so will I .
Peace , children , peace . The King doth love you well .
Incapable and shallow innocents ,
You cannot guess who caused your father’s death .
Grandam , we can , for my good uncle Gloucester
Told me the King , provoked to it by the Queen ,
Devised impeachments to imprison him ;
And when my uncle told me so , he wept ,
And pitied me , and kindly kissed my cheek ,
Bade me rely on him as on my father ,
And he would love me dearly as a child .
Ah , that deceit should steal such gentle shape ,
And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice .
He is my son , ay , and therein my shame ,
Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit .
Think you my uncle did dissemble , grandam ?
Ay , boy .
I cannot think it . Hark , what noise is this ?
Ah , who shall hinder me to wail and weep ,
To chide my fortune and torment myself ?
I’ll join with black despair against my soul
And to myself become an enemy .
What means this scene of rude impatience ?
To make an act of tragic violence .
Edward , my lord , thy son , our king , is dead .
Why grow the branches when the root is gone ?
Why wither not the leaves that want their sap ?
If you will live , lament . If die , be brief ,
That our swift-wingèd souls may catch the King’s ,
Or , like obedient subjects , follow him
To his new kingdom of ne’er-changing night .
Ah , so much interest have I in thy sorrow
As I had title in thy noble husband .
I have bewept a worthy husband’s death
And lived with looking on his images ;
But now two mirrors of his princely semblance
Are cracked in pieces by malignant death ,
And I , for comfort , have but one false glass
That grieves me when I see my shame in him .
Thou art a widow , yet thou art a mother ,
And hast the comfort of thy children left ,
But death hath snatched my husband from mine arms
And plucked two crutches from my feeble hands ,
Clarence and Edward . O , what cause have I ,
Thine being but a moiety of my moan ,
To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries !
Ah , aunt , you wept not for our father’s death .
How can we aid you with our kindred tears ?
Our fatherless distress was left unmoaned .
Your widow-dolor likewise be unwept !
Give me no help in lamentation .
I am not barren to bring forth complaints .
All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes ,
That I , being governed by the watery moon ,
May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world .
Ah , for my husband , for my dear lord Edward !
Ah , for our father , for our dear lord Clarence !
Alas for both , both mine , Edward and Clarence !
What stay had I but Edward ? And he’s gone .
What stay had we but Clarence ? And he’s gone .
What stays had I but they ? And they are gone .
Was never widow had so dear a loss .
Were never orphans had so dear a loss .
Was never mother had so dear a loss .
Alas , I am the mother of these griefs .
Their woes are parceled ; mine is general .
She for an Edward weeps , and so do I ;
I for a Clarence weep ; so doth not she .
These babes for Clarence weep , and so do I ;
I for an Edward weep ; so do not they .
Alas , you three , on me , threefold distressed ,
Pour all your tears . I am your sorrow’s nurse ,
And I will pamper it with lamentation .
Comfort , dear mother . God is much displeased
That you take with unthankfulness His doing .
In common worldly things , ’tis called ungrateful
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent ;
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven ,
For it requires the royal debt it lent you .
Madam , bethink you , like a careful mother ,
Of the young prince your son . Send straight for him .
Let him be crowned . In him your comfort lives .
Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward’s grave
And plant your joys in living Edward’s throne .
Sister , have comfort . All of us have cause
To wail the dimming of our shining star ,
But none can help our harms by wailing them . —
Madam my mother , I do cry you mercy ;
I did not see your Grace . Humbly on my knee
I crave your blessing .
God bless thee , and put meekness in thy breast ,
Love , charity , obedience , and true duty .
Amen . And make me die a good old man !
That is the butt end of a mother’s blessing ;
I marvel that her Grace did leave it out .
You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers
That bear this heavy mutual load of moan ,
Now cheer each other in each other’s love .
Though we have spent our harvest of this king ,
We are to reap the harvest of his son .
The broken rancor of your high-swoll’n hates ,
But lately splintered , knit , and joined together ,
Must gently be preserved , cherished , and kept .
Meseemeth good that with some little train
Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet
Hither to London , to be crowned our king .
Why “ with some little train , ” my lord of Buckingham ?
Marry , my lord , lest by a multitude
The new-healed wound of malice should break out ,
Which would be so much the more dangerous
By how much the estate is green and yet ungoverned .
Where every horse bears his commanding rein
And may direct his course as please himself ,
As well the fear of harm as harm apparent ,
In my opinion , ought to be prevented .
I hope the King made peace with all of us ;
And the compact is firm and true in me .
And so in me , and so , I think , in all .
Yet since it is but green , it should be put
To no apparent likelihood of breach ,
Which haply by much company might be urged .
Therefore I say with noble Buckingham
That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince .
And so say I .
Then be it so , and go we to determine
Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow . —
Madam , and you , my sister , will you go
To give your censures in this business ?
My lord , whoever journeys to the Prince ,
For God’s sake let not us two stay at home .
For by the way I’ll sort occasion ,
As index to the story we late talked of ,
To part the Queen’s proud kindred from the Prince .
My other self , my council’s consistory ,
My oracle , my prophet , my dear cousin ,
I , as a child , will go by thy direction .
Toward Ludlow then , for we’ll not stay behind .
Good morrow , neighbor , whither away so fast ?
I promise you I scarcely know myself .
Hear you the news abroad ?
Yes , that the King is dead .
Ill news , by ’r Lady . Seldom comes the better .
I fear , I fear , ’twill prove a giddy world .
Neighbors , God speed .
Give you good morrow , sir .
Doth the news hold of good King Edward’s death ?
Ay , sir , it is too true , God help the while .
Then , masters , look to see a troublous world .
No , no , by God’s good grace , his son shall reign .
Woe to that land that’s governed by a child .
In him there is a hope of government ,
Which , in his nonage , council under him ,
And , in his full and ripened years , himself ,
No doubt shall then , and till then , govern well .
So stood the state when Henry the Sixth
Was crowned in Paris but at nine months old .
Stood the state so ? No , no , good friends , God wot ,
For then this land was famously enriched
With politic grave counsel ; then the King
Had virtuous uncles to protect his Grace .
Why , so hath this , both by his father and mother .
Better it were they all came by his father ,
Or by his father there were none at all ,
For emulation who shall now be nearest
Will touch us all too near if God prevent not .
O , full of dang