Cuts for Act 1, Scene 2

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Page 11 - Begining of act

LADY ANNE

Set down, set down your honourable load--
[If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
The 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 slaughter'd son,
Stabb'd 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 be 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 wolves, to spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd 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 he made
More miserable by the life 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 the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.]

Enter GLOUCESTER

Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

[What black magician conjures up this fiend,
To stop devoted charitable deeds?]

GLOUCESTER

Unmanner'd dog, stand thou, when I command!
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast.
[Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.]

What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid?
Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal,
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!
[Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.]

Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not,
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
[Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,]
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.
O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh!
Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells.
[Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.]
O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death!
O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death!
Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead,
Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!

LADY ANNE

And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excused
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself
Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

[Say that I slew them not?]

[Why, then they are not dead:
But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee.]

I did not kill your husband.

GLOUCESTER

I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,
[To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall somewhat into a slower method, ]
Is not the causer of <these> timeless deaths
[Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, ]
As blameful as the executioner?

GLOUCESTER

I would they were, that I might die at once;
For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops:
These eyes that never shed remorseful tear,
No, when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made
[When black-faced 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 sued to friend nor enemy;
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing words;
But now thy beauty is proposed my fee,
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

She looks scornfully at him

Teach not thy lips 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.

He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword

Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry,
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward,
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

Here she lets fall the sword

Take up the sword again, or take up me.

LADY ANNE

Well, well, put up your sword.

[Say, then, my peace is made.]

[That shall you know hereafter.]

But shall I live in hope?

GLOUCESTER

That it would please you leave these sad designs
To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
[And presently repair to Crosby Place; ]
<And>, 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.

With all my heart; and much it joys me too,
To see you are become so penitent.
[Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.]

GLOUCESTER

No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining.

Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER

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 at all,
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,
[Framed 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 woful bed?
[On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? ]
On me, that halt and am unshapen thus?
[My dukedom to a beggarly denier, ]
I do mistake my person all this while.
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,
And entertain some score or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn my body.
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
Will maintain it with some little cost.
But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave;
And then return lamenting to my love.
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass.