Act IVScene I
London. Before the Tower
Enter Queen Elizabeth, the Duchess of York and Marquess of Dorset, at one door; Anne Duchess of Gloucester with Clarence’s young Daughter at another door.
Duchess
Who meets us here? My niece PlantagenetLed in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?Now, for my life, she’s wandering to the Tower,On pure heart’s love, to greet the tender Prince.Daughter, well met.
Anne
God give your Graces bothA happy and a joyful time of day.
Queen Elizabeth
As much to you, good sister. Whither away?
Anne
No farther than the Tower, and, as I guess,Upon the like devotion as yourselves,To gratulate the gentle Princes there.
Queen Elizabeth
Kind sister, thanks; we’ll enter all together.
Enter Brakenbury.
And in good time, here the Lieutenant comes.Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,How doth the Prince and my young son of York?
Brakenbury
Right well, dear madam. By your patience,I may not suffer you to visit them.The King hath strictly charged the contrary.
Queen Elizabeth
The King? Who’s that?
Brakenbury
I mean the Lord Protector.
Queen Elizabeth
The Lord protect him from that kingly title!Hath he set bounds between their love and me?I am their mother; who shall bar me from them?
Duchess
I am their father’s mother. I will see them.
Anne
Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother.Then bring me to their sights. I’ll bear thy blame,And take thy office from thee, on my peril.
Brakenbury
No, madam, no. I may not leave it so.I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.
Exit.
Enter Stanley.
Stanley
Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,And I’ll salute your Grace of York as motherAnd reverend looker-on of two fair queens.
To Anne.
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,There to be crowned Richard’s royal queen.
Queen Elizabeth
Ah, cut my lace asunderThat my pent heart may have some scope to beat,Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news!
Anne
Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!
Dorset
Be of good cheer, mother. How fares your Grace?
Queen Elizabeth
O Dorset, speak not to me; get thee gone.Death and destruction dog thee at thy heels;Thy mother’s name is ominous to children.If thou wilt outstrip death, go, cross the seas,And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,Lest thou increase the number of the dead,And make me die the thrall of Margaret’s curse,Nor mother, wife, nor England’s counted Queen.
Stanley
Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.Take all the swift advantage of the hours;You shall have letters from me to my sonIn your behalf, to meet you on the way.Be not ta’en tardy by unwise delay.
Duchess
O ill-dispersing wind of misery!O my accursed womb, the bed of death!A cockatrice hast thou hatched to the world,Whose unavoided eye is murderous.
Stanley
Come, madam, come. I in all haste was sent.
Anne
And I with all unwillingness will go.O, would to God that the inclusive vergeOf golden metal that must round my browWere red-hot steel, to sear me to the brains.Anointed let me be with deadly venom,And die ere men can say “God save the Queen.”
Queen Elizabeth
Go, go, poor soul; I envy not thy glory.To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.
Anne
No? Why? When he that is my husband nowCame to me as I followed Henry’s corse,When scarce the blood was well washed from his handsWhich issued from my other angel husband,And that dear saint which then I weeping followed;O, when, I say, I looked on Richard’s face,This was my wish: “Be thou,” quoth I, “accursedFor making me, so young, so old a widow;And when thou wedd’st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;And be thy wife, if any be so mad,More miserable by the life of theeThan thou hast made me by my dear lord’s death.”Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,Within so small a time, my woman’s heartGrossly grew captive to his honey words,And proved the subject of mine own soul’s curse,Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest;For never yet one hour in his bedDid I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,But with his timorous dreams was still awaked.Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick,And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
Queen Elizabeth
Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining.
Anne
No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.
Dorset
Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory.
Anne
Adieu, poor soul, that tak’st thy leave of it.
Duchess
To Dorset.
Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee.
To Anne.
Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee.
To Queen Elizabeth.
Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee.I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me.Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,And each hour’s joy wracked with a week of teen.
Queen Elizabeth
Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower.Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babesWhom envy hath immured within your walls—Rough cradle for such little pretty one,Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellowFor tender princes, use my babies well.So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell.
Exeunt.