♦ Will I withal endow a child of thine;

250 So in the Lethe of thy angry soul

♦ Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs

Which thou supposest I have done to thee.

♦ Last longer telling than thy kindness’ date.

♦ So from thy soul’s love didst thou love her brothers;

260 And from my heart’s love I do thank thee for it.

I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,

♦ And mean to make her queen of England.

♦ As one that are best acquainted with her humour.

♦ A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave

♦ Edward and York; then haply she will weep:

♦ Therefore present to her,—as sometime Margaret

275 Did to thy father, steep’d in Rutland’s blood,—

♦ A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain

♦ The purple sap from her sweet brother’s body,

♦ And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith.

♦ If this inducement force her not to love,

280 Send her a story of thy noble acts;

Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence,

♦ Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake,

Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.

To win your daughter.

Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,

And not be Richard that hath done all this.

290 Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,

♦ Which after-hours give leisure to repent.

If I did take the kingdom from your sons,

295 To make amends, I’ll give it to your daughter.

If I have kill’d the issue of your womb,

To quicken your increase, I will beget

Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter:

A grandam’s name is little less in love

300 Than is the doting title of a mother;

They are as children but one step below,

♦ Even of your mettle, of your very blood;

Of all one pain, save for a night of groans

♦ Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.

305 Your children were vexation to your youth,

But mine shall be a comfort to your age.

The loss you have is but a son being king,

And by that loss your daughter is made queen.

I cannot make you what amends I would,

310 Therefore accept such kindness as I can.

Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul

♦ Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,

This fair alliance quickly shall call home

To high promotions and great dignity:

315 The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife,

Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;

Again shall you be mother to a king,

And all the ruins of distressful times

Repair’d with double riches of content.

320 What! we have many goodly days to see:

The liquid drops of tears that you have shed

Shall come again, transform’d to orient pearl,

♦ Advantaging their loan with interest

♦ Of ten times double gain of happiness.

325 Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;

Make bold her bashful years with your experience;

Prepare her ears to hear a wooer’s tale;

Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame

Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess

330 With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys:

And when this arm of mine hath chastised

The petty rebel, dull-brain’d Buckingham,

♦ Bound with triumphant garlands will I come

And lead thy daughter to a conqueror’s bed;

335 To whom I will retail my conquest won,

♦ And she shall be sole victress, Cæsar’s Cæsar.

Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle?

Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles?

340 Under what title shall I woo for thee,

That God, the law, my honour and her love,

Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?

♦ Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave.

♦ The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour;

370 The garter, blemish’d, pawn’d his knightly virtue;

♦ The crown, usurp’d, disgraced his kingly glory.

♦ If something thou wilt swear to be believed,

Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong’d.

♦ If thou hadst fear’d to break an oath by Him,

♦ The unity the king thy brother made

380 Had not been broken, nor my brother slain:

♦ If thou hadst fear’d to break an oath by Him,

♦ The imperial metal, circling now thy brow,

♦ Had graced the tender temples of my child.

And both the princes had been breathing here,

385 Which now, two tender playfellows for dust,

♦ Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.

What canst thou swear by now?

For I myself have many tears to wash

390 Hereafter time, for time past wrong’d by thee.

♦ The children live, whose parents thou hast slaughter’d,

♦ Ungovern’d youth, to wail it in their age;

♦ The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher’d,

♦ Old wither’d plants, to wail it with their age.

395 Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast

♦ Misused ere used, by time misused o’erpast.

♦ So thrive I in my dangerous attempt

Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!

400 Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!

Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!

Be opposite all planets of good luck

♦ To my proceedings, if, with pure heart’s love,

♦ Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,

405 I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter!

In her consists my happiness and thine;

♦ Without her, follows to this land and me,

To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul,

♦ Death, desolation, ruin and decay:

410 It cannot be avoided but by this;

♦ It will not be avoided but by this.

♦ Therefore, good mother,—I must call you so—

Be the attorney of my love to her:

Plead what I will be, not what I have been;

415 Not my deserts, but what I will deserve:

♦ Urge the necessity and state of times,

♦ And be not peevish-fond in great designs.

♦ Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed

425 Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

♦ And you shall understand from me her mind.

♦ Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!

♦ How now! what news?

♦ Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore

435 Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,

Unarm’d, and unresolved to beat them back:

’Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;

♦ And there they hull, expecting but the aid

Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he?

♦ When thou comest thither,—[To Catesby] Dull unmindful villain,

445 Why stand’st thou still, and go’st not to the duke?

♦ What from your grace I shall deliver to him.

♦ The greatest strength and power he can make,

450 And meet me presently at Salisbury.

At Salisbury?

♦ How now, what news with you?

♦ Nor none so bad, but it may well be told.

♦ Why dost thou run so many mile about,

♦ When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way?

Once more, what news?

465 White-liver’d runagate, what doth he there?

♦ He makes for England, there to claim the crown.

Is the king dead? the empire unpossess’d?

What heir of York is there alive but we?

And who is England’s king but great York’s heir?

♦ Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea?

♦ You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.

Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.

♦ Where are thy tenants and thy followers?

Are they not now upon the western shore,

♦ Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?

When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

♦ Please it your majesty to give me leave,

I’ll muster up my friends, and meet your grace

490 Where and what time your majesty shall please.

I will not trust you, sir.