Here she lets fall the sword Take up the sword again, or take up me. LADY ANNE Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner. GLOUCESTER Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. LADY ANNE I have already. GLOUCESTER Tush, that was in thy rage:
Speak it again, and, even with the word, That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love;
To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary. LADY ANNE I would I knew thy heart. GLOUCESTER 'Tis figured in my tongue. LADY ANNE I fear me both are false. GLOUCESTER Then never man was true. LADY ANNE Well, well, put up your sword. GLOUCESTER Say, then, my peace is made. LADY ANNE That shall you know hereafter. GLOUCESTER But shall I live in hope? LADY ANNE All men, I hope, live so. GLOUCESTER Vouchsafe to wear this ring. LADY ANNE To take is not to give. GLOUCESTER Look, how this ring encompasseth finger.
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted suppliant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. LADY ANNE What is it? GLOUCESTER That it would please thee leave these sad designs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby Place;
Where, 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. LADY ANNE 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 Bid me farewell. LADY ANNE 'Tis more than you deserve;
But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already.
Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKELEY GLOUCESTER Sirs, take up the corse. GENTLEMEN Towards Chertsey, noble lord? 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 nothing 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 debase 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.
