| ACT III.
4. SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Tower.
 (continued)GLOSTER.
Then be your eyes the witness of their evil:
 Look how I am bewitch'd; behold, mine arm
 Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up:
 And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch,
 Consorted with that harlot-strumpet Shore,
 That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.
 
 HASTINGS.
If they have done this deed, my noble lord,--
 
 GLOSTER.
If!--thou protector of this damned strumpet,
 Talk'st thou to me of "ifs"?--Thou art a traitor:--
 Off with his head!--now, by Saint Paul I swear,
 I will not dine until I see the same.--
 Lovel and Ratcliff:--look that it be done:--
 The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.
 
 [Exeunt all except HASTINGS, LOVEL, and RATCLIFF.]
 HASTINGS.
Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me;
 For I, too fond, might have prevented this.
 Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm;
 And I did scorn it, and disdain to fly.
 Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,
 And started, when he look'd upon the Tower,
 As loth to bear me to the slaughter-house.
 O, now I need the priest that spake to me:
 I now repent I told the pursuivant,
 As too triumphing, how mine enemies
 To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd,
 And I myself secure in grace and favour.
 O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse
 Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head!
 
 RATCLIFF.
Come, come, despatch; the duke would be at dinner:
 Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.
 
 HASTINGS.
O momentary grace of mortal men,
 Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
 Who builds his hope in air of your good looks
 Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,
 Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
 Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
 
 LOVEL.
Come, come, despatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim.
 
 HASTINGS.
O bloody Richard!--miserable England!
 I prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee
 That ever wretched age hath look'd upon.--
 Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head:
 They smile at me who shortly shall be dead.
 
 [Exeunt.]
 
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