2. SCENE II. London. Another street.
[Enter the corpse of King Henry the Sixth, borne in an open
coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberds to guard it; and Lady
Anne as mourner.]
Set down, set down your honourable load,--
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,--
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
Th' 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 self-same 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 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 adders, 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 be made
More miserable by the death 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 this weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.
[The Bearers take up the Corpse and advance.]
Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.
What black magician conjures up this fiend,
To stop devoted charitable deeds?
Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys!
My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.