1. SCENE I. London. Before the Tower
No, why?--When he that is my husband now
Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse;
When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands
Which issued from my other angel husband,
And that dear saint which then I weeping follow'd;
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
This was my wish,--"Be thou," quoth I, "accurs'd
For 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 thee
Than 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 heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words,
And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse,--
Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.
No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.
Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory!
Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it!
Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!--
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 wreck'd with a week of teen.
Stay yet, look back with me unto the Tower.--
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls!
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell.