Page 1219 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1

DUCHESS

O, Harry’s wife, triumph not in my woes.
God witness with me, I have wept for thine. [60]

MARGARET

Bear with me: I am hungry for revenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that kill’d my Edward;
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
Young York, he is but boot, because both they [65]
Match’d not the high perfection of my loss.
Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb’d my Edward;
And the beholders of this frantic play,
Th’adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely smother’d in their dusky graves. [70]
Richard yet lives, hell’s black intelligencer,
Only reserv’d their factor to buy souls
And send them thither. But at hand, at hand
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end.
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, [75]
To have him suddenly convey’d from hence.
Cancel his bond of life, dear God I pray,
That I may live and say ‘The dog is dead.’

ELIZABET H

O, thou didst prophesy the time would come
That I should wish for thee to help me curse [80]
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back’d toad.

MARGARET

I call’d thee then vain flourish of my fortune;
I call’d thee, then, poor shadow, painted queen,
The presentation of but what I was;
The flattering index of a direful pageant; [85]
One heav’d a-high, to be hurl’d down below;
A mother only mock’d with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou wast; a garish flag
To be the aim of every dangerous shot;
A sign of dignity; a breath, a bubble; [90]
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers?