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by William Shakespeare

Dramatis Personae

EDWARD THE FOURTH

Sons to the King EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES afterwards KING EDWARD V RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK,

SCENE: England

King Richard the Third

London. A street

Enter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus

Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY

Enter LORD HASTINGS

SCENE 2.

London. Another street

ANNE. 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 slaughtered 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.

Enter GLOUCESTER

SCENE 3.

London. The palace

Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORD GREY

RIVERS. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt his Majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health. GREY. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse; Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his Grace with quick and merry eyes. QUEEN ELIZABETH. If he were dead, what would betide on me? GREY. No other harm but loss of such a lord. QUEEN ELIZABETH. The loss of such a lord includes all harms. GREY. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son To be your comforter when he is gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, he is young; and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. RIVER. Is it concluded he shall be Protector? QUEEN ELIZABETH. It is determin'd, not concluded yet; But so it must be, if the King miscarry.

Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY

GREY. Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby. BUCKINGHAM. Good time of day unto your royal Grace! DERBY. God make your Majesty joyful as you have been. QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby, To your good prayer will scarcely say amen. Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd I hate not you for her proud arrogance. DERBY. I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accus'd on true report, Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds From wayward sickness and no grounded malice. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Saw you the King to-day, my Lord of Derby? DERBY. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his Majesty. QUEEN ELIZABETH. What likelihood of his amendment, Lords? BUCKINGHAM. Madam, good hope; his Grace speaks cheerfully. QUEEN ELIZABETH. God grant him health! Did you confer with him? BUCKINGHAM. Ay, madam; he desires to make atonement Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And between them and my Lord Chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Would all were well! But that will never be. I fear our happiness is at the height.

Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET

Enter old QUEEN MARGARET, behind

Small joy have I in being England's Queen. QUEEN MARGARET. And less'ned be that small, God, I beseech Him! Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. GLOUCESTER. What! Threat you me with telling of the King? Tell him and spare not. Look what I have said I will avouch't in presence of the King. I dare adventure to be sent to th' Tow'r. 'Tis time to speak-my pains are quite forgot. QUEEN MARGARET. Out, devil! I do remember them to well: Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. GLOUCESTER. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband King, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs, A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends; To royalize his blood I spent mine own. QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, and much better blood than his or thine. GLOUCESTER. In all which time you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere this, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. QUEEN MARGARET. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art. GLOUCESTER. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick, Ay, and forswore himself-which Jesu pardon!- QUEEN MARGARET. Which God revenge! GLOUCESTER. To fight on Edward's party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up. I would to God my heart were flint like Edward's, Or Edward's soft and pitiful like mine. I am too childish-foolish for this world. QUEEN MARGARET. Hie thee to hell for shame and leave this world, Thou cacodemon; there thy kingdom is. RIVERS. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our sovereign king. So should we you, if you should be our king. GLOUCESTER. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar. Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof! QUEEN ELIZABETH. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy were you this country's king, As little joy you may suppose in me That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof. QUEEN MARGARET. As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill'd from me. Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not that, I am Queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels? Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away! GLOUCESTER. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my sight? QUEEN MARGARET. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd, That will I make before I let thee go. GLOUCESTER. Wert thou not banished on pain of death? QUEEN MARGARET. I was; but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode. A husband and a son thou ow'st to me; And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance. This sorrow that I have by right is yours; And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. GLOUCESTER. The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, And then to dry them gav'st the Duke a clout Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland- His curses then from bitterness of soul Denounc'd against thee are all fall'n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed. QUEEN ELIZABETH. So just is God to right the innocent. HASTINGS. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! RIVERS. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. DORSET. No man but prophesied revenge for it. BUCKINGHAM. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. QUEEN MARGARET. What, were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment, Should all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king! Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales, For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! Long mayest thou live to wail thy children's death, And see another, as I see thee now, Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! Long die thy happy days before thy death; And, after many length'ned hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's Queen! Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabb'd with bloody daggers. God, I pray him, That none of you may live his natural age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off! GLOUCESTER. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag. QUEEN MARGARET. And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul! Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be while some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog, Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell, Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb, Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins, Thou rag of honour, thou detested- GLOUCESTER. Margaret! QUEEN MARGARET. Richard! GLOUCESTER. Ha? QUEEN MARGARET. I call thee not. GLOUCESTER. I cry thee mercy then, for I did think That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. QUEEN MARGARET. Why, so I did, but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse! GLOUCESTER. 'Tis done by me, and ends in-Margaret. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thus have you breath'd your curse against yourself. QUEEN MARGARET. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. The day will come that thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-back'd toad. HASTINGS. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. QUEEN MARGARET. Foul shame upon you! you have all mov'd mine. RIVERS. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your duty. QUEEN MARGARET. To serve me well you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your queen and you my subjects. O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty! DORSET. Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, Master Marquis, you are malapert; Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What 'twere to lose it and be miserable! They that stand high have many blasts to shake them, And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces. GLOUCESTER. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, Marquis. DORSET. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. GLOUCESTER. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high, Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. QUEEN MARGARET. And turns the sun to shade-alas! alas! Witness my son, now in the shade of death, Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest. O God that seest it, do not suffer it; As it is won with blood, lost be it so! BUCKINGHAM. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity! QUEEN MARGARET. Urge neither charity nor shame to me. Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd. My charity is outrage, life my shame; And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage! BUCKINGHAM. Have done, have done. QUEEN MARGARET. O princely Buckingham, I'll kiss thy hand In sign of league and amity with thee. Now fair befall thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. BUCKINGHAM. Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. QUEEN MARGARET. I will not think but they ascend the sky And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him, beware of him; Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him. GLOUCESTER. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. QUEEN MARGARET. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel, And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God's! Exit BUCKINGHAM. My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses. RIVERS. And so doth mine. I muse why she's at liberty. GLOUCESTER. I cannot blame her; by God's holy Mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH. I never did her any to my knowledge. GLOUCESTER. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid; He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains; God pardon them that are the cause thereof! RIVERS. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us! GLOUCESTER. So do I ever- being well advis'd; For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself.

Enter CATESBY

CATESBY. Madam, his Majesty doth can for you, And for your Grace, and you, my gracious lords. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go with me? RIVERS. We wait upon your Grace. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls; Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham; And tell them 'tis the Queen and her allies That stir the King against the Duke my brother. Now they believe it, and withal whet me To be reveng'd on Rivers, Dorset, Grey; But then I sigh and, with a piece of Scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil. And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ, And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

Enter two MURDERERS

But, soft, here come my executioners. How now, my hardy stout resolved mates! Are you now going to dispatch this thing? FIRST MURDERER. We are, my lord, and come to have the warrant, That we may be admitted where he is. GLOUCESTER. Well thought upon; I have it here about me. When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. FIRST MURDERER. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers. Be assur'd We go to use our hands and not our tongues. GLOUCESTER. Your eyes drop millstones when fools' eyes fall tears. I like you, lads; about your business straight; Go, go, dispatch. FIRST MURDERER. We will, my noble lord. Exeunt

SCENE 4.

London. The Tower

Enter CLARENCE and KEEPER

KEEPER. Why looks your Grace so heavily to-day? CLARENCE. O, I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days- So full of dismal terror was the time! KEEPER. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me. CLARENCE. Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And in my company my brother Gloucester, Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd toward England, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard Into the tumbling billows of the main. O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown, What dreadful noise of waters in my ears, What sights of ugly death within my eyes! Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks, A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon, Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatt'red in the bottom of the sea; Some lay in dead men's skulls, and in the holes Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatt'red by. KEEPER. Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon these secrets of the deep? CLARENCE. Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood Stopp'd in my soul and would not let it forth To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Who almost burst to belch it in the sea. KEEPER. Awak'd you not in this sore agony? CLARENCE. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life. O, then began the tempest to my soul! I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood With that sour ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, Who spake aloud 'What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud 'Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury. Seize on him, Furies, take him unto torment!' With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries that, with the very noise, I trembling wak'd, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made my dream. KEEPER. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. CLARENCE. Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things That now give evidence against my soul For Edward's sake, and see how he requites me! O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee, But Thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone; O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! Keeper, I prithee sit by me awhile; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. KEEPER. I will, my lord. God give your Grace good rest.

Enter BRAKENBURY the Lieutenant

BRAKENBURY. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning and the noontide night. Princes have but their titles for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; And for unfelt imaginations They often feel a world of restless cares, So that between their tides and low name There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

Enter the two MURDERERS

Re-enter FIRST MURDERER

London. The palace

Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others

Enter GLOUCESTER, and RATCLIFF

Enter DERBY

DERBY. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! KING EDWARD. I prithee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow. DERBY. I Will not rise unless your Highness hear me. KING EDWARD. Then say at once what is it thou requests. DERBY. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. KING EDWARD. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? My brother killed no man-his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was bitter death. Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath, Kneel'd at my feet, and bid me be advis'd? Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love? Who told me how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury When Oxford had me down, he rescued me And said 'Dear Brother, live, and be a king'? Who told me, when we both lay in the field Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his garments, and did give himself, All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you Had so much race to put it in my mind. But when your carters or your waiting-vassals Have done a drunken slaughter and defac'd The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. But for my brother not a man would speak; Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all Have been beholding to him in his life; Yet none of you would once beg for his life. O God, I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this! Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence! Exeunt some with KING and QUEEN GLOUCESTER. This is the fruits of rashness. Mark'd you not How that the guilty kindred of the Queen Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? O, they did urge it still unto the King! God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go To comfort Edward with our company? BUCKINGHAM. We wait upon your Grace. Exeunt

SCENE 2.

London. The palace

Enter the old DUCHESS OF YORK, with the SON and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE

Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her ears; RIVERS and DORSET after her

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I'll join with black despair against my soul And to myself become an enemy. DUCHESS. What means this scene of rude impatience? QUEEN ELIZABETH. To make an act of tragic violence. EDWARD, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches when the root is gone? Why wither not the leaves that want their sap? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the King's, Or like obedient subjects follow him To his new kingdom of ne'er-changing night. DUCHESS. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband's death, And liv'd with looking on his images; But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, That grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother And hast the comfort of thy children left; But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands- Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I- Thine being but a moiety of my moan- To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries? SON. Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father's death! How can we aid you with our kindred tears? DAUGHTER. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! QUEEN ELIZABETH. Give me no help in lamentation; I am not barren to bring forth complaints. All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Ah for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward! CHILDREN. Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence! DUCHESS. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence! QUEEN ELIZABETH. What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone. CHILDREN. What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone. DUCHESS. What stays had I but they? and they are gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Was never widow had so dear a loss. CHILDREN. Were never orphans had so dear a loss. DUCHESS. Was never mother had so dear a loss. Alas, I am the mother of these griefs! Their woes are parcell'd, mine is general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I: I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she. These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I: I for an Edward weep, so do not they. Alas, you three on me, threefold distress'd, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentation. DORSET. Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeas'd That you take with unthankfulness his doing. In common worldly things 'tis called ungrateful With dull unwillingness to repay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. RIVERS. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son. Send straight for him; Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives. Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.

Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF

GLOUCESTER. Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can help our harms by wailing them. Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. DUCHESS. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! GLOUCESTER. Amen! And make me die a good old man! That is the butt end of a mother's blessing; I marvel that her Grace did leave it out. BUCKINGHAM. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this heavy mutual load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other's love. Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high-swol'n hearts, But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept. Me seemeth good that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet Hither to London, to be crown'd our King.

SCENE 3.

London. A street

Enter one CITIZEN at one door, and another at the other

FIRST CITIZEN. Good morrow, neighbour. Whither away so fast? SECOND CITIZEN. I promise you, I scarcely know myself. Hear you the news abroad? FIRST CITIZEN. Yes, that the King is dead. SECOND CITIZEN. Ill news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better. I fear, I fear 'twill prove a giddy world.

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