Richard III

cares on me?
I am unfit for state and majesty:
I do beseech you, take it not amiss;
I cannot nor I will not yield to you. Buckingham

If you refuse it⁠—as, in love and zeal,
Loath to depose the child, your brother’s son;
As well we know your tenderness of heart
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
Which we have noted in you to your kin,
And egally indeed to all estates⁠—
Yet whether you accept our suit or no,
Your brother’s son shall never reign our king;
But we will plant some other in the throne,
To the disgrace and downfall of your house:
And in this resolution here we leave you.⁠—
Come, citizens: ’zounds! I’ll entreat no more.

Gloucester O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham. Exit Buckingham with the Citizens. Catesby Call them again, my lord, and accept their suit. Another Do, good my lord, lest all the land do rue it. Gloucester

Would you enforce me to a world of care?
Well, call them again. I am not made of stones,
But penetrable to your kind entreats,
Albeit against my conscience and my soul.

Re-enter Buckingham and the rest.

Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men,
Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
To bear her burthen, whether I will or no,
I must have patience to endure the load:
But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach
Attend the sequel of your imposition,
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
For God he knows, and you may partly see,
How far I am from the desire thereof.

Mayor God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it. Gloucester In saying so, you shall but say the truth. Buckingham

Then I salute you with this kingly title:
Long live Richard, England’s royal king!

Mayor
Citizens Amen. Buckingham To-morrow will it please you to be crown’d? Gloucester Even when you please, since you will have it so. Buckingham

To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace:
And so most joyfully we take our leave.

Gloucester

Come, let us to our holy task again.
Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends. Exeunt.

Act IV

Scene I

Before the Tower.

	Enter, on one side, Queen Elizabeth, Duchess of York, and Marquess of Dorset; on the other, Anne, Duchess of Gloucester, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet, Clarence’s young Daughter.
Duchess	Who meets us here? my niece Plantagenet Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester? Now, for my life, she’s wandering to the Tower, On pure heart’s love to greet the tender princes. Daughter, well met.
Anne	God give your graces both A happy and a joyful time of day!
Queen Elizabeth	As much to you, good sister! Whither away?
Anne	No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess, Upon the like devotion as yourselves, To gratulate the gentle princes there.
Queen Elizabeth	Kind sister, thanks: we’ll enter all together.
	Enter Brakenbury.
	And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes. Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, How doth the prince, and my young son of York?
Brakenbury	Right well, dear madam. By your patience, I may not suffer you to visit them; The king hath straitly charged the contrary.
Queen Elizabeth	The king! why, who’s that?
Brakenbury	I cry you mercy: I mean the lord protector.
Queen Elizabeth	The Lord protect him from that kingly title! Hath he set bounds betwixt their love and me? I am their mother; who should keep me from them?
Duchess	I am their fathers mother; I will see them.
Anne	Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother: Then bring me to their sights; I’ll bear thy blame And take thy office from thee, on my peril.
Brakenbury	No, madam, no; I may not leave it so: I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. Exit.
	Enter Lord Stanley.
Stanley	Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, And I’ll salute your grace of York as mother, And reverend looker on, of two fair queens. To Anne. Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster, There to be crowned Richard’s royal queen.
Queen Elizabeth	O, cut my lace in sunder, that my pent heart May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon With this dead-killing news!
Anne	Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!
Dorset	Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your grace?
Queen Elizabeth	O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee hence! Death and destruction dog thee at the heels; Thy mother’s name is ominous to children. If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell: Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house, Lest thou increase the number of the dead; And make me die the thrall of Margaret’s curse, Nor mother, wife, nor England’s counted queen.
Stanley	Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam. Take all the swift advantage of the hours; You shall have letters from me to my son To meet you on the way, and welcome you. Be not ta’en tardy by unwise delay.
Duchess	O ill-dispersing wind of misery! O my accursed womb, the bed of death! A cockatrice hast thou hatch’d to the world, Whose unavoided eye is murderous.
Stanley	Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.
Anne	And I in all unwillingness will go. I would to God that the inclusive verge Of golden metal that must round my brow Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain! Anointed let me be with deadly venom, And die, ere men can say, God save the queen!
Queen Elizabeth	Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory; To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.
Anne	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 dead 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, “accursed, For making me, so young, so old a widow! And, when thou wed’st, let sorrow haunt thy bed; And be thy wife⁠—if any be so mad⁠— As miserable by the life of thee As thou hast made me by my dear lord’s death!” Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, Even in so