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Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums chang’d to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front; And now,-instead of mounting barbed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I,—that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty, To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform’d, unfinish’d, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable, That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them ;Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time; Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, And descant on mine own deformity; And therefore,-since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days,I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, To set my brother Clarence, and the king, In deadly hate the one against the other : And, if king Edward be as true and just, As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up;
Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY. Brother, good day: What means this armed guard, That waits upon your grace?
Clar. His majesty,
Glo. Upon what cause ?
Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;
Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for, I protest, As yet I do not : But, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies, and dreams i And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, And says—a wizard told him, that by G His issue disinherited should be ; And, for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought, that I am he: These, as I learn, and such like toys as these, Have mov'd his highness to commit me now.
Glo. Why, this it is, when men are ruld by women: 'Tis not the king, that sends you to the Tower; My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she, That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she, and that good man of worship,
Clar. By heaven, I think, there is no man secure,
Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity
Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me;
Glo. Even so ? an please your worship, Brakenbury,
Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to
do. Glo. Naught to do with Mrs Shore? I tell thee, fel
Brak. What one, my lord ?
me ? Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me; and,
withal, Forbear your conference with the noble duke. Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will
Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; I will deliver you, or else lie for
you: Mean time, have patience. Clar. I must perforce; farewell.
[Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guards. Gl. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return, Simple, plain Clarence !-I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If beaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here the new-deliver'd Hastings ?
Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain !
Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must :
Hast. More pity, that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.
Glo. What news abroad?
Hast. No news so sad abroad, as this at home;-
Glo. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
Hast. He is.