Rich. The selfesame name, but one of better Nature
An. Where is he? Rich. Heere:
Spits at him.
Why dost thou spit at me
An. Would it were mortall poyson, for thy sake
Rich. Neuer came poyson from so sweet a place
An. Neuer hung poyson on a fowler Toade. Out of my sight, thou dost infect mine eyes
Rich. Thine eyes (sweet Lady) haue infected mine
An. Would they were Basiliskes, to strike thee dead
Rich. I would they were, that I might dye at once: For now they kill me with a liuing death. Those eyes of thine, from mine haue drawne salt Teares; Sham'd their Aspects with store of childish drops: These eyes, which neuer shed remorsefull teare, No, when my Father Yorke, and Edward wept, To heare the pittious moane that Rutland made When black-fac'd Clifford shooke his sword at him. Nor when thy warlike Father like a Childe, Told the sad storie of my Fathers death, And twenty times, made pause to sob and weepe: That all the standers by had wet their cheekes Like Trees bedash'd with raine. In that sad time, My manly eyes did scorne an humble teare: And what these sorrowes could not thence exhale, Thy Beauty hath, and made them blinde with weeping. I neuer sued to Friend, nor Enemy: My Tongue could neuer learne sweet smoothing word. But now thy Beauty is propos'd my Fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speake.
She lookes scornfully at him.
Teach not thy lip such Scorne; for it was made For kissing Lady, not for such contempt. If thy reuengefull heart cannot forgiue, Loe heere I lend thee this sharpe-pointed Sword, Which if thou please to hide in this true brest, And let the Soule forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly begge the death vpon my knee,
He layes his brest open, she offers at with his sword.
Nay do not pause: For I did kill King Henrie, But 'twas thy Beauty that prouoked me. Nay now dispatch: 'Twas I that stabb'd yong Edward, But 'twas thy Heauenly face that set me on.
She fals the Sword.
Take vp the Sword againe, or take vp me
An. Arise Dissembler, though I wish thy death, I will not be thy Executioner
Rich. Then bid me kill my selfe, and I will do it
An. I haue already
Rich. That was in thy rage: Speake it againe, and euen with the word, This hand, which for thy loue, did kill thy Loue, Shall for thy loue, kill a farre truer Loue, To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary
An. I would I knew thy heart
Rich. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue
An. I feare me, both are false
Rich. Then neuer Man was true
An. Well, well, put vp your Sword
Rich. Say then my Peace is made
An. That shalt thou know heereafter
Rich. But shall I liue in hope
An. All men I hope liue so. Vouchsafe to weare this Ring
Rich. Looke how my Ring incompasseth thy Finger, Euen so thy Brest incloseth my poore heart: Weare both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poore deuoted Seruant may But beg one fauour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirme his happinesse for euer
An. What is it? Rich. That it may please you leaue these sad designes, To him that hath most cause to be a Mourner, And presently repayre to Crosbie House: Where (after I haue solemnly interr'd At Chertsey Monast'ry this Noble King, And wet his Graue with my Repentant Teares) I will with all expedient duty see you, For diuers vnknowne Reasons, I beseech you, Grant me this Boon