Prince. Let Aesop fable in a Winters Night, His Currish Riddles sorts not with this place
Rich. By Heauen, Brat, Ile plague ye for that word
Qu. I, thou wast borne to be a plague to men
Rich. For Gods sake, take away this Captiue Scold
Prince. Nay, take away this scolding Crooke-backe, rather
Edw. Peace wilfull Boy, or I will charme your tongue
Clar. Vntutor'd Lad, thou art too malapert
Prince. I know my dutie, you are all vndutifull: Lasciuious Edward, and thou periur'd George, And thou mis-shapen Dicke, I tell ye all, I am your better, Traytors as ye are, And thou vsurp'st my Fathers right and mine
Edw. Take that, the likenesse of this Rayler here.
Rich. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agonie.
Rich[ard]. stabs him.
Clar. And ther's for twitting me with periurie.
Clar[ence]. stabs him.
Qu. Oh, kill me too
Rich. Marry, and shall.
Offers to kill her.
Edw. Hold, Richard, hold, for we haue done too much
Rich. Why should shee liue, to fill the World with words
Edw. What? doth shee swowne? vse meanes for her recouerie
Rich. Clarence excuse me to the King my Brother: Ile hence to London on a serious matter, Ere ye come there, be sure to heare some newes
Cla. What? what? Rich. Tower, the Tower. Enter.
Qu. Oh Ned, sweet Ned, speake to thy Mother Boy. Can'st thou not speake? O Traitors, Murtherers! They that stabb'd Cæsar, shed no blood at all: Did not offend, nor were not worthy Blame, If this foule deed were by, to equall it. He was a Man; this (in respect) a Childe, And Men, ne're spend their fury on a Childe. What's worse then Murtherer, that I may name it? No, no, my heart will burst, and if I speake, And I will speake, that so my heart may burst. Butchers and Villaines, bloudy Caniballes, How sweet a Plant haue you vntimely cropt: You haue no children (Butchers) if you had, The thought of them would haue stirr'd vp remorse, But if you euer chance to haue a Childe, Looke in his youth to haue him so cut off. As deathsmen you haue rid this sweet yong Prince
King. Away with her, go beare her hence perforce
Qu. Nay, neuer beare me hence, dispatch me heere: Here sheath thy Sword, Ile pardon thee my death: What? wilt thou not? Then Clarence do it thou
Cla. By heauen, I will not do thee so much ease
Qu. Good Clarence do: sweet Clarence do thou do it
Cla. Did'st thou not heare me sweare I would not do it? Qu. I, but thou vsest to forsweare thy selfe. 'Twas Sin before, but now 'tis Charity What wilt y not? Where is that diuels butcher Richard? Hard fauor'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not heere; Murther is thy Almes-deed: Petitioners for Blood, thou ne're put'st backe
Ed. Away I say, I charge ye beare her hence, Qu. So come to you, and yours, as to this Prince.
Ed. Where's Richard gone
Cla. To London all in post, and as I guesse, To make a bloody Supper in the Tower
Ed. He's sodaine if a thing comes in his head. Now march we hence, discharge the common sort With Pay and Thankes, and let's away to London, And see our gentle Queene how well she fares, By this (I hope) she hath a Sonne for me. Enter.
Enter Henry the sixt, and Richard, with the Lieutenant on the Walles.