Qu. O thou well skill'd in Curses, stay a-while, And teach me how to curse mine enemies
Mar. Forbeare to sleepe the night, and fast the day: Compare dead happinesse, with liuing woe: Thinke that thy Babes were sweeter then they were, And he that slew them fowler then he is: Bett'ring thy losse, makes the bad causer worse, Reuoluing this, will teach thee how to Curse
Qu. My words are dull, O quicken them with thine
Mar. Thy woes will make them sharpe, And pierce like mine.
Dut. Why should calamity be full of words? Qu. Windy Atturnies to their Clients Woes, Ayery succeeders of intestine ioyes, Poore breathing Orators of miseries, Let them haue scope, though what they will impart, Helpe nothing els, yet do they ease the hart
Dut. If so then, be not Tongue-ty'd: go with me, And in the breath of bitter words, let's smother My damned Son, that thy two sweet Sonnes smother'd. The Trumpet sounds, be copious in exclaimes. Enter King Richard, and his Traine.
Rich. Who intercepts me in my Expedition? Dut. O she, that might haue intercepted thee By strangling thee in her accursed wombe, From all the slaughters (Wretch) that thou hast done
Qu. Hid'st thou that Forhead with a Golden Crowne Where't should be branded, if that right were right? The slaughter of the Prince that ow'd that Crowne, And the dyre death of my poore Sonnes, and Brothers. Tell me thou Villaine-slaue, where are my Children? Dut. Thou Toad, thou Toade, Where is thy Brother Clarence? And little Ned Plantagenet his Sonne? Qu. Where is the gentle Riuers, Vaughan, Gray? Dut. Where is kinde Hastings? Rich. A flourish Trumpets, strike Alarum Drummes: Let not the Heauens heare these Tell-tale women Raile on the Lords Annointed. Strike I say.
Either be patient, and intreat me fayre, Or with the clamorous report of Warre, Thus will I drowne your exclamations
Dut. Art thou my Sonne? Rich. I, I thanke God, my Father, and your selfe
Dut. Then patiently heare my impatience
Rich. Madam, I haue a touch of your condition, That cannot brooke the accent of reproofe
Dut. O let me speake
Rich. Do then, but Ile not heare
Dut. I will be milde, and gentle in my words
Rich. And breefe (good Mother) for I am in hast
Dut. Art thou so hasty? I haue staid for thee (God knowes) in torment and in agony
Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you? Dut. No by the holy Rood, thou know'st it well, Thou cam'st on earth, to make the earth my Hell. A greeuous burthen was thy Birth to me, Tetchy and wayward was thy Infancie. Thy School-daies frightfull, desp'rate, wilde, and furious, Thy prime of Manhood, daring, bold, and venturous: Thy Age confirm'd, proud, subtle, slye, and bloody, More milde, but yet more harmfull; Kinde in hatred: What comfortable houre canst thou name, That euer grac'd me with thy company? Rich. Faith none, but Humfrey Hower, That call'd your Grace To Breakefast once, forth of my company. If I be so disgracious in your eye, Let me march on, and not offend you Madam. Strike vp the Drumme
Dut. I prythee heare me speake
Rich. You speake too bitterly
Dut. Heare me a word: For I shall neuer speake to thee againe