DUCHESS OF YORK

My pretty Cousin's, you mistake me both, I do lament the sickness of the King, As loath to loose him, not your Father's death: It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Peace children peace, the King does love you well. Incapeable, and shallow Innocents, You cannot guess who caused your Father's death. Ah! that Deceit should steal such gentle shape, And with a virtuous Vizor hide deep vice, He is my son, I, and therein my shame, Yet from my dugs, he drew not this deceit. I Boy. What means this Scene of rude impatience? Ah so much interest have in thy sorrow, As I had Title in thy Noble Husband: I have be wept a worthy Husbands death, And lived with looking on his Images: But now two Mirrors of his Princely semblance, Are cracked in pieces, by malignant death, And I for comfort, have but one false Glass, That grieves me, when I see my shame in him. Thou art a Widow: yet thou art a Mother, And hast the comfort of thy Children left, But death hath snatched my Husband from mine Arms, And plucked two Crutches from my feeble hands, Clarence, and Edward. Oh, what cause have I, (Thine being but a moiety of my moan) To overgo thy woes, and drown thy cries. Alas for both, both mine Edward and Clarence. What stays had I, but they? and they are gone. Was never Mother had so deer a lose. Alas! I am the Mother of these Griefs Their woes are parceled, mine is general. She for and Edward weeps, and so do I: I for a Clarence weeps, so does not she: These Babes for Clarence weep, so do not they. Alas! you three, on me threefold distressed: Power all your tears, I am your sorrows Nurse, And I will pamper it with Lamentation. God bless thee, and put meekness in thy breast, Love Charity, Obedience, and true Duty. I long with all my heart to see the Prince: I hope he is much grown since last I saw him. Why my good Cousin, it is good to grow. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold In him that did object the same to thee. He was the wretchedest thing when he was young, So long a growing, and so leisurely, That if his rule were true, he should be gracious. I hope he is, but yet let Mother's doubt. How my young York, I prithee let me hear it. I prithee pretty York, who told thee this? His Nurse? why she was dead, ere y u wast born. Good Madam, be not angry with the Child. What is thy News? Who hath committed them? Accursed, and unquiet wrangling days, How many of you have mine eyes beheld? My Husband lost his life, to get the Crown, And often up and down my sons were tossed For me to joy, and weep, their gain and lose. And being seated, and Domestic broils Clean overblown, themselves the Conquerors, Make war upon themselves, Brother to Brother; Blood to blood, self against self: Oh prepostorous And frantic outrage, and thy damned spleen, Or let me die, to look on earth no more. Stay, I will go with you. So many Misery's have crazed my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute. Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? Dead life, blind sighed, poor mortal living ghost, Woes Scene, World's shame, Graves endue, by life usurped, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou hopest to kill him. O Harries wife, triumph not in my woes: God witness with me, I have wept for thine. Why should calamity be full of words? If so then, be not Tongue-tied: go with me, And in the breath of bitter words, let's smother My damned Son, that thy two sweet Sons smothered. The Trumpet sounds, be copious in exclaims. Oh she, that might have intercepted thee By strangling thee in her accursed womb, From all the slaughters (Wretch) that thou hast done. Thou Toad, thou Toad, Where is thy Brother Clarence ? And little Ned Plantagenet his Son? Where is kind Hastings ? Art thou my Son? Then patiently hear my impatience. Oh let me speak. Art thou so hasty? I have stayed for thee (God knows) in torment and in agony. No by the holy Rood, thou knowest it well, Thou camest on earth, to make the earth my Hell. A grievous burden was thy Birth to me, Tetchy and wayward was thy Infancy. Thy School-daies frightful, desperate, wild, and furious, Thy prime of Manhood, daring, bold, and venturous: Thy Age confirmed, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, More mild, but yet more harmful; Kind in hatred: What comfortable hour canst thou name, That ever graced me with thy company? I prithee hear me speak. Hear me a word: For I shall never speak to thee again. Either thou wilt die, by Gods joust ordinance Ere from this war thou turn a Conqueror: Or I with grief and extreme Age shall perish, And never more behold thy face again. Therefore take with thee my most grievous Curse, Which in the day of Battle Tyre thee more Then all the complete Armour that thou wearest. My Prayers on the adverse party fight, And there the little souls of Edwards Children, Whisper the Spirits of thine Enemies, And promise them Success and Victory: Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end: Shame serves thy life, and does thy death attend. No Boy. I will be mild, and gentle in my words. 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 hearts love, to greet the tender Prince. Daughter, well met. I am their Father's Mother, I will see them. Oh ill dispersing Wind of Misery, Oh my accursed Womb, the Bed of Death: A Cockatrice hast thou hatched to the World. Whose unavoided Eye is murderous. Go thou to Richmond, & good fortune guide thee, Go thou to Richard, and good Angels tend thee, Go thou to Sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee, I to my Grave, where peace and rest lie with me. Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, And each hours joy wracked with a week of teen.