London. The palace.
(King Edward; Queen Elizabeth; Lord Marquess Dorset; Rivers; Hastings; Catesby; Buckingham; Grey; Ratcliffe; Gloucester; Stanley)
King Edward is pleased as he manages to reconcile all the warring parties, who swear friendship. Richard pretends shock and horror when Clarence is mentioned, and reveals that he has been killed. The King mourns, horrified, and remembers all that was good about his brother. Richard lays the blame for the execution on the Queen’s family. (142 lines)
Flourish. Enter the King Edward sick, the Queen Elizabeth, Lord Marquess Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Catesby, Buckingham, Grey, and others.
Why, so: now have I done a good day’s work.
You peers, continue this united league.
I every day expect an embassage
From my Redeemer to redeem me hence;
And more in peace my soul shall part to heaven,
Since I have made my friends at peace on earth.
Hastings and Rivers, take each other’s hand,
Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.
By heaven, my soul is purg’d from grudging hate,
And with my hand I seal my true heart’s love.
So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!
Take heed you dally not before your king,
Lest He that is the supreme King of kings
Confound your hidden falsehood and award
Either of you to be the other’s end.
So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!
And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!
Madam, yourself is not exempt from this;
Nor you, son Dorset; Buckingham, nor you;
You have been factious one against the other.
Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand,
And what you do, do it unfeignedly.
There, Hastings, I will never more remember
Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!
Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love Lord Marquess.
This interchange of love, I here protest,
Upon my part shall be inviolable.
And so swear I.
Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league
With thy embracements to my wive’s allies,
And make me happy in your unity.
When ever Buckingham doth turn his hate
Upon your Grace
To the Queen.
But with all duteous love
Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me
With hate in those where I expect most love!
When I have most need to employ a friend,
And most assured that he is a friend,
Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile
Be he unto me! This do I beg of God,
When I am cold in love to you or yours.
A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,
Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.
There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here
To make the blessed period of this peace.
And in good time,
Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliffe and the Duke.
Enter Ratcliffe and Gloucester.
Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen,
And, princely peers, a happy time of day!
Happy indeed, as we have spent the day.
Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity,
Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,
Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.
A blessed labor, my most sovereign lord.
Among this princely heap, if any here
By false intelligence or wrong surmise
Hold me a foe—
If I unwittingly, or in my rage,
Have aught committed that is hardly borne
By any in this presence, I desire
To reconcile me to his friendly peace.
’Tis death to me to be at enmity;
I hate it, and desire all good men’s love.
First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,
Which I will purchase with my duteous service;
Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,
If ever any grudge were lodg’d between us;
Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset,
That all without desert have frown’d on me;
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen—indeed of all.
I do not know that Englishman alive
With whom my soul is any jot at odds
More than the infant that is born tonight.
I thank my God for my humility.
A holy day shall this be kept hereafter.
I would to God all strifes were well compounded.
My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness
To take our brother Clarence to your grace.
Why, madam, have I off’red love for this,
To be so flouted in this royal presence?
Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead?
They all start.
You do him injury to scorn his corse.
Who knows not he is dead? Who knows he is?
All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!
Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?
Ay, my good lord, and no man in the presence
But his red color hath forsook his cheeks.
Is Clarence dead? The order was revers’d.
But he, poor man, by your first order died,
And that a winged Mercury did bear;
Some tardy cripple bare the countermand,
That came too lag to see him buried.
God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,
Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood,
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
And yet go current from suspicion!
Enter Stanley, Earl of Derby.
A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!
I prithee peace, my soul is full of sorrow.
I will not rise, unless your Highness hear me.
Then say at once what is it thou requests.
The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant’s life,
Who slew today a riotous gentleman
Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.
Have I a tongue to doom my brother’s death,
And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?
My brother kill’d no man, his fault was thought,
And yet his punishment was bitter death.
Who sued to me for him? Who (in my wrath)
Kneel’d at my feet and bid me be advis’d?
Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?
Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick and did fight for me?
Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury,
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me,
And said, “Dear brother, live, and be a king”?
Who told me, when we both lay in the field
Frozen (almost) to death, how he did lap me
Even in his own garments, and did give himself
(All thin and naked) to the numb cold night?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully pluck’d, and not a man of you
Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
But when your carters or your waiting vassals
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac’d
The precious image of our dear Redeemer,
You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon,
And I (unjustly too) must grant it you.
But for my brother not a man would speak,
Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
Have been beholding to him in his life;
Yet none of you would once beg for his life.
O God! I fear thy justice will take hold
On me and you, and mine and yours, for this.
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence!
Exeunt some with King and Queen.
This is the fruits of rashness! Mark’d you not
How that the guilty kindred of the Queen
Look’d pale when they did hear of Clarence’ death?
O, they did urge it still unto the King!
God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go
To comfort Edward with our company.
We wait upon your Grace.