Accords not with the sadness of my suit.

Please you dismiss me either with ay or no.

KING EDWARD

Ay, if thou wilt say ‘ay’ to my request;

No, if thou dost say ‘no’ to my demand.

LADY GRAY

Then, no, my lord—my suit is at an end.

RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER (to George)

The widow likes him not—she knits her brows.

GEORGE OF CLARENCE

He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.

KING EDWARD (aside)

Her looks doth argue her replete with modesty;

Her words doth show her wit incomparable;

All her perfections challenge sovereignty.

One way or other, she is for a king;

And she shall be my love or else my queen.

(To Lady Gray) Say that King Edward take thee for his

queen?

LADY GRAY

’Tis better said than done, my gracious lord.

I am a subject fit to jest withal,

But far unfit to be a sovereign.

KING EDWARD

Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee

I speak no more than what my soul intends,

And that is to enjoy thee for my love.

LADY GRAY

And that is more than I will yield unto.

I know I am too mean to be your queen,

And yet too good to be your concubine.

KING EDWARD

You cavil, widow-I did mean my queen.

LADY GRAY

’Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father.

KING EDWARD

No more than when my daughters call thee mother.

Thou art a widow and thou hast some children;

And, by God’s mother, I, being but a bachelor,

Have other some. Why, ’tis a happy thing

To be the father unto many sons.

Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.

RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER (to George)

The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.

GEORGE OF CLARENCE

When he was made a shriver, ’twas for shift.

KING EDWARD (to Richard and George)

Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. Richard and George come forward

RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.

KING EDWARD

You’d think it strange if I should marry her.

GEORGE OF CLARENCE

To who, my lord ?

KING EDWARD Why, Clarence, to myself.

RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

That would be ten days’ wonder at the least.

GEORGE OF CLARENCE

That’s a day longer than a wonder lasts.

RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER

By so much is the wonder in extremes.

KING EDWARD

Well, jest on, brothers—I can tell you both

Her suit is granted for her husband’s lands.

Enter a Nobleman

NOBLEMAN

My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken

And brought as prisoner to your palace gate.

KING EDWARD

See that he be conveyed unto the Tower—

(To Richard and George)

And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,

To question of his apprehension.

(To Lady Gray) Widow, go you along. ⌈To Richard and

George⌉ Lords, use her honourably.

Exeunt all but Richard

RICHARD OF GLOUCEST’ER

Ay, Edward will use women honourably.

Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all,

That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring

To cross me from the golden time I look for.

And yet, between my soul’s desire and me—

The lustful Edward’s title burièd—

Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,

And all the unlooked-for issue of their bodies,

To take their rooms ere I can place myself.

A cold premeditation for my purpose.

Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty

Like one that stands upon a promontory

And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,

Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,

And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,

Saying he’ll lade it dry to have his way—

So do I wish the crown being so far off,

And so I chide the means that keeps me from it,

And so I say I’ll cut the causes off,

Flattering me with impossibilities.

My eye’s too quick, my heart o‘erweens too much,

Unless my hand and strength could equal them.

Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard—

What other pleasure can the world afford?

I’ll make my heaven in a lady’s lap,

And deck my body in gay ornaments,

And ’witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.

O, miserable thought! And more unlikely

Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns.

Why, love forswore me in my mother’s womb,

And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,

She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe

To shrink mine arm up like a withered shrub,

To make an envious mountain on my back—

Where sits deformity to mock my body—

To shape my legs of an unequal size,

To disproportion me in every part,

Like to a chaos, or an unlicked bear whelp

That carries no impression like the dam.

And am I then a man to be beloved?

O, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought!

Then, since this earth affords no joy to me

But to command, to check, to o‘erbear such

As are of better person than myself,

I’ll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,

And whiles I live, t’account this world but hell,

Until my misshaped trunk that bears this head

Be round impaled with a glorious crown.