Part 29

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.

Stabs him.

Rich. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agonie.

Rich. stabs him.

Clar. And ther's for twitting me with periurie.

Clar. 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.

Exit Queene.

Ed. Where's Richard gone

Cla. To London all in post, and as I guesse, To make a bloody Supper in the Tower