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Edw. Nay, start not; I have cause
War. And so have I ;
Edw. I scorn it, Sir, Elizabeth hath charms, And I have equal right with you to admire them Nor see I aught so godlike in the form, So all commanding in the name of Warwick, That he alone should rerel in the charms of beauty, and monopolize perfection. I knew not of your love.
War. By Heav'n 'tis false! You knew it all, and meanly took occasion, Whilst I was busy'd in the noble office Your grace thought fit to honour me withal, To tamper with a weak unguarded woman, To bribe her passions high, and basely steal A treasure which your kingdom could not pure
chase. Edw. How know you that? But be it as it may, I had a right; nor will I tainely yield My claim to happiness, the privilege To choose the partner of my throne and bed ; It is a branch of my prerogative. War. Prerogative? what's that? the boast of
tyrants; A borrow'd jewel, glittring in the crown With specious lustre, lent but to betray: You had it, Sir, and hold it from the people. Edw. And therefore do I prize it; I would
And bid defiance to his pow'r, the people,
War. Go to your darling people, then; for soon, If I mistake not, 'will be needful; try Their boasted zeal, and see if one of them Will dare to lift his arm up in your cause, If I forbid them.
Edw. Is it so my lord ? : Then mark my words : I've been your slave too
long, And you have rul'd me with a rod of iron; But henceforth know, proud peer, I am thy master, And will be so : the king who delegates His pow'r to other's hands, but ill deserve The crown he wears.
War. Look well then to your own; It sits but loosely on your head; for know; The man who injurd Warwick never pass'd . Unpunish'd yet.
Edw. Nor he who threaten'd Edward You may repent it, Sir,-my guards there-sieze This traitor, and convey him to the Tow'r ; There let him learn obedience.
EARL OF WARWICK
CHA P. X I I.
Orla. W ho's there?
. gentle master, i
liant ? Why would you be so fond to overcome The bony priser of the humorous Duke? Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. Know you not, master , to some kind of men Their graces serve them but as enemies? No more do your's : your virtues, gentle master,
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
Orla. Why what's the matter!
Adam. O unhappy youth, Come not within these doors; within this roof The enemy of all your graces lives : Your brother-(no; no brother; yet the son, Yet not the son; I will not call him son Of him I was about to call his father,), Hath heard your praises, and this night be means To burn the lodging where you us'd to lie, And you within it: if he fail of that, He will have other means to cut you off; I overheard him, and his practices: This is no palace; this house is but a butchery; Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. Orla. Why, whither Adam wouldst thou have
me go? Adam. No matter whither, so you come not
here. Qrla. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg
my food ?
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee
Scroop. IVlore health and happiness betide my
Liege , Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him! K. Rich. Mine ear is open , and my heart pre
pard : The worst is wordly loss thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, 'was my care ;
steel. White beards have armd their thin and hairless
scalps Against thy Majesty, boys, with women's voices, Strive to speak big, and clasp their female joints In stiff unwieldy arms , against thy crown; The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew against thy state ; Yea , distaff-women manage rusty bills. Against thy seat both young and old rebel And all goes worse than I have pow'r to tell. K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tellist a tale
so ill. Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? What is become of Busby? where is Green?
No matter where ; of comfort no man speak. Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs, Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes. Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth! Let's chuse executors, and talk of wills; And yet not so for what can we bequeath, Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbrok's,