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Hast. O! 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,

And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of.

Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

Dors. No man but prophesied revenge for it.

Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

Q. Mar. What! were you snarling all before I came,

Ready to catch each other by the threat,

And turn you all your hatred now on me?

Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven

That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,

Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment,

Should all but answer for that peevish brat?

Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?

Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!

Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,

As ours by murther, to make him a king!

Edward, thy son, that now is Prince of Wales,

For Edward, our son, that was Prince of Wales,

Die in his youth by like untimely violence!

Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,

Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!

Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's death,

And see another, as I see thee now,

Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!

Long die thy happy days before thy death;

And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief,

Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!

Rivers, and Dorset, you were standers by,—

And so wast thou, Lord Hastings,—when my son

Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him,

 187 Northumberland; cf. n.

194 peevish: silly

197 surfeit: excess of luxurious living

206 Deck'd: dressed

stall'd: installed

