The Third Part of King Henry the Sixth

KING EDWARD. Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands.
LADY GREY. Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;
For by that loss I will not purchase them.
KING EDWARD. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily.
LADY GREY. Herein your Highness wrongs both them and me.
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
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 GREY. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.
GLOUCESTER. The widow likes him not; she knits her brows.
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.
Say that King Edward take thee for his queen?
LADY GREY. '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 GREY. 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 GREY. '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.
GLOUCESTER. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift.
CLARENCE. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shrift.
KING EDWARD. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.
GLOUCESTER. The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad.
KING EDWARD. You'd think it strange if I should marry her.
CLARENCE. To who, my lord?
KING EDWARD. Why, Clarence, to myself.
GLOUCESTER. That would be ten days' wonder at the least.
CLARENCE. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.
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 your prisoner to your palace gate.
KING EDWARD. See that he be convey'd unto the Tower.
And go we, brothers, to the man that took him
To question of his apprehension.
Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably.
Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER
GLOUCESTER. 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 buried-
Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
And all the unlook'd 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 wither'd 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 unlick'd bear-whelp
That carries no impression like the dam.
And am I, then, a man to be belov'd?