 | The Earl of Warwick |  |
SCENE V.
MARGARET Prisoner.MARGARET.
Once more I am your pris'ner.
EDWARD.
'Twill be prudent
Henceforth to keep you so.
64
You dare not!
Thou think'st, perhaps, that I shall sue to thee
For mercy: no; in Marg'ret of Anjou,
Thou see'st the wife, and daughter of a king.
A spirit not to be subdu'd; tho fall'n
Triumphant still, and tho' a pris'ner free.
For know, I bear a mind above the reach
Of fortune or of Edward—I have lost
All I cou'd wish to live for in my child;
And gain'd what most I wish'd to gain, revenge!
Or life or death are now indiff'rent to me.
EDWARD.
For thy unbounded goodness, pow'r supreme
Accept our praise!
ELIZABETH.
(kneeling)
Accept our humble pray'r!
MARGARET.
Insulting piety! the common trick
Of hypocrites and slaves: when ye shall know
What Marg'ret knows, ye may not be so thankful.
Methinks 'tis pity Warwick is not here
To join in your devotion.
ELIZABETH.
Wou'd to heav'n
He were!
MARGARET.
That monster, that perfidious slave
Who broke his faith to Marg'ret, and to thee;
Thy coward soul, unable to defend
The treasure thou hadst stol'n, cou'd meanly stoop
To court the traitor whom thou dar'st not punish.
Not so the injur'd Marg'ret—she repell'd
The wrongs she felt, and the deceiver met
The sate he merited.
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What fate?—ev'n now
Crown'd with immortal wreaths, the hero comes
To bless his friends, and punish guilt like thine.
MARGARET.
Proud and deluded wretches! I look down
With pity on you: Captive as I am,
'Tis mine to judge and punish; be it yours
To hear and tremble.
EDWARD.
Ha!
ELIZABETH.
What can this mean?
MARGARET.
If I mistake not, Warwick is your friend,
Your lover too, I think.
ELIZABETH.
My lord, my husband.
MARGARET.
Know then, that friend, that lover, perjur'd Warwick,
Hath not an hour to live.
EDWARD.
What murth'rous hand—
MARGARET.
Mine, tyrant mine: think not I mean to hide
The noble deed; it is my happiness,
It is my glory: thou wilt call me base,
Blood-thirsty, cruel, savage, and revengeful.
But here I stand acquitted to myself,
And ev'ry feeling heart that knows my wrongs.—
To late posterity dethroned queens,
And weeping mothers shall applaud my justice.
EDWARD.
Justice, on whom?
66
Can Edward ask me? who
Imprison'd Henry, rob'd me of a crown,
And plac'd it on a proud usurper's head?
Who gave his sacred promise to a queen,
And broke it? who, for which indignant heav'n
Chastis'd him, basely murther'd my sweet boy?
Bereft of honour, fortune, husband, child,
Depriv'd of ev'ry comfort, what remain'd
For me but vengeance, what for him but death?
EDWARD.
What hast thou done? when? where? speak, murthress, speak.
MARGARET.
Press'd by surrounding multitudes, and made
A slave, they dragg'd me to the conqu'ror's tent,
There the first horrid object I beheld,
Was the pale corse of my poor bleeding child:
There—as th'insulting Warwick stood, and seem'd
To triumph o'er him—from my breast I drew
A ponyard forth, and plung'd it in his heart.
Th'astonish'd soldiers throng'd around him, seiz'd
And brought me here—now to your pray'rs again.
EDWARD.
[Elizabeth faints.
She faints, good Suffolk, help there, help, support
Assist her.—lead her in.
[Exit Elizabeth.
If it be true,
As much I fear it is, a thousand deaths
Were punishment too little for thy guilt;
Thou shalt be tortur'd.
MARGARET.
Tyrant, I defy thee;
Thy threats appall not me: prepare your tortures,
Let them be sharp and cruel as thyself,
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Or pow'r inflict, 'twill be my comfort still,
They cannot be so great as those you feel.
EDWARD.
Guards, take the monster hence, let her be chain'd
In some deep dungeon, dark as her own thoughts,
There let her perish—hence, away with her.
MARGARET.
Despair, and horror visit thee—farewell—
He comes, my triumph is complete—look there!
| The Earl of Warwick | |