To be discover'd, that can do me good?
The advancement of your children, gentle lady.
Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?
No, to the dignity and height of honour
The high imperial type of this earth's glory.
Flatter my sorrows with report of it;
Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou demise to any child of mine?
Even all I have; yea, and myself and all,
Will I withal endow a child of thine;
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs
Which thou supposest I have done to thee.
Be brief, lest that be process of thy kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.
Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter.
My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.
What do you think?
That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul:
So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers;
And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it.
Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And mean to make her queen of England.
Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?
Even he that makes her queen who should be else?
What, thou?
I, even I: what think you of it, madam?
How canst thou woo her?
That would I learn of you,
As one that are best acquainted with her humour.
And wilt thou learn of me?
Madam, with all my heart.
Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,
A pair of bleeding-hearts; thereon engrave
Edward and York; then haply she will weep:
Therefore present to her--as sometime Margaret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,--
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body
And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith.
If this inducement force her not to love,
Send her a story of thy noble acts;
Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake,
Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
Come, come, you mock me; this is not the way
To win our daughter.
There is no other way
Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.
Say that I did all this for love of her.
Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
Look, what is done cannot be now amended