I go. Write to me very shortly.
And you shall understand from me her mind.

Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

But thou didst kill my children.

Shall I forget myself to be myself?

Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast;
For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee.
The children live, whose parents thou hast
slaughter'd,
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age;
The parents live, whose children thou ...

God's wrong is most of all.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
The unity the king thy brother made
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain:
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
The imperial metal, circling now thy ...

Thyself thyself misusest.

Thy life hath that dishonour'd.

'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

By nothing; for this is no oath:
The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour;
The garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
The crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory.
if something thou wilt swear to be believed,
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

Profaned, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.

Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break.

O no, my reasons are too deep and dead;
Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave.

Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.

So long as hell and Richard likes of it.

But how long fairly shall her sweet lie last?

But how long shall that title 'ever' last?

To wail the tide, as her mother doth.

That at her hands which the king's King forbids.

Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

What were I best to say? her father's brother
Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle?
Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honour and her love,
Can make seem pleasing ...

Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

There is no other way
Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.

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 ...

And wilt thou learn of me?

How canst thou woo her?

What, thou?

Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

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.

My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.

Be brief, lest that be process of thy kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.

Flatter my sorrows with report of it;
Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?

What good is cover'd with the face of heaven,
To be discover'd, that can do me good?

Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of ...

True, when avoided grace makes destiny:
My babes were destined to a fairer death,
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.

No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.

And only in that safety died her brothers.

To save her life, I'll say she is not so.

And must she die for this? O, let her live,
And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;
Slander myself as false to Edward's bed;
Throw over her the veil of infamy:
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward ...

I have no more sons of the royal blood
For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;
And therefore level not to hit their lives.

Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse
Abides in me; I say amen to all.

Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

Hidest thou that forehead with a golden crown,
Where should be graven, if that right were right,
The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown,
And the dire death of my two sons and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?

Windy attorneys to their client woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries!
Let them have scope: though what they do impart
Help not all, yet do they ease the heart.

My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine!

O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies!