Thou mayst be damnèd for that wicked deed.
Oh, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.
Richard
The better for the king of heaven that hath him.
Anne
He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.
Richard
Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither,
For he was fitter for that place than earth.
Anne
And thou unfit for any place but hell.
Richard
Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.
Anne
Some dungeon.
Richard
Your bedchamber.
Anne
Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest.
Richard
So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
Anne
I hope so.
Richard
I know so. But gentle Lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our wits
And fall something into a slower method,
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner?
Anne
Thou wast the cause and most accursed effect.
Richard
Your beauty was the cause of that effect:
Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep
To undertake the death of all the world,
So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.
Anne
If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.
Richard
These eyes could never endure sweet beauty’s wreck.
You should not blemish it if I stood by.
As all the world is cheered by the sun,
So I by that. It is my day, my life.
Anne
Black night o’ershade thy day, and death thy life.
Richard
Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.
Anne
I would I were, to be revenged on thee.
Richard
It is a quarrel most unnatural
To be revenged on him that loveth you.
Anne
It is a quarrel just and reasonable
To be revenged on him that killed my husband.
Richard
He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband
Did it to help thee to a better husband.
Anne
His better doth not breathe upon the earth.
Richard
He lives that loves thee better than he could.
Anne
Name him.
Richard
Anne
Richard
The selfsame name, but one of better nature.
Anne
Where is he?
Richard
>[She] spits at him.
Why dost thou spit at me?
Anne
Would it were mortal poison for thy sake.
Richard
Never came poison from so sweet a place.
Anne
Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my sight. Thou dost infect mine eyes.
Richard
Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.
Anne
Would they were basilisks’, to strike thee dead.
Richard
I would they were, that I might die at once,
For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
Shamed their aspècts with store of childish drops.