But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns:
When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

[Exit.]



SCENE II. London. Another street.

[Enter the corpse of King Henry the Sixth, borne in an open
coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberds to guard it; and Lady
Anne as mourner.]

ANNE.
Set down, set down your honourable load,--
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,--
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.--
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,
Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds!
Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes:--
O, cursed be the hand that made these holes!
Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!