DUCHESS.
Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow
As I had title in thy noble husband.
I have bewept a worthy husband’s death,
And lived by looking on his images;
But now two mirrors of his princely semblance
Are cracked in pieces by malignant death,
And I, for comfort, have but one false glass,
That grieves me when I see my shame in him.
Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother,
And hast the comfort of thy children left;
But death hath snatched my husband from mine arms
And plucked two crutches from my feeble hands,
Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I,
Thine being but a moiety of my moan,
To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries.
BOY.
Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father’s death.
How can we aid you with our kindred tears?
GIRL.
Our fatherless distress was left unmoaned.
Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Give me no help in lamentation.
I am not barren to bring forth complaints.
All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes,
That I, being governed by the watery moon,
May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world.
Ah, for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward!
CHILDREN.
Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence!
DUCHESS.
Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
What stay had I but Edward? And he’s gone.
CHILDREN.
What stay had we but Clarence? And he’s gone.
DUCHESS.
What stays had I but they? And they are gone.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Was never widow had so dear a loss.