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QUEEN MARGARET

Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard killed him
Then forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
50A hellhound that doth hunt us all to death—
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood;
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in gallèd eyes of weeping souls;
55That foul defacer of God’s handiwork
Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.
O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
How do I thank thee that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother’s body
60And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!

QUEEN MARGARET

You had a Clarence, too, and Richard killed him. Your womb let loose a hellhound that hunts us all to death. That dog, who was born with sharp teeth for lapping up the blood of lambs, who had teeth before he even had eyes, is the world’s worst tyrant, making the eyes of a whole kingdom red with weeping. He destroys God’s handiwork and will send us to our graves. Oh righteous God, how can I thank you enough that this meat-eating mutt preys on his mother’s children and forces her to join others in their grief!

DUCHESS

O Harry’s wife, triumph not in my woes!
God witness with me, I have wept for thine.

DUCHESS

O Harry’s wife, do not triumph in my sorrow! With God as my witness, I swear I have wept for yours.

QUEEN MARGARET

Bear with me, I am hungry for revenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
65Thy Edward he is dead, that killed my Edward,
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
Young York, he is but boot, because both they
Matched not the high perfection of my loss.
Thy Clarence he is dead that stabbed my Edward,
70And the beholders of this frantic play,
Th' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely smothered in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell’s black intelligencer,
Only reserved their factor to buy souls
75And send them thither. But at hand, at hand
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end.
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,
To have him suddenly conveyed from hence.
Cancel his bond of life, dear God I pray,
80That I may live to say, “The dog is dead.”

QUEEN MARGARET

Bear with me. I am hungry for revenge, and now I plan to gorge myself on it. Your son Edward, who stabbed my son Edward, is dead. To even the balance, your grandson Edward is also dead, with young York thrown in because both your grandsons aren’t equal to my one son. Your Clarence, who stabbed my Edward, is also dead. And the audience to this insane play—the adulterer Hastings, as well as Rivers, Vaughan, and Grey—have been sent early to their graves. Richard, a fiendish spy for hell itself, still lives, but only long enough to buy souls to send below. Soon, very soon, he will meet his ghastly and well deserved end.
When he dies, the earth will gape open, hell will burn hotter, devils will roar, and saints will pray to get him out of here fast. I pray that God ends his life before I die, so I can say, “The dog is dead!”