May your son Edward, who is now Prince of Wales, die violently while young, just like my son Edward, who was once Prince of Wales. What, weren't you all snarling at each other before I came-about to jump at each others' throats like dogs? And now you're turning all your hatred on me? Did the Duke of York's curse have so much power that Henry's death my lovely Edward's death the loss of their kingdom and my sad banishment were all required to avenge the death of that peevish brat Rutland? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Well then, open up, you dark clouds-and hear my strong curses! Though your Yorkist king didn't die in battle, may he die from his gluttony, just as our Lancastrian king-my husband-was murdered to give your king his throne. ![]() God I pray Him That none of you may live his natural age, But by some unlooked accident cut off. Rivers and Dorset, you were standers-by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabbed with bloody daggers. Long die thy happy days before they death, And, after many lengthened hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen. ![]() Long mayst thou live to wail they children's death And see another, as I see thee now, Decked in they rights, as thou art stalled in mine. Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive they glory, like my wretched self. Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales, For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence. ![]() What, were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York’s dread curse prevail so much with heaven That Henry’s death, my Lovelly Edward’s death, Their kingdom’s loss, my woeful banishment, Could all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder to make him a king.
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