["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Actus Primus.Scoena Prima. Enter Richard Duke of Gloster, solus. Now is the Winter of our Discontent,\nMade glorious Summer by this Son of Yorke:\nAnd all the clouds that lowr'd vpon our house\nIn the deepe bosome of the Ocean buried. Now are our browes bound with Victorious Wreathes,\nOur bruised armes hung vp for Monuments;\nOur sterne Alarums chang'd to merry Meetings;\nOur dreadfull Marches, to delightfull Measures. Grim-visag'd Warre, hath smooth'd his wrinkled Front:\nAnd now, in stead of mounting Barbed Steeds,\nTo fright the Soules of fearfull Aduersaries,\nHe capers nimbly in a Ladies Chamber,\nTo the lasciuious pleasing of a Lute. But I, that am not shap'd for sportiue trickes,\nNor made to court an amorous Looking-glasse:\nI, that am Rudely stampt, and want loues Maiesty,\nTo strut before a wonton ambling Nymph:\nI, that am curtail'd of this faire Proportion,\nCheated of Feature by dissembling Nature,\nDeform'd, vn-finish'd, sent before my time\nInto this breathing World, scarse halfe made vp,\nAnd that so lamely and vnfashionable,\nThat dogges barke at me, as I halt by them. Why I (in this weake piping time of Peace)\nHaue no delight to passe away the time,\nVnlesse to see my Shadow in the Sunne,\nAnd descant on mine owne Deformity. And therefore, since I cannot proue a Louer,\nTo entertaine these faire well spoken dayes,\nI am determined to proue a Villaine,\nAnd hate the idle pleasures of these dayes. Plots haue I laide, Inductions dangerous,\nBy drunken Prophesies, Libels, and Dreames,\nTo set my Brother Clarence and the King\nIn deadly hate, the one against the other:\nAnd if King Edward be as true and iust,\nAs I am Subtle, False, and Treacherous,\nThis day should Clarence closely be mew'd vp:\nAbout a Prophesie, which sayes that G,\nOf Edwards heyres the murtherer shall be. Diue thoughts downe to my soule, here Clarence comes. Enter Clarence, and Brakenbury, guarded. Brother, good day: What meanes this armed guard\nThat waites vpon your Grace? Cla. His Maiesty tendring my persons safety,\nHath appointed this Conduct, to conuey me to th' Tower\n  Rich. Vpon what cause? Cla. Because my name is George\n\n   Rich. Alacke my Lord, that fault is none of yours:\nHe should for that commit your Godfathers. O belike, his Maiesty hath some intent,\nThat you should be new Christned in the Tower,\nBut what's the matter Clarence, may I know? Cla. Yea Richard, when I know: but I protest\nAs yet I do not: But as I can learne,\nHe hearkens after Prophesies and Dreames,\nAnd from the Crosse-row pluckes the letter G:\nAnd sayes, a Wizard told him, that by G,\nHis issue disinherited should be. And for my name of George begins with G,\nIt followes in his thought, that I am he. These (as I learne) and such like toyes as these,\nHath moou'd his Highnesse to commit me now\n\n   Rich. Why this it is, when men are rul'd by Women:\n'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower,\nMy Lady Grey his Wife, Clarence 'tis shee,\nThat tempts him to this harsh Extremity. Was it not shee, and that good man of Worship,\nAnthony Woodeuile her Brother there,\nThat made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower? From whence this present day he is deliuered? We are not safe Clarence, we are not safe\n\n   Cla. By heauen, I thinke there is no man secure\nBut the Queenes Kindred, and night-walking Heralds,\nThat trudge betwixt the King, and Mistris Shore. Heard you not what an humble Suppliant\nLord Hastings was, for her deliuery? Rich. Humbly complaining to her Deitie,\nGot my Lord Chamberlaine his libertie. Ile tell you what, I thinke it is our way,\nIf we will keepe in fauour with the King,\nTo be her men, and weare her Liuery. The iealous ore-worne Widdow, and her selfe,\nSince that our Brother dub'd them Gentlewomen,\nAre mighty Gossips in our Monarchy\n\n   Bra. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me,\nHis Maiesty hath straightly giuen in charge,\nThat no man shall haue priuate Conference\n(Of what degree soeuer) with your Brother\n\n   Rich. Euen so, and please your Worship Brakenbury,\nYou may partake of any thing we say:\nWe speake no Treason man; We say the King\nIs wise and vertuous, and his Noble Queene\nWell strooke in yeares, faire, and not iealious. We say, that Shores Wife hath a pretty Foot,\nA cherry Lip, a bonny Eye, a passing pleasing tongue:\nAnd that the Queenes Kindred are made gentle Folkes. How say you sir? can you deny all this? Bra. With this (my Lord) my selfe haue nought to\ndoo\n\n   Rich. Naught to do with Mistris Shore? I tell thee Fellow, he that doth naught with her\n(Excepting one) were best to do it secretly alone\n\n   Bra. What one, my Lord? Rich. Her Husband Knaue, would'st thou betray me? Bra. I do beseech your Grace\nTo pardon me, and withall forbeare\nYour Conference with the Noble Duke\n\n   Cla. We know thy charge Brakenbury, and wil obey\n\n   Rich. We are the Queenes abiects, and must obey. Brother farewell, I will vnto the King,\nAnd whatsoe're you will imploy me in,\nWere it to call King Edwards Widdow, Sister,\nI will performe it to infranchise you. Meane time, this deepe disgrace in Brotherhood,\nTouches me deeper then you can imagine\n\n   Cla. I know it pleaseth neither of vs well\n\n   Rich. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long,\nI will deliuer you, or else lye for you:\nMeane time, haue patience\n\n   Cla. I must perforce: Farewell. Exit Clar[ence]. Rich. Go treade the path that thou shalt ne're return:\nSimple plaine Clarence, I do loue thee so,\nThat I will shortly send thy Soule to Heauen,\nIf Heauen will take the present at our hands. But who comes heere? the new deliuered Hastings? Enter Lord Hastings. Hast. Good time of day vnto my gracious Lord\n\n   Rich. As much vnto my good Lord Chamberlaine:\nWell are you welcome to this open Ayre,\nHow hath your Lordship brook'd imprisonment? Hast. With patience (Noble Lord) as prisoners must:\nBut I shall liue (my Lord) to giue them thankes\nThat were the cause of my imprisonment\n\n   Rich. No doubt, no doubt, and so shall Clarence too,\nFor they that were your Enemies, are his,\nAnd haue preuail'd as much on him, as you,\n  Hast. More pitty, that the Eagles should be mew'd,\nWhiles Kites and Buzards play at liberty\n\n   Rich. What newes abroad? Hast. No newes so bad abroad, as this at home:\nThe King is sickly, weake, and melancholly,\nAnd his Physitians feare him mightily\n\n   Rich. Now by S[aint]. Iohn, that Newes is bad indeed. O he hath kept an euill Diet long,\nAnd ouer-much consum'd his Royall Person:\n'Tis very greeuous to be thought vpon. Where is he, in his bed? Hast. He is\n\n   Rich. Go you before, and I will follow you. Exit Hastings. He cannot liue I hope, and must not dye,\nTill George be pack'd with post-horse vp to Heauen. Ile in to vrge his hatred more to Clarence,\nWith Lyes well steel'd with weighty Arguments,\nAnd if I faile not in my deepe intent,\nClarence hath not another day to liue:\nWhich done, God take King Edward to his mercy,\nAnd leaue the world for me to bussle in. For then, Ile marry Warwickes yongest daughter.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-02 The user is reading a book]\n<User> What though I kill'd her Husband, and her Father,\nThe readiest way to make the Wench amends,\nIs to become her Husband, and her Father:\nThe which will I, not all so much for loue,\nAs for another secret close intent,\nBy marrying her, which I must reach vnto. But yet I run before my horse to Market:\nClarence still breathes, Edward still liues and raignes,\nWhen they are gone, then must I count my gaines. Exit\n\n\n\nScena Secunda. Enter the Coarse of Henrie the sixt with Halberds to guard it, Lady\nAnne\nbeing the Mourner. Anne. Set downe, set downe your honourable load,\nIf Honor may be shrowded in a Herse;\nWhil'st I a-while obsequiously lament\nTh' vntimely fall of Vertuous Lancaster. Poore key-cold Figure of a holy King,\nPale Ashes of the House of Lancaster;\nThou bloodlesse Remnant of that Royall Blood,\nBe it lawfull that I inuocate thy Ghost,\nTo heare the Lamentations of poore Anne,\nWife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtred Sonne,\nStab'd by the selfesame hand that made these wounds. Loe, in these windowes that let forth thy life,\nI powre the helplesse Balme of my poore eyes. O cursed be the hand that made these holes:\nCursed the Heart, that had the heart to do it:\nCursed the Blood, that let this blood from hence:\nMore direfull hap betide that hated Wretch\nThat makes vs wretched by the death of thee,\nThen I can wish to Wolues, to Spiders, Toades,\nOr any creeping venom'd thing that liues. If euer he haue Childe, Abortiue be it,\nProdigeous, and vntimely brought to light,\nWhose vgly and vnnaturall Aspect\nMay fright the hopefull Mother at the view,\nAnd that be Heyre to his vnhappinesse. If euer he haue Wife, let her be made\nMore miserable by the death of him,\nThen I am made by my young Lord, and thee. Come now towards Chertsey with your holy Lode,\nTaken from Paules, to be interred there. And still as you are weary of this waight,\nRest you, whiles I lament King Henries Coarse. Enter Richard Duke of Gloster. Rich. Stay you that beare the Coarse, & set it down\n\n   An. What blacke Magitian coniures vp this Fiend,\nTo stop deuoted charitable deeds? Rich. Villaines set downe the Coarse, or by S[aint]. Paul,\nIle make a Coarse of him that disobeyes\n\n   Gen. My Lord stand backe, and let the Coffin passe\n\n   Rich. Vnmanner'd Dogge,\nStand'st thou when I commaund:\nAduance thy Halbert higher then my brest,\nOr by S[aint]. Paul Ile strike thee to my Foote,\nAnd spurne vpon thee Begger for thy boldnesse\n\n   Anne. What do you tremble? are you all affraid? Alas, I blame you not, for you are Mortall,\nAnd Mortall eyes cannot endure the Diuell. Auant thou dreadfull minister of Hell;\nThou had'st but power ouer his Mortall body,\nHis Soule thou canst not haue: Therefore be gone\n\n   Rich. Sweet Saint, for Charity, be not so curst\n\n   An. Foule Diuell,\nFor Gods sake hence, and trouble vs not,\nFor thou hast made the happy earth thy Hell:\nFill'd it with cursing cries, and deepe exclaimes:\nIf thou delight to view thy heynous deeds,\nBehold this patterne of thy Butcheries. Oh Gentlemen, see, see dead Henries wounds,\nOpen their congeal'd mouthes, and bleed afresh. Blush, blush, thou lumpe of fowle Deformitie:\nFor 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood\nFrom cold and empty Veines where no blood dwels. Thy Deeds inhumane and vnnaturall,\nProuokes this Deluge most vnnaturall. O God! which this Blood mad'st, reuenge his death:\nO Earth! which this Blood drink'st, reuenge his death. Either Heau'n with Lightning strike the murth'rer dead:\nOr Earth gape open wide, and eate him quicke,\nAs thou dost swallow vp this good Kings blood,\nWhich his Hell-gouern'd arme hath butchered\n\n   Rich. Lady, you know no Rules of Charity,\nWhich renders good for bad, Blessings for Curses\n\n   An. Villaine, thou know'st nor law of God nor Man,\nNo Beast so fierce, but knowes some touch of pitty\n\n   Rich. But I know none, and therefore am no Beast\n\n   An. O wonderfull, when diuels tell the truth! Rich. More wonderfull, when Angels are so angry:\nVouchsafe (diuine perfection of a Woman)\nOf these supposed Crimes, to giue me leaue\nBy circumstance, but to acquit my selfe\n\n   An. Vouchsafe (defus'd infection of man)\nOf these knowne euils, but to giue me leaue\nBy circumstance, to curse thy cursed Selfe\n\n   Rich. Fairer then tongue can name thee, let me haue\nSome patient leysure to excuse my selfe\n\n   An. Fouler then heart can thinke thee,\nThou can'st make no excuse currant,\nBut to hang thy selfe\n\n   Rich. By such dispaire, I should accuse my selfe\n\n   An. And by dispairing shalt thou stand excused,\nFor doing worthy Vengeance on thy selfe,\nThat did'st vnworthy slaughter vpon others\n\n   Rich. Say that I slew them not\n\n   An. Then say they were not slaine:\nBut dead they are, and diuellish slaue by thee\n\n   Rich. I did not kill your Husband\n\n   An. Why then he is aliue\n\n   Rich. Nay, he is dead, and slaine by Edwards hands\n\n   An. In thy foule throat thou Ly'st,\nQueene Margaret saw\nThy murd'rous Faulchion smoaking in his blood:\nThe which, thou once didd'st bend against her brest,\nBut that thy Brothers beate aside the point\n\n   Rich. I was prouoked by her sland'rous tongue,\nThat laid their guilt, vpon my guiltlesse Shoulders\n\n   An. Thou was't prouoked by thy bloody minde,\nThat neuer dream'st on ought but Butcheries:\nDid'st thou not kill this King? Rich. I graunt ye\n\n   An. Do'st grant me Hedge-hogge,\nThen God graunt me too\nThou may'st be damned for that wicked deede,\nO he was gentle, milde, and vertuous\n\n   Rich. The better for the King of heauen that hath him\n\n   An. He is in heauen, where thou shalt neuer come\n\n   Rich. Let him thanke me, that holpe to send him thither:\nFor he was fitter for that place then earth\n\n   An. And thou vnfit for any place, but hell\n\n   Rich. Yes one place else, if you will heare me name it\n\n   An. Some dungeon\n\n   Rich. Your Bed-chamber\n\n   An. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou lyest\n\n   Rich. So will it Madam, till I lye with you\n\n   An. I hope so\n\n   Rich. I know so. But gentle Lady Anne,\nTo leaue this keene encounter of our wittes,\nAnd fall something into a slower method. Is not the causer of the timelesse deaths\nOf these Plantagenets, Henrie and Edward,\nAs blamefull as the Executioner\n\n   An. Thou was't the cause, and most accurst effect\n\n   Rich. Your beauty was the cause of that effect:\nYour beauty, that did haunt me in my sleepe,\nTo vndertake the death of all the world,\nSo I might liue one houre in your sweet bosome\n\n   An. If I thought that, I tell thee Homicide,\nThese Nailes should rent that beauty from my Cheekes\n\n   Rich. These eyes could not endure y beauties wrack,\nYou should not blemish it, if I stood by;\nAs all the world is cheared by the Sunne,\nSo I by that: It is my day, my life\n\n   An. Blacke night ore-shade thy day, & death thy life\n\n   Rich. Curse not thy selfe faire Creature,\nThou art both\n\n   An. I would I were, to be reueng'd on thee\n\n   Rich. It is a quarrell most vnnaturall,\nTo be reueng'd on him that loueth thee\n\n   An.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-02, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-03 The user is reading a book]\n<User> It is a quarrell iust and reasonable,\nTo be reueng'd on him that kill'd my Husband\n\n   Rich. He that bereft the Lady of thy Husband,\nDid it to helpe thee to a better Husband\n\n   An. His better doth not breath vpon the earth\n\n   Rich. He liues, that loues thee better then he could\n\n   An. Name him\n\n   Rich. Plantagenet\n\n   An. Why that was he\n\n   Rich. The selfesame name, but one of better Nature\n\n   An. Where is he? Rich. Heere:\n\nSpits at him. Why dost thou spit at me\n\n   An. Would it were mortall poyson, for thy sake\n\n   Rich. Neuer came poyson from so sweet a place\n\n   An. Neuer hung poyson on a fowler Toade. Out of my sight, thou dost infect mine eyes\n\n   Rich. Thine eyes (sweet Lady) haue infected mine\n\n   An. Would they were Basiliskes, to strike thee dead\n\n   Rich. I would they were, that I might dye at once:\nFor now they kill me with a liuing death. Those eyes of thine, from mine haue drawne salt Teares;\nSham'd their Aspects with store of childish drops:\nThese eyes, which neuer shed remorsefull teare,\nNo, when my Father Yorke, and Edward wept,\nTo heare the pittious moane that Rutland made\nWhen black-fac'd Clifford shooke his sword at him. Nor when thy warlike Father like a Childe,\nTold the sad storie of my Fathers death,\nAnd twenty times, made pause to sob and weepe:\nThat all the standers by had wet their cheekes\nLike Trees bedash'd with raine. In that sad time,\nMy manly eyes did scorne an humble teare:\nAnd what these sorrowes could not thence exhale,\nThy Beauty hath, and made them blinde with weeping. I neuer sued to Friend, nor Enemy:\nMy Tongue could neuer learne sweet smoothing word. But now thy Beauty is propos'd my Fee,\nMy proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speake. She lookes scornfully at him. Teach not thy lip such Scorne; for it was made\nFor kissing Lady, not for such contempt. If thy reuengefull heart cannot forgiue,\nLoe heere I lend thee this sharpe-pointed Sword,\nWhich if thou please to hide in this true brest,\nAnd let the Soule forth that adoreth thee,\nI lay it naked to the deadly stroke,\nAnd humbly begge the death vpon my knee,\n\nHe layes his brest open, she offers at with his sword. Nay do not pause: For I did kill King Henrie,\nBut 'twas thy Beauty that prouoked me. Nay now dispatch: 'Twas I that stabb'd yong Edward,\nBut 'twas thy Heauenly face that set me on. She fals the Sword. Take vp the Sword againe, or take vp me\n\n   An. Arise Dissembler, though I wish thy death,\nI will not be thy Executioner\n\n   Rich. Then bid me kill my selfe, and I will do it\n\n   An. I haue already\n\n   Rich. That was in thy rage:\nSpeake it againe, and euen with the word,\nThis hand, which for thy loue, did kill thy Loue,\nShall for thy loue, kill a farre truer Loue,\nTo both their deaths shalt thou be accessary\n\n   An. I would I knew thy heart\n\n   Rich. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue\n\n   An. I feare me, both are false\n\n   Rich. Then neuer Man was true\n\n   An. Well, well, put vp your Sword\n\n   Rich. Say then my Peace is made\n\n   An. That shalt thou know heereafter\n\n   Rich. But shall I liue in hope\n\n   An. All men I hope liue so. Vouchsafe to weare this Ring\n\n   Rich. Looke how my Ring incompasseth thy Finger,\nEuen so thy Brest incloseth my poore heart:\nWeare both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poore deuoted Seruant may\nBut beg one fauour at thy gracious hand,\nThou dost confirme his happinesse for euer\n\n   An. What is it? Rich. That it may please you leaue these sad designes,\nTo him that hath most cause to be a Mourner,\nAnd presently repayre to Crosbie House:\nWhere (after I haue solemnly interr'd\nAt Chertsey Monast'ry this Noble King,\nAnd wet his Graue with my Repentant Teares)\nI will with all expedient duty see you,\nFor diuers vnknowne Reasons, I beseech you,\nGrant me this Boon\n\n   An. With all my heart, and much it ioyes me too,\nTo see you are become so penitent. Tressel and Barkley, go along with me\n\n   Rich. Bid me farwell\n\n   An. 'Tis more then you deserue:\nBut since you teach me how to flatter you,\nImagine I haue saide farewell already. Exit two with Anne. Gent. Towards Chertsey, Noble Lord? Rich. No: to White Friars, there attend my comming\n\nExit Coarse\n\nWas euer woman in this humour woo'd? Was euer woman in this humour wonne? Ile haue her, but I will not keepe her long. What? I that kill'd her Husband, and his Father,\nTo take her in her hearts extreamest hate,\nWith curses in her mouth, Teares in her eyes,\nThe bleeding witnesse of my hatred by,\nHauing God, her Conscience, and these bars against me,\nAnd I, no Friends to backe my suite withall,\nBut the plaine Diuell, and dissembling lookes? And yet to winne her? All the world to nothing. Hah! Hath she forgot alreadie that braue Prince,\nEdward, her Lord, whom I (some three monthes since)\nStab'd in my angry mood, at Tewkesbury? A sweeter, and a louelier Gentleman,\nFram'd in the prodigallity of Nature:\nYong, Valiant, Wise, and (no doubt) right Royal,\nThe spacious World cannot againe affoord:\nAnd will she yet abase her eyes on me,\nThat cropt the Golden prime of this sweet Prince,\nAnd made her Widdow to a wofull Bed? On me, whose All not equals Edwards Moytie? On me, that halts, and am mishapen thus? My Dukedome, to a Beggerly denier! I do mistake my person all this while:\nVpon my life she findes (although I cannot)\nMy selfe to be a maru'llous proper man. Ile be at Charges for a Looking-glasse,\nAnd entertaine a score or two of Taylors,\nTo study fashions to adorne my body:\nSince I am crept in fauour with my selfe,\nI will maintaine it with some little cost. But first Ile turne yon Fellow in his Graue,\nAnd then returne lamenting to my Loue. Shine out faire Sunne, till I haue bought a glasse,\nThat I may see my Shadow as I passe. Enter. Scena Tertia. Enter the Queene Mother, Lord Riuers, and Lord Gray. Riu. Haue patience Madam, ther's no doubt his Maiesty\nWill soone recouer his accustom'd health\n\n   Gray. In that you brooke it ill, it makes him worse,\nTherefore for Gods sake entertaine good comfort,\nAnd cheere his Grace with quicke and merry eyes\n  Qu. If he were dead, what would betide on me? If he were dead, what would betide on me? Gray. No other harme, but losse of such a Lord\n\n   Qu. The losse of such a Lord, includes all harmes\n\n   Gray. The Heauens haue blest you with a goodly Son,\nTo be your Comforter, when he is gone\n\n   Qu. Ah! he is yong; and his minority\nIs put vnto the trust of Richard Glouster,\nA man that loues not me, nor none of you\n\n   Riu. Is it concluded he shall be Protector? Qu. It is determin'd, not concluded yet:\nBut so it must be, if the King miscarry. Enter Buckingham and Derby. Gray. Here comes the Lord of Buckingham & Derby\n\n   Buc. Good time of day vnto your Royall Grace\n\n   Der. God make your Maiesty ioyful, as you haue bin\n  Qu. The Countesse Richmond, good my L[ord]. of Derby. To your good prayer, will scarsely say, Amen.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-03, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-05 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Yet Derby, not withstanding shee's your wife,\nAnd loues not me, be you good Lord assur'd,\nI hate not you for her proud arrogance\n\n   Der. I do beseech you, either not beleeue\nThe enuious slanders of her false Accusers:\nOr if she be accus'd on true report,\nBeare with her weaknesse, which I thinke proceeds\nFrom wayward sicknesse, and no grounded malice\n\n   Qu. Saw you the King to day my Lord of Derby\n\n   Der. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I,\nAre come from visiting his Maiesty\n\n   Que. What likelyhood of his amendment Lords\n\n   Buc. Madam good hope, his Grace speaks chearfully\n\n   Qu. God grant him health, did you confer with him? Buc. I Madam, he desires to make attonement\nBetweene the Duke of Glouster, and your Brothers,\nAnd betweene them, and my Lord Chamberlaine,\nAnd sent to warne them to his Royall presence\n\n   Qu. Would all were well, but that will neuer be,\nI feare our happinesse is at the height. Enter Richard. Rich. They do me wrong, and I will not indure it,\nWho is it that complaines vnto the King,\nThat I (forsooth) am sterne, and loue them not? By holy Paul, they loue his Grace but lightly,\nThat fill his eares with such dissentious Rumors. Because I cannot flatter, and looke faire,\nSmile in mens faces, smooth, deceiue, and cogge,\nDucke with French nods, and Apish curtesie,\nI must be held a rancorous Enemy. Cannot a plaine man liue, and thinke no harme,\nBut thus his simple truth must be abus'd,\nWith silken, slye, insinuating Iackes? Grey. To who in all this presence speaks your Grace? Rich. To thee, that hast nor Honesty, nor Grace:\nWhen haue I iniur'd thee? When done thee wrong? Or thee? or thee? or any of your Faction? A plague vpon you all. His Royall Grace\n(Whom God preserue better then you would wish)\nCannot be quiet scarse a breathing while,\nBut you must trouble him with lewd complaints\n\n   Qu. Brother of Glouster, you mistake the matter:\nThe King on his owne Royall disposition,\n(And not prouok'd by any Sutor else)\nAyming (belike) at your interiour hatred,\nThat in your outward action shewes it selfe\nAgainst my Children, Brothers, and my Selfe,\nMakes him to send, that he may learne the ground\n\n   Rich. I cannot tell, the world is growne so bad,\nThat Wrens make prey, where Eagles dare not pearch. Since euerie Iacke became a Gentleman,\nThere's many a gentle person made a Iacke\n\n   Qu. Come, come, we know your meaning Brother Gloster\nYou enuy my aduancement, and my friends:\nGod grant we neuer may haue neede of you\n\n   Rich. Meane time, God grants that I haue need of you. Our Brother is imprison'd by your meanes,\nMy selfe disgrac'd, and the Nobilitie\nHeld in contempt, while great Promotions\nAre daily giuen to ennoble those\nThat scarse some two dayes since were worth a Noble\n\n   Qu. By him that rais'd me to this carefull height,\nFrom that contented hap which I inioy'd,\nI neuer did incense his Maiestie\nAgainst the Duke of Clarence, but haue bin\nAn earnest aduocate to plead for him. My Lord you do me shamefull iniurie,\nFalsely to draw me in these vile suspects\n\n   Rich. You may deny that you were not the meane\nOf my Lord Hastings late imprisonment\n\n   Riu. She may my Lord, for-\n  Rich. She may Lord Riuers, why who knowes not so? She may do more sir then denying that:\nShe may helpe you to many faire preferments,\nAnd then deny her ayding hand therein,\nAnd lay those Honors on your high desert. What may she not, she may, I marry may she\n\n   Riu. What marry may she? Ric. What marrie may she? Marrie with a King,\nA Batcheller, and a handsome stripling too,\nIwis your Grandam had a worser match\n\n   Qu. My Lord of Glouster, I haue too long borne\nYour blunt vpbraidings, and your bitter scoffes:\nBy heauen, I will acquaint his Maiestie\nOf those grosse taunts that oft I haue endur'd. I had rather be a Countrie seruant maide\nThen a great Queene, with this condition,\nTo be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at,\nSmall ioy haue I in being Englands Queene. Enter old Queene Margaret. Mar. And lesned be that small, God I beseech him,\nThy honor, state, and seate, is due to me\n\n   Rich. What? threat you me with telling of the King? I will auouch't in presence of the King:\nI dare aduenture to be sent to th' Towre. 'Tis time to speake,\nMy paines are quite forgot\n\n   Margaret. Out Diuell,\nI do remember them too well:\nThou killd'st my Husband Henrie in the Tower,\nAnd Edward my poore Son, at Tewkesburie\n\n   Rich. Ere you were Queene,\nI, or your Husband King:\nI was a packe-horse in his great affaires:\nA weeder out of his proud Aduersaries,\nA liberall rewarder of his Friends,\nTo royalize his blood, I spent mine owne\n\n   Margaret. I and much better blood\nThen his, or thine\n\n   Rich. In all which time, you and your Husband Grey\nWere factious, for the House of Lancaster;\nAnd Riuers, so were you: Was not your Husband,\nIn Margarets Battaile, at Saint Albons, slaine? Let me put in your mindes, if you forget\nWhat you haue beene ere this, and what you are:\nWithall, what I haue beene, and what I am\n\n   Q.M. A murth'rous Villaine, and so still thou art\n\n   Rich. Poore Clarence did forsake his Father Warwicke,\nI, and forswore himselfe (which Iesu pardon.) Q.M. Which God reuenge\n\n   Rich. To fight on Edwards partie, for the Crowne,\nAnd for his meede, poore Lord, he is mewed vp:\nI would to God my heart were Flint, like Edwards,\nOr Edwards soft and pittifull, like mine;\nI am too childish foolish for this World\n\n   Q.M. High thee to Hell for shame, & leaue this World\nThou Cacodemon, there thy Kingdome is\n\n   Riu. My Lord of Gloster: in those busie dayes,\nWhich here you vrge, to proue vs Enemies,\nWe follow'd then our Lord, our Soueraigne King,\nSo should we you, if you should be our King\n\n   Rich. If I should be? I had rather be a Pedler:\nFarre be it from my heart, the thought thereof\n\n   Qu. As little ioy (my Lord) as you suppose\nYou should enioy, were you this Countries King,\nAs little ioy you may suppose in me,\nThat I enioy, being the Queene thereof\n\n   Q.M. A little ioy enioyes the Queene thereof,\nFor I am shee, and altogether ioylesse:\nI can no longer hold me patient. Heare me, you wrangling Pyrates, that fall out,\nIn sharing that which you haue pill'd from me:\nWhich off you trembles not, that lookes on me? If not, that I am Queene, you bow like Subiects;\nYet that by you depos'd, you quake like Rebells. Ah gentle Villaine, doe not turne away\n\n   Rich. Foule wrinckled Witch, what mak'st thou in my sight? Q.M. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd,\nThat will I make, before I let thee goe\n\n   Rich. Wert thou not banished, on paine of death? Q.M. I was: but I doe find more paine in banishment,\nThen death can yeeld me here, by my abode. A Husband and a Sonne thou ow'st to me,\nAnd thou a Kingdome; all of you, allegeance:\nThis Sorrow that I haue, by right is yours,\nAnd all the Pleasures you vsurpe, are mine\n\n   Rich.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-05, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> The Curse my Noble Father layd on thee,\nWhen thou didst Crown his Warlike Brows with Paper,\nAnd with thy scornes drew'st Riuers from his eyes,\nAnd then to dry them, gau'st the Duke a Clowt,\nSteep'd in the faultlesse blood of prettie Rutland:\nHis Curses then, from bitternesse of Soule,\nDenounc'd against thee, are all falne vpon thee:\nAnd God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed\n\n   Qu. So iust is God, to right the innocent\n\n   Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that Babe,\nAnd the most mercilesse, that ere was heard of\n\n   Riu. Tyrants themselues wept when it was reported\n\n   Dors. No man but prophecied reuenge for it\n\n   Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it\n\n   Q.M. What? were you snarling all before I came,\nReady to catch each other by the throat,\nAnd turne you all your hatred now on me? Did Yorkes dread Curse preuaile so much with Heauen,\nThat Henries death, my louely Edwards death,\nTheir Kingdomes losse, my wofull Banishment,\nShould all but answer for that peeuish Brat? Can Curses pierce the Clouds, and enter Heauen? Why then giue way dull Clouds to my quick Curses. Though not by Warre, by Surfet dye your King,\nAs ours by Murther, to make him a King. Edward thy Sonne, that now is Prince of Wales,\nFor Edward our Sonne, that was Prince of Wales,\nDye in his youth, by like vntimely violence. Thy selfe a Queene, for me that was a Queene,\nOut-liue thy glory, like my wretched selfe:\nLong may'st thou liue, to wayle thy Childrens death,\nAnd see another, as I see thee now,\nDeck'd in thy Rights, as thou art stall'd in mine. Long dye thy happie dayes, before thy death,\nAnd after many length'ned howres of griefe,\nDye neyther Mother, Wife, nor Englands Queene. Riuers and Dorset, you were standers by,\nAnd so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my Sonne\nWas stab'd with bloody Daggers: God, I pray him,\nThat none of you may liue his naturall age,\nBut by some vnlook'd accident cut off\n\n   Rich. Haue done thy Charme, y hateful wither'd Hagge\n\n   Q.M. And leaue out thee? stay Dog, for y shalt heare me. If Heauen haue any grieuous plague in store,\nExceeding those that I can wish vpon thee,\nO let them keepe it, till thy sinnes be ripe,\nAnd then hurle downe their indignation\nOn thee, the troubler of the poore Worlds peace. The Worme of Conscience still begnaw thy Soule,\nThy Friends suspect for Traytors while thou liu'st,\nAnd take deepe Traytors for thy dearest Friends:\nNo sleepe close vp that deadly Eye of thine,\nVnlesse it be while some tormenting Dreame\nAffrights thee with a Hell of ougly Deuills. Thou eluish mark'd, abortiue rooting Hogge,\nThou that wast seal'd in thy Natiuitie\nThe slaue of Nature, and the Sonne of Hell:\nThou slander of thy heauie Mothers Wombe,\nThou loathed Issue of thy Fathers Loynes,\nThou Ragge of Honor, thou detested-\n  Rich. Margaret\n\n   Q.M. Richard\n\n   Rich. Ha\n\n   Q.M. I call thee not\n\n   Rich. I cry thee mercie then: for I did thinke,\nThat thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names\n\n   Q.M. Why so I did, but look'd for no reply. Oh let me make the Period to my Curse\n\n   Rich. 'Tis done by me and ends in Margaret\n\n   Qu. Thus haue you breath'd your Curse against your self\n\n   Q.M. Poore painted Queen, vain flourish of my fortune,\nWhy strew'st thou Sugar on that Bottel'd Spider,\nWhose deadly Web ensnareth thee about? Foole, foole, thou whet'st a Knife to kill thy selfe:\nThe day will come, that thou shalt wish for me,\nTo helpe thee curse this poysonous Bunch-backt Toade\n\n   Hast. False boding Woman, end thy frantick Curse,\nLeast to thy harme, thou moue our patience\n\n   Q.M. Foule shame vpon you, you haue all mou'd mine\n\n   Ri. Were you wel seru'd, you would be taught your duty\n\n   Q.M. To serue me well, you all should do me duty,\nTeach me to be your Queene, and you my Subiects:\nO serue me well, and teach your selues that duty\n\n   Dors. Dispute not with her, shee is lunaticke\n\n   Q.M. Peace Master Marquesse, you are malapert,\nYour fire-new stampe of Honor is scarce currant. O that your yong Nobility could iudge\nWhat 'twere to lose it, and be miserable. They that stand high, haue many blasts to shake them,\nAnd if they fall, they dash themselues to peeces\n\n   Rich. Good counsaile marry, learne it, learne it Marquesse\n\n   Dor. It touches you my Lord, as much as me\n\n   Rich. I, and much more: but I was borne so high:\nOur ayerie buildeth in the Cedars top,\nAnd dallies with the winde, and scornes the Sunne\n\n   Mar. And turnes the Sun to shade: alas, alas,\nWitnesse my Sonne, now in the shade of death,\nWhose bright out-shining beames, thy cloudy wrath\nHath in eternall darknesse folded vp. Your ayery buildeth in our ayeries Nest:\nO God that seest it, do not suffer it,\nAs it is wonne with blood, lost be it so\n\n   Buc. Peace, peace for shame: If not, for Charity\n\n   Mar. Vrge neither charity, nor shame to me:\nVncharitably with me haue you dealt,\nAnd shamefully my hopes (by you) are butcher'd. My Charity is outrage, Life my shame,\nAnd in that shame, still liue my sorrowes rage\n\n   Buc. Haue done, haue done\n\n   Mar. O Princely Buckingham, Ile kisse thy hand,\nIn signe of League and amity with thee:\nNow faire befall thee, and thy Noble house:\nThy Garments are not spotted with our blood:\nNor thou within the compasse of my curse\n\n   Buc. Nor no one heere: for Curses neuer passe\nThe lips of those that breath them in the ayre\n\n   Mar. I will not thinke but they ascend the sky,\nAnd there awake Gods gentle sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heede of yonder dogge:\nLooke when he fawnes, he bites; and when he bites,\nHis venom tooth will rankle to the death. Haue not to do with him, beware of him,\nSinne, death, and hell haue set their markes on him,\nAnd all their Ministers attend on him\n\n   Rich. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham\n\n   Buc. Nothing that I respect my gracious Lord\n\n   Mar. What dost thou scorne me\nFor my gentle counsell? And sooth the diuell that I warne thee from. O but remember this another day:\nWhen he shall split thy very heart with sorrow:\nAnd say (poore Margaret) was a Prophetesse:\nLiue each of you the subiects to his hate,\nAnd he to yours, and all of you to Gods. Enter. Buc. My haire doth stand an end to heare her curses\n\n   Riu. And so doth mine, I muse why she's at libertie\n\n   Rich. I cannot blame her, by Gods holy mother,\nShe hath had too much wrong, and I repent\nMy part thereof, that I haue done to her\n\n   Mar. I neuer did her any to my knowledge\n\n   Rich. Yet you haue all the vantage of her wrong:\nI was too hot, to do somebody good,\nThat is too cold in thinking of it now:\nMarry as for Clarence, he is well repayed:\nHe is frank'd vp to fatting for his paines,\nGod pardon them, that are the cause thereof\n\n   Riu. A vertuous, and a Christian-like conclusion\nTo pray for them that haue done scath to vs\n\n   Rich. So do I euer, being well aduis'd. Speakes to himselfe. For had I curst now, I had curst my selfe. Enter Catesby. Cates.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-11 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Madam, his Maiesty doth call for you,\nAnd for your Grace, and yours my gracious Lord\n\n   Qu. Catesby I come, Lords will you go with mee\n\n   Riu. We wait vpon your Grace. Exeunt. all but Gloster. Rich. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawle. The secret Mischeefes that I set abroach,\nI lay vnto the greeuous charge of others. Clarence, who I indeede haue cast in darknesse,\nI do beweepe to many simple Gulles,\nNamely to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham,\nAnd tell them 'tis the Queene, and her Allies,\nThat stirre the King against the Duke my Brother. Now they beleeue it, and withall whet me\nTo be reueng'd on Riuers, Dorset, Grey. But then I sigh, and with a peece of Scripture,\nTell them that God bids vs do good for euill:\nAnd thus I cloath my naked Villanie\nWith odde old ends, stolne forth of holy Writ,\nAnd seeme a Saint, when most I play the deuill. Enter two murtherers. But soft, heere come my Executioners,\nHow now my hardy stout resolued Mates,\nAre you now going to dispatch this thing? Vil. We are my Lord, and come to haue the Warrant,\nThat we may be admitted where he is\n\n   Ric. Well thought vpon, I haue it heare about me:\nWhen you haue done, repayre to Crosby place;\nBut sirs be sodaine in the execution,\nWithall obdurate, do not heare him pleade;\nFor Clarence is well spoken, and perhappes\nMay moue your hearts to pitty, if you marke him\n\n   Vil. Tut, tut, my Lord, we will not stand to prate,\nTalkers are no good dooers, be assur'd:\nWe go to vse our hands, and not our tongues\n\n   Rich. Your eyes drop Mill-stones, when Fooles eyes\nfall Teares:\nI like you Lads, about your businesse straight. Go, go, dispatch\n\n   Vil. We will my Noble Lord. Scena Quarta. Enter Clarence and Keeper. Keep. Why lookes your Grace so heauily to day\n\n   Cla. O, I haue past a miserable night,\nSo full of fearefull Dreames, of vgly sights,\nThat as I am a Christian faithfull man,\nI would not spend another such a night\nThough 'twere to buy a world of happy daies:\nSo full of dismall terror was the time\n\n   Keep. What was your dream my Lord, I pray you tel me\n  Cla. Me thoughts that I had broken from the Tower,\nAnd was embark'd to crosse to Burgundy,\nAnd in my company my Brother Glouster,\nWho from my Cabin tempted me to walke,\nVpon the Hatches: There we look'd toward England,\nAnd cited vp a thousand heauy times,\nDuring the warres of Yorke and Lancaster\nThat had befalne vs. As we pac'd along\nVpon the giddy footing of the Hatches,\nMe thought that Glouster stumbled, and in falling\nStrooke me (that thought to stay him) ouer-boord,\nInto the tumbling billowes of the maine. O Lord, me thought what paine it was to drowne,\nWhat dreadfull noise of water in mine eares,\nWhat sights of vgly death within mine eyes. Me thoughts, I saw a thousand fearfull wrackes:\nA thousand men that Fishes gnaw'd vpon:\nWedges of Gold, great Anchors, heapes of Pearle,\nInestimable Stones, vnvalewed Iewels,\nAll scattred in the bottome of the Sea,\nSome lay in dead-mens Sculles, and in the holes\nWhere eyes did once inhabit, there were crept\n(As 'twere in scorne of eyes) reflecting Gemmes,\nThat woo'd the slimy bottome of the deepe,\nAnd mock'd the dead bones that lay scattred by\n\n   Keep. Had you such leysure in the time of death\nTo gaze vpon these secrets of the deepe? Cla. Me thought I had, and often did I striue\nTo yeeld the Ghost: but still the enuious Flood\nStop'd in my soule, and would not let it forth\nTo find the empty, vast, and wand'ring ayre:\nBut smother'd it within my panting bulke,\nWho almost burst, to belch it in the Sea\n\n   Keep. Awak'd you not in this sore Agony? Clar. No, no, my Dreame was lengthen'd after life. O then, began the Tempest to my Soule. I past (me thought) the Melancholly Flood,\nWith that sowre Ferry-man which Poets write of,\nVnto the Kingdome of perpetuall Night. The first that there did greet my Stranger-soule,\nWas my great Father-in-Law, renowned Warwicke,\nWho spake alowd: What scourge for Periurie,\nCan this darke Monarchy affoord false Clarence? And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by,\nA Shadow like an Angell, with bright hayre\nDabbel'd in blood, and he shriek'd out alowd\nClarence is come, false, fleeting, periur'd Clarence,\nThat stabb'd me in the field by Tewkesbury:\nSeize on him Furies, take him vnto Torment. With that (me thought) a Legion of foule Fiends\nInuiron'd me, and howled in mine eares\nSuch hiddeous cries, that with the very Noise,\nI (trembling) wak'd, and for a season after,\nCould not beleeue, but that I was in Hell,\nSuch terrible Impression made my Dreame\n\n   Keep. No maruell Lord, though it affrighted you,\nI am affraid (me thinkes) to heare you tell it\n\n   Cla. Ah Keeper, Keeper, I haue done these things\n(That now giue euidence against my Soule)\nFor Edwards sake, and see how he requits mee. O God! if my deepe prayres cannot appease thee,\nBut thou wilt be aueng'd on my misdeeds,\nYet execute thy wrath in me alone:\nO spare my guiltlesse Wife, and my poore children. Keeper, I prythee sit by me a-while,\nMy Soule is heauy, and I faine would sleepe\n\n   Keep. I will my Lord, God giue your Grace good rest. Enter Brakenbury the Lieutenant. Bra. Sorrow breakes Seasons, and reposing houres,\nMakes the Night Morning, and the Noon-tide night:\nPrinces haue but their Titles for their Glories,\nAn outward Honor, for an inward Toyle,\nAnd for vnfelt Imaginations\nThey often feele a world of restlesse Cares:\nSo that betweene their Titles, and low Name,\nThere's nothing differs, but the outward fame. Enter two Murtherers. 1.Mur. Ho, who's heere? Bra. What would'st thou Fellow? And how camm'st\nthou hither\n\n   2.Mur. I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither\non my Legges\n\n   Bra. What so breefe? 1. 'Tis better (Sir) then to be tedious:\nLet him see our Commission, and talke no more. Reads\n\n  Bra. I am in this, commanded to deliuer\nThe Noble Duke of Clarence to your hands. I will not reason what is meant heereby,\nBecause I will be guiltlesse from the meaning. There lies the Duke asleepe, and there the Keyes. Ile to the King, and signifie to him,\nThat thus I haue resign'd to you my charge. Enter. 1 You may sir, 'tis a point of wisedome:\nFar you well\n\n   2 What, shall we stab him as he sleepes\n\n   1 No: hee'l say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes\n  2 Why he shall neuer wake, vntill the great Iudgement\nday\n\n   1 Why then hee'l say, we stab'd him sleeping\n\n   2 The vrging of that word Iudgement, hath bred a\nkinde of remorse in me\n\n   1 What? art thou affraid? 2 Not to kill him, hauing a Warrant,\nBut to be damn'd for killing him, from the which\nNo Warrant can defend me\n\n   1 I thought thou had'st bin resolute\n\n   2 So I am, to let him liue\n\n   1 Ile backe to the Duke of Glouster, and tell him so\n\n   2 Nay, I prythee stay a little:\nI hope this passionate humor of mine, will change,\nIt was wont to hold me but while one tels twenty\n\n   1 How do'st thou feele thy selfe now?\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-11, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-13 The user is reading a book]\n<User> 2 Some certaine dregges of conscience are yet within\nmee\n\n   1 Remember our Reward, when the deed's done\n\n   2 Come, he dies: I had forgot the Reward\n\n   1 Where's thy conscience now\n\n   2 O, in the Duke of Glousters purse\n\n   1 When hee opens his purse to giue vs our Reward,\nthy Conscience flyes out\n\n   2 'Tis no matter, let it goe: There's few or none will\nentertaine it\n\n   1 What if it come to thee againe? 2 Ile not meddle with it, it makes a man a Coward:\nA man cannot steale, but it accuseth him: A man cannot\nSweare, but it Checkes him: A man cannot lye with his\nNeighbours Wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a blushing\nshamefac'd spirit, that mutinies in a mans bosome: It\nfilles a man full of Obstacles. It made me once restore a\nPursse of Gold that (by chance) I found: It beggars any\nman that keepes it: It is turn'd out of Townes and Citties\nfor a dangerous thing, and euery man that means to\nliue well, endeuours to trust to himselfe, and liue without\nit\n\n   1 'Tis euen now at my elbow, perswading me not to\nkill the Duke\n\n   2 Take the diuell in thy minde, and beleeue him not:\nHe would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh\n\n   1 I am strong fram'd, he cannot preuaile with me\n\n   2 Spoke like a tall man, that respects thy reputation. Come, shall we fall to worke? 1 Take him on the Costard, with the hiltes of thy\nSword, and then throw him into the Malmesey-Butte in\nthe next roome\n\n   2 O excellent deuice; and make a sop of him\n\n   1 Soft, he wakes\n\n   2 Strike\n\n   1 No, wee'l reason with him\n\n   Cla. Where art thou Keeper? Giue me a cup of wine\n\n   2 You shall haue Wine enough my Lord anon\n\n   Cla. In Gods name, what art thou? 1 A man, as you are\n\n   Cla. But not as I am Royall\n\n   1 Nor you as we are, Loyall\n\n   Cla. Thy voice is Thunder, but thy looks are humble\n\n   1 My voice is now the Kings, my lookes mine owne\n\n   Cla. How darkly, and how deadly dost thou speake? Your eyes do menace me: why looke you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? 2 To, to, to-\n  Cla. To murther me? Both. I, I\n\n   Cla. You scarsely haue the hearts to tell me so,\nAnd therefore cannot haue the hearts to do it. Wherein my Friends haue I offended you? 1 Offended vs you haue not, but the King\n\n   Cla. I shall be reconcil'd to him againe\n\n   2 Neuer my Lord, therefore prepare to dye\n\n   Cla. Are you drawne forth among a world of men\nTo slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where is the Euidence that doth accuse me? What lawfull Quest haue giuen their Verdict vp\nVnto the frowning Iudge? Or who pronounc'd\nThe bitter sentence of poore Clarence death,\nBefore I be conuict by course of Law? To threaten me with death, is most vnlawfull. I charge you, as you hope for any goodnesse,\nThat you depart, and lay no hands on me:\nThe deed you vndertake is damnable\n\n   1 What we will do, we do vpon command\n\n   2 And he that hath commanded, is our King\n\n   Cla. Erroneous Vassals, the great King of Kings\nHath in the Table of his Law commanded\nThat thou shalt do no murther. Will you then\nSpurne at his Edict, and fulfill a Mans? Take heed: for he holds Vengeance in his hand,\nTo hurle vpon their heads that breake his Law\n\n   2 And that same Vengeance doth he hurle on thee,\nFor false Forswearing, and for murther too:\nThou did'st receiue the Sacrament, to fight\nIn quarrell of the House of Lancaster\n\n   1 And like a Traitor to the name of God,\nDid'st breake that Vow, and with thy treacherous blade,\nVnrip'st the Bowels of thy Sou'raignes Sonne\n\n   2 Whom thou was't sworne to cherish and defend\n\n   1 How canst thou vrge Gods dreadfull Law to vs,\nWhen thou hast broke it in such deere degree? Cla. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deede? For Edward, for my Brother, for his sake. He sends you not to murther me for this:\nFor in that sinne, he is as deepe as I. If God will be auenged for the deed,\nO know you yet, he doth it publiquely,\nTake not the quarrell from his powrefull arme:\nHe needs no indirect, or lawlesse course,\nTo cut off those that haue offended him\n\n   1 Who made thee then a bloudy minister,\nWhen gallant springing braue Plantagenet,\nThat Princely Nouice was strucke dead by thee? Cla. My Brothers loue, the Diuell, and my Rage\n\n   1 Thy Brothers Loue, our Duty, and thy Faults,\nProuoke vs hither now, to slaughter thee\n\n   Cla. If you do loue my Brother, hate not me:\nI am his Brother, and I loue him well. If you are hyr'd for meed, go backe againe,\nAnd I will send you to my Brother Glouster:\nWho shall reward you better for my life,\nThen Edward will for tydings of my death\n\n   2 You are deceiu'd,\nYour Brother Glouster hates you\n\n   Cla. Oh no, he loues me, and he holds me deere:\nGo you to him from me\n\n   1 I so we will\n\n   Cla. Tell him, when that our Princely Father Yorke,\nBlest his three Sonnes with his victorious Arme,\nHe little thought of this diuided Friendship:\nBid Glouster thinke on this, and he will weepe\n\n   1 I Milstones, as he lessoned vs to weepe\n\n   Cla. O do not slander him, for he is kinde\n\n   1 Right, as Snow in Haruest:\nCome, you deceiue your selfe,\n'Tis he that sends vs to destroy you heere\n\n   Cla. It cannot be, for he bewept my Fortune,\nAnd hugg'd me in his armes, and swore with sobs,\nThat he would labour my deliuery\n\n   1 Why so he doth, when he deliuers you\nFrom this earths thraldome, to the ioyes of heauen\n\n   2 Make peace with God, for you must die my Lord\n\n   Cla. Haue you that holy feeling in your soules,\nTo counsaile me to make my peace with God,\nAnd are you yet to your owne soules so blinde,\nThat you will warre with God, by murd'ring me. O sirs consider, they that set you on\nTo do this deede will hate you for the deede\n\n   2 What shall we do? Clar. Relent, and saue your soules:\nWhich of you, if you were a Princes Sonne,\nBeing pent from Liberty, as I am now,\nIf two such murtherers as your selues came to you,\nWould not intreat for life, as you would begge\nWere you in my distresse\n\n   1 Relent? no: 'Tis cowardly and womanish\n\n   Cla. Not to relent, is beastly, sauage, diuellish:\nMy Friend, I spy some pitty in thy lookes:\nO, if thine eye be not a Flatterer,\nCome thou on my side, and intreate for mee,\nA begging Prince, what begger pitties not\n\n   2 Looke behinde you, my Lord\n\n   1 Take that, and that, if all this will not do,\n\nStabs him. Ile drowne you in the MalmeseyBut within. Enter. 2 A bloody deed, and desperately dispatcht:\nHow faine (like Pilate) would I wash my hands\nOf this most greeuous murther. Enter 1.Murtherer]\n\n  1 How now? what mean'st thou that thou help'st me\nnot? By Heauen the Duke shall know how slacke you\nhaue beene\n\n   2.Mur.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-13, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-14 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I would he knew that I had sau'd his brother,\nTake thou the Fee, and tell him what I say,\nFor I repent me that the Duke is slaine. Enter. 1.Mur. So do not I: go Coward as thou art. Well, Ile go hide the body in some hole,\nTill that the Duke giue order for his buriall:\nAnd when I haue my meede, I will away,\nFor this will out, and then I must not stay. Exit\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-14, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-14", "answer": "Richard Gloucester, Duke of Clarence, King Edward IV, Lady Anne Neville, Queen Elizabeth, Sir Robert Brackenbury, Lord Hastings, Lord Rivers, Lord Gray, Duke of Buckingham, Lord Stanley, Queen Margaret, Mrs. Shore, Edward Prince of Wales, Henry VI, Rutland, Tower of London, throne of England, arrest of Clarence, prophecy \"G\", women plotting, imprisonment, murder plot, Richard's soliloquy, wooing Lady Anne, marriage proposal, Lady Anne's ring, open coffin, curses, mourning Henry VI, King Edward's illness, Protector of the prince, House of Lancaster, House of York, war between houses, paper crown, handkerchief dipped in blood, murderers, commission, nightmare at sea, drowning, cup of wine, reward for murder, Christian behavior, villainy, conscience, refusal of reward, persuasive plea, betrayal, fratricide, succession, grief, manipulation, ambition, deception, revenge, loyalty, power struggle, significant decisions"}]