« AnteriorContinuar »
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster.
[To the Duchess of Gloster. There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.
Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder! That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.
Anne. Despiteful tidings ! O unpleasing news ! Dor. Be of good cheer:- Mother, how fares
Duch. O ill-dispersing wind of misery!-
Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.
Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go. 0, would to heaven that the inclusive verge Of golden metal, that must round my brow, Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain ! Anointed let me be with deadly venom ; And die, ere men can say
God save the queen! Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory; To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. Anne. No! why?- When he, that is my husband
Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse ;
from rest; For never yet one hour in his bed Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd. Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick ; And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining. Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for
yours: Dor. Farewell, thou wofül welcomer of glory! Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak’st thy leave of it! Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!
[To DORSET. Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee!
[To ANNE. Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee!
[T. Q. ELIZABETH. I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me! Eighty odd
of sorrow have I seen, And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen." Q. Eliz. Stay yet: look back, with mé, unto the
Tower. Pity, you
ancient stones, those tender babes, Whom
walls ! Rough cradle for such little pretty ones! Rude ragged nurse! old sullen play-fellow For tender princes, use my babies well! So foolish sorrow bids your stones'farewell. [Exeunt.
A Room of State in the Palace. Flourish of Trumpets. RICHARD, as King upon his
Throne ; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, a Page, and others. K. Rich. Stand all apart. -- Cousin of Bucking
ham, Buck. My gracious sovereign. K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy
Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last !
if thou be current gold, indeed: Young Edward lives; - Think now what I would
speak. Buck. Say on, my loving lord. K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be
king. „Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned
K. Rich. Ha! am I king? 'Tis so: but Edward
lives. Buck. True, noble prince. K. Rich.
O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live,
true, noble prince, ! Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull: Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead; And I would have it suddenly perform’d. What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief.
Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure.
freezes : Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die ? Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause,
dear lord, Before I positively speak in this: I will resolve your grace immediately.
[Exit BUCKINGHAM. Cate. The king is angry; see, he gnaws his lip.
[ Aside. K. Rich: I will converse with iron-witted fools,
[Descends from his Throne.
Page. My lord.
Page. I know a discontented gentleman,
K. Rich. What is his name?
His name, my lord, is — Tyrrel. K. Rich. I partly know the man; Go, call him hither, boy.
s Secret act.
[Exit Page. The deep-revolving witty Buckingham No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels : Hath he so long held out with me untir'd, And stops he now for breath? -- well, be it so.
How now, lord Stanley ? what's the news ?
Know, my loving lord,
K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby: rumour it abroad, That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick; I will take order for her keeping close. Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman, Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter:The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. Look, how thou dream'st!- say again, give out, That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die: About it; for it stands me much upon?, To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me.
[Exit CATESBY. I must be married to my brother's daughter, Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass : Murder her brothers, and then marry her! Uncertain
way of gain ! But I am in So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin. Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
Re-enter Page, with TYRREL. Is thy name Tyrrel? Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient