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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

your grace?
Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone,
Death and destruction dog thee at the heels ;
Thy mother's name is ominous to children:
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.
Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house,
Lest thou increase the number of the dead ;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,–
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.
Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel,

madam :
Take all the swift advantage of the hours ;
You shall have letters from me to my son
In your behalf, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta’en tardy by unwise delay.

Duch. O ill-dispersing wind of misery!-
O my accursed womb, the bed of death ;
A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
Whose unavoided eye is murderous !

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

now,

Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse ;
When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his

hands,
Which issu'd from my other angel husband,
And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd;
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
This was my wish, Be thou, quoth I, accurs’d,
For making me, so young, so old a widow !
And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife (if any be so mad)
More miserable by the life of thee,
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Even in so short a space, my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words,
And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse :
Which ever since hath held mine

eyes

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

years

of sorrow have I seen, And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen."

2 Sorrow.

Q. Eliz. Stay yet: look back, with mé, unto the

Tower. Pity, you

ancient stones, those tender babes, Whom

envy
hath immur'd within

your

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.

SCENE II.

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

advice,
And thy assistance, is king Richard seated :
But shall we wear these glories for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last !
K. Rich.' Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the

touch,

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

liege.

To try

3 Touchstone.

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.
K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness

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.
And unrespective + boys: none are for me,
That look into me with considerate eyes; —
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. -
Boy,

Page. My lord.
K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupt.

ing gold
Would tempt unto a close exploits of death ?

Page. I know a discontented gentleman,
Whose humble means match not his haughty mind:
Gold were as good as 'twenty orators,
And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.

K. Rich. What is his name?
Page.

His name, my lord, is — Tyrrel.

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K. Rich. I partly know the man; Go, call him hither, boy.

[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.

Enter STANLEY.

How now, lord Stanley ? what's the news ?
Stan.

Know, my loving lord,
The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled
To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.

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.

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Re-enter Page, with TYRREL. Is thy name Tyrrel? Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient

subject.

6 Cunning.
? It is of great consequence to my designs.

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