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K. Rich. Art thou, indeed ?
Tyr.

Prove me, my gracious lord. K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of

mine? Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two ene

mies. K: Rich. Why, then thou hast it; two deep ene

mies, Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, Are they that I would have thee deal ® upon : Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them, And soon I'll rid

you

from the fear of them. K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet musick. Hark, come

hither, Tyrrel ; Go, by this token : - Rise, and lend thine ear :

[Whispers. There is no more but so:

Say, it

done, And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. Tyr. I will despatch it straight.

(Exit. Re-enter BUCKINGHAM. Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in

my

mind The late demand that you did sound me in. K. Rich, Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to

Richmond. Buck. I hear the news, my lord. K. Rich, Stanley, he is your wife's son:- Well,

look to it. Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by pro

mise, For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd; The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables, Which you have promised I shall possess. K. Rich. Stanley, look to your

if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

wife ;

Buck. What says your highness to my just re

quest ?

· K. Rich. I do remember me, - Henry the sixth
Did prophecy, that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
A king ! - perhaps

Buck. My lord, -
K. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at

that time, Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom,

K. Rich. Richmond !- When last I was at Exeter, The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle, And call'd it — Rouge-mont: at which name, I

started;
Because a bard of Ireland told me once,
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

Buck. My lord,
K. Rich. Ay, what's o'clock ?
Buck.

I am thus bold To put your grace in mind of what you promis'd me.

K. Rich. Well, but what is't o'clock?
Buck.

Upon the stroke Of ten,

K. Rich. Well, let it strike.
Buck.

Why, let it strike ? K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack', thou keep'st

the stroke Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. I am not in the giving vein to-day.

Buck. Why, then resolve me whe'r you will, or no. K. Rich. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.

[Exeunt King RICHARD, and Train. Buck. And is it thus ? repays he my deep service

y Foolish,

" A Jack of the clock-house is an image like those at St. Dunstan's church in Fleet-street, and was then a comwon appendage to clocks.

With such contempt? made I him king for this ? 0, let me think on Hastings; and be gone To Brecknock ', while my

fearful head is on. [Exit.

SCENE III.

The same.

Enter TYRREL. Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done; The most arch deed of piteous massacre, That ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton, and Forrest, whom I did suborn To do this piece of ruthless butchery, Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, Melting with tenderness and mild compassion, Wept like two children, in their death's sad story, O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes, Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another, Within their alabaster innocent arms : Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, Which, in their summer beauty kiss'd each other. A book of prayers on their pillow lay, Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind. But, 0, the devil - there the villain stopp'd When Dighton thus told on,

we smothered The most replenished sweet work of nature, That, from the prime creation, e'er she fram'd. Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse, They could not speak; and so I left them both, To bear these tidings to the bloody king.

Enter King RICHARD.
And here he comes : all health, my sovereign

lord !
2 His castle in Wales.

K

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VOL. VII.

K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel! am I happy in thy news?
Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in

charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then,
For it is done.

K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead ?
Tyr. I did, my lord.
K. Rich.

And buried, gentle Tyrrel ? Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried

them;

But where, to say the truth, I do not know.
K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after

supper,
When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Mean time, but think how I

may

do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell, till then.
Tyr.

I humbly take my leave. [Exit. K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I pen'd up

close;

His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage ;
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
Now, for I know the Bretagne 3 Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown,
To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.

Enter CATESBY. Cate. My lord, K. Rich. Good news, or bad, that thou com’st in

so bluntly ? Cate. Bad news, my lord : Morton - is filed to

Richmond ; And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welsh

men, • The country in which Richmond had taken refuge.

Bishop of Ely.

Is in the field, and still his power encreaseth.
K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more

near,
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
Come, I have learn'd, that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary :
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!
Go, muster men: My counsel is my

shield; We must be brief, when traitors brave the field.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Before the Palace.

Enter Queen MARGARET.
Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,

To watch the waning of mine enemies.
A dire induction am I witness to,
And will to France; hoping, the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! who comes

here?

Enter Queen ELIZABETH and the Duchess of York. Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender

babes! My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! If yet your gentle souls fly in the air, And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, Hover about me with your airy wings, And hear your mother's lamentation !

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