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Re-enter BUCKINGHAM.

K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools,

[Descends from his Throne.

And unrespective 4 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 corrupting gold

Would tempt unto a close exploit 5 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. K. Rich. I partly know the man; Go, call him hither, boy. [Exit Page.

6

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's daughter:
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. -
Look, how thou dream'st!-I say again, give out,
That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die:
About it; for it stands me much upon 7,
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.

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mies.

K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it; two deep enemies!

Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers,
Are they that I would have thee deal 8 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 music. Hark, come
hither, Tyrrel;
Go, by this token:

:-- - Rise, and lend thine ear:

[Whispers.

There is no more but so: Say, it is done, And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. Tyr. I will despatch it straight.

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[Exit.

6 Cunning.

8 Act

Buck. My lord, I have considered 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 promise,

For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd; The earldom of Hereford, and the movables, Which you have promised I shall possess.

K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

Buck. What says your highness to my just request?

K. Rich. I do remember me,- Henry the sixth Did prophecy, that Richmond should be king, When Richmond was a little peevish 9 boy. A king!- perhaps

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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 With such contempt? made I him king for this? O, let me think on Hastings; and begone To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on. [Ext.

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To watch the waning of mine enemies.
A dire induction am I witness to,

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.

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And here he comes: all health, my sovereign lord!
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 penn'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 Bretagnes 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 woer,

Cate. My lord,

Enter CATESBY.

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!

Q. Mar. Hover about her; say, that right for right
Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.

Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute, Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet. Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living ghost,

Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due, by life
usurp'd,

Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,

[Sitting down.
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood!
Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a
grave,

As thou canst yield a melancholy seat;

Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here!
Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we?

[Sitting down by her.
Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent,
Give mine the benefit of seniory 5,
And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society,

[Sitting down with them.
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine : —
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;

K. Rich. Good news, or bad, that thou com'st in I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him:

so bluntly?

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From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death:
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood;
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.
O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother's body,
And makes her pew-fellow 6 with others' moan!
Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes;
Heaven witness with me, I have wept for thine.

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Young York he is but boot 8, because both they
Match not the high perfection of my loss.
Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward;
And the beholders of this tragick play,

The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;
Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls,
And send them thither: But at hand, at hand,
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end:

Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,
To have him suddenly convey'd from hence: —
Cancel his bond of life, great God, I pray,
That I may live to say, The dog is dead!

Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy the time would

come,

That I should wish for thee to help me curse
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad.
Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my
fortune;

I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen;
The presentation of but what I was,
The flattering index of a direful pageant,
One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou wast; a garish 9 flag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot;
A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy?
Who sues, and kneels, and says God save the
queen?

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Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art.
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst usurp my place; and dost thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke;
From which even here I slip my wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.

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And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
My cruel son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd.
[Drum within.

I hear his drum,— be copious in exclaims.
Enter KING RICHARD, and his Train, marching.
K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition?
Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her unhappy womb,
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done.
Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden
crown,

Where should be branded, if that right were right,
The slaughter of the prince that ow'd' that crown,
And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children?
Duck. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother
Clarence?

And little Ned Plantagenet, his son ?

Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

Duch. Where is kind Hastings?

K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets! -strike alarum,

drums!

Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord's anointed: Strike, I say. -
[Flourish Aarums.
Either be patient, and entreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
Duch. Art thou my son?

K. Rich. Ay; I thank heaven, my father, and yourself.

Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience.
K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your con-
dition,

That cannot brook the accent of reproof.
Duch. O, let me speak.

K. Rich.

Do, then; but I'll not hear. Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words. K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.

Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee, Heaven knows, in torment and in agony.

K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you? Duch. No, by the holy rood 9, thou know'st it well,

Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mis- Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.

chance,

These English woes shall make me smile in France. Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while, And teach me how to curse mine enemies!

Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day;

Compare dead happiness with living woe;
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
And he that slew them, fouler than he is:
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them with thine!

Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine. [Erit Q. MARGARET. Duch. Why should calamity be full of words? 8 Thrown into the bargain, 9 Flaring.

A grievous burden was thy birth to me;
Tetchy 4 and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and
furious;

Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous;
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred.
What comfortable hour canst thou name,
That ever grac'd me in thy company?

K. Rich. 'Faith none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd your grace

To breakfast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,
Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.
Strike up the drum.

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Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish,
And never look upon thy face again.
Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more,
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
My prayers on the adverse party fight;
And there the little souls of Edward's children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies,
And promise them success and victory.
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end;
Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend.

[Exit. Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse

Abides in me; I say amen to her.

[Going.

K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with

you.

Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood, For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard, They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; And therefore level not to hit their lives.

K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd - Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? O, let her live,
And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;
Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed;
Throw over her the veil of infamy:

So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
K.Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.
Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say

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she is

not so. K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth. Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her brothers. K. Rich. Lo, at their births, good stars were opposite.

Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.

K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny: My babes were destin'd to a fairer death, If

grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.

K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my cousins.

Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction :

No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.

But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys,
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize, And dangerous success of bloody wars, As I intend more good to you and yours, Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd! 5 Unavoidable. 6 Constant.

Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of heaven,

To be discover'd, that can do me good?

K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle lady.

Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?

K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it; Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise 7 to any child of mine?

K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all, Will I withal endow a child of thine; So in the Lethe of thy angry soul

Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs, Which thou supposest, I have done to thee.

Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness

Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter.

Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.

K. Rich. What do you think?

Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter from

thy soul.

So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers, And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it.

K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And do intend to make her queen of England.
Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be
her king?

K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen: Who
else should be?
Q. Eliz. What, thou?
K. Rich.

of it, madam?

Even so: What think you

That I would learn of you,

Q. Elix. How canst thou woo her?
K. Rich.

As one being best acquainted with her humour.
Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?
K. Rich.
Madam, with all my heart.
Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her
brothers,

A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave,
Edward, and York; then, haply 8, will she weep:
Therefore present to her, - as sometime Margaret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, -
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;
Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake,
Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
K. Rich. You mock me, madam; this is not the way
To win your daughter.
Q. Eliz.
There is no other way;
Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.
K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her?
Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but

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Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter.
A grandam's name is little less in love,
Than is the doting title of a mother!
They are as children, but one step below.
Your children were vexation to your youth,
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.

The loss you have, is but - a son being king,
And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul,
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity:
The king, that calls your beauteous daughter-wife,
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset - brother;
Again shall you be mother to a king,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repair'd with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see:
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed,
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl;
Advantaging their loan, with interest
Of ten-times double gain of happiness.
Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience:
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale :
Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess
That, when this arm of mine hath chástised
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed!
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole vict'ress, Cæsar's Cæsar.

Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's brother

Would be her lord? Or shall I say, her uncle?
Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honour, and her love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.
Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still lasting

war.

K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command,

entreats.

Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's King forbids. 9

K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.
Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth.
K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly.
Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last?
K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.
Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life
last?

K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature, lengthens it.
Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it.
K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low.
Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such sove-
reignty.

K. Rich. Be eloquent, in my behalf, to her. Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told.

K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving tale.

In the Levitical Law, chap. xviii. 14.

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Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings break.

K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter', and my crown, —

Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.

K. Rich. I swear. Q. Eliz. By nothing; for this is no oath. Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honour; Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue; Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory: If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd, Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. K. Rich. Now, by the world, Q. Eliz.

'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

K. Rich. My father's death, Q. Eliz.

Thy life hath that dishonour'd.

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K. Rich. Why then, by God, Q. Eliz.

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God's wrong is most of all.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him,
The unity, the king thy brother made,
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain;
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him,
The imperial metal, circling now thy head,
Had grac'd the tender temples of my child;
And both the princes had been breathing here,
Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust,
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now?

K. Rich.
By the time to come.
Q. Eliz. That thou hast wrong'd in the time o'er-
past;

For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee.
The children live, whose parents thou hast slaughter'd,
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age:
The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd,
Old barren plants, to wail it in their age:
Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
Misus'd, ere us'd, by times ill-us'd o'er-past.

K. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent,
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!
Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours!
Day yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!
Be opposite all planets of good luck
To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love,
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,

I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter!
In her consists my happiness, and thine;
Without her, follows to myself, and thee,
Herself, the land, and many a christian soul,
Death, desolation, ruin, and decay :
It cannot be avoided, but by this;
It will not be avoided, but by this.
Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you so,)
Be the attorney of my love to her.
Plead what I will be, not what I have been;
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve:

1 The ensigns of the Order of the Garter.

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