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K. Rich. Art thou, indeed ?
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
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:
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
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.
Buck. What says your highness to my just re
· K. Rich. I do remember me, - Henry the sixth
Buck. My lord, -
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
Buck. My lord,
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?
Upon the stroke Of ten,
K. Rich. Well, let it strike.
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
" 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.
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 fesh'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.
K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel! am I happy in thy news?
K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead ?
And buried, gentle Tyrrel ? Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried
But where, to say the truth, I do not know.
do thee good,
I humbly take my leave. [Exit. K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I pen'd up
His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage ;
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.
shield; We must be brief, when traitors brave the field.
Before the Palace.
Enter Queen MARGARET.
To watch the waning of mine enemies.
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 !