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.

Q. Eliz. Stay yet; look back, with me, 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.

SCENE II.

A Room of State in the Palace.

[Exeunt.

Sound a Sennet. RICHARD, as King upon his Throne; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, a Page, and Others.

K. Rich. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham'

--

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, To try 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 lord.
K. Rich. Ha! am I king?
Buck. True, noble prince.
K. Rich.

That Edward still should live,

'T is so; but Edward lives.

O bitter consequence,

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 little breath, some pause, dear lord, Before I positively speak in this :

I will resolve you herein presently.

[Exit BUCKINGHAM.

Cate. The king is angry: see, he gnaws his lip.
K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools,

[Aside.

[Descends from his Throne.

And unrespective boys: none are for me,
That look into me with considerate eye.

High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
Boy! -

Page. My lord.

K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting gold Will tempt unto a close exploit of death?

Page. I know a discontented gentleman,

Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit:

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. —

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,

Enter STANLEY.

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.

[Exit Page.

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 poor gentleman,

Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' 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,

To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.

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?

[Exit CATESBY.

Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.
Art thou, indeed?

K. Rich.

Tyr.

K. Rich.

Prove me, my gracious lord.

Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two enemies.

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 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.

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.

Re-enter BUCKINGHAM.

Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind

The late demand that you did sound me in.

[Whispers.

[Exit.

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 unto it.
Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,
For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd;

Th' earldom of Hereford, and the moveables,
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 prophesy, that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.

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's o'clock?

Buck.

K. Rich. Well, let it strike.

Buck.

Upon the stroke of ten.

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 whether 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 be gone
The Brecknock, while my fearful head is on.

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 ruthful butchery,
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
Melted with tenderness and mild compassion,
Wept like to children in their death's sad story.
"Oh! 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,

And 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, O! the devil"—there the villain 'stopp'd;

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 this tidings to the bloody king.

And here he comes.

Enter King RICHARD.

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.

[Exit.