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A room of state in the palace.
Flourish of trumpets. Richard, as king upon his
throne ; Buckingham, Catesby, a Page, and
Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last !
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
liege. 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.
Page. My lord.
Page. I know a discontented gentleman,
K. Rich. What is his name?
His name, my lord, is—Tyrrel. K. Rich. I partly know the man; Go, call him hither, boy
Know, my loving lord,
+ Secret act.
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 !-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.
[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. Is thy name-Tyrrel ? Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient sub
ject. 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 dealt 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. * It is of the utmost consequence to my designs.
There is no more but so :-Say, it is done,
Richmond. Buck. I hear the news, my lord. K. Rich. Stanley, he's 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 wife; if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. Buck. What says your highness to my just re
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 callid it-Rouge-mont: at which name, I
Buck. My lord,--
Ay, what's o'clock?
I am thus bold * Foolish.
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 With such contempt? made I him king for this? 0, let me think on Hastings; and be gone To Brecknockt, while my fearful head is on.
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 ruthlessf 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 habes,Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another Within their alabaster innocent arms : Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, Which in their surimer beauty kiss'd each other. * An image like those at St. Dunstan's church in Fleet-street. f His castle in Wales.