A book of prayers on their pillow lay: Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind; Enter King Richard. 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 sup per, When thou shalt tell the process of their death. Farewell, till then. Tyr. [Exit. I humbly take my leave.. K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd up close; His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; * The country in which Richmond had taken refuge. VOL. VII. Cate. My lord, Enter Catesby. K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st in so bluntly? Cate. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond; And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welchmen, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near, Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary: Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king! [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The same Before the palace. Enter Queen Margaret. Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow, And will to France; hoping, the consequence Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! who comes Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York. Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender babes! My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! 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. Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs, And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? ghost, Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp❜d, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, [Sitting down. Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood! Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st 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*, And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. *Seniority. |