Glo. I go; and if you plead as well for them, As I can say nay to thee for myself, No doubt we'll bring it to a happy issue. Buck. Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor knocks. [Exit Gloster.
Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens.
Welcome, my lord: I dance attendance here;
I think, the duke will not be spoke withal.-
Enter, from the Castle, CATESBY.
Now, Catesby! what says your lord to my request?
Cate. He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord,
To visit him to-morrow, or next day :
He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
Divinely bent to meditation;
And in no worldly suit would he be mov'd,
To draw him from his holy exercise.
Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke;
Tell him, myself, the mayor and aldermen,
In deep designs, in matter of great moment,
No less importing than our general good,
Are come to have some conference with his grace.
Cute. I'll signify so much unto him straight.
[Exit.
Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an
Edward!
He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed,
But on his knees at meditation;
Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,
But meditating with two deep divines;
Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,
But praying, to enrich his watchful soul:
Happy were England, would this virtuous prince
Take on himself the sovereignty thereof:
But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it.
May. Marry, God defend, his grace should
say us nay!
Buck. I fear, he will: Here Catesby comes again ;
Re-enter CATESBY.
Now, Catesby, what says his grace?
Cate. He wonders to what end you have assembled
Such troops of citizens to come to him,
His grace not being warn'd thereof before;
He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.
Buck. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should
Suspect me, that I mean no good to him:
By heaven, we come to him in perfect love;
And so once more return and tell his
grace.
[Exit Catesby.
When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence;
So sweet is zealous contemplation.
Enter GLOSTER, in a gallery above, between two
Bishops. CATESBY returns.
May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two clergymen !
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To stay him from the fall of vanity:
And, see, a book of prayer in his hand;
True ornaments to know a holy man.-
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince,
Lend favourable ear to our requests;
And pardon us the interruption
Of thy devotion, and right christian zeal.
Glo. My lord, there needs no such apology;
I rather do beseech you pardon me,
Who, earnest in the service of my God,
Neglect the visitation of my friends.
But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure?
Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God
above,
And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.
Glo. I do suspect, I have done some offence,
That seems disgracious in the city's eye;
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.
Buck. You have, my ford; 'Would it might
please your grace,
On our entreaties to amend your fault!
Glo. Else wherefore breathe. I in a christian
land?
Buck. Know, then, it is your fault, that you resign
The supreme seat, the throne majestical,
The scepter'd office of your ancestors,
Your state of fortune, and your due of birth,
The lineal glory of your royal house,
To the corruption of a blemish'd stock:
Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
(Which here we waken to our country's good,)
The noble isle doth want her proper limbs ;
Her face defac'd with scars of infamy,
Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf
Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion.
Which to recure, we heartily solicit
Your gracious self to take on you the charge
And kingly government of this your land:
Not as protector, steward, substitute,
Or lowly factor for another's gain;
But as successively, from blood to blood,
Your right of birth, your empery, your own.
For this, consorted with the citizens,
Your very worshipful and loving friends,
And by their vehement instigation,
In this just suit come I to move your grace.
Glo. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence,
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof,
Best fitteth my degree, or your condition:
If, not to answer,-you might haply think,
Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,
Which fondly you would here impose on me;
If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
So season'd with your faithful love to me,
Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends.
Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first;
And then, in speaking, not to incur the last,-
Definitively thus I answer you.
Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert,
Unmeritable, shuns your high request.
First, if all obstacles were cut away,
And that my path were even to the crown,
As the ripe revenue and due of birth;
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,
So mighty, and so many my defects,
That I would rather hide me from my great
Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,-
Than in my greatness covet to be hid,
And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.
But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me;
(And much I need to help you, if need were ;)
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
Will well become the seat of majesty,
And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.
On him I lay what you would lay on me,
The right and fortune of his happy stars,-
Which, God defend, that I should wring from
him!
Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your
grace;
But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,
All circumstances well considered.
You say, that Edward is your brother's son ;
So say we too, but not by Edward's wife:
For first he was contract to lady Lucy,
Your mother lives a witness to his vow;
And afterwards by substitute betroth'd
To Bona, sister to the king of France.
These both put by, a poor petitioner,
A care-craz'd mother to a many sons,
A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
Even in the afternoon of her best days,
Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,
Seduc'd the pitch and height of all his thoughts
To base declension and loath'd bigamy:
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
This Edward, whom our manners call-the
prince.
More bitterly could I expostulate,
Save that, for reverence to some alive,
I give a sparing limit to my tongue.
Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
This proffer'd benefit of dignity:
If not to bless us and the land withal,
Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry
From the corruption of abusing time,
Unto a lineal true-derived course.
May. Do, good my lord; your citizens en-
treat you.
Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd
Cate. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit.
Glo. Alas, why would you heap those cares
on me?
I am unfit for state and majesty :-
I do beseech you, take it not amiss;
I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you.
Buck. If you refuse it, as in love and zeal,
Loath to depose the child, your brother's son;
As well we know your tenderness of heart,
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
Which we have noted in you to your kindred,
And equally, indeed, to all estates,—
Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no,
Your brother's son shall never reign our king;
But we will plant some other in your throne,
To the disgrace and downfal of your house.
And, in this resolution, here we leave you ;—
Come, citizens, we will entreat no more.
[Exeunt Buckingham and Citizens. Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept their suit;
If you deny them, all the land will rue it.
Glo. Will you enforce me to a world of cares? Well, call them again; I am not made of stone, But penetrable to your kind entreaties,
[Exit Catesby. Albeit against my conscience and my soul.—
Re-enter BUCKINGHAM, and the rest.
Cousin of Buckingham,-and sage, grave men,—
Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no,
I must have patience to endure the load:
But if black scandal, or foul-fac'd reproach,
Attend the sequel of your imposition,
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
For God he knows, and you may partly see,
How far I am from the desire of this.
May. God bless your grace! we see it, and
will say it.
Glo. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. Buck. Then I salute you with this royal title,— Long live king Richard, England's worthy king! All. Amen.
Buck. To-morrow may it please you to be
Glo. Even when you please, since you will have it so.
Buck. To-morrow then we will attend your
grace;
And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.
Glo. Come, let us to our holy work again
To the Bishops. Farewell, good cousin ;-farewell, gentle friends. [Exeunt.
Duch. Who meets us here ?-my niece Plan-
tagenet
Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster?
Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower,
On pure heart's love, to greet the tender prince.
Daughter, well met.
Anne. God give your graces both
A happy and a joyful time of day!
Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister! Whither away?
Anne. No further than the Tower; and, as I guess,
Upon the like devotion as yourselves,
To gratulate the gentle princes there.
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,
[To the Duchess of Gloster.
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.
Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder!
That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,
Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.
Anne. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!
Dor. Be of good cheer:-Mother, how fares
your grace?
Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee
Death and destruction dog thee at the heels;
Thy mother's name is ominous to children:
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.
Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house,
Lest thou increase the number of the dead;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.
Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel,
madam :-
Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter all You shall have letters from me to my son together:
And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.-
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
How doth the prince, and my young son of York?
Brak. Right well, dear madam: By your pa-
tience,
I may not suffer you to visit them;
The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary.
Q. Eliz. The king! who's that?
Brak. I mean, the lord protector.
In your behalf, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.
Duch. O ill-dispersing wind of misery!-
O my accursed womb, the bed of death;
A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
Whose unavoided eye is murderous!
Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was
Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go.-
O, would to God, that the inclusive verge
Of golden metal, that must round my brow,
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain!
Q. Eliz. The lord protect him from that king- Anointed let me be with deadly venom;
ly title!
Hath he set bounds between their love and me?
I am their mother: who shall bar me from them?
And die, ere men can say-God save the queen! Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory;
Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.
Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:
Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy
blame,
And take thy office from thee, on thy peril.
Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so;
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.
[Exit Brakenbury.
Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour
hence,
And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,
And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.-
Anne. No! why?-When he, that is my husband now,
Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse; When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands,
Which issued from my other angel husband,
And that dead saint, which then I weeping fol-
low'd;
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
This was my wish,-Be thou, quoth I, accurs'd,
For making me, so young, so old a widow!
And, when thou wedd'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife (if any be so mad,)
More miserable by the life of thee,
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Even in so short a space, my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words,
And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse:
Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining.
Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.
Dor. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory! Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it!
Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!—
Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee!—
[To Anne.
Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess
thee!
[To Q. Elizabeth.
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. Flourish of trumpets. 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 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 kind-
ness 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. And unrespective boys; none are for me, That look into me with considerate eyes ;— High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. Boy,
K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting gold
Would tempt unto a close exploit 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.
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' daugh-
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?
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
Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient To put your grace in mind of what you prosubject.
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 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: [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. [Exit.
Re-enter BUCKINGHAM.
Buck. My lord, I have consider'd 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 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 prophecy, that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
A king!-perhaps
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
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 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 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.
4 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;
When Dighton thus told on,-we smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature,
That, from the prime creation, ere 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 :-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
|