Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,

But with his timorous dreams was still awaked.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

Q. Eli. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy com-
plaining.

Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for

yours.

Dor. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory! Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave of

it!

Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!

[to Dorset. 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.1 Q. Eli. Stay yet; look back, with me, unto the

Tower.

walls!

Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes,
Whom envy hath immured within your
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
Rude, ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.

1 Sorrow.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 11.

A room of state in the palace.

Florish 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,1

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.

Touchstone.

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.

Cates. 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 1 boys; none are for me,
That look into me with considerate eyes :
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
Boy!

Page. My lord!

K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting

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.

The deep-revolving, witty1 Buckingham

[Exit Page.

No more shall be the neighbor to my counsels.
Hath he so long held out with me untired,
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: rumor 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,

1 Cunning.

2 It is of the utmost consequence to my designs.

SHAK.

IX.

H

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.

K. Rich. Darest 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 deal1 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:

1 Act.