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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.-

Page. My lord.
K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupt-

ing 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?

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.

How now, lord Stanley? what's the news?

Know, my loving lord,


see, he gnaws his lip.] Several of our ancient historians observe, that this was an accustomed action of Richard, whether he was pensive or angry.

& And unrespective boys ;] Unrespective is inattentive to consequences,


close exploit -] Is secret act.

witty - ] In this place signifies judicious or cunning. A wit was not at this time employed to signify a man of fancy, but was used for wisdom or judgment.

The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is filed
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' 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 enemies. K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it; two deep ene

mies, Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers,

2 I will take order for her keeping close.] i. e. I will take measures that shall oblige her to keep close.

it stands me much upon,) i. e. it is of the utmost consequence to my designs.

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 musick. 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.

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

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 pro-

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-

quest? 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

Buck. My lord,

deal upon :) i. e. act upon. We should now say-deal with; but the other was the phraseology of our author's time.

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?

I am thus bold 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,o 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 Brecknock, while my fearful head is on. [Exit.

5 Well, let it strike.] This seems to have been a proverbial sentence.

6 Because that, like a Jack,-) An image, like those at St. Dunstan's church in Fleet Street, and at the market houses at several towns in this kingdom, was usually called a Jack of the clock-house.

7 To Brecknock,] To the Castle of Brecknock in Wales, where the Duke of Buckingham's estate lay.


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 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. A book of prayers on their pillow lay; Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang`d my mind; But, O, the devilthere the villain stopp'd; When Dighton thus told on,-we smothered 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.

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.

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