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SCENE III.

KING RICHARD III.

With such contempt? made I him king for this?
O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone

117

To Brecknock,1 while my fearful head is on. [Exit.

SCENE III.

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.

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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 changed 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,

Where his castle was situated.

118

KING RICHARD III.

ACT IV.

That, from the prime creation, e'er she framed.'
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.

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

supper,

When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.

Farewell till then.

Tyr.

I humbly take my leave.

[Exit.

K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd up

close;

His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.

SCENE III.

KING RICHARD III.

Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond 1 aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown,
To her go I, a jolly, thriving wooer.

Cates. My lord,

Enter CATESBY.

119

K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly?

Cates. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond;

And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welsh

men,

Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

2

K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more

near

Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
Come,-I have learn'd, that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay:

Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary :
Then fiery expedition be my wing,

Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!
Go, muster men; my counsel is my shield:

We must be brief, when traitors brave the field.

[Exeunt.

1 The country in which Richmond had taken refuge.
2 i. e. the bishop of Ely.

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Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slyly have I lurk'd,

To watch the waning of mine enemies.

A dire induction 1 am I witness to,

And will to France; hoping, the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.

Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! who comes here?

Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and DUCHESS OF YORK.

Q. Eli. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender babes!

My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air,
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,
Hover about me with your airy wings,

And hear your mother's lamentation!

Q. Mar. Hover about her; say, that right for

right

Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. Duch. So many miseries have crazed my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute,

1 Preface, introduction.

Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet; Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

Q. Eli. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,

And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?

When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done? Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet

son.

Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living

ghost,

Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life

usurp❜d,

Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,

[sitting down.

Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood!

Q. Eli. Ah, that thou wouldst 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,1

And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society,

[sitting down with them.

1 Seniority.

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