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

Farewell, till then.

K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I pent 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 this world good night.
Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond 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.

Cate. My lord! —

Enter CATEsby.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so bluntly? Cate. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond; And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,

Is in the field, and still his power encreaseth.

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-pac'd 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.

SCENE IV.

The Same. Before the Palace.

Enter Queen Margaret.

Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,
To watch the waning of mine enemies.
A dire induction 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? [Retiring.

Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of YORK.

Q. Eliz. 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 craz'd my voice, woe-wearied tongue is still and mute. Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

That my

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?

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,
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood!

[Sitting down.

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.
If sorrow can admit society,

[Coming forward.

[Sitting down with them.

Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine: —
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him :
I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him;
Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.

Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him:

I had a Rutland too; thou holp'st to kill him.

Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him. From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death: That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood: That foul defacer of God's handy-work, That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, That excellent grand tyrant of the earth, Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. O! upright, just, and true-disposing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur Preys on the issue of his mother's body, And makes her pew-fellow with other's moan!

Duch. O, Harry's wife! triumph not in my woes:

God witness with me, I have wept for thine.

Q. Mar. Bear with me: I am hungry for revenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.

Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
Young York he is but boot, because both they

Match not the high perfection of my loss.

Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward;
And the beholders of this frantic play,

Th' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer,
Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls,
And send them thither; but at hand, at hand,
Ensues his piteous and unpitied-end:
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar,
saints pray,
To have him suddenly convey'd from hence.
Cancel his bond of life, dear God! I pray,
That I may live and say, the dog is dead.

Q. Eliz. O! thou didst prophesy, the time would come, That I should wish for thee to help me curse

That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad.

Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my fortune; I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen;

The presentation of but what I was,

The flattering index of a direful pageant,
One heav'd o' high, to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou wast; a garish flag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot;
A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.

Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy?

Who sues, and kneels, and says - God save the queen?
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?

Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art.
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For
queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care:

For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;

For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice whirl'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;

Having no more but thought of what thou wast
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?

Now, thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke;
From which, even here, I slip my wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.

Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance.
These English woes shall make me smile in France.

Q. Eliz. O thou! well skill'd in curses, stay a while,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies,

Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day;
Compare dead happiness with living woe;

Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
And he that slew them fouler than he is:

Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse:
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

Q. Eliz. My words are dull; O! quicken them with thine.
Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.
[Exit Queen Margaret.
Duch. Why should calamity be full of words?

Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes,

Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries!

Let them have scope: though what they do impart
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.

Duch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd: go with me,

And in the breath of bitter words let's smother

My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd.

The trumpet sounds: be copious in exclaims.

[A Trumpet heard.