K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither,

Tyrrel:

Go, by this token: rise, and lend thine ear:

There is no more but so: say it is done,

And I will love thee, and prefer thee too.

Tyr. 'Tis done, my gracious lord.

80

[Whispers.

K. Rich. Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep?

Tyr. Ye shall, my lord.

Re-enter Buckingham.

Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind

The late demand that you Idid sound me in.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Well, let that pass. Dorset is fled to Richmond. Buck. I hear that news, my lord.

89

K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son: well, look to it.
Buck. My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise,
For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd;

The earldom of Hereford and the moveables
The which you promised I should 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 demand?
K. Rich. As I remember, Henry the Sixth

Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.

100

A king, perhaps, perhaps,

Buck. My lord!

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,
mayor in courtesy
show'd me the castle,

The
And call'd it Rougemont: 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 to put your grace in mind
Of what you promised me.

K. Rich.

Buck. Upon the stroke of ten.

K. Rich.

Buck. Why let it strike?

Well, but what's o' clock?

Well, let it strike.

K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, 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 whether you will or no.

K. Rich. Tut, tut,

Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.

121

[Exeunt all but Buckingham.

Buck. Is it even so? rewards he my true service
With such deep contempt? made I him king for this?
O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone

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

Scene III.

The same.

Enter Tyrrel.

Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody deed is done,
The most arch act of piteous massacre
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn
To do this ruthless piece of butchery,
Although they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
Melting with tenderness and kind compassion

Wept
like two children in their deaths' sad stories.
'Lo, thus,' quoth Dighton, 'lay those tender babes:'
Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest,girdling one another
Within their innocent alabaster 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;

II

Which once,' quoth Forrest, almost changed my

mind;

But O! the devil'—there the villain stopp'd;
Whilst Dighton thus told on: We smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature
That from the prime creation e'er she framed.'
Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse;
They could not speak; and so I left them both, 21
To bring this tidings to the bloody king.

And here he comes.

Enter King Richard.

All hail, my sovereign liege!

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, my lord.

K. Rich.

Tyr. I did, my lord.

K. Rich.

But didst thou see them dead?

And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
But how or in what place I do not know.

K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,
And thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.

30

Farewell till soon.
[Exit Tyrrel.
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 the world good night.
Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the crown,
To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer.

Cate. My lord!

Enter Catesby.

40

K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly? Cate. Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Richmond;

And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army.
Come, I have heard 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!

Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield;
We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

50

[Exeunt.