Obrázky stránek
PDF
ePub

K. Rich. Ha! am I King? 'tis fo---but Edward lives. Buck, True, noble Prince.

K. Rich. O bitter Confequence!

That Edward ftill fhould live, True noble Prince.
Coufin, thou waft not wont to be fo dull.
Shall I be plain? I wish the Baftards dead,
And I would have it fuddenly perform'd.
What fay'st thou now? fpeak fuddenly, be brief.
Buck. Your Grace may do your Pleasure.

K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all Ice, thy kindness freezes: Say, have I thy confent, that they fhall die?

Buck. Give me fome little breath, fome pause, dear Lord, Before I pofitively speak in this:

I will refolve you herein presently.

Exit Buckingham.

Catef The King is angry, fee he gnaws his Lip.
K. Rich. I will converfe with Iron-witted Fools,
And unrefpective Boys; none are for me,
That look into me with confiderate Eyes,
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumfpe&t.
Boy.

Page. My Lord,

K. Rich. Know'ft thou not any, whom corrupting Gold Will tempt unto a clofe exploit of Death?

Page. I know a difcontented Gentleman,

Whofe humble means match not his baughty Spirit :
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 Tirrell.

K. Rich. I partly know the Man; go call him hither,

Roy.

The deep revolving witty Buckingham,

No more fhall be the Neighbour to my Counsels.
Hath he fo long held out with me untir'd,
And ftops he now for Breath? Well, be it fo.

Enter Stanley.

How now, Lord Stanley, what's the News?

Stan. Know, my loving Lord, the Marquefs Dorfet,

As I hear, is fled to Richmond,

In the Parts where he abides.

[ocr errors]

[Exit

K. Rich.

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 fome mean poor Gentleman,
Whom I will marry ftraight to Clarence Daughter:
The Boy is foolish, and I fear not him.

Look how thou dream'ft-I fay again, give out,
That Anne, my Queen, is fick, and like to die.
About it; for it stands me much upon

To ftop all hopes, whofe growth may damage me.
I must be married to my Brother's Daughter,
Or else my Kingdom ftands on brittle Glafs :
Murther 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.
Enter Tirrel.

Is thy Name Tirrel?

Tir. James Tirrel, and your most obedient Subject.
K. Rich. Art thou indeed?

Tir. Prove me, my gracious Lord.

K. Rich. Dar'ft thou refolve to kill a Friend of mine?
Tir. Please you:

But I had rather kill two Enemies.

K. Rich. Why then thou haft it; two deep Enemies,
Foes to my Reft, and my fweet fleeps difturbers,
Are they that I would have thee deal upon:
Tirrel, I mean thofe Baftards in the Tower.

Tir. Let me have open means to come to them,
And foon I'll rid you from the fear of them.
K. Rich. Thou fing'ft fweet Mufick:
Hark, come hither Tirrel,

Go by this token; rife, and lend thine Ear,
There is no more but fo; fay it is done,
And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.
Tir. I will dispatch it ftraight.

Enter Buckingham.

Buck. My Lord, I have confider'd in my mind,

The late requeft that you did found me in.

[Whispers.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Well, let that reft; Dorfet is fled to Richmond.

Buck. I hear the Nexs, my Lord.

[blocks in formation]

K. Rich. Stanley, he is your Wife's Son; well, look unto it. Buck. My Lord, I claim the Gift, my due by Promife, For which your Honour and your Faith is pawn'd. Th' Earldom of Hereford, and the Moveables, Which you have promifed I fhall poffefs.

K. Rich. Stanley, look to your Wife; if she convey
Letters to Richmond, you thall answer it.

Buck. What fays your Highness to my just request?
K. Rich. I do remember me, Henry the Sixth
Did Prophefie, that Richmond should be King,
When Richmond was a little peevish Boy.
A King perhaps,

Buck. May it please you to refolve me in my Suit.
K. Rich. Thou troubleft me, I am not in the Vein. [Exit.
Buck. And is it thus repays he my deep Service
With fuch contempt? made I him King for this?
O let me think on Haftings, and be gone
To Brecnock, while my fearful Head is on.
Enter Tirrel.

Tir. The tyrannous and bloody Act is done,
The moft Arch-deed of piteous Maffacre
That ever yet this Land was guilty of:
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did fuborn
To do this piece of ruthful Butchery,
Albeit they were flecht Villains, bloody Dogs,
Melted with Tenderness, and mild Compaffion,
Wept like to Children, in their deaths fad Story:
O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle Babes,
Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another
Within their Alablafter innocent Arms:
Their Lips were four red Roses on a Stalk,
And in their Summer Beauty kifs'd each other.
A Book of Prayers on their Pillow lay,
Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind;
But oh the Devil-there the Villain ftopt:
When Dighton thus told on, we fmothered
The most replenifhed fweet work of Nature,
That from the prime Creation e'er fhe framed.
Hence both are gone with Confcience and Remorfe,
They could not fpeak, and fo I left them both,
To bear thefe Tydings to the bloody King.

[Exit.

Enter

Enter King Richard.

And here he comes. All health, my Sovereign Lord.
K. Rich. Kind Tirrel-am I happy in thy News?
Tir. If to have done the thing you gave in charge
Beget your happinefs, be happy then,

For it is done.

K. Rich. But did'ft thou fee them dead?
Tir. I did, my Lord.

K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tirrel?

Tir. The Chaplain of the Tower hath buried them, But where, to fay the truth, I do not know.

K. Rich. Come to me Tirrel foon, foon 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 defire.

Farewel 'till then.

Tir. I humbly take my leave.

K. Rich. The Son of Clarence have I pent up chofe,
His Daughter meanly have I match'd in Marriage,
The Sons of Edward fleep in Abraham's Bosom,
And Anne my Wife hath bid this World good Night,
Now for I know the Briton 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.

Rat. My Lord.

Enter Ratcliff.

K. Rich. Good or bad News, that thou com'ft in fo bluntly? Rat. Bad News, my Lord, Morton is fled to Richmond, And Buckingham, backt with the hardy Welfmen,

Is in the Field, and ftill his Power encreafeth.

K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near,
Than Buckingham and his rafh 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 mufter Men; my Council is my Shield,

We must be brief, when Traitors brave the Field, [Exeunt.

[ocr errors][merged small]
[merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

Q. Mar. So now Profperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of Death:
Here in thefe Confines flily have I lurkt,
To watch the waining of mine Enemies.
A dire Induction am I witnefs to,

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

Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes here?
Enter Dutchess and Queen.

Queen. 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 fixt in doom perpetual,
Hover about me with your airy Wings,
And hear your Mother's Lamentation.

Q. Mar. Hover about her, fay, that right for right
Hath dim'd your infant Morn to aged Night.

Dutch. So many Miferics have cr. z'd my Voice, That my woe-wearied Tongue is ftill and mute. Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

Q.Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward pays a dying. Debt.

Queen. Wilt thou, O God, fly from fuch gentle Lambs, And throw them in the Intrails of the Wolf?

Why didft thou fleep when fuch a Deed was done?

Q.Mar, When Holy Henry dy'd, and my sweet Sɔn. Dutch. Dead Life, blind Sight, poor mortal living Ghoft, Woes Scene, Worlds fhame, Graves due, by Life ufurpt, Brief abstract and record of tedious Days,

Reft thy unreft on England's lawful Earth,
Unlawfully made drunk with inr.ocent Blood.

Queen. Ah that thou wouldft as foon afford a Grave

As thou canft yield a melancholly Seat;

Then would I hide my Bones, not reft them here.
Ah who hath any caufe to mourn but we?

Q. Mar.

« PředchozíPokračovat »