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. 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. 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 : 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. 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. [Exit K. Rich. K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby, rumor it abroad, Inquire me out fome mean poor Gentleman, Look how thou dream'ft-I fay again, give out, To ftop all hopes, whofe growth may damage me. Is thy Name Tirrel? Tir. James Tirrel, and your most obedient Subject. Tir. Prove me, my gracious Lord. K. Rich. Dar'ft thou refolve to kill a Friend of mine? But I had rather kill two Enemies. K. Rich. Why then thou haft it; two deep Enemies, Tir. Let me have open means to come to them, Go by this token; rife, and lend thine Ear, 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. 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 Buck. What fays your Highness to my just request? Buck. May it please you to refolve me in my Suit. Tir. The tyrannous and bloody Act is done, [Exit. Enter Enter King Richard. And here he comes. All health, my Sovereign Lord. For it is done. K. Rich. But did'ft thou fee them dead? 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, 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, Delay leads impotent and Snail-pac'd Beggary: We must be brief, when Traitors brave the Field, [Exeunt. Q. Mar. So now Profperity begins to mellow, And will to France, hoping the Confequence Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes here? Queen. Ah my poor Princes! ah my tender Babes! Q. Mar. Hover about her, fay, that right for right 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, 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. Q. Mar. |