Buck. My gracious sovereign.
K. Rich. ́Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice,
And thy assistance, is king Richard seated :-
But shall we wear these glories for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last!
K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the
touch,'
To try if thou be current gold, indeed :
Look, how thou dream'st!-I say again, give out,
That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die:
About it; for it stands me much upon,"
To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me.-
[Exit Catesby.
I must be married to my brother's daughter,
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass:-
Murder her brothers, and then marry her!
Uncertain way of gain! But I am in
So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin.
Young Edward lives;-Think now what I would Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.— speak.
Buck. Say on, my loving lord.
K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king.
Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned
K. Rich. Ha! am I king? 'Tis so: but Edward lives.
Buck. True, noble prince.
K. Rich.
That Edward still should live,-true, noble prince!-
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull:-
Should I be plain? I wish the bastards dead;
And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief.
Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure.
K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness
freezes :
Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die?
Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause,
dear lord,
Before I positively speak in this:
I will resolve your grace immediately. [Ex. Buck. Cate. The king is angry; see, he gnaws his lip.
[Aside. K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools, [Descends from his throne. And unrespective boys: none are for me, That look into me with considerate eyes ;High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.Boy,
K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting gold
Would tempt unto a close exploit3 of death?
Page. I know a discontented gentleman,
Whose humble means match not his haughty mind:
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-Tyrrel.
K. Rich. I partly know the man; Go, call him
hither, boy.-
[Exit Page.
The deep-revolving, witty Buckingham
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels:
Hath he so long held out with me untir'd,
And stops he now for breath ?-well, be it so.-
How now, lord Stanley? what's the news?
Stan.
Know, my loving lord,
The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled
To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.
K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby: rumour it abroad,
That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman,
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daugh-I
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.
Re-enter Page, with Tyrrel.
K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it; two deep ene mies,
Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, Are they that I would have thee deals upon : Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.
Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them, And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel;
Go, by this token :-Rise, and lend thine ear:
[Whispers.
There is no more but so:-Say, it is done,
And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.
Tyr. I will despatch it straight.
Re-enter Buckingham.
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,
The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle,
And call'd it-Rouge-mont: at which name, I
started;
Because a bard of Ireland told me once,
should not live long after I saw Richmond.
Buck. My lord,-
(5) It is of the utmost consequence to my designs. (6) Act. (7) Foolish.
K. Rich. Thou troublest me; I am not in the
vein. [Exeunt King Richard, and train.
Buck. And is it thus ? repays he my deep service
With such 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 Tyrell.
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.
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 chang'd my
mind;
But, 0, the devil-there the villain stopp'd;
When Dighton thus told on,-we smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature,
That from the prime creation, e'er she fram'd.-
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.
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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.
Tyr.
I humbly take my leave. [Exit.
!K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd up
close;
His daughter meanly 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 Bretagne Richmond aims
(1) An image like those at St. Dunstan's church
In Fleet-street.
(3) Merciless.
K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st in
so bluntly?
Cate. Bad news, my lord: Morton' is fled to
Richmond;
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welsh
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more
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?
Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York.
Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender
My unblovn 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, That my wo-wearied tongue is still and mute,Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?
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
Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living ghost,
Wo'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. Eliz. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a
Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we?
[Sitting down by her.
Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent,
Give me the benefit of seniory,'
And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society,
[Sitting down with them.
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine:-
I bad 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 excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
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 liungry 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 tragic play,
The adulderate 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 conveyed from hence:-
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to say, The dog is dead!
Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy, the time would
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 a 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;
(1) Seniority. (2) Companion.
(3) Thrown in to boot,
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For 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 wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
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 mis
chance,-
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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 wo;
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. Q. Mar. 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
Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience.
K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your con-
dition,'
That cannot brook the accent of reproof.
Duch. O, let me speak.
K. Rich.
Do, then; but I'll not hear.
Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words.
K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in
haste.
Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee,
God knows, in torment and in agony.
K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?
Duch. No, by the holy rood,2 thou know'st it well,
Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.
A grievous burden was thy birth to me;
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and fu-
rious;
Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and ven-
turous;
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:"
What comfortable hour canst thou name,
That ever grac'd me in thy company?
Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say-she is not so.
K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth.
Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her bro-
thers.
K. Rich. Lo, at their births good stars were op-
posite.
Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were con
K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes des-
tiny:
My babes were destin'd to a fairer death,
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.
K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my
cousins.
Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle
cozen'd
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and
blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys,
K. Rich. 'Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
To breakfast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,
Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.-
Strike up the drum.
Duch.
I pr'ythee, hear me speak.
K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.
Duch.
Hear me a word;
For I shall never speak to thee again.
K. Rich. So.
Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordi
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish,
And never look upon thy face again.
Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse,
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more,
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
My prayers on the adverse party fight;
And there the little souls of Edward's children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies,
And promise them success and victory.
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end;
Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend.
Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse
Abides in me; I say amen to her.
K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with you.
Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood, For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; And therefore level not to hit their lives.
K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd-Elizabeth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? O, let her live,
And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;
Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed;
Throw over her the veil of infamy:
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal
blood.
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And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling rest,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.
K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize,
And dangerous success of bloody wars,
As I intend more good to you and yours,
Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd!
Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of
heaven,
To be discover'd, that can do me good?
K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle lady.
Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?
K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth's glory.
Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it; Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise to any child of mine?
K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all,
Will I withal endow a child of thine;
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs,
Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee.
Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy
kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.
K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul, I love
thy daughter.
Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her
soul.
K. Rich. What do you think?
Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from
thy soul:
So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers;
And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it.
K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my mean
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I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And do intend to make her queen of England.
Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be
her king?
K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen: Who
else should be?
Q. Eliz. What, thou?
(5) Constant. (6) A crown. (7) Bequeath.
Even so: What think you With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys:
And when this arm of mine hath chastised
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victress, Cæsar's Cæsar.
of it, madam?
Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her?
K. Rich.
That I would learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humour.
Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?
K. Rich.
Madam, with all my heart. Q. Eliz. Send to her by the man that slew her brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave,
Edward, and York, then, haply,' will she weep:
Therefore present to her, as sometime Margaret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,-
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;
Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and, for her sake,
Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
K. Rich. You mock me, madam; this is not the
way
There is no other way;
Unless thou could'st put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.
K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her?
Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose
but have thee,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now
amended:
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter.
If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,
To quicken your increase, I will beget
Mine issue of your blood loss in love,
your daughter.
A grandam's name is little
Than is the doating title of a mother;
They are as children, but one step below,
Even of your mettle, of your very blood;
Of all one pain,-save for a night of groans
Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.
Your children were vexation to your youth,
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
The loss, you have, is but-a son being king,
And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul,
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity:
The king, that calls your beauteous daughter-wife,
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset-brother;
Again shall you be mother to a king,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repair'd with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see:
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed,
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl ;
Advantaging their loan, with interest
Of ten-times-double gain of happiness.
Go then, my mother, to thy daughter, go;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;
Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess
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Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's
brother
Would be her lord? Or shall I say, her uncle?
Or, he that slew her brothers, and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honour, and her love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this al-
liance.
Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still
ląsting war.
K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command,
Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's
King forbids.2
K. Rich. Say she shall be a high and mighty
Q. Eliz. To wail the title as her mother doth.
K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly.
Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last?
K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.
Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life
last?
K. Rich. As long as Heaven, and nature length-
ens it.
Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard likes of it.
K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject
Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest is too harsh a style. K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.
Q. Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and
dead;-
Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.
K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam; that
is past.
Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings
break.
K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter,' and my crown,
Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.
Q. Eliz.
By nothing; for this is no oath,
Thy George, profan'd, hath lost its holy honour;
Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory:
If something thou would'st swear to be believ'd,
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd
K. Rich. Now by the world,
Q. Eliz.
"Tis full of thy foul wrongs.
K. Rich. My father's death,-
Q. Eliz.
Thy life hath that dishonour'd.
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