About it; for it stands me much upon,

-

To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me.-
[Exit Catesby.

I must be marry'd 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.
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.--

Re-enter Page, with Tyrrel.

Is thy name-Tyrrel?

Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient sub

ject.

K. Rich. Art thou, indeed?

Tyr.

Prove me, my gracious lord.

K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of

mine?

Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two ene

mies.

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 deal 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 musick. 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.

[Exit.

Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind
The late demand that you did sound me in.

K. Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to
Richmond.

Buck. I hear the news, my lord.

K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son:-Well, look to it.

Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,

For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd; The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables, Which you have promised I shall possess.

K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife; if she con

vey

Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

Buck. What says your highness to my just request?

K. Rich. I do remember me,-Henry the sixth Did prophecy, that Richmond should be king, When Richmond was a little peevish boy. A king!-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,
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,

I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

Buck. My lord,

K. Rich.

Buck.

Ay, what's o'clock?

I am thus bold

To put your grace in mind of what you promis'd

ine.

K. Rich. Well, but what is't o'clock?

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 whe'r you will, or

no.

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 Tyrrel.

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, O, 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.

Enter King Richard.

And here he comes:-All health, my sovereign lord!

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,

But where, to say the truth, I do not know.

K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after sup

per,

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.

Farewel, till then.

Tyr.

I humbly take my leave.

[Exit.

K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I pen'd 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 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,

Enter Catesby.

Cates. My lord,-

K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st in

so bluntly?