The Same. | |
| |
Enter TYRRELL. | |
| Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done; | |
| The most arch deed of piteous massacre | 4 |
| 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, | 8 |
| Melting with tenderness and mild compassion, | |
| Wept like to children in their death’s sad story. | |
| ‘Oh! thus,’ quoth Dighton, ‘lay the gentle babes:’ | |
| ‘Thus, thus,’ quoth Forrest, ‘girdling one another | 12 |
| 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; | 16 |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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: | 24 |
| And here he comes. | |
| |
Enter KING RICHARD. | |
| All health, my sovereign lord! | |
| K. Rich. Kind Tyrrell, am I happy in thy news? | 28 |
| Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge | |
| Beget your happiness, be happy then, | |
| For it is done. | |
| K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead? | 32 |
| Tyr I did, my lord. | |
| K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrell? | |
| Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; | |
| But how or in what place I do not know. | 36 |
| K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrell, soon at aftersupper, | |
| When thou shalt tell the process of their death. | |
| Meantime, but think how I may do thee good, | |
| And be inheritor of thy desire. | 40 |
| Farewell till then. | |
| Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. | |
| K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I pent up close; | |
| His daughter meanly have I match’d in marriage; | 44 |
| 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, | 48 |
| And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, | |
| To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. | |
| |
Enter CATESBY. | |
| Cate. My lord! | 52 |
| K. Rich. Good or bad news, that thou com’st in so bluntly? | |
| Cate. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond; | |
| And Buckingham, back’d with the hardy Welshmen, | |
| Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. | 56 |
| K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near | |
| Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. | |
| Come; I have learn’d that fearful commenting | |
| Is leaden servitor to dull delay: | 60 |
| 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; | 64 |
| We must be brief when traitors brave the field. [Exeunt. | |
