K. Rich.
Stand all apart.—Cousin of Buckingham,—

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^{4 note}

Buck.
Say on, my loving lord.

K. Rich.
Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king.

Buck.
Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned liege.

K. Rich.
Ha! am I king? 'Tis so: but Edward lives.

Buck.
True, noble prince.

K. Rich.
O bitter consequence,
That Edward still should live,—true, noble prince!—
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull:—
Shall 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. [Exit Buckingham.

Cate.
The king is angry; see, he gnaws his lip^{5 note}. [Aside.

K. Rich.
I will converse with iron-witted fools, [Descends from his Throne.
And unrespective boys^{6 note}

High reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.—
Boy,—

Page.
My lord.

K. Rich.
Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting gold
Would tempt unto a close exploit^{7 note} 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^{8 note}

Stan.
Know, my loving lord^{9 note}

K. Rich.
Come hither, Catesby: rumour it abroad,
That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;
I will take order for her keeping close^{1 note}

Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.— Re-enter Page, with Tyrrel.
Is thy name—Tyrrel^{5 note}

Tyr.
James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

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 enemies.

K. Rich.
Why, then thou hast it; two deep enemies,
Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers,

Are they that I would have thee deal upon^{6 note}

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^{7 note}
.

Tyr.
I will despatch it straight. [Exit. Re-enter Buckingham.

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^{8 note}

Which you have promised I shall possess.

K. Rich.
Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey
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^{9 note}

Buck.
My lord,—

K. Rich.
How chance, the prophet could not at that time,
Have told me, I being by^{9 note}, 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^{1 note}: 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.
Ay, what's o'clock?

Buck.
I am thus bold to put your grace in mind
Of what you promis'd me.

K. Rich.
Well, but what's o'clock?

Buck.
Upon the stroke of ten.

K. Rich.
Well, let it strike^{2 note}.

Buck.
Why, let it strike?

K. Rich.
Because that, like a Jack^{3 note}

Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I am not in the giving vein to-day.

Buck.
Why, then resolve me whether 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^{4 note}, while my fearful head is on. [Exit.

Previous section

Next section