Glo'st.
Stand all apart—Cousin of Buckingham.

Buck.
My gracious sovereign.

Glo'st.
Give me thy hand;
At length by thy advice and thy assistance,
Is Glo'ster seated on the English throne.
But say, my cousin—
What! shall we wear these glories for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

Buck.
I hope for ages, sir—long may they grace you!

Glo'st.
Oh, Buckingham! now do I play the touch-stone* ^note,
To try if thou be current friend indeed.
Young Edward lives, so does his brother York.
Now think what I would speak.

Buck.
Say on, my gracious lord.

Glo'st.
I tell thee, coz, I've lately had two spiders
Crawling upon my startled hopes—
Now tho' thy friendly hand has brush'd 'em from me,
Yet still they crawl offensive to my eyes;
I would have some kind friend to tread upon 'em.
I would be king, my cousin.

Buck.
Why, so I think you are, my royal lord.

Glo'st.
Ha! am I king? 'tis so—but—Edward lives.

Buck.
Most true, my lord.

Glo'st.
Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull.
Shall I be plain—I wish the bastards dead;
And I would have it suddenly perform'd:
Now, cousin, canst thou answer me?

Buck.
None dare dispute your highness' pleasure.

Gho'st.
Indeed! methinks thy kindness freezes, cousin.
Thou dost refuse, me then!—they shall not die.

Buck.
My lord, since 'tis an action cannot be

Recall'd, allow me but some pause to think,
I'll instantly resolve your highness. [Exit.

Catesby.
The king seems angry; see, he gnaws his lip.

Glo'st.
I'll henceforth deal with shorter-sighted fools.
None are for me, that look into my deeds,
With thinking eyes—
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect;
The best on't is, it may be done without him,
Tho' not so well, perhaps—had he consented,
Why then the murder had been his, not mine.
We'll make a shift as 'tis—Come hither, Catesby;
Where's that same Tirrel whom thou told'st me of?
Hast thou given him those sums of gold I order'd?

Catesby
I have, my liege.

Glo'st.
Where is he?

Catesby.
He waits your highness' pleasure.

Glo'st.
Give him this ring, and say myself
Will bring him farther orders instantly. [Exit Catesby.
The deep-revolving duke of Buckingham
No more shall be the neighbour to my councils:
Has he so long held out with me untir'd,
And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so. Enter Lord Stanley.
How now, lord Stanley, what's the news?

Stanley.
I hear, my liege, the lord marquis of Dorset
Is fled to Richmond now in Britany.

Glo'st.
Why let him go, my lord: he may be spar'd.
Hark thee, Ratcliff, when saw'st thou Anne, my queen?
Is she still weak? has my physician seen her?

Ratcliff.
He has, my lord, and fears her mightily.

Glo'st.
But he's exceeding skilful, she'll mend shortly.

Ratcliff.
I hope she will, my lord.

Glo'st.
And if she does, I have mistook my man.
I must be marry'd to my brother's daughter,
At whom I know the Briton, Richmond, aims;
And by that knot looks proudly on the crown.
But then to stain me with her brother's blood;
Is that the way to wooe the sister's love?
No matter what's the way—for while they live,

My goodly kingdom's on a weak foundation.
'Tis done, my daring heart's resolv'd—they're dead! Enter Buckingham.

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

Glo'st.
Well, let that rest—Dorset is fled to Richmond.

Buck.
I have heard the news, my lord.

Glo'st.
Stanley, he's your near kinsman—well, look to him.

Buck.
My lord, I claim that gift, my due by promise,
For which your honour and your faith's engag'd;
The earldom of Hereford, and those moveables,
Which you have promised I shall possess.

Glo'st.
Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

Buck.
What says your highness to my just request?

Glo'st.
I do remember me, Harry the sixth
Did prophesy, that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
'Tis odd—a king, perhaps— Enter Catesby.

Catesby.
My lord, I have obey'd your highness' orders.

Buck.
May it please you to resolve me in my suit.

Glo'st.
Lead Tirrel to my closet, I'll meet him.

Buck.
I beg your highness' ear, my lord.

Glo'st.
I'm busy—thou troublest me—I'm not i'th vein. [Exit.

Buck.
Oh patience, heav'n! is't thus he pays my service?
Was it for this I rais'd him to the throne?
Oh! if the peaceful dead have any sense
Of those vile injuries they bore, while living;
Then sure the joyful souls of blood-suck'd Edward,
Henry, Clarence, Hastings, and all that through
His foul corrupted dealings have miscarry'd,

Will from the walls of heav'n in smiles look down,
To see this tyrant tumbling from his throne,
His fall unmourn'd, and bloody as their own. [Exit.

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