Tyr.
The tyrannous and bloody deed ^note is done,
The most arch act ^note of piteous massacre
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton and Forrest, whom ^note I did suborn
To do this ruthless piece of butchery ^note,
Although ^note they were flesh'd villains, bloody ^note dogs,
Melting ^note with tenderness and kind ^note compassion
Wept like two ^note children in their deaths' ^note sad stories ^note.
‘Lo, thus ^note,’ quoth Dighton, ‘lay those tender ^note babes:’
‘Thus, thus,’ quoth Forrest, ‘girdling ^note one ^note another
Within their innocent alabaster ^note arms:
Their lips were ^note four red roses on a stalk,
Which in ^note their ^note summer beauty kiss'd each other.
A book of prayers ^note on ^note their pillow lay;
Which once ^note,’ quoth Forrest, ‘almost changed my mind;
But O! the devil’—there ^note the villain stopp'd;

Whilst ^note Dighton thus told on: ‘We ^note smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature
That from the prime creation e'er she ^note framed.’
Thus both are gone with ^note conscience and remorse ^note;
They could not speak; and so I left them both,
To bring ^note this ^note tidings to the bloody king.
And here he comes ^note. Enter King Richard. ^note
All hail ^note, my sovereign liege ^note!

K. Rich.
Kind Tyrrel, am ^note I happy in thy news?

Tyr.
If to have done the thing you gave ^note in charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then,
For it is done, my lord ^note.

K. Rich.
But didst thou see them dead?

Tyr.
I did, my lord.

K. Rich.
And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

Tyr.
The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
But how or in what place ^note I do not know.

K. Rich.
Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after ^note supper,
And thou shalt ^note tell the process of their death.
Meantime, but ^note think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell till soon. [Exit Tyrrel. ^note

The son ^note of Clarence have I pent ^note 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 ^note good night.
Now, for I know the Breton ^note Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er ^note the crown,
To her I go ^note, a jolly thriving wooer. Enter Catesby. ^note

Cate. ^note
My lord!

K. Rich.
Good news or bad ^note, that thou comest in ^note so bluntly?

Cate. ^note
Bad news, my lord: Ely ^note is fled to Richmond;
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

K. Rich.
Ely with Richmond troubles me more near ^note
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied ^note army ^note.
Come, I have heard ^note that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
Delay leads ^note impotent and snail-paced beggary:
Then fiery expedition be my wing ^note,
Jove's ^note Mercury, and ^note herald for a king!
Come ^note, muster men: my counsel is my shield;
We must be brief when traitors brave the field. [Exeunt.

^note

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