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

Buck.
My gracious Soveraign.

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,
To try if thou be current Gold indeed:
Young Edward lives—think now what I would speak.

Buck.
Say on, my loving Lord.

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

Buck.
Why so you are, my thrice renowned Lord.

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 little breath, some pause, dear Lord,
Before I positively speak in this:
I will resolve you herein presently. [Exit Buckingham.

Cates.
The King is angry, see he gnaws his Lip.

K. Rich.
I will converse with Iron-witted Fools,
And unrespective Boys; none are for me,
That look into me with considerate Eyes,
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
Boy.

Page.
My Lord.

K. Rich.
Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting Gold
Will tempt unto a close exploit of Death?

Page.
I know a discontented Gentleman,
Whose humble means match not his haughty Spirit:
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 Tirrell.

K. Rich.
I partly know the Man; go call him hither,
Boy. [Exit.
The deep revolving witty Buckingham,
No more shall be the Neighbour to my Counsels.
Hath he so long held out with me untir'd,
And stops he now for Breath? Well, be it so. Enter Stanley.
How now, Lord Stanley, what's the News?

Stan.
Know, my loving Lord, the Marquess Dorset,
As I hear, is fled to Richmond,
In the Parts where he abides.

K. Rich.
Come hither, Catesby, rumor it abroad,
That Anne, my Wife, is very grievous Sick;
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out some mean poor Gentleman,
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence Daughter:
The Boy is foolish, and I fear not him.
Look how thou dream'st—I say again, give out,
That Anne, my Queen, is sick, and like to die.
About it; for it stands me much upon
To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me.
I must be married to my Brother's Daughter,
Or else my Kingdom stands on brittle Glass:
Murther 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. Enter Tirrel.
Is thy Name Tirrel?

Tir.
James Tirrel, and your most obedient Subject.

K. Rich.
Art thou indeed?

Tir.
Prove me, my gracious Lord.

K. Rich.
Dar'st thou resolve to kill a Friend of mine?

Tir.
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 sleeps disturbers,
Are they that I would have thee deal upon:
Tirrel, I mean those Bastards in the Tower.

Tir.
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 Tirrel,
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.

Tir.
I will dispatch it straight. [Exit. Enter Buckingham.

Buck.
My Lord, I have consider'd in my mind,
The late request 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 unto it.

Buck.
My Lord, I claim the Gift, my due by Promise,
For which your Honour and your Faith is pawn'd.
Th' Earldom of Hereford, and the Moveables,
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 Prophesie, that Richmond should be King,
When Richmond was a little peevish Boy.
A King perhaps.

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

K. Rich.
Thou troublest me, I am not in the Vein. [Exit.

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 Brecnock, while my fearful Head is on. [Exit. Enter Tirrel.

Tir.
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 ruthful Butchery,
Albeit they were flesht Villains, bloody Dogs,
Melted with Tenderness, and mild Compassion,
Wept like to Children, in their deaths sad Story:
O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle Babes,
Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another
Within their Alablaster innocent Arms:
Their Lips were four red Roses on a Stalk,
And 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 oh the Devil—there the Villain stopt:
When Dighton thus told on, we smothered
The most replenished sweet work of Nature,
That from the prime Creation e'er she framed.
Hence both are gone with Conscience and Remorse,
They could not speak, and so I left them both,
To bear these Tydings to the bloody King.

Enter King Richard.
And here he comes. All health, my Sovereign Lord.

K. Rich.
Kind Tirrel—am I happy in thy News?

Tir.
If to have done the thing you gave in charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then,
For it is done.

K. Rich.
But did'st thou see them dead?

Tir.
I did, my Lord.

K. Rich.
And buried, gentle Tirrel?

Tir.
The Chaplain of the Tower hath buried them,
But where, to say the truth, I do not know.

K. Rich.
Come to me Tirrel soon, soon after Supper,
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.

Tir.
I humbly take my leave.

K. Rich.
The Son of Clarence have I pent 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 this World good Night.
Now for I know the Briton 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 Ratcliff.

Rat.
My Lord.

K. Rich.
Good or bad News, that thou com'st in so bluntly?

Rat.
Bad News, my Lord, Morton is fled to Richmond,
And Buckingham, backt with the hardy Welshmen,
Is in the Field, and still his Power encreaseth.

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,
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 Council is my Shield,
We must be brief, when Traitors brave the Field. [Exeunt.

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