Tyr.
The tyrannous and bloody act is ^note done;
The most arch deed of ^note piteous massacre,
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton, and Forrest, whom I did suborn

To do this piece of ruthless ^note butchery,
Albeit ^note they were flesht villains, bloody dogs,
Melting ^note with tenderness and kind compassion ^note,
Wept like to ^note children, in their deaths' sad story ^note.
O, thus ^note, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes ^note,—
Thus, thus, quoth Forrest; girdling ^note one another
Within their alablaster ^note innocent ^note arms:
Their lips were ^note four ^note red roses on a stalk,
Which, in ^note their summer beauty, kiss'd each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
Which once ^note, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind:
But, o, the devil—there the villain stop'd;
When Dighton ^note thus told on,—we smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature,
That, from the prime creation, e'er she ^note framed.
Hence both ^note are gone with conscience and remorse,
They could not speak; and so I left them both,
To bear ^note these tidings ^note to the bloody king. Enter Richard.
And here he comes:—All health, my sovereign lord! ^note

Ric.
Kind Tyrrel! am I ^note 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. ^note

Ric.
But didst thou see them dead?

Tyr.
I did, my lord.

Ric.
And bury'd, gentle Tyrrel?

Tyr.
The chaplain of the tower hath bury'd them;
But where, to say the truth, I ^note do not know.

Ric.
Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after ^note supper,
When thou ^note shalt ^note 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. ^note

Tyr.
I humbly take my leave. [Exit.

Ric.
The son of Clarence have I pen'd ^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 Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly on the ^note crown,
To her go I ^note, a jolly thriving wooer. Enter Ratcliff. ^note

Rat.
My lord,—

Ric.
Good or bad news ^note, that thou com'st in ^note so bluntly?

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

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

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