And prov'd the subject of mine own foul's curfe:
Which ever fince hath held mine eyes from reft;
For never yet one hour in his bed

Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,

But with his timorous dreams was ftill awak'd.
Befides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, fhortly be rid of me.

Queen. Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining.
Anne. No more than with my foul I mourn for yours.
Dor. Farewel, thou woful welcomer of glory!
Anne. Adieu, poor foul, that tak'st thy leave of it!
Dutch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide

thee!

[To Dorfet.

Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee !—

[To Anne. Go thou to fanctuary, and good thoughts poffefs thee! [To the Queen.

I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!
Eighty odd years of forrow have I feen,

And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of 'teen.

Queen. Stay yet; look back, with me, unto the Tower.

Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes,

Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls!
Rough cradle for fuch little pretty ones!
Rude ragged nurfe! old fullen play-fellow
For tender princes, ufe my babies well!
So foolish forrow bids your ftones farewel.

timorous]-terrible.

1 teen]--affliction, trouble. envy]-malice.

[Exeunt.

ACT

IV. SCENE I.

A C T IV.

The court.

Flourish of trumpets. Enter Richard, as King, Buckingham,
Catesby, a Page, and others.

K. Rich. Stand all apart.-Coufin of Buckingham,-
Buck. My gracious fovereign.

K. Rich. Give me thy hand.. Thus high, by thy advice,
And thy affiftance, is king Richard feated:-
But shall we wear these glories for a day?
Or fhall they laft, and we rejoice in them?

Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them laft!

K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch, if thou be current gold, indeed :

To try
Young Edward lives ;-Think now what I would fpeak.
Buck. Say on, my loving lord.

K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I fay, I would be king.
Buck. Why, fo you are, my thrice-renowned liege.
K. Rich. Ha! am I king? 'Tis fo: but Edward lives.
Buck. True, noble prince.

K. Rich. O bitter confequence,

That Edward still should live-true! noble prince !-
Coufin, thou waft not wont to be fo dull :-
Shall I be plain? I wish the baftards dead;
And I would have it fuddenly perform'd.
What fay'st thou now? fpeak fuddenly, be brief.
Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure.

K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezes: Say, have I thy confent, that they shall die?

play the touch,]-ply the touch-represent, or apply the touchstone.. O bitter confequence,]-O bitter fequel to "Edward lives."

Buck. Give me fome breath, fome little paufe, dear lord, Before I pofitively fpeak in this:

I will refolve your grace immediately. [Exit Buckingham. Catef. The king is angry; fee, he gnaws his lip.

k

K. Rich. I will converfe with iron-witted fools,
And unrefpective boys; none are for me,
That look into me with confiderate eyes:-

High-reaching Buckingham grows circumfpect.-
Boy,-

Page. My lord.

K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting gold Would tempt unto a "clofe exploit of death?

Page. I know a difcontented 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.—

The deep-revolving "witty Buckingham

No more fhall be the neighbour to my counfels:
Hath he fo long held out with me untir'd,
And stops he now for breath?-well, be it fo.-

Enter Stanley.

How now, lord Stanley? what's the news?

Stanl. Know, my loving lord,

The marquis Dorfet, as I hear, is fled

To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.

k iron-witted]-dull, impenetrable. unrefpective]-inattentive.

[Exit boy.

clofe exploit of death ?]—secret act, a private affaffination.
witty]-fagacious.

K. Rich.

K. Rich. Come hither, Catefby: rumour it abroad,
That Anne my wife is very grievous fick;
I will take order for her keeping close.
Enquire me out fome mean-born gentleman,
Whom I will marry ftraight to Clarence' daughter:-
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.—
Look, how thou dream'it!-I fay again, give out,
That Anne my queen is fick, and like to die:
About it; for it ftands me much upon,

To stop all hopes, whofe growth may damage me.

[Exit Catesby.

I must be marry'd to my brother's daughter,
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass :—
Murder her brothers, and then marry her!

Uncertain way of gain! But I am in

So far in blood, that fin will pluck on fin.
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.—

Is thy name-Tyrrel?

Enter Tyrrel.

Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient fubject.
K. Rich. Art thou, indeed ?

Tyr. Prove me, my gracious lord.

K. Rich. Dar'ft thou resolve to kill a friend of mine? Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two enemies. K. Rich. Why, then thou haft it; two deep enemies, Foes to my reft, and my fweet fleep's disturbers, Are they that I would have thee deal upon :

Tyrrel, I mean thofe baftards in the Tower.

Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them,

And foon I'll rid you from the fear of them.

K. Rich. Thou fing'ft sweet mufick. Hark, come

hither, Tyrrel;

• Uncertain way of gain !]-My fuccefs is uncertain, fince each ftep I take towards fecuring the crown requires another to bear it out. Go,

Go, by this token:-Rife, and lend thine ear: [Whispers.
There is no more but fo:-Say, it is done,
And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.
Tyr. I will dispatch it straight.

Re-enter Buckingham.

Buck. My lord, I have confider'd in my mind That late demand that you did found me in.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Well, let that reft. Dorfet is fled to Richmond.

Buck. I hear the news, my lord.

K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's fon :-Well, look

to it.

Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promife. For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd; The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables, Which you have promised I fhall poffefs.

K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife; if the convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

Buck. What fays your highness to my just request? K. Rich. I do remember me,-Henry the fixth Did prophefy, that Richmond fhould be king, When Richmond was a little peevish boy. A king!-perhaps

Buck. My lord,

K. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at that time

Have told me, I being by, that I fhould kill him?
Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom.-
K. Rich. Richmond!-When laft I was at Exeter,
The mayor in courtefy fhew'd me the castle,
And call'd it-Rouge-mont: at which name, I started;
Because a bard of Ireland told me once,

I should not live long after I faw Richmond.

Buck.