Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,
Lest thou increase the number of the dead;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret’s curse,
Nor mother, wife, nor England’s counted queen.
Lord Stanley
Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.
Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
You shall have letters from me to my son
To meet you on the way, and welcome you.
Be not ta’en tardy by unwise delay.
Duchess Of York
O ill-dispersing wind of misery!
O my accursed womb, the bed of death!
A cockatrice hast thou hatch’d to the world,
Whose unavoided eye is murderous.
Lord Stanley
Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.
Lady Anne
And I in all unwillingness will go.
I would to God that the inclusive verge
Of golden metal that must round my brow
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain!
Anointed let me be with deadly venom,
And die, ere men can say, God save the queen!
Queen Elizabeth
Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory
To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.
Lady Anne
No! why? When he that is my husband now
Came to me, as I follow’d Henry’s corse,
When scarce the blood was well wash’d from his hands
Which issued from my other angel husband
And that dead saint which then I weeping follow’d;
O, when, I say, I look’d on Richard’s face,
This was my wish: ‘Be thou,’ quoth I, ‘accursed,
For making me, so young, so old a widow!
And, when thou wed’st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife — if any be so mad —
As miserable by the life of thee
As thou hast made me by my dear lord’s death!
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Even in so short a space, my woman’s heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words
And proved the subject of my own soul’s curse,
Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Have I enjoy’d the golden dew of sleep,
But have been waked by his timorous dreams.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
Queen Elizabeth
Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.
Lady Anne
No more than from my soul I mourn for yours.
Queen Elizabeth
Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory!
Lady Anne
Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave of it!
Duchess Of York
[To Dorset]
Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!
To Lady Anne
Go thou to Richard, and good angels guard thee!
To Queen Elizabeth
Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee!
I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!
Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,
And each hour’s joy wrecked with a week of teen.
Queen Elizabeth
Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower.
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
Whom envy hath immured within your walls!
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.
Exeunt
SCENE II. LONDON. THE PALACE.
Sennet. Enter King Richard III, in pomp, crowned; Buckingham, Catesby, a page, and others
King Richard III
Stand all apart Cousin of Buckingham!
Buckingham
My gracious sovereign?
King Richard III
Give me thy hand.
Here he ascendeth his throne
Thus high, by thy advice
And thy assistance, is King Richard seated;
But shall we wear these honours for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
Buckingham
Still live they and for ever may they last!
King Richard III
O Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
To try if thou be current gold indeed
Young Edward lives: think now what I would say.
Buckingham
Say on, my loving lord.
King Richard III
Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king,
Buckingham
Why, so you are, my thrice renowned liege.
King Richard III
Ha! am I king? ’tis so: but Edward lives.
Buckingham
True, noble prince.
King Richard III
O bitter consequence,
That Edward still should live! ‘True, noble prince!’
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.
What sayest thou? speak suddenly; be brief.
Buckingham
Your grace may do your pleasure.
King Richard III
Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezeth:
Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?
Buckingham
Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord
Before I positively herein:
I will resolve your grace immediately.
Exit
Catesby
[Aside to a stander by]
The king is angry: see, he bites the lip.
King Richard III
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?
King Richard III
Know’st thou not any whom corrupting gold
Would tempt unto a close exploit of death?
Page
My lord, I know a discontented 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.
King Richard III
What is his name?
Page
His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.
King Richard III
I partly know the man: go, call him hither.
Exit Page
The deep-revolving witty Buckingham
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel:
Hath he so long held out with me untired,
And stops he now for breath?
Enter Stanley
How now! what news with you?
Stanley
My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorset’s fled
To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea
Where he abides.
Stands apart
King Richard III
Catesby!
Catesby
My lord?
King Richard III
Rumour it abroad
That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die:
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out some mean-born 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 wife is sick and like to die:
> About it; for it stands me much upon,
To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.
Exit Catesby
I must be married 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 sin will pluck on sin:
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
Re-enter Page, with Tyrrel
Is thy name Tyrrel?
Tyrrel
James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.
King Richard III
Art thou, indeed?
Tyrrel
Prove me, my gracious sovereign.
King Richard III
Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?
Tyrrel
Ay, my lord;
But I had rather kill two enemies.
King Richard III
Why, there thou hast it: two deep enemies,
Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep’s disturbers
Are they that I would have thee deal upon:
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.
Tyrrel
Let me have open means to come to them,
And soon I’ll rid you from the fear of them.
King Richard III
Thou sing’st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel
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 too.
Tyrrel
’Tis done, my gracious lord.
King Richard III
Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep?
Tyrrel
Ye shall, my Lord.
Exit
Re-enter Buckingham
Buckingham
My Lord, I have consider’d in my mind
The late demand that you did sound me in.
King Richard III
Well, let that pass. Dorset is fled to Richmond.
Buckingham
I hear that news, my lord.
King Richard III
Stanley, he is your wife’s son well, look to it.
Buckingham
My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise,
For which your honour and your faith is pawn’d;
The earldom of Hereford and the moveables
The which you promised I should possess.
King Richard III
Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.
Buckingham
What says your highness to my just demand?
King Richard III
As I remember, Henry the Sixth
Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
A king, perhaps, perhaps,—
Buckingham
My lord!
King Richard III
How chance the prophet could not at that time
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?
Buckingham
My lord, your promise for the earldom,—
King Richard III
Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,
The mayor in courtesy show’d me the castle,
And call’d it Rougemont: at which name I started,
Because a bard of Ireland told me once
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.
Buckingham
My Lord!
King Richard III
Ay, what’s o’clock?
Buckingham
I am thus bold to put your grace in mind
Of what you promised me.
King Richard III
Well, but what’s o’clock?
Buckingham
Upon the stroke of ten.
King Richard III
Well, let it strike.
Buckingham
Why let it strike?
King Richard III
Because that, like a Jack, thou keep’st the stroke
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I am not in the giving vein to-day.
Buckingham
Why, then resolve me whether you will or no.
King Richard III
Tut, tut,
Thou troublest me; am not in the vein.
Exeunt all but Buckingham
Buckingham
Is it even so? rewards he my true service
With such deep contempt made I him king for this?
O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone
To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on!
Exit
SCENE III. THE SAME.
Enter Tyrrel
Tyrrel
The tyrannous and bloody deed is done.
The most arch of piteous massacre
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn
To do this ruthless piece of butchery,
Although they were flesh’d villains, bloody dogs,
Melting with tenderness and kind compassion
Wept like two children in their deaths’ sad stories.
‘Lo, thus’ quoth Dighton, ‘lay those tender babes:’
‘Thus, thus,’ quoth Forrest, ‘girdling one another
Within their innocent alabaster arms:
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
Which in their summer beauty kiss’d each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
Which once,’ quoth Forrest, ‘almost changed my mind;
But O! the devil’— there the villain stopp’d
Whilst Dighton thus told on: ‘We smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature,
That from the prime creation e’er she framed.’
Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse;
They could not speak; and so I left them both,
To bring this tidings to the bloody king.
And here he comes.
Enter King Richard III
All hail, my sovereign liege!
King Richard III
Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?
Tyrrel
If to have done the thing you gave in charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then,
For it is done, my lord.
King Richard III
But didst thou see them dead?
Tyrrel
I did, my lord.
King Richard III
And buried, gentle Tyrrel?
Tyrrel
The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
But how or in what place I do not know.
King Richard III
Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,
And thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell till soon.
Exit Tyrrel
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 the world good night.
Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother’s daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly o’er the crown,
To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer.
Enter Catesby
Catesby
My lord!
King Richard III
Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly?
Catesby
Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Richmond;
And Buckingham, back’d with the hardy Welshmen,
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
King R
ichard III
Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army.
Come, I have heard that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove’s Mercury, and herald for a king!
Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield;
We must be brief when traitors brave the field.
Exeunt
SCENE IV. BEFORE THE PALACE.
Enter Queen Margaret
Queen Margaret
So, now prosperity begins to mellow
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slily have I lurk’d,
To watch the waning of mine adversaries.
A dire induction am I witness to,
And will to France, hoping the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here?
Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess Of York
Queen Elizabeth
Ah, my young princes! ah, my tender babes!
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air
And be not fix’d in doom perpetual,
Hover about me with your airy wings
And hear your mother’s lamentation!
Queen Margaret
Hover about her; say, that right for right
Hath dimm’d your infant morn to aged night.
Duchess Of York
So many miseries have crazed my voice,
That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb,
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?
Queen Margaret
Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet.
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.
Queen Elizabeth
Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?
Queen Margaret
When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.
Duchess Of York
Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal living ghost,
Woe’s scene, world’s shame, grave’s due by life usurp’d,
Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
Rest thy unrest on England’s lawful earth,
Sitting down
Unlawfully made drunk with innocents’ blood!
Queen Elizabeth
O, that thou wouldst as well afford a grave
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.
O, who hath any cause to mourn but I?
Sitting down by her
Queen Margaret
If ancient sorrow be most reverend,
Give mine the benefit of seniory,
And let my woes frown on the upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society,
Sitting down with them
Tell o’er your woes again by viewing mine:
Complete Plays, The Page 245