The Same. |
|
Enter TYRRELL. |
Tyr. 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 ruthless butchery, |
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, |
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion, |
Wept like to children in their death's sad story. |
'Oh! thus,' quoth Dighton, 'lay the gentle babes:' |
'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest, 'girdling one another |
Within their alabaster innocent 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 chang'd my mind; |
But, O, the devil'—there the villain stopp'd; |
When Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered |
The most replenished sweet work of nature, |
That from the prime creation e'er she fram'd.' |
Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse; |
They could not speak; and so I left them both, |
To bear this tidings to the bloody king: |
And here he comes. |
|
Enter KING RICHARD. |
All health, my sovereign lord! |
K. Rich. Kind Tyrrell, am I happy in thy news? |
Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge |
Beget your happiness, be happy then, |
For it is done. |
K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead? |
Tyr I did, my lord. |
K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrell? |
Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; |
But how or in what place I do not know. |
K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrell, soon at aftersupper, |
When 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 then. |
Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. |
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 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 on the crown, |
To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. |
|
Enter CATESBY. |
Cate. My lord! |
K. Rich. Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so bluntly? |
Cate. Bad news, my lord: Morton 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 |
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 counsel is my shield; |
We must be brief when traitors brave the field. [Exeunt. |
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.