Stan. Full of wife care is this your counfel, Madam;
Take all the fwift advantage of the time;
You fhall have letters from me to my fon
In your behalf, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta'en tardy by unwife delay.

Dutch. O ill difperfing wind of mifery!
O my accurfed womb, the bed of death!
A cockatrice haft thou hatch'd to the world,
Whofe unavoided eye is murtherous.

Stan. Come, Madam, come, I in all hafte was fent.
Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go.
O would to God, that the inclufive verge
Of golden metal that must round my brow,
Were red-hot fteel, to fear me to the brain!
Anointed let me be with deadly venom,

And die, e'er men can fay, God fave the Queen!
Queen. Go, go, poor foul, I envy not thy glory;
To feed my humour with thy felf no harm.
Anne. No! why? when he that is my

husband now,

Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's Coarfe;

When scarce the blood was well wafh'd from his hands,
Which iffu'd from my other angel husband,

And that dear Saint, which then I weeping follow'd:
O when, I fay, I look'd on Richard's face,

This was my wifh; be thou, quoth I, accurs'd,
For making me, so young, fo old a widow:
And when thou wed'ft, let forrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife, if any be fo mad,
More miferable by the life of thee,

Than thou haft made me, by my dear Lord's death!
Loe, e'er I can repeat this curfe again,

Within fo fmall a time, my woman's heart

Grofly grew captive to his honey words,

And prov'd the fubject 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 fleep,

But with his tim❜rous dreams was ftill awak'd.

Befides,

Befides, he hates me for my father Warwick,
And will, no doubt, fhortly be rid of me.

yours.

Queen. Poor heart, adieu, I pity thy complaining.
Anne. No more than, with my foul, I mourn for
Dor. Farewel, thou woful welcomer of glory!
Anne. Adieu, poor foul, that tak'ft 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 Sanctuary, good thoughts poffefs thee!
[To the Queen,
I to my Grave, where peace and reft lye 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 ftones, thofe 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.

SCENE ÌÏ.

The COURT.

[Exeunt.

Flourish of trumpets. Enter Gloucefter as King,
Buckingham, Catesby.

K. Rich. Tand all apart coufin of Buckinghamı ---

111

STand
Buck. My gracious Sovereign!

K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice, And thy affistance, is King Richard feated:

But fhall we wear thefe 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,

Το

To try if thou be currant gold indeed :

Young Edward lives --- think now what I would speak.
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 a 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 wert 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 fhall die?

[Lord, Buck. Give me fome breath, fome little paufe, dear Before I pofitively speak in this:

I will refolve your Grace immediately. [Exit Buckingham. Catef. The King is angry; fee, he gnaws his lip. [Afide. K. Rich. I will converfe with iron-witted fools,

And unrespective boys; none are for me,

That look into me with confid❜rate 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,

Whofe humble means match not his haughty fpirit:
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

[Exit Boy.

No

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?
Stan. My Lord,

The Marquis Dorfet, as I hear, is fled

To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.

K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby; rumour it abroad,
That Anne my wife is fick, and like to die.
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out fome mean-born gentleman,
Whom I will marry ftrait to Clarence' daughter ---
(The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.)
Look how thou dream'ft --- I say again, give out,
That Anne my Queen is fick, and like to die.
About it; for it stands me much upon

To stop all hopes, whofe growth may damage me.
I must be married to my brother's daughter,
Or else my kingdom ftands on brittle glass:
Murther 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 moft obedient fubject.

K. Rich. Art thou indeed?

Tyr. Prove me, my gracious Lord.

[He takes him afide.

K. Rich. Dar'ft thou refolve to kill a friend of mine? Tyr. Please you, I'd 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 those bastards in the Tower. Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them,

And

And foon I'll rid you from the fear of them. [Tyrrel,
K. Rich. Thou fing'ft fweet mufick. Hark, come hither,
Go by this token --- rife, and lend thine ear ---
[Whispers.
There is no more but fo fay it is done,

And I will love thee and prefer thee for it.
Tyr. I will difpatch it strait.

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; Th' Earldom of Hereford, and the moveables, Which you have promised I fhall poffefs.

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

Buck. What fays your Highnefs to my just request? K. Rich. I do remember me--- Henry the Sixth Did prophefie, that Richmond fhould be King, When Richmond was a little peevifsh boy.

Buck. My Lord,

1111

[time

K. Rich. How chance the Prophet could not at that Have told me, I being by, that I fhould kill him? Buck. My Lord, your promife for the Earldom ---K. Rich. Richmond? when I was laft at Exeter, The Mayor in courtefie fhewed me the castle, And call'd it Rouge-mont, at which name I started, Because a bard of Ireland told me once,

I fhould not live long after I faw Richmond.

Buck. My Lord,

K. Rich. I, what's o' clock?

Buck. I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind Of what you promis'd me.

K. Rich. But what's o' clock?

Buck.