K. Rich. I partly know the man; Go, call him hither,

boy.

The deep-revolving witty Buckingham

No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels:

Hath he so long held out with me untir'd,

[Exit Page.

And stops he now for breath?—well, be it so.—

Enter Stanley.

How now, lord Stanley? what's the news?
Stan. Know, my loving lord,

The marquis Dorset, 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 very grievous sick;

I will take order for her keeping close.
Enquire 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 queen 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.-

Is thy name-Tyrrel?

Enter Tyrrel.

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

Tyr. Prove me, my gracious lord.

K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine? Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two enemies. K. Rich. Why, then 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.

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

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

K. Rich. 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 for it.

Tyr. I will despatch it straight.

Re-enter Buckingham.

Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my

That late demand that did sound me in.

you

mind

[Exit.

K. Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to Richmond.
Buck. I hear the news, my

lord.

K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son:-Well, look to it.

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

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

Buck. What says your highness to my just request?
K. Rich. I do remember me,-Henry the sixth
Did prophecy, that Richmond should 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 should kill him?

Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom,—
K. Rich. Richmond!—When last I was at Exeter,
The mayor in courtesy shew'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 saw Richmond.

Buck. My lord,

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

Buck. I am thus bold to put your grace in mind

Of what you promis'd me.

K. Rich. Well, but what's o'clock?

Buck. Upon the stroke of ten.

K. Rich. Well, let it strike.

Buck. Why let it strike?

K. Rich. 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.

Buck. Why, then resolve me whe'r you will, or no. K. Rich. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. [Exit. Buck. And is it thus? repays he my deep service With such 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

Enter Tyrrel.

Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done;

The most arch deed of piteous mafsacre,

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 two children, in their deaths' sad story.
O 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, kifs'd each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay;

Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind:
But, 0, the devil—there the villain stopp'd;