ACT IV. SCENE I-Before the Tower. Enter on one side, Queen Elizabeth, duchess of York, and marquis of Dorset; on the other, Anne, duchess of Gloster, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet, Clarence's young daughter.

Duch. Who meets us here?-my niece Plantagenet

Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster? Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower, On pure heart's love, to greet the tender prince. Daughter, well met.

Anne.

God give your graces both A happy and a joyful time of day! Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister? Whither away?

Anne. No further than the Tower; and, as I guess, Upon the like devotion as yourselves,

To gratulate the gentle princes there.

Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go.O, would to God, that the inclusive verge Of golden metal,2 that must round my brow, Were red-hot steel, to sear3 me to the brain! Anointed let me be with deadly venom; And die, ere men can say-God save the queen! Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory; To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. Anne. No! why?-When he, that is my husband

now,

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

together:

Enter Brakenbury.

hands,

And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.-
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
How doth the prince, and my young son of York?
Brak. Right well, dear madam: By your
tience,

may not suffer you to visit them;
The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary.
Q. Eliz. The king! who's that?
Brak.

I mean, the lord protector. Q. Eliz. The Lord protect him from that kingly

title!

Hath he set bounds between their love, and me? 1 am their mother, who shall bar me from them? Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see them. Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:

Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame, And take thy office from thee, on thy peril.

Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so; I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. [Exit Brakenbury.

Enter Stanley.

Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,

And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,
And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.-
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster.
[To the duchess of Gloster.
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.
Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder!

Than 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 prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse:
Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu: I pity thy com plaining.

Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for

Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee![To Dorset. Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee![To Anne. Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess [To Q. Elizabeth.

thee!

Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.
Anne. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!
Dor. Be of good cheer:-Mother, how fares

your grace?

QEliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone, Death and destruction dog thee at the heels; Thy mother's name is ominous to children: If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell. 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. Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam:

Take all the swift advantage of the hours; (1) A serpent supposed to originate from a cock's egg.

Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,
And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen.4
Q. Eliz. Stay yet; look back, with

Tower.-

me,

unto the

Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes,
Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls!
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
Rude ragged nurse! old sullen play-fellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [Exe.
SCENE II-A room of state in the palace.
Flourish of trumpets. Richard, as king upon
his throne; Buckingham, Catesby, a Page, and
others.

K. Rich. Stand all apart.--Cousin of Eucking-
ham,
(2) The crown.

Buck. My gracious sovereign.
K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy
advice,

And thy assistance, is king Richard seated :-
But shall we wear these glories for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last!
K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the
touch,1

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,5
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.

speak.

Buck. Say on, my loving lord.

K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king.

Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned

liege.

K. Rich. Ha! am I king? 'Tis so: but Edward lives.

Buck. True, noble prince.

K. Rich.

O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live,-true, noble prince!-Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull :Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead; And I would have it suddenly perform'd. What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief. Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezes :

Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die? Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause, dear lord,

Before I positively speak in this:
I will resolve your grace immediately. [Ex. Buck.
Cate. The king is angry; see, he gnaws his lip.
[Aside.
K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools,
[Descends from his throne.
And unrespective2 boys: none are for me,
That look into me with considerate eyes;—
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.-
Boy,-

Page. My lord.

K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting gold

Would tempt unto a close exploits of death?

Page. 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.
K. Rich. What is his name?
Page.
His name, my lord, is-Tyrrel.
K. Rich. I partly know the man; Go, call him
hither, boy.-
[Exit Page.

The deep-revolving, witty4 Buckingham
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels :
Hath he so long held out with me untir'd,
And stops he now for breath?-well, be it so.—

Enter Stanley.

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.

[Exit.

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 show'd me the castle,
And call'd it-Rouge-mont: at which name, I
started;

Because a bard of Ireland told me once,
should not live long after I saw Richmond.
Buck. My lord,-

K. Rich.

Ay, what's o'clock?

(5) It is of the utmost consequence to my designs. (6) Act. (7) Foolish.

K. Rich. Thou troublest me; I am not in the
vein. [Exeunt King Richard, and train.
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,2 while my fearful head is on. [Exit.
SCENE III.-The same. Enter Tyrrel.
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 ruthless3 butchery,
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion,
Wept like two children, in their death's 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, 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.

Enter King Richard.

And here he comes:-
-All health, my sovereign lord!
K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel! 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.
Tyr. I did, my lord.
K. Rich.

But didst thou see them dead?

And buried, gentle Tyrrel? Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;

But where, to say the truth, I do not know.

K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper,

When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Mean time, 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 penn'd up

close;

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.
SCENE IV-The same. Before the Palace.
Enter Queen Margaret.

Q. Mar. 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 enemies.
A dire induction6 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. Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor 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!

Q. Mar. Hover about her; say, that right for right Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.

Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice, That my wo-wearied tongue is still and mute,-Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, Ŏ 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? Q. Mar. When haly Harry died, and my sweet

(5) Bishop of Ely.

(6) Introduction. 2 D

Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we?
[Sitting down by her.
Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent,
Give mine the benefit of seniory,
And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society,

[Sitting down with them.
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine :-
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him:
Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.
Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;
I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.
Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard
kill'd him.

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death:
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood;
That foul defacer of God's handy-work;
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.-
O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother's body,
And makes her pew-fellow2 with others' moan!
Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes;
God witness with me, I have wept for thine.

Q. Mar. Bear with me, I am hungry for revenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
Young York he is but boot, because both they
Match not the high perfection of my loss.
Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward;
And the beholders of this tragic play,
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untinely smother'd in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;
Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls,
And send them thither: But at hand, at hand,
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end:
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints
To have him suddenly convey'd from hence:--
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to say, The dog is dead!

pray,

Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy, the time would

come,

That I should wish for thee to help me curse
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad.
Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my
fortune;

I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen;
The presentation of but what I was,
The flattering index4 of a direful pageant,
One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou wast; a garish flag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot;
A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy?
Who sues, and kneels, and says-God save the
queen?

Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art.
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
(1) Seniority. (2) Companion.
Thrown in to boot.

For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care:
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst usurp my place, And dost thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke;
From which even here I slip my wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.
Farewell, York's wife,-and queen of sad mis-
chance,-

These English woes shall make me smile in France.
Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies.

Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day;

Compare dead happiness with living wo;
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
And he, that slew them, fouler than he is:
Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse;
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.
Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them
with thine!

Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and
pierce like mine.
[Exit Q Mar.
Duch. Why should calamity be full of words?
Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries!
Let them have scope: though what they do impart
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.

Duch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd: go with