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Take all the swift advantage of the hours ;
You shall have letters from me to my son
In your behalf, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

Ducb. O ill.dispersing wind of misery!
O my accursed womb, the bed of death;
A cockatrice halt thou hatch'd to the world,
Whose unavoided eye is murderous !

Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was fent.

Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go.
0, would to God, that the inclusive verge
Of golden metal, that must round my brow,
Were red-hot steel, to fear 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, with thyself no harm.

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 walh'd from his hands, Which issu'd 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 iny wish,-Be thou, quoth I, accurs'd, For making me, so young, fo old a widow ! And, when thou wed"X, let furrow baunt thy bed; And be thy wife (if any be so mad) Mere miserable by the life of thee, Tban thou has 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 hach held mine eyes



For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of Neep,
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 complaining.
Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.
Dor. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory!
Anne, Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it!
Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide

[To DORSET. Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee!

[To ANNE. Go thou to fanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee !

[TO Q: ELIZABETH. I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me! Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen.

Q: Eliz. Stay yet; look back, with me, unto the Tower.. 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 forrow bids your stones farewell. [Exeunt.


A Room of fate 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 Buckingham,



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,
To try if thou be current gold, indeed :-
Young Edward lives ;-Think now what I would 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 fo: 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.

[Exit BUCKINGHAM. Cate. The king is angry; see, he gnaws his lip. [ Afide. K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools,

[descends from his throne. And unrespective 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 exploit 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?

His name, my lord, is-Tyrrel. K. Rich. I partly know the man ; Go, call him hither, boy.

[Exit Page. The deep-revolving witty Buckingham No more fhall be the neighbour to my counfels : Hath he so long held out with me untird, And stops he now for breath ?-well, be it fo..


How now, lord Stanley? what's the news?

Know, my loving lord,
The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is filed
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.
£nquire 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 marry'd to my brother's daughter,

Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glafs :-
Murder 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..

Re-enter Page, with TYRREL.

Is thy name-Tyrrel ?

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

Prove me, my gracious lord.
K. Rich. Dar'ft thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?
Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two enemies.

K. Rich. Why, then thou haft it; two deep enemies, Foes to my rest, and my sweet Neep'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 fing'st sweet musick. Hark, come hither,

Tyrrel; Go, by this token :-Rise, and lend thine ear: (Whispers, There is no more but fo:-Say, it is done, And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. Tyr. I will despatch it straight.



Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind
The late demand that you did found me in.

K. Rich. Well, let that reft. Dorset is filed to Richmond.
Buck. I hear the news, my lord.
K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's fon :-Well, look to it.


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