Act 4 — fdc SCENE III. The same.

Enter TYRREL.

♦ Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody deed is done,

♦ The most arch act of piteous massacre

That ever yet this land was guilty of.

♦ Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn

5 To do this ruthless piece of butchery,

♦ Although they were flesh’d villains, bloody dogs,

♦ Melting with tenderness and kind compassion

♦ Wept like two children in their deaths’ sad stories.

♦ ‘Lo, thus,’ quoth Dighton, ‘lay those tender babes:’

10 ‘Thus, thus,’ quoth Forrest, ‘girdling one another

♦ Within their innocent alabaster 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;

15 Which once,’ quoth Forrest, ‘almost changed my mind;

♦ But O! the devil’—there the villain stopp’d;

♦ Whilst Dighton thus told on: ‘We smothered

The most replenished sweet work of nature

♦ That from the prime creation e’er she framed.’

20 Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse;

They could not speak; and so I left them both,

♦ To bring this tidings to the bloody king.

And here he comes.

Enter KING RICHARD.

♦ All hail, my sovereign liege!

♦ K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?

25 Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge

Beget your happiness, be happy then,

For it is done, my lord.

♦ K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead?

Tyr. I did, my lord.

K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;

30 But how or in what place I do not know.

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

♦ And thou shalt tell the process of their death.

♦ Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,

And be inheritor of thy desire.

35 Farewell till soon. [Exit Tyrrel.

♦ 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.

40 Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims

At young Elizabeth, my brother’s daughter,

♦ And, by that knot, looks proudly o’er the crown,

♦ To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer.

Enter Catesby.

♦ Cate. My lord!

45 K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly?

♦ Cate. Bad news, my lord: Ely 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

50 Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army.

♦ Come, I have heard that fearful commenting

Is leaden servitor to dull delay;

♦ Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary:

♦ Then fiery expedition be my wing,

55 Jove’s Mercury, and herald for a king!

♦ Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield;

We must be brief when traitors brave the field. [Exeunt.