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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 Rougemont: at which name I started,

Because a bard of Ireland told me once,

I should not live long after I saw Richmond. Bek. My Lord!

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


Buck. I am thus bold to put your grace in


Of what you promised me.

K. Rich.
Well, but what's o'clock?
Buck. Upon the stroke of ten.
K. Rich.

Buck. Why let it strike?

Well, let it strike.

K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke

Betwist thy begging and my meditation.

I am not in the giving vein to-day.

Back. Why, then resolve me whether you

will or no.


K. Rich. Tut. tut, Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. [Exeunt all but Buckingham. Buck. Is it even so ? rewards he my true service

Win such deep contempt ? made I him king for this?

O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone
To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on!

SCENE III. The same.



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
To do this ruthless piece of butchery,
Altough they were flesh'd villains, bloody

Melting with tenderness and kind compassion Yept like two children in their deaths' sad stories.

Lo, thus' quoth Dighton, 'lay those tender babes:

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Within their innocent alabaster arms:
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each

A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
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. Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse; 20

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

To bring this tidings to the bloody king.
And here he comes.


All hail, my sovereign liege! K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?

Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in


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Then fiery expedition be my wing, 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.

SCENE IV. Before the palace.


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 adversaries.
A dire induction am I witness to,
And will to France, hoping the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret:

comes here ?



Q. Eliz. Ah, my young 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 crazed my voice,

That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb,

Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

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


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Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine: had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; 40 I had a Harry, till a Richard kill'd him : Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill d him Thou hadst a Richard till a Richard killed 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, 50
That foul defacer of God's handiwork,
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-fellow with

moau !


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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 kill'd my Ed-

And the beholders of this tragic play,
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan,

Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. 70
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer,
Only reserved 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 pray,

To have him suddenly convey'd away.
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to say, The dog is dead
Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy the tim
That I should wish for thee to help me curse
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back

would come

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Q. Mar. I call'd thee then vain flourish o my fortune;

I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen
The presentation of but what I was;
The flattering index of a direful pageant ;
One heaved a-high, to be hurl'd down below
A mother only mock'd with two sweet babes
A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubbl
A sign of dignity, a garish flag,

To be the aim of every dangerous shot;
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.

Where is thy husband now ? where be thy brothers ?

Where are thy children? wherein dost thou joy?

Who sues to thee and cries 'God save the queen' ?

Where be the bending peers that flatter'd
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd
Decline all this, and see what now thou art:
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now tearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Tuas 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

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? 110
Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd

From which even here I slip my weary neck, And leave the burthen of it all on thee. Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance :


These English woes will make me smile in Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile,

And teach me how to curse mine enemies! Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days;

Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were fairer than they



And he that slew them fouler than he is: Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer

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And the dire death of my two sons and brothers?

Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?

Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence ?

And little Ned Plantagenet, his son ?
Q. Eliz. Where is kind Hastings, Rivers,
Vaughan, Grey?

K. Rich. A flourishi, trumpets! strike alarum, drums!


Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord's anointed: strike, I say!
[Flourish. Alarums.
Either be patient, and entreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
Duch. Art thou my son?

K. Rich. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.

Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condition,

Which cannot brook the accent of reproof.
Duch. O, let me speak!
K. Rich.

Do then; but I'll not hear. Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my speech. 160 K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.

Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee,

God knows, in anguish, pain and agony. K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?

Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well,

Thou camest on earth to make the earth my


A grievous burthen was thy birth to me;
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild,
and furious,

Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous, 170 Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, bloody, treacherous,

More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred :

What comfortable hour canst thou name,
That ever graced me in thy company?

K. Rich. Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour,
that call'd your grace
To breakfast once forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,

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