Brak. Right well, dear madam. By your patience, I may not suffer you to visit them; The king hath strictly charged 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? 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! That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, Anne. Despiteful tidings! O, unpleasing news! Dor. Be of good cheer.-Mother, how fares your grace? Q. Eliz. 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; Duch. O, ill-dispersing wind of misery!- A cockatrice hast thou hatched to the world, Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent. O, would to God, that the inclusive verge And die, ere men can say-God save the queen! Anne. No! why?-When he, that is my husband now, Came to me, as I followed Henry's corse; When scarce the blood was well washed from his hands, And that dead saint which then I weeping followed; Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death! Even in so short a space, my woman's heart And proved the subject of mine own soul's curse: Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, But with his timorous dreams1 was still awaked. 1 It is recorded by Polydore Virgil that Richard was frequently disturbed by terrible dreams. Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick; 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 thee! [TO DORSET.. Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee! [TO ANNE. Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee! [To Q. ELIZABETH. I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me! Eighty odd years1 of sorrow have I seen, And each hour's joy wrecked with a week of teen.2 Q. Eliz. Stay yet; look back, with me, unto the Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes, So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [Exeunt. 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 Buckingham, Buck. My gracious sovereign. K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice, 1 The present scene is in 1483. Richard duke of York, the husband of this lady, had he been then living, would have been but seventy-three years old, and we may reasonably suppose she was not older; nor did she go speedily to her grave; she lived till 1495 2 Sorrow. And thy assistance, is king Richard seated.- Young Edward lives;-think now what I would speak. K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king. Buck. True, noble prince. O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live,-true, noble prince! 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. [Aside. K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools, 2 [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. 1 "To play the touch" is to resemble the touchstone. K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting gold Would tempt unto a close exploit1 of death? Page. I know a discontented gentleman, Whose humble means match not his haughty mind. 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, witty Buckingham No more shall be the neighbor to my counsels. 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; rumor it abroad, Look, how thou dream'st!-I say again, give out, To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me. 1 Secret act. 2 This youth was, at this time, about ten years old, and we are not told that he had then exhibited any symptoms of folly. Being confined by king Henry VII. immediately after the battle of Bosworth, and his education being entirely neglected, he is described by Polydore Virgil, at the time of his death, in 1499, as an idiot; his account is copied by Holinshed. |