Shakespeare's First Folio Part 428

How now, Lord Stanley, what's the newes?

Stanley. Know my louing Lord, the Marquesse Dorset As I heare, is fled to Richmond, In the parts where he abides

Rich. Come hither Catesby, rumor it abroad, That Anne my Wife is very grieuous sicke, I will take order for her keeping close.

Inquire me out some meane poore Gentleman, Whom I will marry straight to Clarence Daughter: The Boy is foolish, and I feare not him.

Looke how thou dream'st: I say againe, giue out, That Anne, my Queene, is sicke, and like to dye.

About it, for it stands me much vpon To stop all hopes, whose growth may dammage me.

I must be marryed to my Brothers Daughter, Or else my Kingdome stands on brittle Gla.s.se: Murther her Brothers, and then marry her, Vncertaine way of gaine. But I am in So farre in blood, that sinne will pluck on sinne, Teare-falling Pittie dwells not in this Eye.

Enter Tyrrel.

Is thy Name Tyrrel?

Tyr. Iames Tyrrel, and your most obedient subiect

Rich. Art thou indeed?

Tyr. Proue me, my gracious Lord

Rich. Dar'st thou resolue to kill a friend of mine?

Tyr. Please you: But I had rather kill two enemies

Rich. Why then thou hast it: two deepe enemies, Foes to my Rest, and my sweet sleepes disturbers, Are they that I would haue thee deale vpon: Tyrrel, I meane those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in the Tower

Tyr. Let me haue open meanes to come to them, And soone Ile rid you from the feare of them

Rich. Thou sing'st sweet Musique: Hearke, come hither Tyrrel, Goe by this token: rise, and lend thine Eare,

Whispers.

There is no more but so: say it is done, And I will loue thee, and preferre thee for it

Tyr. I will dispatch it straight.

Enter.

Enter Buckingham.

Buck. My Lord, I haue consider'd in my minde, The late request that you did sound me in

Rich. Well, let that rest: Dorset is fled to Richmond

Buck. I heare the newes, my Lord

Rich. Stanley, hee is your Wiues Sonne: well, looke vnto it

Buck. My Lord, I clayme the gift, my due by promise, For which your Honor and your Faith is p.a.w.n'd, Th' Earledome of Hertford, and the moueables, Which you haue promised I shall possesse

Rich. Stanley looke to your Wife: if she conuey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it

Buck. What sayes your Highnesse to my iust request?

Rich. I doe remember me, Henry the Sixt Did prophecie, that Richmond should be King, When Richmond was a little peeuish Boy.

A King perhaps

Buck. May it please you to resolue me in my suit

Rich. Thou troublest me, I am not in the vaine.

Enter

Buck. And is it thus? repayes he my deepe seruice With such contempt? made I him King for this?

O let me thinke on Hastings, and be gone To Brecnock, while my fearefull Head is on.

Enter.

Enter Tyrrel.

Tyr. The tyrannous and bloodie Act is done, The most arch deed of pittious ma.s.sacre That euer yet this Land was guilty of: Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborne To do this peece of ruthfull Butchery, Albeit they were flesht Villaines, b.l.o.o.d.y Dogges, Melted with tendernesse, and milde compa.s.sion, Wept like to Children, in their deaths sad Story.

O thus (quoth Dighton) lay the gentle Babes: Thus, thus (quoth Forrest) girdling one another Within their Alablaster innocent Armes: Their lips were foure red Roses on a stalke, And in their Summer Beauty kist each other.

A Booke of Prayers on their pillow lay, Which one (quoth Forrest) almost chang'd my minde: But oh the Diuell, there the Villaine stopt: When Dighton thus told on, we smothered The most replenished sweet worke of Nature, That from the prime Creation ere she framed.

Hence both are gone with Conscience and Remorse, They could not speake, and so I left them both, To beare this tydings to the b.l.o.o.d.y King.

Enter Richard.

And heere he comes. All health my Soueraigne Lord

Ric. Kinde Tirrell, am I happy in thy Newes

Tir. If to haue done the thing you gaue in charge, Beget your happinesse, be happy then, For it is done

Rich. But did'st thou see them dead

Tir. I did my Lord

Rich. And buried gentle Tirrell

Tir. The Chaplaine of the Tower hath buried them, But where (to say the truth) I do not know

Rich. Come to me Tirrel soone, and after Supper, When thou shalt tell the processe of their death.

Meane time, but thinke how I may do the good, And be inheritor of thy desire.

Farewell till then

Tir. I humbly take my leaue

Rich. The Sonne of Clarence haue I pent vp close, His daughter meanly haue I matcht in marriage, The Sonnes of Edward sleepe in Abrahams bosome, And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.

Now for I know the Britaine Richmond aymes At yong Elizabeth my brothers daughter, And by that knot lookes proudly on the Crowne, To her go I, a iolly thriuing wooer.

Enter Ratcliffe.

Rat. My Lord

Rich. Good or bad newes, that thou com'st in so bluntly?

Rat. Bad news my Lord, Mourton is fled to Richmond, And Buckingham backt with the hardy Welshmen Is in the field, and still his power encreaseth

Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more neere, Then Buckingham and his rash leuied Strength.

Come, I haue learn'd, that fearfull commenting Is leaden seruitor to dull delay.

Delay leds impotent and Snaile-pac'd Beggery: Then fierie expedition be my wing, Ioues Mercury, and Herald for a King: Go muster men: My counsaile is my Sheeld, We must be breefe, when Traitors braue the Field.