KING RICHARD III. William Shakespeare

[Exit CATESBY.]

       I must be married to my brother’s daughter,

       Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass:—

       Murder her brothers, and then marry her!

       Uncertain way of gain! But I am in

       So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin:

       Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

       [Re-enter PAGE, with TYRREL.]

       Is thy name Tyrrel?

       TYRREL

       James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

       KING RICHARD

       Art thou, indeed?

       TYRREL

       Prove me, my gracious lord.

       KING RICHARD

       Dar’st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

       TYRREL

       Please you. But I had rather kill two enemies.

       KING RICHARD

       Why, then thou hast it: two deep enemies,

       Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep’s disturbers,

       Are they that I would have thee deal upon:—

       Tyrell, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

       TYRREL

       Let me have open means to come to them,

       And soon I’ll rid you from the fear of them.

       KING RICHARD

       Thou sing’st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel:

       Go, by this token:—rise, and lend thine ear:

       [Whispers]

       There is no more but so:—say it is done,

       And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.

       TYRREL

       I will despatch it straight.

       [Exit.]

       [Re-enter BUCKINGHAM.]

       BUCKINGHAM

       My lord, I have consider’d in my mind

       The late request that you did sound me in.

       KING RICHARD

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

       BUCKINGHAM

       I hear the news, my lord.

       KING RICHARD

       Stanley, he is your wife’s son:—well, look to it.

       BUCKINGHAM

       My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,

       For which your honour and your faith is pawn’d:

       The earldom of Hereford, and the movables

       Which you have promisèd I shall possess.

       KING RICHARD

       Stanley, look to your wife: if she convey

       Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

       BUCKINGHAM

       What says your highness to my just request?

       KING RICHARD

       I do remember me:—Henry the Sixth

       Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,

       When Richmond was a little peevish boy.

       A king!—perhaps,—

       BUCKINGHAM

       My lord,—

       KING RICHARD

       How chance the prophet could not at that time

       Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

       BUCKINGHAM

       My lord, your promise for the earldom,—

       KING RICHARD

       Richmond!—When last I was at Exeter,

       The mayor in courtesy show’d me the castle

       And call’d it Rougemount; at which name I started,

       Because a bard of Ireland told me once

       I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

       BUCKINGHAM

       My lord—

       KING RICHARD

       Ay, what’s o’clock?

       BUCKINGHAM

       I am thus bold to put your grace in mind

       Of what you promis’d me.

       KING RICHARD

       Well, but what’s o’clock?

       BUCKINGHAM

       Upon the stroke of ten.

       KING RICHARD

       Well, let it strike.

       BUCKINGHAM

       Why let it strike?

       KING RICHARD

       Because that, like a Jack, thou keep’st the stroke

       Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.

       I am not in the giving vein to-day.

       BUCKINGHAM

       Why then, resolve me whether you will or no.

       KING RICHARD

       Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.

       [Exeunt KING RICHARD and Train.]

       BUCKINGHAM

       And is it thus? repays he my deep service

       With such contempt? made I him king for this?

       O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone

       To Brecknock while my fearful head is on!

       [Exit.]

      SCENE III. London. Another Room in the Palace

       [Enter TYRREL.]

       TYRREL

       The tyrannous and bloody act is done,—

       The most arch deed of piteous massacre

       That ever yet this land was guilty of.

       Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn

       To do this piece of ruthless butchery,

       Albeit they were flesh’d villains, bloody dogs,

       Melted with tenderness and mild compassion,

       Wept like two children in their deaths’ sad story.

       “O, thus,” quoth Dighton, “lay the gentle babes,”—

       “Thus, thus,” quoth Forrest, “girdling one another

       Within their alabaster innocent arms:

       Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,

       And in their summer beauty kiss’d each other.

       A book of prayers on their pillow lay;

       Which once,” quoth Forrest, “almost chang’d my mind;

       But, O, the devil,”—there the villain stopp’d;

       When Dighton thus told on:—“We smothered

       The most replenishèd sweet work of nature

       That from the prime creation e’er she framed.”—

       Hence both are gone; with conscience and remorse

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