O, let me think on Haftings, and be gone

To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on. [Exis

Tir. The tyrannous and bloody act is done;
The most arch-deed of piteous maffacre,
That ever yet this land was guilty of!
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did fuborn
To do this piece of ruthlefs butchery,
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
Melting with tenderness and mild compattion,
Wept like two children in their deaths' fad story.
thus, (quoth Dighton) lay the gentle babes ;-
Thus, thus, (quoth Forreft) girdling one another
Within their innocent alabatter arins.

Their lips were four red roles on a stalk,
And in their fummer beauty kifs'd each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay,

Which once (quoth Forrest) almost chang'd my mind;
But, oh! the devil-there the villain ftopp'd,
When Dighton thus told on-we fmothered
The most replenished fweet work of nature,
That from the prime creation e'er the fram'd.-
Hence both are gone with confcience and remorfe;
They could not fpeak, and fo I left them both,
To bear these tidings to the bloody King.

Enter King Richard.

And here he comes. All health, my fovereign Lord! K. Rich. Kind Tirrel-am I happy in thy news? Tir. If to have done the thing you gave in charge Beget your happiness, be happy then;

For it is.done.

K. Rich. But didft thou fee them dead?
Tir. I did, my Lord.

K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tirrel?

Tir. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; But where, to lay the truth, I do not know.

K.Rich. Come to me, Tirrel, foon, foon after fupper, When thou shalt tell the process of their death. Mean time, but think how I may do thee good,

And be inheritor of thy defire.
Farewell till then.

Tir. I humbly take my leave.

[Exit. K. Rich. The fon of Clarence have I pent up clofe; His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; The fons of Edward fleep in Abraham's bofom; And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.. Now, for I know the Briton Richmond aims At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, And by that knot looks proudly on the crown, To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.

Catef. My Lord,

Enter Catesby.

K. Rich Good or bad news, that thou com'ft in« fo bluntly?

Catef. Bad news, my Lord; Morton is fled to Richmond.

And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welfhmen, Is in the field, and ftill his power increaseth.

K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more
Than Buckingham and his rafh-levied army. [near,
Come, I have learn'd that fearful commenting
Is leaden fervitor to dull delay;

Delay leads impotent and fnail-pac'd beggary.
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a King.
Go, mufter men; my council is my fhield,
We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

[Exit.

SCENE

IV.

Enter Queen Margaret.

Q. Mar. So now profperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in thefe confines flyly have I lurk'd
To watch the waining of mine enemies.
A dire induction am I witness to,

And will to France; hoping the confequence
Will prove as bitter, black and tragical.

Withdraw thee, wretched Marg'ret! Who comes › here?

Bishop of Ely. Johnson..

Enter the Duchefs of York, and Queen.

Queen. Ah, my poor Princes! ah, my tender babes! My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! If yet your gentle fouls 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; fay that right for right Hath dimm'd your infant-morn to aged night.

Duch. So many miferies have craz'd my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is ftill and mute. Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

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

Queen. Wilt thou, O God, fly from fuch gentle
lambs,

And throw them in the intrails of the wolf?
Why didst thou fleep when fuch a deed was done?
Q. Mar. When holy Henry dy'd, and my sweet son.“
Duck. Dead life, blind fight, poor mortal living

ghoft,

'Woe's fcene, world's fhame, grave's due by life' ufurp'd,

Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
Reft thy unreft on England's lawful earth,
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.

Queen. Ah, that thou wouldst as foon afford a grave,' As thou canft yield a melancholy feat;

Then would I hide my bones, not reft them here. Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?

Q. Mar. If ancient forrow be moft reverent,
Give mine the benefit of figniory *,

And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
If forrow can admit fociety,

Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine.
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him:
I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him:

Thou hadit an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him: 'Thou hadft a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.

Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kil I had a Rutland 100, thou holp'ft to kill him. [him: * Signiory for feniority. Johnson.

Q. AlarThou had'st a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him

From forth, the kennel of thy womb hath creep'd
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;
That foul defacer of God's handy-work
Thy womb let loofe, to chace us to our graves.
O upright, juft, and true-difpofing God,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
Preys on the iffue of his mother's body,
And makes her pue-fellow with others' moan!
Duch. Oh, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes:
God witnefs with me, I have wept for thine.

9. Mar. Bear with me, I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it.

Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
Young York he is but boot, because both they
Match not the high perfection of my lofs.
Thy Clarence he is dead, that ftabb'd my Edward;
And the beholders of this tragic play,

Th' adulterate Hattings, Rivers, Vaughan, Gray,
Untimely fmother'd in their dufky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer,
Only referv'd their factor, to buy fouls

And fend them thither; but at hand, at hand,
Infues his piteous and unpitiedend;

Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, faints pray for

vengeance.

Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,

That I may live to fay the dog is dead!

I

A

Queen. Oh! thou didst prophefy the time would

come,

That I fhould wish for thee to help me curfe

That bottl'd spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad.
2. Mar, I call'd thee then vain Bourig of "mỹ
fortune,

I call'd thee then poor, fhadow, painted Queen
The prefentation of but what I was,

The flatt'ring index of a direful pageant;

† Pue-fellow feems to be companion. Johnson:

One heav'd on high, to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou waft; a gariflr flag,
To be the aim of ev'ry dang'rous flot;
A fign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
A Queen in jeft, only to fill the fcene.

Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where be thy children? wherein doft thou joy?
Who fues and kneels, and fays, God fave the Queen?
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and fee what now thou art:
For happy wife, a moft diftreffed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being fu'd to, one that humbly fues
For Queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one that 'fcorn'd at me, now fcorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of juftice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst ufurp my place, and doft thou not
Ufurp the juft proportion of my forrow?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke,
From which even here I flip my wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.
Farewell, York's wife, and Queen of fadr. fchance,
Thefe English woes fhall make me fmile in France
Queen. O thou, well-fkill'd in curfes, stay a while,
And teach me how to curfe mine enemies.

Q. Mar. Forbear to fleep the night, and fast the
Compare dead happinefs with living woe; [day,
Think that thy babes were fweeter than they were,
And he that flew them fouler than he is;
Bett'ring thy lofs make the bad caufer worfe :
Revolving this will teach thee how to curfe.

Queen My words are dull; O ! quicken them with
thine.

Q.Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and
Pierce like mine.
[Exit Margaret.

VOL. VI.

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