Act 4, Scene 3
London. The palace.
- Enter Tyrrel.
Tyrrel2 - 25
- 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 kind 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,
- Which 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 replenished 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,
- To bear this tidings to the bloody King.
- Enter King Richard.
- And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord!
King Richard III26
- Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?
Tyrrel27 - 29
- If to have done the thing you gave in charge
- Beget your happiness, be happy then,
- For it is done.
King Richard III30
- But didst thou see them dead?
- I did, my lord.
King Richard III32
- And buried, gentle Tyrrel?
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- The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them,
- But where (to say the truth) I do not know.
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- Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after-supper,
- When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
- Mean time, but think how I may do thee good,
- And be inheritor of thy desire.
- Farewell till then.
- I humbly take my leave.
King Richard III42 - 49
- The son of Clarence have I pent up close,
- His daughter meanly have I match’d in marriage,
- The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom,
- And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.
- Now for I know the Britain 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.
- Enter Ratcliffe.
- My lord—
King Richard III52
- Good or bad news, that thou com’st in so bluntly?
Ratcliffe53 - 55
- Bad news, my lord. Morton is fled to Richmond,
- And Buckingham, back’d with the hardy Welshmen,
- Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
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- Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
- Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
- Come, I have learn’d that fearful commenting
- Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
- Delay leads impotent and snail-pac’d beggary.
- Then fiery expedition be my wing,
- Jove’s Mercury, and herald for a king!
- Go muster men. My counsel is my shield;
- We must be brief when traitors brave the field.