London. A Room of State 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 fleshed villains, bloody dog,
	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 kissed each other.
	A book of prayers on their pillow lay,
	Which once" quoth Forrest "almost changed my mind.
	But O the devil" - there the villain stopped,
	When Dighton thus told on: "We smotherd
	The most replenishd 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	Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?

Tyrrel	If to have done the thing you gave in charge
	Beget your happiness, be happy then,
	For it is done.

King Richard							But didst thou see them dead?

Tyrrel	I did, my lord.

King Richard						And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

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

King Richard	Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after-supper,
	When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
	Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,
	And be inheritor of thy desire.
	Farewell till then.

Tyrrel							I humbly take my leave.
														[Exit.

King Richard	The son of Clarence have I pent up close,
	His daughter meanly have I matched 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 Britaine 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.

Ratcliffe	My lord!

King Richard	Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so bluntly?

Ratcliffe	Bad news, my lord. Morton is fled to Richmond,
	And Buckingham, backed with the hardy Welshmen,
	Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

King Richard	Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
	Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
	Come, I have learned that fearful commenting
	Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
	Delay leads impotent and snail-paced 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.
														[Exeunt.
