Sennet. Enter King Richard III, in pomp, crowned; Buckingham, Catesby, a page, and others
Give me thy hand.
Here he ascendeth his throne
Thus high, by thy advice And thy assistance, is King Richard seated; But shall we wear these honours for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
O Buckingham, now do I play the touch, To try if thou be current gold indeed Young Edward lives: think now what I would say.
O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live! 'True, noble prince!' Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull: Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead; And I would have it suddenly perform'd. What sayest thou? speak suddenly; be brief.
Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezeth: Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?
Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord Before I positively herein: I will resolve your grace immediately.
I will converse with iron-witted fools And unrespective boys: none are for me That look into me with considerate eyes: High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. Boy!
Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold Would tempt unto a close exploit of death?
My lord, I know a discontented gentleman, Whose humble means match not his haughty mind: Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.
I partly know the man: go, call him hither.
The deep-revolving witty Buckingham No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel: Hath he so long held out with me untired, And stops he now for breath?
How now! what news with you?
My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorset's fled To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea Where he abides.
Rumour it abroad That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die: I will take order for her keeping close. Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman, Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter: The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. Look, how thou dream'st! I say again, give out That Anne my wife is sick and like to die: About it; for it stands me much upon, To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.
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?
Why, there 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: Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.
Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel Go, by this token: rise, and lend thine ear:
There is no more but so: say it is done, And I will love thee, and prefer thee too.
My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise, For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd; The earldom of Hereford and the moveables The which you promised I should possess.
As I remember, Henry the Sixth Did prophesy that Richmond should be king, When Richmond was a little peevish boy. A king, perhaps, perhaps,—
How chance the prophet could not at that time Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?
Richmond! When last I was at Exeter, The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle, And call'd it Rougemont: at which name I started, Because a bard of Ireland told me once I should not live long after I saw Richmond.
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.
Exeunt all but Buckingham
Is it even so? rewards he my true service With such deep contempt made I him king for this? O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on!