William Shakespeare's The Tragedy of King Richard the <i><b>Third </b></i>in the complete original text.
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HOME > Plays > The Tragedy of King Richard the Third > Act IV. Scene III.

The Tragedy of King Richard the Third

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Act IV. Scene III.

Scene III.—The Same.

Enter TYRRELL.

Tyr. 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, whom I did suborn
To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion,
Wept like to children in their death's sad story.
'Oh! 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 fram'd.'
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:
And here he comes.

Enter KING RICHARD.
All health, my sovereign lord!
K. Rich. Kind Tyrrell, am I happy in thy
news?
Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in
charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then,
For it is done.
K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead?
Tyr. I did, my lord.
K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrell?
Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried
them;
But how or in what place I do not know.
K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrell, soon at after-
supper,
When thou shall tell the process of their death.
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell till then.
Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit.
K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I pent up
close;
His daughter meanly have I match'd in mar-
riage;
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good
night.
Now, for I know the Breton 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 CATESBY.
Cate. My lord!
K. Rich. Good or bad news, that thou com't
in so bluntly?
Cate. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to
Richmond;
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welsh-
men,
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
K. Rich. 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.
[Exeunt.
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