Rich. Thou sing'st sweet Musique:
Hearke, come hither Tyrrel,
Goe by this token: rise, and lend thine Eare,
Whispers.
There is no more but so: say it is done,
And I will loue thee, and preferre thee for it
Tyr. I will dispatch it straight.
Enter.
Enter Buckingham.
Buck. My Lord, I haue consider'd in my minde,
The late request that you did sound me in
Rich. Well, let that rest: Dorset is fled to Richmond
Buck. I heare the newes, my Lord
Rich. Stanley, hee is your Wiues Sonne: well, looke
vnto it
Buck. My Lord, I clayme the gift, my due by promise,
For which your Honor and your Faith is pawn'd,
Th' Earledome of Hertford, and the moueables,
Which you haue promised I shall possesse