Rich. Stanley looke to your Wife: if she conuey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it
Buck. What sayes your Highnesse to my iust request?
Rich. I doe remember me, Henry the Sixt
Did prophecie, that Richmond should be King,
When Richmond was a little peeuish Boy.
A King perhaps
Buck. May it please you to resolue me in my suit
Rich. Thou troublest me, I am not in the vaine.
Enter
Buck. And is it thus? repayes he my deepe seruice
With such contempt? made I him King for this?
O let me thinke on Hastings, and be gone
To Brecnock, while my fearefull Head is on.
Enter.
Enter Tyrrel.
Tyr. The tyrannous and bloodie Act is done,
The most arch deed of pittious massacre
That euer yet this Land was guilty of:
Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborne
To do this peece of ruthfull Butchery,
Albeit they were flesht Villaines, bloody Dogges,
Melted with tendernesse, and milde compassion,
Wept like to Children, in their deaths sad Story.
O thus (quoth Dighton) lay the gentle Babes:
Thus, thus (quoth Forrest) girdling one another
Within their Alablaster innocent Armes:
Their lips were foure red Roses on a stalke,
And in their Summer Beauty kist each other.
A Booke of Prayers on their pillow lay,
Which one (quoth Forrest) almost chang'd my minde:
But oh the Diuell, there the Villaine stopt:
When Dighton thus told on, we smothered
The most replenished sweet worke of Nature,
That from the prime Creation ere she framed.
Hence both are gone with Conscience and Remorse,
They could not speake, and so I left them both,
To beare this tydings to the bloody King.
Enter Richard.
And heere he comes. All health my Soueraigne Lord
Ric. Kinde Tirrell, am I happy in thy Newes
Tir. If to haue done the thing you gaue in charge,
Beget your happinesse, be happy then,
For it is done