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 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 Ratcliffe.