Listen to Act 4. LibriVox volunteers recorded “Act 4” as one track, so it runs past this scene and includes stage directions this page leaves out. LibriVox catalog.
TYRREL
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, who I did suborn To do this piece of ruthless butchery, Albeit they were fleshed villains, bloody dogs, Melted with tenderness and mild compassion, Wept like two children in their deaths’ sad story. “O, 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, And in their summer beauty kissed each other. A book of prayers on their pillow lay, Which once,” quoth Forrest, “almost changed my mind. But, O, the devil—” There the villain stopped; When Dighton thus told on: “We smothered The most replenished sweet work of nature That from the prime creation e’er she framed.” 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.
TYRREL
And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord.
KING RICHARD
Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in news?
TYRREL
If to have done the thing you gave in charge Beget your happiness, be happy then, For it is done.
KING RICHARD
But see them dead?
TYRREL
I did, my lord.
KING RICHARD
And buried, gentle Tyrrel?
TYRREL
The chaplain of the Tower buried them, But where, to say the truth, I do not know.
KING RICHARD
Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after-supper, When tell the process of their death. Meantime, but think how I may do good, And be inheritor of desire. Farewell till then.
TYRREL
I humbly take my leave.
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 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.
RATCLIFFE
My lord!
KING RICHARD
Good or bad news, that com’st in so bluntly?
RATCLIFFE
Bad news, my lord. Morton is fled to Richmond, And Buckingham, backed with the hardy Welshmen, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
KING RICHARD
Ely with Richmond troubles me more near Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. Come, I have learned that fearful commenting Is leaden servitor to dull delay; Delay leads impotent and snail-paced 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.