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The tyrannous and bloody deed is done. The most arch of piteous massacre That ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn To do this ruthless piece of butchery, Although they were flesh’d villains, bloody dogs, Melting with tenderness and kind compassion Wept like two children in their deaths’ sad stories. ’Lo, thus’ quoth Dighton, ’lay those tender babes:’ ’Thus, thus,’ quoth Forrest, ’girdling one another Within their innocent alabaster 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 changed my mind; But O! the devil’--there the villain stopp’d Whilst Dighton thus told on: ’We smothered The most replenished sweet work of nature, That from the prime creation e’er she framed.’ Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse; They could not speak; and so I left them both, To bring this tidings to the bloody king. And here he comes.
The bloody and tyrannical deed is done. The most horrible massacre That this land has ever been guilty of. Dighton and Forrest, whom I bribed To carry out this heartless act of murder, Even though they were wicked men, cruel dogs, Were moved with pity and kindness And wept like children as they told their stories. "Look," Dighton said, "lay these innocent babes down:" "Yes, yes," Forrest said, "holding each other In their pure white arms. Their lips were like two red roses on a stem, That kissed each other in their summer beauty. A book of prayers lay on their pillow; Which once," Forrest said, "almost made me change my mind; But oh! the devil..."—there the villain stopped While Dighton continued: "We smothered The most perfect creation of nature, That ever she made since the beginning of time." And so both men are gone, full of guilt and remorse; They couldn’t say a word; and I left them there, To bring this news to the bloody king. And here he comes.
All hail, my sovereign liege!
Hail, my sovereign lord!
Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?
Tyrrel, am I happy with your news?
If to have done the thing you gave in charge Beget your happiness, be happy then, For it is done, my lord.
If doing what you asked makes you happy, Then be happy, my lord, because it’s done.
But didst thou see them dead?
But did you see them dead?
I did, my lord.
I did, my lord.
And buried, gentle Tyrrel?
And buried, gentle Tyrrel?
The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; But how or in what place I do not know.
The chaplain at the Tower buried them; But how or where, I don’t know.
Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper, And 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 soon.
Come to me, Tyrrel, after supper, And you’ll tell me how they died. In the meantime, think about how I can help you, And be the one to fulfill your wishes. Farewell until then.
The son of Clarence have I pent up close; His daughter meanly have I match’d 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 o’er the crown, To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer.
The son of Clarence is locked away; His daughter I’ve made a poor marriage for; The sons of Edward are dead and gone, And Anne, my wife, has passed away. Now, I know that Richmond from Brittany Aims to marry young Elizabeth, my brother’s daughter, And through that marriage, hopes to claim the crown. To her I go, a bold and eager suitor.
My lord!
My lord!
Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly?
Good news or bad, that you come in so suddenly?
Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Richmond; And Buckingham, back’d with the hardy Welshmen, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
Bad news, my lord: Ely has fled to Richmond; And Buckingham, supported by the tough Welshmen, Is out in the field, and his power is growing.
Ely with Richmond troubles me more near Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army. Come, I have heard 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! Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield; We must be brief when traitors brave the field.
Ely’s alliance with Richmond worries me more Than Buckingham and his hastily-raised army. Come, I’ve heard that excessive talking Just leads to delay and makes things worse; Delay brings weakness and slow defeat. So let swift action be my guide, Like Mercury, the messenger of the gods, leading the way! Come, gather the men: my plans will be my defense; We must act quickly when traitors take the field.