, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining. No more than from my soul I mourn for yours. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory! Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave of it! Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee! Go thou to Richard, and good angels guard thee! Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee! I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me! Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, And each hour's joy wrecked with a week of teen. Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower. Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes Whom envy hath immured within your walls! Rough cradle for such little pretty ones! Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow For tender princes, use my babies well! So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. Stand all apart Cousin of Buckingham! My gracious sovereign? Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice And thy assistance, is King Richard seated; But shall we wear these honours for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them? Still live they and for ever may they last! O Buckingham, now do I play the touch, To try if thou be current gold indeed Young Edward lives: think now what I would say. Say on, my loving lord. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king, Why, so you are, my thrice renowned liege. Ha! am I king? 'tis so: but Edward lives. True, noble prince. O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live! 'True, noble prince!' Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull: Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead; And I would have it suddenly perform'd. What sayest thou? speak suddenly; be brief. Your grace may do your pleasure. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezeth: Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord Before I positively herein: I will resolve your grace immediately. The king is angry: see, he bites the lip. I will converse with iron-witted fools And unrespective boys: none are for me That look into me with considerate eyes: High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. Boy! My lord? Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold Would tempt unto a close exploit of death? My lord, I know a discontented gentleman, Whose humble means match not his haughty mind: Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will, no doubt, tempt him