3. SCENE III. London. A Room in the Palace.
I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.
The secret mischiefs that I set abroach
I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
Clarence,--whom I indeed have cast in darkness,--
I do beweep to many simple gulls;
Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham;
And tell them 'tis the queen and her allies
That stir the king against the duke my brother.
Now they believe it; and withal whet me
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughn, Grey:
But then I sigh; and, with a piece of Scripture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villany
With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ;
And seem a saint when most I play the devil.--
But, soft, here come my executioners.
[Enter two MURDERERS.]
How now, my hardy stout resolved mates!
Are you now going to dispatch this thing?
We are, my lord, and come to have the warrant,
That we may be admitted where he is.
Well thought upon;--I have it here about me:
[Gives the warrant.]
When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.
But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,
Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;
For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps
May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.
Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate;
Talkers are no good doers: be assur'd
We go to use our hands, and not our tongues.
Your eyes drop millstones when fools' eyes fall tears:
I like you, lads;--about your business straight;
Go, go, despatch.
We will, my noble lord.