Euen as sometimes we see a silly lambe, Which for the slaughter in some fold is pent, There kept from sight of his deare loued damme, Her absence with faint bleating doth lament, Whose only sight can giue it safe content: So little _Yorke_ in vaine lamenting wept, That from our mother’s presence he was kept. 58. Oft, wofull child, thus hast thou question’d mee, “Where is my mother?” and when I for woe, Haue turn’d my backe and could not answere thee: With teares againe, thou wouldest aske to know, Saying, “I would vnto my mother go:” But woe, alas, what comfort could I giue thee, When of all meanes our vncle did depriue mee? 59. While thus we waste in woe, the tyrant king With death to right those, whom he did abuse With wrong in life, finding a way to wing Mischiefe deuis’d, a wretched man did chuse For this affaire, which others did refuse: _Tirrill_ by name, a knight decay’d in state, Prone t’act this deed in hope of happie fate. 60. Two desperate villaines, hatefull to those times, _Forrest_ and _Dighton_, men obscure and base: Yet to the world notorious for leaud crimes, For _Tirril’s_ gold this damned deed embrace, Who being brought into conuenient place, Wait for aduantage of the gloomie night To couer that, which did abhorre the light. 61. The night comes on, and murder doth begin To act her part within the fatall Tower, In that dead time of night, the cloake of sinne, In which the clock chimes twelue, the chiefest houre When sleepe on man and beast doth vse his powre, Both the rude slaues on vs poore infants flie, As we together in our bed did lie. 62. Betwixt the sheets they keepe vs downe by force, We struggle against death with gasping grones, They in their hard hearts feeling no remorce, To heare poore soules powre forth such pitious mones, As might with pitie moue the ruthlesse stones, Holding the pillowes downe do stop our breath, Vntill we both giue vp the ghost in death. 63. Thus hast thou heard, how after all his cares King _Edward’s_ fruit did perish in the bud, By which since we may see how pride prepares Her passage through the spoile of common good, Without respect t’affinitie of blood: That thou may make a Mirrour of the same, A place amongst thy Mirrours we do claime. THE TRAGICALL LIFE _and Death of King Richard the Third_. THE ARGUMENT.