Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Tyr. That from the prime Creation ere she framed.
Tyr. Hence both are gone with Conscience and Remorse,
Tyr. They could not speake, and so I left them both,
Tyr. To beare this tydings to the bloody King.
Tyr. Enter Richard.
Tyr. And heere he comes. All health my Soueraigne Lord.
Ric. Ric.
Ric. Kinde Tirrell, am I happy in thy Newes.
Tir. Tir.
Tir. If to haue done the thing you gaue in charge,
Tir. Beget your happinesse, be happy then,
Tir. For it is done.
Rich. Rich.
Rich. But did'st thou see them dead.
Tir. I did my Lord.
Rich. And buried gentle Tirrell.
Tir. The Chaplaine of the Tower hath buried them,