Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee

Duchess, to Dorset
Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee.
To Anne.
Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee.
To Queen Elizabeth.
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 wracked with a week of teen.

Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
Whom envy hath immured within your walls—
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones.

Queen Elizabeth
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 sorrows bids your stones farewell.
They exit