were distraught and mad with terror?
  BUCKINGHAM. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;
    Speak and look back, and pry on every side,
    Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,
    Intending deep suspicion. Ghastly looks
    Are at my service, like enforced smiles;
    And both are ready in their offices
    At any time to grace my stratagems.
    But what, is Catesby gone?
  GLOUCESTER. He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.

                 Enter the LORD MAYOR and CATESBY

  BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor-
  GLOUCESTER. Look to the drawbridge there!
  BUCKINGHAM. Hark! a drum.
  GLOUCESTER. Catesby, o'erlook the walls.
  BUCKINGHAM. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent-
  GLOUCESTER. Look back, defend thee; here are enemies.
  BUCKINGHAM. God and our innocence defend and guard us!

           Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS' head

  GLOUCESTER. Be patient; they are friends-Ratcliff and Lovel.
  LOVEL. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,
    The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.
  GLOUCESTER. So dear I lov'd the man that I must weep.
    I took him for the plainest harmless creature
    That breath'd upon the earth a Christian;
    Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded
    The history of all her secret thoughts.
    So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue
    That, his apparent open guilt omitted,
    I mean his conversation with Shore's wife-
    He liv'd from all attainder of suspects.
  BUCKINGHAM. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelt'red
    traitor
    That ever liv'd.
    Would you imagine, or almost believe-
    Were't not that by great preservation
    We live to tell it-that the subtle traitor
    This day had plotted, in the council-house,
    To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester.
  MAYOR. Had he done so?
  GLOUCESTER. What! think you we are Turks or Infidels?
    Or that we would, against the form of law,
    Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death
    But that the extreme peril of the case,
    The peace of England and our persons' safety,
    Enforc'd us to this execution?
  MAYOR. Now, fair befall you! He deserv'd his death;
    And your good Graces both have well proceeded
    To warn false traitors from the like attempts.
    I never look'd for better at his hands
    After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.
  BUCKINGHAM. Yet had we not determin'd he should die
    Until your lordship came to see his end-
    Which now the loving haste of these our friends,
    Something against our meanings, have prevented-
    Because, my lord, I would have had you heard
    The traitor speak, and timorously confess
    The manner and the purpose of his treasons:
    That you might well have signified the same
    Unto the citizens, who haply may
    Misconster us in him and wail his death.
  MAYOR. But, my good lord, your Grace's words shall serve
    As well as I had seen and heard him speak;
    And do not doubt, right noble Princes both,
    But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens
    With all your just proceedings in this cause.
  GLOUCESTER. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here,
    T' avoid the the the censures of the carping world.
  BUCKINGHAM. Which since you come too late of our intent,
    Yet witness what you hear we did intend.
    And so, my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell.
                                                 Exit LORD MAYOR
  GLOUCESTER. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.
    The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in an post.
    There, at your meet'st advantage of the time,
    Infer the bastardy of Edward's children.
    Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen
    Only for saying he would make his son
    Heir to the crown-meaning indeed his house,
    Which by the sign thereof was termed so.
    Moreover, urge his hateful luxury
    And bestial appetite in change of lust,
    Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives,
    Even where his raging eye or savage heart
    Without control lusted to make a prey.
    Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:
    Tell them, when that my mother went with child
    Of that insatiate Edward, noble York
    My princely father then had wars in France
    And, by true computation of the time,
    Found that the issue was not his begot;
    Which well appeared in his lineaments,
    Being nothing like the noble Duke my father.
    Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off;
    Because, my lord, you know my mother lives.
  BUCKINGHAM. Doubt not, my lord, I'll play the orator
    As if the golden fee for which I plead
    Were for myself; and so, my lord, adieu.
  GLOUCESTER. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's
    Castle;
    Where you shall find me well accompanied
    With reverend fathers and well learned bishops.
  BUCKINGHAM. I go; and towards three or four o'clock
    Look for the news that the Guildhall affords.           Exit
  GLOUCESTER. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw.
    [To CATESBY]  Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both
    Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle.
                                       Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER
    Now will I go to take some privy order
    To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight,
    And to give order that no manner person
    Have any time recourse unto the Princes.                Exit




SCENE 6.

London. A street

Enter a SCRIVENER

  SCRIVENER. Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;
    Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd
    That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's.
    And mark how well the sequel hangs together:
    Eleven hours I have spent to write it over,
    For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me;
    The precedent was full as long a-doing;
    And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd,
    Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty.
    Here's a good world the while! Who is so gros
    That cannot see this palpable device?
    Yet who's so bold but says he sees it not?
    Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,
    When such ill dealing must be seen in thought.          Exit




SCENE 7.

London. Baynard's Castle

Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors

  GLOUCESTER. How now, how now! What say the citizens?
  BUCKINGHAM. Now, by the holy Mother of our Lord,
    The citizens are mum, say not a word.
  GLOUCESTER. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's
    children?
  BUCKINGHAM. I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,
    And his contract by deputy in France;
    Th' insatiate greediness of his desire,
    And his enforcement of the city wives;
    His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,
    As being got, your father then in France,
    And his resemblance, being not like the Duke.
    Withal I did infer your lineaments,
    Being the right idea of your father,
    Both in your form and nobleness of mind;
    Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
    Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace,
    Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;
    Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose
    Untouch'd or slightly handled in discourse.
    And when mine oratory drew toward end
    I bid them that did love their country's good
    Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal King!'
  GLOUCESTER. And did they so?
  BUCKINGHAM. No, so God help me, they spake not a word;
    But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,
    Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale.
    Which when I saw, I reprehended them,
    And ask'd the Mayor what meant this wilfull silence.
    His answer was, the people were not used
    To be spoke to but by the Recorder.
    Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again.
    'Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferr'd'-
    But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.
    When he had done, some followers of mine own
    At lower end of the hall hurl'd up their caps,
    And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!'
    And thus I took the vantage of those few-
    'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I
    'This general applause and cheerful shout
    Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard.'
    And even here brake off and came away.
  GLOUCESTER. What, tongueless blocks were they? Would
    they not speak?
    Will not the Mayor then and his brethren come?
  BUCKINGHAM. The Mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear;
    Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit;
    And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,
    And stand between two churchmen, good my lord;
    For on that ground I'll make a holy descant;
    And be not easily won to our requests.
    Play the maid's part: still answer nay, and take it.
  GLOUCESTER. I go; and if you plead as well for them
    As I can say nay to thee for myself,
    No doubt we bring it to a happy issue.
  BUCKINGHAM. Go, go, up to the leads; the Lord Mayor
    knocks.                                      Exit GLOUCESTER

           Enter the LORD MAYOR, ALDERMEN, and citizens

    Welcome, my lord. I dance attendance here;
    I think the Duke will not be spoke withal.

                         Enter CATESBY

    Now, Catesby, what says your lord to my request?
  CATESBY. He doth entreat your Grace, my noble lord,
    To visit him to-morrow or next day.
    He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
    Divinely bent to meditation;
    And in no worldly suits would he be mov'd,
    To draw him from his holy exercise.
  BUCKINGHAM. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke;
    Tell him, myself, the Mayor and Aldermen,
    In deep designs, in matter of great moment,
    No less importing than our general good,
    Are come to have some conference with his Grace.
  CATESBY. I'll signify so much unto him straight.          Exit
  BUCKINGHAM. Ah ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!
    He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed,
    But on his knees at meditation;
    Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,
    But meditating with two deep divines;
    Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,
    But praying, to enrich his watchful soul.
    Happy were England would this virtuous prince
    Take on his Grace the sovereignty thereof;
    But, sure, I fear we shall not win him to it.
  MAYOR. Marry, God defend his Grace should say us nay!
  BUCKINGHAM. I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again.

                          Re-enter CATESBY

    Now, Catesby, what says his Grace?
  CATESBY. My lord,
    He wonders to what end you have assembled
    Such troops of citizens to come to him.
    His Grace not being warn'd thereof before,
    He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.
  BUCKINGHAM. Sorry I am my noble cousin should
    Suspect me that I mean no good to him.
    By heaven, we come to him in perfect love;
    And so once more return and tell his Grace.
                                                    Exit CATESBY
    When holy and devout religious men
    Are at their beads, 'tis much to draw them thence,
    So sweet is zealous contemplation.

           Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two BISHOPS.
                      CATESBY returns

  MAYOR. See where his Grace stands 'tween two clergymen!
  BUCKINGHAM. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,
    To stay him from the fall of vanity;
    And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,
    True ornaments to know a holy man.
    Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince,
    Lend favourable ear to our requests,
    And pardon us the interruption
    Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.
  GLOUCESTER. My lord, there needs no such apology:
    I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,
    Who, earnest in the service of my God,
    Deferr'd the visitation of my friends.
    But, leaving this, what is your Grace's pleasure?
  BUCKINGHAM. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,
    And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.
  GLOUCESTER. I do suspect I have done some offence
    That seems disgracious in the city's eye,
    And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.
  BUCKINGHAM. You have, my lord. Would it might please
    your Grace,
    On our entreaties, to amend your fault!
  GLOUCESTER. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?
  BUCKINGHAM. Know then, it is your fault that you resign
    The supreme seat, the throne majestical,
    The scept'red office of your ancestors,
    Your state of fortune and your due of birth,
    The lineal glory of your royal house,
    To the corruption of a blemish'd stock;
    Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
    Which here we waken to our country's good,
    The noble isle doth want her proper limbs;
    Her face defac'd with scars of infamy,
    Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
    And almost should'red in the swallowing gulf
    Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion.
    Which to recure, we heartily solicit
    Your gracious self to take on you the charge
    And kingly government of this your land-
    Not as protector, steward, substitute,
    Or lowly factor for another's gain;
    But as successively, from blood to blood,
    Your right of birth, your empery, your own.
    For this, consorted with the citizens,
    Your very worshipful and loving friends,
    And by their vehement instigation,
    In this just cause come I to move your Grace.
  GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell if to depart in silence
    Or bitterly to speak in your reproof
    Best fitteth my degree or your condition.
    If not to answer, you might haply think
    Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
    To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,
    Which fondly you would here impose on me;
    If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
    So season'd with your faithful love to me,
    Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends.
    Therefore-to speak, and to avoid the first,
    And then, in speaking, not to incur the last-
    Definitively thus I answer you:
    Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert
    Unmeritable shuns your high request.
    First, if all obstacles were cut away,
    And that my path were even to the crown,
    As the ripe revenue and due of birth,
    Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,
    So mighty and so many my defects,
    That I would rather hide me from my greatness-
    Being a bark to brook no mighty sea-
    Than in my greatness covet to be hid,
    And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.
    But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me-
    And much I need to help you, were there need.
    The royal tree hath left us royal fruit
    Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
    Will well become the seat of majesty
    And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.
    On him I lay that you would lay on me-
    The right and fortune of his happy stars,
    Which God defend that I should wring from him.
  BUCKINGHAM. My lord, this argues conscience in your
    Grace;
    But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,
    All circumstances well considered.
    You say that Edward is your brother's son.
    So say we too, but not by Edward's wife;
    For first was he contract to Lady Lucy-
    Your mother lives a witness to his vow-
    And afterward by substitute betroth'd
    To Bona, sister to the King of France.
    These both put off, a poor petitioner,
    A care-craz'd mother to a many sons,
    A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
    Even in the afternoon of her best days,
    Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,
    Seduc'd the pitch and height of his degree
    To base declension and loath'd bigamy.
    By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
    This Edward, whom our manners call the Prince.
    More bitterly could I expostulate,
    Save that, for reverence to some alive,
    I give a sparing limit to my tongue.
    Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
    This proffer'd benefit of dignity;
    If not to bless us and the land withal,
    Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry
    From the corruption of abusing times
    Unto a lineal true-derived course.
  MAYOR. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you.
  BUCKINGHAM. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.
  CATESBY. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!
  GLOUCESTER. Alas, why would you heap this care on me?
    I am unfit for state and majesty.
    I do beseech you, take it not amiss:
    I cannot nor I will not yield to you.
  BUCKINGHAM. If you refuse it-as, in love and zeal,
    Loath to depose the child, your brother's son;
    As well we know your tenderness of heart
    And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
    Which we have noted in you to your kindred
    And egally indeed to all estates-
    Yet know, whe'er you accept our suit or no,
    Your brother's son shall never reign our king;
    But we will plant some other in the throne
    To the disgrace and downfall of your house;
    And in this resolution here we leave you.
    Come, citizens. Zounds, I'll entreat no more.
  GLOUCESTER. O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.
                          Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, MAYOR, and citizens
  CATESBY. Call him again, sweet Prince, accept their suit.
    If you deny them, all the land will rue it.
  GLOUCESTER. Will you enforce me to a world of cares?
    Call them again. I am not made of stones,
    But penetrable to your kind entreaties,
    Albeit against my conscience and my soul.

                  Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and the rest

    Cousin of Buckingham, and sage grave men,
    Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
    To bear her burden, whe'er I will or no,
    I must have patience to endure the load;
    But if black scandal or foul-fac'd reproach
    Attend the sequel of your imposition,
    Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
    From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
    For God doth know, and you may partly see,
    How far I am from the desire of this.
  MAYOR. God bless your Grace! We see it, and will say it.
  GLOUCESTER. In saying so, you shall but say the truth.
  BUCKINGHAM. Then I salute you with this royal title-
    Long live King Richard, England's worthy King!
  ALL. Amen.
  BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd?
  GLOUCESTER. Even when you please, for you will have it so.
  BUCKINGHAM. To-morrow, then, we will attend your Grace;
    And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.
  GLOUCESTER.  [To the BISHOPS]  Come, let us to our holy
    work again.
    Farewell, my cousin; farewell, gentle friends.        Exeunt





ACT IV. SCENE 1.

London. Before the Tower

Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS of YORK, and MARQUIS of DORSET, at one door;
ANNE, DUCHESS of GLOUCESTER, leading LADY MARGARET PLANTAGENET,
CLARENCE's young daughter, at another door

  DUCHESS. Who meets us here? My niece Plantagenet,
    Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?
    Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower,
    On pure heart's love, to greet the tender Princes.
    Daughter, well met.
  ANNE. God give your Graces both
    A happy and a joyful time of day!
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. As much to you, good sister! Whither
    away?
  ANNE. No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,
    Upon the like devotion as yourselves,
    To gratulate the gentle Princes there.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter
    all together.

                       Enter BRAKENBURY

    And in good time, here the lieutenant comes.
    Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
    How doth the Prince, and my young son of York?
  BRAKENBURY. Right well, dear madam. By your patience,
    I may not suffer you to visit them.
    The King hath strictly charg'd the contrary.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. The King! Who's that?
  BRAKENBURY. I mean the Lord Protector.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Lord protect him from that kingly
    title!
    Hath he set bounds between their love and me?
    I am their mother; who shall bar me from them?
  DUCHESS. I am their father's mother; I will see them.
  ANNE. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother.
    Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame,
    And take thy office from thee on my peril.
  BRAKENBURY. No, madam, no. I may not leave it so;
    I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.            Exit

                         Enter STANLEY

  STANLEY. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
    And I'll salute your Grace of York as mother
    And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.
    [To ANNE]  Come, madam, you must straight to
    Westminster,
    There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, cut my lace asunder
    That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,
    Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news!
  ANNE. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!
  DORSET. Be of good cheer; mother, how fares your Grace?
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee
    gone!
    Death and destruction dogs thee at thy heels;
    Thy mother's name is ominous to children.
    If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
    And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.
    Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,
    Lest thou increase the number of the dead,
    And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,
    Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.
  STANLEY. Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.
    Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
    You shall have letters from me to my son
    In your behalf, to meet you on the way.
    Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.
  DUCHESS. O ill-dispersing wind of misery!
    O my accursed womb, the bed of death!
    A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
    Whose unavoided eye is murderous.
  STANLEY. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.
  ANNE. And I with all unwillingness will go.
    O, would to God that the inclusive verge
    Of golden metal that must round my brow
    Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brains!
    Anointed let me be with deadly venom,
    And die ere men can say 'God save the Queen!'
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Go, go, poor soul; I envy not thy glory.
    To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.
  ANNE. No, why? When he that is my husband now
    Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse;
    When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands
    Which issued from my other angel husband,
    And that dear saint which then I weeping follow'd-
    O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
    This was my wish: 'Be thou' quoth I 'accurs'd
    For making me, so young, so old a widow;
    And when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
    And be thy wife, if any be so mad,
    More miserable by the life of thee
    Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death.'
    Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
    Within so small a time, my woman's heart
    Grossly grew captive to his honey words
    And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse,
    Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest;
    For never yet one hour in his bed
    Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
    But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.
    Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
    And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.
  ANNE. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.
  DORSET. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory!
  ANNE. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it!
  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 wreck'd with a week of teen.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Stay, yet look back with me unto the
    Tower.
    Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
    Whom envy hath immur'd 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.         Exeunt




SCENE 2.

London. The palace

Sound a sennet. Enter RICHARD, in pomp, as KING; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY,
RATCLIFF, LOVEL, a PAGE, and others

  KING RICHARD. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham!
  BUCKINGHAM. My gracious sovereign?
  KING RICHARD. Give me thy hand.
                           [Here he ascendeth the throne. Sound]
    Thus high, by thy advice
    And thy assistance, is King Richard seated.
    But shall we wear these glories for a day;
    Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
  BUCKINGHAM. Still live they, and for ever let them last!
  KING RICHARD. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
    To try if thou be current gold indeed.
    Young Edward lives-think now what I would speak.
  BUCKINGHAM. Say on, my loving lord.
  KING RICHARD. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be King.
  BUCKINGHAM. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord.
  KING RICHARD. Ha! am I King? 'Tis so; but Edward lives.
  BUCKINGHAM. True, noble Prince.
  KING RICHARD. O bitter consequence:
    That Edward still should live-true noble Prince!
    Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.
    Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead.
    And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
    What say'st thou now? Speak suddenly, be brief.
  BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace may do your pleasure.
  KING RICHARD. Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness freezes.
    Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?
  BUCKINGHAM. Give me some little breath, some pause,
    dear Lord,
    Before I positively speak in this.
    I will resolve you herein presently.                    Exit
  CATESBY.  [Aside to another]  The King is angry; see, he
    gnaws his lip.
  KING RICHARD. I will converse with iron-witted fools
                                      [Descends from the throne]
    And unrespective boys; none are for me
    That look into me with considerate eyes.
    High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
    Boy!
  PAGE. My lord?
  KING RICHARD. Know'st thou not any whom corrupting
    gold
    Will tempt unto a close exploit of death?
  PAGE. I know a discontented gentleman
    Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit.
    Gold were as good as twenty orators,
    And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything.
  KING RICHARD. What is his name?
  PAGE. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.
  KING RICHARD. I partly know the man. Go, call him hither,
    boy.                                               Exit PAGE
    The deep-revolving witty Buckingham
    No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels.
    Hath he so long held out with me, untir'd,
    And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.

                            Enter STANLEY

    How now, Lord Stanley! What's the news?
  STANLEY. Know, my loving lord,
    The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled
    To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.    [Stands apart]
  KING RICHARD. Come hither, Catesby. Rumour it abroad
    That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;
    I will take order for her keeping close.
    Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman,
    Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter-
    The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.
    Look how thou dream'st! I say again, give out
    That Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die.
    About it; for it stands me much upon
    To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.
                                                    Exit CATESBY
    I must be married to my brother's daughter,
    Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
    Murder her brothers, and then marry her!
    Uncertain way of gain! But I am in
    So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin.
    Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

                     Re-enter PAGE, with TYRREL

    Is thy name Tyrrel?
  TYRREL. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.
  KING RICHARD. Art thou, indeed?
  TYRREL. Prove me, my gracious lord.
  KING RICHARD. Dar'st'thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?
  TYRREL. Please you;
    But I had rather kill two enemies.
  KING RICHARD. Why, then thou hast it. Two deep enemies,
    Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers,
    Are they that I would have thee deal upon.
  TYRREL, I mean those bastards in the Tower.
  TYRREL. Let me have open means to come to them,
    And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.
  KING RICHARD. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come
    hither, Tyrrel.
    Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear.      [Whispers]
    There is no more but so: say it is done,
    And I will love thee and prefer thee for it.
  TYRREL. I will dispatch it straight.                      Exit

                    Re-enter BUCKINGHAM

    BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind
    The late request that you did sound me in.
  KING RICHARD. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to
    Richmond.
  BUCKINGHAM. I hear the news, my lord.
  KING RICHARD. Stanley, he is your wife's son: well, look
    unto it.
  BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,
    For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd:
    Th' earldom of Hereford and the movables
    Which you have promised I shall possess.
  KING RICHARD. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey
    Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.
  BUCKINGHAM. What says your Highness to my just request?
  KING RICHARD. I do remember me: Henry the Sixth
    Did prophesy that Richmond should be King,
    When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
    A king!-perhaps-
  BUCKINGHAM. My lord-
  KING RICHARD. How chance the prophet could not at that
    time
    Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?
  BUCKINGHAM. My lord, your promise for the earldom-
  KING RICHARD. Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,
    The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle
    And call'd it Rugemount, at which name I started,
    Because a bard of Ireland told me once
    I should not live long after I saw Richmond.
  BUCKINGHAM. My lord-
  KING RICHARD. Ay, what's o'clock?
  BUCKINGHAM. I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind
    Of what you promis'd me.
  KING RICHARD. Well, but o'clock?
  BUCKINGHAM. Upon the stroke of ten.
  KING RICHARD. Well, let it strike.
  BUCKINGHAM. Why let it strike?
  KING RICHARD. Because that like a Jack thou keep'st the
    stroke
    Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
    I am not in the giving vein to-day.
  BUCKINGHAM. May it please you to resolve me in my suit.
  KING RICHARD. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.
                                       Exeunt all but Buckingham
  BUCKINGHAM. And is it thus? Repays he my deep service
    With such contempt? Made I him King for this?
    O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone
    To Brecknock while my fearful head is on!               Exit




SCENE 3.

London. The palace

Enter TYRREL

  TYRREL. The tyrannous and bloody act is done,
    The most arch deed of piteous massacre
    That ever yet this land was guilty of.
    Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn
    To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
    Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
    Melted with tenderness and mild compassion,
    Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story.
    'O, thus' quoth Dighton 'lay the gentle babes'-
    'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest 'girdling one another
    Within their alabaster innocent arms.
    Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
    And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.
    A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
    Which once,' quoth Forrest 'almost chang'd my mind;
    But, O, the devil'-there the villain stopp'd;
    When Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered
    The most replenished sweet work of nature
    That from the prime creation e'er she framed.'
    Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse
    They could not speak; and so I left them both,
    To bear this tidings to the bloody King.

                        Enter KING RICHARD

    And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord!
  KING RICHARD. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?
  TYRREL. If to have done the thing you gave in charge
    Beget your happiness, be happy then,
    For it is done.
  KING RICHARD. But didst thou see them dead?
  TYRREL. I did, my lord.
  KING RICHARD. And buried, gentle Tyrrel?
  TYRREL. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
    But where, to say the truth, I do not know.
  KING RICHARD. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,
    When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
    Meantime, but think how I may do thee good
    And be inheritor of thy desire.
    Farewell till then.
  TYRREL. I humbly take my leave.                           Exit
  KING RICHARD. The son of Clarence have I pent up close;
    His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;
    The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
    And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.
    Now, for I know the Britaine Richmond aims
    At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
    And by that knot looks proudly on the crown,
    To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.

                           Enter RATCLIFF

  RATCLIFF. My lord!
  KING RICHARD. Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so
    bluntly?
  RATCLIFF. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond;
    And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,
    Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
  KING RICHARD. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
    Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
    Come, I have learn'd that fearful commenting
    Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
    Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary.
    Then fiery expedition be my wing,
    Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!
    Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield.
    We must be brief when traitors brave the field.       Exeunt




SCENE 4.

London. Before the palace

Enter old QUEEN MARGARET

  QUEEN MARGARET. So now prosperity begins to mellow
    And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
    Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd
    To watch the waning of mine enemies.
    A dire induction am I witness to,
    And will to France, hoping the consequence
    Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
    Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here?
                                                       [Retires]

           Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK

  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender
    babes!
    My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
    If yet your gentle souls fly in the air
    And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,
    Hover about me with your airy wings
    And hear your mother's lamentation.
  QUEEN MARGARET. Hover about her; say that right for right
    Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.
  DUCHESS. So many miseries have craz'd my voice
    That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.
    Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?
  QUEEN MARGARET. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,
    Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle
    lambs
    And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
    When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?
  QUEEN MARGARET. When holy Harry died, and my sweet
    son.
  DUCHESS. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost,
    Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,
    Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
    Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,    [Sitting down]
    Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a
    grave
    As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!
    Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.
    Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?
                                           [Sitting down by her]
  QUEEN MARGARET.  [Coming forward]  If ancient sorrow be
    most reverend,
    Give mine the benefit of seniory,
    And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
    If sorrow can admit society,        [Sitting down with them]
    Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine.
    I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
    I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him:
    Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
    Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.
  DUCHESS. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;
    I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.
  QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard
    kill'd him.
    From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
    A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death.
    That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes
    To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,
    That foul defacer of God's handiwork,
    That excellent grand tyrant of the earth
    That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
    Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.
    O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
    How do I thank thee that this carnal cur
    Preys on the issue of his mother's body
    And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!
  DUCHESS. O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes!
    God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
  QUEEN MARGARET. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,
    And now I cloy me with beholding it.
    Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;
    The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
    Young York he is but boot, because both they
    Match'd not the high perfection of my loss.
    Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward;
    And the beholders of this frantic play,
    Th' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
    Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
    Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;
    Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls
    And send them thither. But at hand, at hand,
    Ensues his piteous and unpitied end.
    Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,
    To have him suddenly convey'd from hence.
    Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
    That I may live and say 'The dog is dead.'
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, thou didst prophesy the time would
      come
    That I should wish for thee to help me curse
    That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad!
  QUEEN MARGARET. I Call'd thee then vain flourish of my
      fortune;
    I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen,
    The presentation of but what I was,
    The flattering index of a direful pageant,
    One heav'd a-high to be hurl'd down below,
    A mother only mock'd with two fair babes,
    A dream of what thou wast, a garish flag
    To be the aim of every dangerous shot,
    A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble,
    A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
    Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers?
    Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy?
    Who sues, and kneels, and says 'God save the Queen'?
    Where be the bending peers that flattered thee?
    Where be the thronging troops that followed thee?
    Decline an this, and see what now thou art:
    For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
    For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
    For one being su'd to, one that humbly sues;
    For Queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
    For she that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
    For she being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
    For she commanding all, obey'd of none.
    Thus hath the course of justice whirl'd about
    And left thee but a very prey to time,
    Having no more but thought of what thou wast
    To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
    Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not
    Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
    Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke,
    From which even here I slip my weary head
    And leave the burden of it all on thee.
    Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance;
    These English woes shall make me smile in France.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile
    And teach me how to curse mine enemies!
  QUEEN MARGARET. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the
      days;
    Compare dead happiness with living woe;
    Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were,
    And he that slew them fouler than he is.
    Bett'ring thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;
    Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. My words are dull; O, quicken them
    with thine!
  QUEEN MARGARET. Thy woes will make them sharp and
    pierce like mine.                                       Exit
  DUCHESS. Why should calamity be fun of words?
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Windy attorneys to their client woes,
    Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
    Poor breathing orators of miseries,
    Let them have scope; though what they will impart
    Help nothing else, yet do they case the heart.
  DUCHESS. If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me,
    And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
    My damned son that thy two sweet sons smother'd.
    The trumpet sounds; be copious in exclaims.

         Enter KING RICHARD and his train, marching with
                     drums and trumpets

  KING RICHARD. Who intercepts me in my expedition?
  DUCHESS. O, she that might have intercepted thee,
    By strangling thee in her accursed womb,
    From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Hidest thou that forehead with a golden
    crown
    Where't should be branded, if that right were right,
    The slaughter of the Prince that ow'd that crown,
    And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers?
    Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?
  DUCHESS. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother
    Clarence?
    And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan,
    Grey?
  DUCHESS. Where is kind Hastings?
  KING RICHARD. A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums!
    Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
    Rail on the Lord's anointed. Strike, I say!
                                             [Flourish. Alarums]
    Either be patient and entreat me fair,
    Or with the clamorous report of war
    Thus will I drown your exclamations.
  DUCHESS. Art thou my son?
  KING RICHARD. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.
  DUCHESS. Then patiently hear my impatience.
  KING RICHARD. Madam, I have a touch of your condition
    That cannot brook the accent of reproof.
  DUCHESS. O, let me speak!
  KING RICHARD. Do, then; but I'll not hear.
  DUCHESS. I will be mild and gentle in my words.
  KING RICHARD. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.
  DUCHESS. Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee,
    God knows, in torment and in agony.
  KING RICHARD. And came I not at last to comfort you?
  DUCHESS. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well
    Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.
    A grievous burden was thy birth to me;
    Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
    Thy school-days frightful, desp'rate, wild, and furious;
    Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous;
    Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,
    More mild, but yet more harmful-kind in hatred.
    What comfortable hour canst thou name
    That ever grac'd me with thy company?
  KING RICHARD. Faith, none but Humphrey Hour, that call'd
    your Grace
    To breakfast once forth of my company.
    If I be so disgracious in your eye,
    Let me march on and not offend you, madam.
    Strike up the drum.
  DUCHESS. I prithee hear me speak.
  KING RICHARD. You speak too bitterly.
  DUCHESS. Hear me a word;
    For I shall never speak to thee again.
  KING RICHARD. So.
  DUCHESS. Either thou wilt die by God's just ordinance
    Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
    Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish
    And never more behold thy face again.
    Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse,
    Which in the day of battle tire thee more
    Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
    My prayers on the adverse party fight;
    And there the little souls of Edward's children
    Whisper the spirits of thine enemies
    And promise them success and victory.
    Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end.
    Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.        Exit
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Though far more cause, yet much less
      spirit to curse
    Abides in me; I say amen to her.
  KING RICHARD. Stay, madam, I must talk a word with you.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. I have no moe sons of the royal blood
    For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard,
    They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;
    And therefore level not to hit their lives.
  KING RICHARD. You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth.
    Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. And must she die for this? O, let her
      live,
    And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty,
    Slander myself as false to Edward's bed,
    Throw over her the veil of infamy;
    So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
    I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
  KING RICHARD. Wrong not her birth; she is a royal
    Princess.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. To save her life I'll say she is not so.
  KING RICHARD. Her life is safest only in her birth.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. And only in that safety died her
      brothers.
  KING RICHARD. Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, to their lives ill friends were
      contrary.
  KING RICHARD. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. True, when avoided grace makes destiny.
    My babes were destin'd to a fairer death,
    If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.
  KING RICHARD. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle
      cozen'd
    Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
    Whose hand soever lanc'd their tender hearts,
    Thy head, an indirectly, gave direction.
    No doubt the murd'rous knife was dull and blunt
    Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart
    To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
    But that stiff use of grief makes wild grief tame,
    My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys
    Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
    And I, in such a desp'rate bay of death,
    Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
    Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.
  KING RICHARD. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise
    And dangerous success of bloody wars,
    As I intend more good to you and yours
    Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd!
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. What good is cover'd with the face of
      heaven,
    To be discover'd, that can do me good?
  KING RICHARD. advancement of your children, gentle
    lady.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their
    heads?
  KING RICHARD. Unto the dignity and height of Fortune,
    The high imperial type of this earth's glory.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Flatter my sorrow with report of it;
    Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
    Canst thou demise to any child of mine?
  KING RICHARD. Even all I have-ay, and myself and all
    Will I withal endow a child of thine;
    So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
    Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs
    Which thou supposest I have done to thee.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Be brief, lest that the process of thy
      kindness
    Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.
  KING RICHARD. Then know, that from my soul I love thy
    daughter.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. My daughter's mother thinks it with her
    soul.
  KING RICHARD. What do you think?
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou dost love my daughter from
      thy soul.
    So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers,
    And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it.
  KING RICHARD. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning.
    I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter
    And do intend to make her Queen of England.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be
    her king?
  KING RICHARD. Even he that makes her Queen. Who else
    should be?
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. What, thou?
  KING RICHARD. Even so. How think you of it?
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. How canst thou woo her?
  KING RICHARD. That would I learn of you,
    As one being best acquainted with her humour.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. And wilt thou learn of me?
  KING RICHARD. Madam, with all my heart.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Send to her, by the man that slew her
    brothers,
    A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave
    'Edward' and 'York.' Then haply will she weep;
    Therefore present to her-as sometimes Margaret
    Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood-
    A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
    The purple sap from her sweet brother's body,
    And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
    If this inducement move her not to love,
    Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;
    Tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
    Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake
    Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
  KING RICHARD. You mock me, madam; this is not the way
    To win your daughter.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. There is no other way;
    Unless thou couldst put on some other shape
    And not be Richard that hath done all this.
  KING RICHARD. Say that I did all this for love of her.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but
      hate thee,
    Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
  KING RICHARD. Look what is done cannot be now amended.
    Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
    Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.
    If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
    To make amends I'll give it to your daughter.
    If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,
    To quicken your increase I will beget
    Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.
    A grandam's name is little less in love
    Than is the doating title of a mother;
    They are as children but one step below,
    Even of your metal, of your very blood;
    Of all one pain, save for a night of groans
    Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.
    Your children were vexation to your youth;
    But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
    The loss you have is but a son being King,
    And by that loss your daughter is made Queen.
    I cannot make you what amends I would,
    Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
    Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul
    Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
    This fair alliance quickly shall can home
    To high promotions and great dignity.
    The King, that calls your beauteous daughter wife,
    Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;
    Again shall you be mother to a king,
    And all the ruins of distressful times
    Repair'd with double riches of content.
    What! we have many goodly days to see.
    The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
    Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl,
    Advantaging their loan with interest
    Of ten times double gain of happiness.
    Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
    Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
    Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;
    Put in her tender heart th' aspiring flame
    Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princes
    With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys.
    And when this arm of mine hath chastised
    The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
    Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
    And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
    To whom I will retail my conquest won,
    And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar's Caesar.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. What were I best to say? Her father's
      brother
    Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle?
    Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
    Under what title shall I woo for thee
    That God, the law, my honour, and her love
    Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
  KING RICHARD. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Which she shall purchase with
    still-lasting war.
  KING RICHARD. Tell her the King, that may command,
    entreats.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. That at her hands which the King's
    King forbids.
  KING RICHARD. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. To wail the title, as her mother doth.
  KING RICHARD. Say I will love her everlastingly.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long shall that title 'ever' last?
  KING RICHARD. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long fairly shall her sweet life
    last?
  KING RICHARD. As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. As long as hell and Richard likes of it.
  KING RICHARD. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. But she, your subject, loathes such
    sovereignty.
  KING RICHARD. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. An honest tale speeds best being plainly
    told.
  KING RICHARD. Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
  KING RICHARD. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, no, my reasons are too deep and
      dead-
    Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.
  KING RICHARD. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings
    break.
  KING RICHARD. Now, by my George, my garter, and my
    crown-
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third
    usurp'd.
  KING RICHARD. I swear-
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. By nothing; for this is no oath:
    Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his lordly honour;
    Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
    Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory.
    If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd,
    Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.
  KING RICHARD. Then, by my self-
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy self is self-misus'd.
  KING RICHARD. Now, by the world-
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.
  KING RICHARD. My father's death-
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thy life hath it dishonour'd.
  KING RICHARD. Why, then, by God-
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. God's wrong is most of all.
    If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him,
    The unity the King my husband made
    Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died.
    If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
    Th' imperial metal, circling now thy head,
    Had grac'd the tender temples of my child;
    And both the Princes had been breathing here,
    Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust,
    Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms.
    What canst thou swear by now?
  KING RICHARD. The time to come.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou hast wronged in the time
    o'erpast;
    For I myself have many tears to wash
    Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee.
    The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughter'd,
    Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age;
    The parents live whose children thou hast butcheed,
    Old barren plants, to wail it with their age.
    Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
    Misus'd ere us'd, by times ill-us'd o'erpast.
  KING RICHARD. As I intend to prosper and repent,
    So thrive I in my dangerous affairs
    Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound!
    Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!
    Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!
    Be opposite all planets of good luck
    To my proceeding!-if, with dear heart's love,
    Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,
    I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter.
    In her consists my happiness and thine;
    Without her, follows to myself and thee,
    Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul,
    Death, desolation, ruin, and decay.
    It cannot be avoided but by this;
    It will not be avoided but by this.
    Therefore, dear mother-I must call you so-
    Be the attorney of my love to her;
    Plead what I will be, not what I have been;
    Not my deserts, but what I will deserve.
    Urge the necessity and state of times,
    And be not peevish-fond in great designs.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
  KING RICHARD. Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I forget myself to be myself?
  KING RICHARD. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong
    yourself.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Yet thou didst kill my children.
  KING RICHARD. But in your daughter's womb I bury them;
    Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed
    Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?
  KING RICHARD. And be a happy mother by the deed.
  QUEEN ELIZABETH. I go. Write to me very shortly,
    And you shall understand from me her mind.
  KING RICHARD. Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell.
                               Kissing her. Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH
    Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!

                 Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following

    How now! what news?
  RATCLIFF. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast
    Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores
    Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
    Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back.
    'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;
    And there they hull, expecting but the aid
    Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.
  KING RICHARD. Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of
    Norfolk.
    Ratcliff, thyself-or Catesby; where is he?
  CATESBY. Here, my good lord.
  KING RICHARD. Catesby, fly to the Duke.
  CATESBY. I will my lord, with all convenient haste.
  KING RICHARD. Ratcliff, come hither. Post to Salisbury;
    When thou com'st thither-  [To CATESBY]  Dull,
    unmindfull villain,
    Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the Duke?
  CATESBY. First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness' pleasure,
    What from your Grace I shall deliver to him.
  KING RICHARD. O, true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight
    The greatest strength and power that he can make
    And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.
  CATESBY. I go.                                            Exit
  RATCLIFF. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?
  KING RICHARD. Why, what wouldst thou do there before I
    go?
  RATCLIFF. Your Highness told me I should post before.
  KING RICHARD. My mind is chang'd.

                           Enter LORD STANLEY

  STANLEY, what news with you?
  STANLEY. None good, my liege, to please you with
    the hearing;
    Nor none so bad but well may be reported.
  KING RICHARD. Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!
    What need'st thou run so many miles about,
    When thou mayest tell thy tale the nearest way?
    Once more, what news?
  STANLEY. Richmond is on the seas.
  KING RICHARD. There let him sink, and be the seas on him!
    White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?
  STANLEY. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
  KING RICHARD. Well, as you guess?
  STANLEY. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,
    He makes for England here to claim the crown.
  KING RICHARD. Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway'd?
    Is the King dead, the empire unpossess'd?
    What heir of York is there alive but we?
    And who is England's King but great York's heir?
    Then tell me what makes he upon the seas.
  STANLEY. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.
  KING RICHARD. Unless for that he comes to be your liege,
    You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.
    Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.
  STANLEY. No, my good lord; therefore mistrust me not.
  KING RICHARD. Where is thy power then, to beat him back?
    Where be thy tenants and thy followers?
    Are they not now upon the western shore,
    Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?
  STANLEY. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.
  KING RICHARD. Cold friends to me. What do they in the
    north,
    When they should serve their sovereign in the west?
  STANLEY. They have not been commanded, mighty King.
    Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave,
    I'll muster up my friends and meet your Grace
    Where and what time your Majesty shall please.
  KING RICHARD. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with
    Richmond;
    But I'll not trust thee.
  STANLEY. Most mighty sovereign,
    You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful.
    I never was nor never will be false.
  KING RICHARD. Go, then, and muster men. But leave behind
    Your son, George Stanley. Look your heart be firm,
    Or else his head's assurance is but frail.
  STANLEY. So deal with him as I prove true to you.         Exit

                          Enter a MESSENGER

  MESSENGER. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
    As I by friends am well advertised,
    Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate,
    Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,
    With many moe confederates, are in arms.

                         Enter another MESSENGER

  SECOND MESSENGER. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in
    arms;
    And every hour more competitors
    Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.

                         Enter another MESSENGER

  THIRD MESSENGER. My lord, the army of great Buckingham-
  KING RICHARD. Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of
    death?                                      [He strikes him]
    There, take thou that till thou bring better news.
  THIRD MESSENGER. The news I have to tell your Majesty
    Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters
    Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd;
    And he himself wand'red away alone,
    No man knows whither.
  KING RICHARD. I cry thee mercy.
    There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.
    Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd
    Reward to him that brings the traitor in?
  THIRD MESSENGER. Such proclamation hath been made,
    my Lord.

                      Enter another MESSENGER

  FOURTH MESSENGER. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis
    Dorset,
    'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
    But this good comfort bring I to your Highness-
    The Britaine navy is dispers'd by tempest.
    Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a boat
    Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks
    If they were his assistants, yea or no;
    Who answer'd him they came from Buckingham
    Upon his party. He, mistrusting them,
    Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Britaine.
  KING RICHARD. March on, march on, since we are up in
    arms;
    If not to fight with foreign enemies,
    Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.

                          Re-enter CATESBY

  CATESBY. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken-
    That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond
    Is with a mighty power landed at Milford
    Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.
  KING RICHARD. Away towards Salisbury! While we reason
    here
    A royal battle might be won and lost.
    Some one take order Buckingham be brought
    To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.
    Flourish.                                             Exeunt




SCENE 5.

LORD DERBY'S house

Enter STANLEY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK

  STANLEY. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:
    That in the sty of the most deadly boar
    My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold;
    If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
    The fear of that holds off my present aid.
    So, get thee gone; commend me to thy lord.
    Withal say that the Queen hath heartily consented
    He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
    But tell me, where is princely Richmond now?
  CHRISTOPHER. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford west in Wales.
  STANLEY. What men of name resort to him?
  CHRISTOPHER. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;
  SIR Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,
  OXFORD, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,
    And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;
    And many other of great name and worth;
    And towards London do they bend their power,
    If by the way they be not fought withal.
  STANLEY. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand;
    My letter will resolve him of my mind.
    Farewell.                                             Exeunt





ACT V. SCENE 1.

Salisbury. An open place

Enter the SHERIFF and guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution

  BUCKINGHAM. Will not King Richard let me speak with
    him?
  SHERIFF. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.
  BUCKINGHAM. Hastings, and Edward's children, Grey, and
    Rivers,
    Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
    Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
    By underhand corrupted foul injustice,
    If that your moody discontented souls
    Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
    Even for revenge mock my destruction!
    This is All-Souls' day, fellow, is it not?
  SHERIFF. It is, my lord.
  BUCKINGHAM. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's
    doomsday.
    This is the day which in King Edward's time
    I wish'd might fall on me when I was found
    False to his children and his wife's allies;
    This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall
    By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;
    This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul
    Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs;
    That high All-Seer which I dallied with
    Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head
    And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
    Thus doth He force the swords of wicked men
    To turn their own points in their masters' bosoms.
    Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck.
    'When he' quoth she 'shall split thy heart with sorrow,
    Remember Margaret was a prophetess.'
    Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame;
    Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.          Exeunt




SCENE 2.

Camp near Tamworth

Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and others,
with drum and colours

  RICHMOND. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,
    Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny,
    Thus far into the bowels of the land
    Have we march'd on without impediment;
    And here receive we from our father Stanley
    Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
    The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,
    That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines,
    Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough
    In your embowell'd bosoms-this foul swine
    Is now even in the centre of this isle,
    Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn.
    From Tamworth thither is but one day's march.
    In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends,
    To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
    By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
  OXFORD. Every man's conscience is a thousand men,
    To fight against this guilty homicide.
  HERBERT. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us.
  BLUNT. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear,
    Which in his dearest need will fly from him.
  RICHMOND. All for our vantage. Then in God's name march.
    True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings;
    Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.      Exeunt




SCENE 3.

Bosworth Field

Enter KING RICHARD in arms, with NORFOLK, RATCLIFF,
the EARL of SURREYS and others

  KING RICHARD. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth
    field.
    My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?
  SURREY. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.
  KING RICHARD. My Lord of Norfolk!
  NORFOLK. Here, most gracious liege.
  KING RICHARD. Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we
    not?
  NORFOLK. We must both give and take, my loving lord.
  KING RICHARD. Up With my tent! Here will I lie to-night;
                      [Soldiers begin to set up the KING'S tent]
    But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that.
    Who hath descried the number of the traitors?
  NORFOLK. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.
  KING RICHARD. Why, our battalia trebles that account;
    Besides, the King's name is a tower of strength,
    Which they upon the adverse faction want.
    Up with the tent! Come, noble gentlemen,
    Let us survey the vantage of the ground.
    Call for some men of sound direction.
    Let's lack no discipline, make no delay;
    For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day.                  Exeunt

             Enter, on the other side of the field,
          RICHMOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, DORSET,
              and others. Some pitch RICHMOND'S tent

  RICHMOND. The weary sun hath made a golden set,
    And by the bright tract of his fiery car
    Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.
    Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.
    Give me some ink and paper in my tent.
    I'll draw the form and model of our battle,
    Limit each leader to his several charge,
    And part in just proportion our small power.
    My Lord of Oxford-you, Sir William Brandon-
    And you, Sir Walter Herbert-stay with me.
    The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment;
    Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him,
    And by the second hour in the morning
    Desire the Earl to see me in my tent.
    Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me-
    Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know?
  BLUNT. Unless I have mista'en his colours much-
    Which well I am assur'd I have not done-
    His regiment lies half a mile at least
    South from the mighty power of the King.
  RICHMOND. If without peril it be possible,
    Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him
    And give him from me this most needful note.
  BLUNT. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it;
    And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!
  RICHMOND. Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come,
    gentlemen,
    Let us consult upon to-morrow's business.
    In to my tent; the dew is raw and cold.
                                   [They withdraw into the tent]

            Enter, to his-tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK,
                       RATCLIFF, and CATESBY

  KING RICHARD. What is't o'clock?
  CATESBY. It's supper-time, my lord;
    It's nine o'clock.
  KING RICHARD. I will not sup to-night.
    Give me some ink and paper.
    What, is my beaver easier than it was?
    And all my armour laid into my tent?
  CATESBY. It is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.
  KING RICHARD. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;
    Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.
  NORFOLK. I go, my lord.
  KING RICHARD. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.
  NORFOLK. I warrant you, my lord.                          Exit
  KING RICHARD. Catesby!
  CATESBY. My lord?
  KING RICHARD. Send out a pursuivant-at-arms
    To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power
    Before sunrising, lest his son George fall
    Into the blind cave of eternal night.           Exit CATESBY
    Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.
    Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.
    Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.
    Ratcliff!
  RATCLIFF. My lord?
  KING RICHARD. Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord
    Northumberland?
  RATCLIFF. Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself,
    Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop
    Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.
  KING RICHARD. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine.
    I have not that alacrity of spirit
    Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.
    Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?
  RATCLIFF. It is, my lord.
  KING RICHARD. Bid my guard watch; leave me.
  RATCLIFF, about the mid of night come to my tent
    And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.
                                   Exit RATCLIFF. RICHARD sleeps

               Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent;
                        LORDS attending

  DERBY. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!
  RICHMOND. All comfort that the dark night can afford
    Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!
    Tell me, how fares our loving mother?
  DERBY. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother,
    Who prays continually for Richmond's good.
    So much for that. The silent hours steal on,
    And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
    In brief, for so the season bids us be,
    Prepare thy battle early in the morning,
    And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
    Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.
    I, as I may-that which I would I cannot-
    With best advantage will deceive the time
    And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms;
    But on thy side I may not be too forward,
    Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,
    Be executed in his father's sight.
    Farewell; the leisure and the fearful time
    Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love
    And ample interchange of sweet discourse
    Which so-long-sund'red friends should dwell upon.
    God give us leisure for these rites of love!
    Once more, adieu; be valiant, and speed well!
  RICHMOND. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment.
    I'll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap,
    Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow
    When I should mount with wings of victory.
    Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.
                                         Exeunt all but RICHMOND
    O Thou, whose captain I account myself,
    Look on my forces with a gracious eye;
    Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath,
    That they may crush down with a heavy fall
    The usurping helmets of our adversaries!
    Make us Thy ministers of chastisement,
    That we may praise Thee in the victory!
    To Thee I do commend my watchful soul
    Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes.
    Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still!            [Sleeps]

            Enter the GHOST Of YOUNG PRINCE EDWARD,
                    son to HENRY THE SIXTH

  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  Let me sit heavy on thy soul
    to-morrow!
    Think how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of youth
    At Tewksbury; despair, therefore, and die!
    [To RICHMOND]  Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged
    souls
    Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf.
    King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee.

              Enter the GHOST of HENRY THE SIXTH

  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  When I was mortal, my anointed
    body
    By thee was punched full of deadly holes.
    Think on the Tower and me. Despair, and die.
    Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die.
    [To RICHMOND]  Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!
    Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be King,
    Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish!

                   Enter the GHOST of CLARENCE

  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  Let me sit heavy in thy soul
    to-morrow! I that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine,
    Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death!
    To-morrow in the battle think on me,
    And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die!
    [To RICHMOND]  Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster,
    The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee.
    Good angels guard thy battle! Live and flourish!

           Enter the GHOSTS of RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN

  GHOST OF RIVERS.  [To RICHARD]  Let me sit heavy in thy
    soul to-morrow,
    Rivers that died at Pomfret! Despair and die!
  GHOST OF GREY.  [To RICHARD]  Think upon Grey, and let
    thy soul despair!
  GHOST OF VAUGHAN.  [To RICHARD]  Think upon Vaughan,
    and with guilty fear
    Let fall thy lance. Despair and die!
  ALL.  [To RICHMOND]  Awake, and think our wrongs in
    Richard's bosom
    Will conquer him. Awake and win the day.

                Enter the GHOST of HASTINGS

  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,
    And in a bloody battle end thy days!
    Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die.
    [To RICHMOND]   Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!
    Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake!

         Enter the GHOSTS of the two young PRINCES

  GHOSTS.  [To RICHARD]  Dream on thy cousins smothered in
    the Tower.
    Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard,
    And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!
    Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die.
    [To RICHMOND]  Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and
    wake in joy;
    Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy!
    Live, and beget a happy race of kings!
    Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.

          Enter the GHOST of LADY ANNE, his wife

  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  Richard, thy wife, that wretched
    Anne thy wife
    That never slept a quiet hour with thee
    Now fills thy sleep with perturbations.
    To-morrow in the battle think on me,
    And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die.
    [To RICHMOND]  Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep;
    Dream of success and happy victory.
    Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.

                   Enter the GHOST of BUCKINGHAM

  GHOST.  [To RICHARD]  The first was I that help'd thee
    to the crown;
    The last was I that felt thy tyranny.
    O, in the battle think on Buckingham,
    And die in terror of thy guiltiness!
    Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death;
    Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!
    [To RICHMOND]  I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid;
    But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismay'd:
    God and good angels fight on Richmond's side;
    And Richard falls in height of all his pride.
            [The GHOSTS vanish. RICHARD starts out of his dream]
  KING RICHARD. Give me another horse. Bind up my wounds.
    Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream.
    O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
    The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
    Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
    What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by.
    Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
    Is there a murderer here? No-yes, I am.
    Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why-
    Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself!
    Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good
    That I myself have done unto myself?
    O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself
    For hateful deeds committed by myself!
    I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not.
    Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter.
    My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
    And every tongue brings in a several tale,
    And every tale condemns me for a villain.
    Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree;
    Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree;
    All several sins, all us'd in each degree,
    Throng to the bar, crying all 'Guilty! guilty!'
    I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
    And if I die no soul will pity me:
    And wherefore should they, since that I myself
    Find in myself no pity to myself?
    Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd
    Came to my tent, and every one did threat
    To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

                            Enter RATCLIFF

  RATCLIFF. My lord!
  KING RICHARD. Zounds, who is there?
  RATCLIFF. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock
    Hath twice done salutation to the morn;
    Your friends are up and buckle on their armour.
  KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream!
    What think'st thou-will our friends prove all true?
  RATCLIFF. No doubt, my lord.
  KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear.
  RATCLIFF. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.
  KING RICHARD By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
    Have stuck more terror to the soul of Richard
    Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
    Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond.
    'Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me;
    Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
    To see if any mean to shrink from me.                 Exeunt

          Enter the LORDS to RICHMOND sitting in his tent

  LORDS. Good morrow, Richmond!
  RICHMOND. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,
    That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.
  LORDS. How have you slept, my lord?
  RICHMOND. The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams
    That ever ent'red in a drowsy head
    Have I since your departure had, my lords.
    Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murder'd
    Came to my tent and cried on victory.
    I promise you my soul is very jocund
    In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
    How far into the morning is it, lords?
  LORDS. Upon the stroke of four.
  RICHMOND. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction.

                 His ORATION to his SOLDIERS

    More than I have said, loving countrymen,
    The leisure and enforcement of the time
    Forbids to dwell upon; yet remember this:
    God and our good cause fight upon our side;
    The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,
    Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces;
    Richard except, those whom we fight against
    Had rather have us win than him they follow.
    For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen,
    A bloody tyrant and a homicide;
    One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
    One that made means to come by what he hath,
    And slaughtered those that were the means to help him;
    A base foul stone, made precious by the foil
    Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;
    One that hath ever been God's enemy.
    Then if you fight against God's enemy,
    God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;
    If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
    You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;
    If you do fight against your country's foes,
    Your country's foes shall pay your pains the hire;
    If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
    Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;
    If you do free your children from the sword,
    Your children's children quits it in your age.
    Then, in the name of God and all these rights,
    Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.
    For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
    Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;
    But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
    The least of you shall share his part thereof.
    Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;
    God and Saint George! Richmond and victory!           Exeunt

           Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, attendants,
                         and forces

  KING RICHARD. What said Northumberland as touching
    Richmond?
  RATCLIFF. That he was never trained up in arms.
  KING RICHARD. He said the truth; and what said Surrey
    then?
  RATCLIFF. He smil'd, and said 'The better for our purpose.'
  KING He was in the right; and so indeed it is.
                                                 [Clock strikes]
    Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar.
    Who saw the sun to-day?
  RATCLIFF. Not I, my lord.
  KING RICHARD. Then he disdains to shine; for by the book
    He should have brav'd the east an hour ago.
    A black day will it be to somebody.
    Ratcliff!
  RATCLIFF. My lord?
  KING RICHARD. The sun will not be seen to-day;
    The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.
    I would these dewy tears were from the ground.
    Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me
    More than to Richmond? For the selfsame heaven
    That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.

                       Enter NORFOLK

  NORFOLK. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.
  KING RICHARD. Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse;
    Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power.
    I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,
    And thus my battle shall be ordered:
    My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,
    Consisting equally of horse and foot;
    Our archers shall be placed in the midst.
    John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
    Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.
    They thus directed, we will follow
    In the main battle, whose puissance on either side
    Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.
    This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou,
    Norfolk?
  NORFOLK. A good direction, warlike sovereign.
    This found I on my tent this morning.
                                        [He sheweth him a paper]
  KING RICHARD.                                          [Reads]
    'Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold,
    For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.'
    A thing devised by the enemy.
    Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge.
    Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls;
    Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
    Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe.
    Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
    March on, join bravely, let us to it pell-mell;
    If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.

                      His ORATION to his ARMY

    What shall I say more than I have inferr'd?
    Remember whom you are to cope withal-
    A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,
    A scum of Britaines, and base lackey peasants,
    Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth
    To desperate adventures and assur'd destruction.
    You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;
    You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives,
    They would restrain the one, distain the other.
    And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,
    Long kept in Britaine at our mother's cost?
    A milk-sop, one that never in his life
    Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?
    Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again;
    Lash hence these over-weening rags of France,
    These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives;
    Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
    For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves.
    If we be conquered, let men conquer us,
    And not these bastard Britaines, whom our fathers
    Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd,
    And, in record, left them the heirs of shame.
    Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives,
    Ravish our daughters?  [Drum afar off]  Hark! I hear their
    drum.
    Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen!
    Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
    Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;
    Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!

                        Enter a MESSENGER

    What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?
  MESSENGER. My lord, he doth deny to come.
  KING RICHARD. Off with his son George's head!
  NORFOLK. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh.
    After the battle let George Stanley die.
  KING RICHARD. A thousand hearts are great within my
    bosom.
    Advance our standards, set upon our foes;
    Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
    Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
    Upon them! Victory sits on our helms.                 Exeunt




SCENE 4.

Another part of the field

Alarum; excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces; to him CATESBY

  CATESBY. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!
    The King enacts more wonders than a man,
    Daring an opposite to every danger.
    His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
    Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
    Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost.

                     Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD

  KING RICHARD. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
  CATESBY. Withdraw, my lord! I'll help you to a horse.
  KING RICHARD. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast
    And I Will stand the hazard of the die.
    I think there be six Richmonds in the field;
    Five have I slain to-day instead of him.
    A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!             Exeunt




SCENE 5.

Another part of the field

Alarum. Enter RICHARD and RICHMOND; they fight; RICHARD is slain.
Retreat and flourish. Enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the crown,
with other LORDS

  RICHMOND. God and your arms be prais'd, victorious friends;
    The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.
  DERBY. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee!
    Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty
    From the dead temples of this bloody wretch
    Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal.
    Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.
  RICHMOND. Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!
    But, teLL me is young George Stanley living.
  DERBY. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town,
    Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.
  RICHMOND. What men of name are slain on either side?
  DERBY. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,
    Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.
  RICHMOND. Inter their bodies as becomes their births.
    Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled
    That in submission will return to us.
    And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament,
    We will unite the white rose and the red.
    Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,
    That long have frown'd upon their emnity!
    What traitor hears me, and says not Amen?
    England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself;
    The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,
    The father rashly slaughter'd his own son,
    The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire;
    All this divided York and Lancaster,
    Divided in their dire division,
    O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth,
    The true succeeders of each royal house,
    By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!
    And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so,
    Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace,
    With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days!
    Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
    That would reduce these bloody days again
    And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
    Let them not live to taste this land's increase
    That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!
    Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again-
    That she may long live here, God say Amen!            Exeunt

THE END