Maior. Marry God defend his Grace should say vsnay
Buck. I feare he will: here Catesby comes againe.Enter Catesby.
Now Catesby, what sayes his Grace?Catesby. He wonders to what end you haue assembledSuch troopes of Citizens, to come to him,His Grace not being warn'd thereof before:He feares, my Lord, you meane no good to him
Buck. Sorry I am, my Noble Cousin shouldSuspect me, that I meane no good to him:By Heauen, we come to him in perfit loue,And so once more returne, and tell his Grace.Enter.
When holy and deuout Religious menAre at their Beades, 'tis much to draw them thence,So sweet is zealous Contemplation.Enter Richard aloft, betweene two Bishops
Maior. See where his Grace stands, tweene two Clergiemen
Buck. Two Props of Vertue, for a Christian Prince,To stay him from the fall of Vanitie:And see a Booke of Prayer in his hand,True Ornaments to know a holy man.Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince,Lend fauourable eare to our requests,And pardon vs the interruptionOf thy Deuotion, and right Christian Zeale
Rich. My Lord, there needes no such Apologie:I doe beseech your Grace to pardon me,Who earnest in the seruice of my God,Deferr'd the visitation of my friends.But leauing this, what is your Graces pleasure?Buck. Euen that (I hope) which pleaseth God aboue,And all good men, of this vngouern'd Ile
Rich. I doe suspect I haue done some offence,That seemes disgracious in the Cities eye,And that you come to reprehend my ignorance
Buck. You haue, my Lord:Would it might please your Grace,On our entreaties, to amend your fault
Rich. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian Land
Buck. Know then, it is your fault, that you resigneThe Supreme Seat, the Throne Maiesticall,The Sceptred Office of your Ancestors,Your State of Fortune, and your Deaw of Birth,The Lineall Glory of your Royall House,To the corruption of a blemisht Stock;Whiles in the mildnesse of your sleepie thoughts,Which here we waken to our Countries good,The Noble Ile doth want his proper Limmes:His Face defac'd with skarres of Infamie,His Royall Stock grafft with ignoble Plants,And almost shouldred in the swallowing GulfeOf darke Forgetfulnesse, and deepe Obliuion.Which to recure, we heartily soliciteYour gracious selfe to take on you the chargeAnd Kingly Gouernment of this your Land:Not as Protector, Steward, Substitute,Or lowly Factor, for anothers gaine;But as successiuely, from Blood to Blood,Your Right of Birth, your Empyrie, your owne.For this, consorted with the Citizens,Your very Worshipfull and louing friends,And by their vehement instigation,In this iust Cause come I to moue your Grace
Rich. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence,Or bitterly to speake in your reproofe,Best fitteth my Degree, or your Condition.If not to answer, you might haply thinke,Tongue-ty'd Ambition, not replying, yeeldedTo beare the Golden Yoake of Soueraigntie,Which fondly you would here impose on me.If to reproue you for this suit of yours,So season'd with your faithfull loue to me,Then on the other side I check'd my friends.Therefore to speake, and to auoid the first,And then in speaking, not to incurre the last,Definitiuely thus I answer you.Your loue deserues my thankes, but my desertVnmeritable, shunnes your high request.First, if all Obstacles were cut away,And that my Path were euen to the Crowne,As the ripe Reuenue, and due of Birth:Yet so much is my pouertie of spirit,So mightie, and so manie my defects,That I would rather hide me from my Greatnesse,Being a Barke to brooke no mightie Sea;Then in my Greatnesse couet 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 helpe you, were there need:The Royall Tree hath left vs Royall Fruit,Which mellow'd by the stealing howres of time,Will well become the Seat of Maiestie,And make (no doubt) vs happy by his Reigne.On him I lay that, you would lay on me,The Right and Fortune of his happie Starres,Which God defend that I should wring from him
Buck. My Lord, this argues Conscience in your Grace,But the respects thereof are nice, and triuiall,All circumstances well considered.You say, that Edward is your Brothers Sonne,So say we too, but not by Edwards Wife:For first was he contract to Lady Lucie,Your Mother liues a Witnesse to his Vow;And afterward by substitute betroth'dTo Bona, Sister to the King of France.These both put off, a poore Petitioner,A Care-cras'd Mother to a many Sonnes,A Beautie-waining, and distressed Widow,Euen in the after-noone of her best dayes,Made prize and purchase of his wanton Eye,Seduc'd the pitch, and height of his degree,To base declension, and loath'd Bigamie.By her, in his vnlawfull Bed, he gotThis Edward, whom our Manners call the Prince.More bitterly could I expostulate,Saue that for reuerence to some aliue,I giue a sparing limit to my Tongue.Then good, my Lord, take to your Royall selfeThis proffer'd benefit of Dignitie:If not to blesse vs and the Land withall,Yet to draw forth your Noble AncestrieFrom the corruption of abusing times,Vnto a Lineall true deriued course
Maior. Do good my Lord, your Citizens entreat you
Buck. Refuse not, mightie Lord, this proffer'd loue
Catesb. O make them ioyfull, grant their lawfull suit
Rich. Alas, why would you heape this Care on me?I am vnfit for State, and Maiestie:I doe beseech you take it not amisse,I cannot, nor I will not yeeld to you
Buck. If you refuse it, as in loue and zeale,Loth to depose the Child, your Brothers Sonne,As well we know your tendernesse of heart,And gentle, kinde, effeminate remorse,Which we haue noted in you to your Kindred,And egally indeede to all Estates:Yet know, where you accept our suit, or no,Your Brothers Sonne shall neuer reigne our King,But we will plant some other in the Throne,To the disgrace and downe-fall of your House:And in this resolution here we leaue you.Come Citizens, we will entreat no more.
Exeunt.
Catesb. Call him againe, sweet Prince, accept their suit:If you denie them, all the Land will rue it
Rich. Will you enforce me to a world of Cares.Call them againe, I am not made of Stones,But penetrable to your kinde entreaties,Albeit against my Conscience and my Soule.Enter Buckingham, and the rest.
Cousin of Buckingham, and sage graue men,Since you will buckle fortune on my back,To beare her burthen, where I will or no.I must haue patience to endure the Load:But if black Scandall, or foule-fac'd Reproach,Attend the sequell of your Imposition,Your meere enforcement shall acquittance meFrom all the impure blots and staynes thereof;For God doth know, and you may partly see,How farre I am from the desire of this
Maior. God blesse your Grace, wee see it, and willsay it
Rich. In saying so, you shall but say the truth
Buck. Then I salute you with this Royall Title,Long liue King Richard, Englands worthie King
All. Amen
Buck. To morrow may it please you to be Crown'd
Rich. Euen when you please, for you will haue it so
Buck. To morrow then we will attend your Grace,And so most ioyfully we take our leaue
Rich. Come, let vs to our holy Worke againe.Farewell my Cousins, farewell gentle friends.
Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter the Queene, Anne Duchesse of Gloucester, the Duchesse ofYorke, andMarquesse Dorset.
Duch.Yorke. Who meetes vs heere?My Neece Plantagenet,Led in the hand of her kind Aunt of Gloster?Now, for my Life, shee's wandring to the Tower,On pure hearts loue, to greet the tender Prince.Daughter, well met
Anne. God giue your Graces both, a happieAnd a ioyfull time of day
Qu. As much to you, good Sister: whither away?Anne. No farther then the Tower, and as I guesse,Vpon the like deuotion as your selues,To gratulate the gentle Princes there
Qu. Kind Sister thankes, wee'le enter all together:Enter the Lieutenant.
And in good time, here the Lieutenant comes.Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leaue,How doth the Prince, and my young Sonne of Yorke?Lieu. Right well, deare Madame: by your patience,I may not suffer you to visit them,The King hath strictly charg'd the contrary
Qu. The King? who's that?Lieu. I meane, the Lord Protector
Qu. The Lord protect him from that Kingly Title.Hath he set bounds betweene their loue, and me?I am their Mother, who shall barre me from them?Duch.Yorke. I am their Fathers Mother, I will seethem
Anne. Their Aunt I am in law, in loue their Mother:Then bring me to their sights, Ile beare thy blame,And take thy Office from thee, on my perill
Lieu. No, Madame, no; I may not leaue it so:I am bound by Oath, and therefore pardon me.
Exit Lieutenant.
Enter Stanley.
Stanley. Let me but meet you Ladies one howre hence,And Ile salute your Grace of Yorke as Mother,And reuerend looker on of two faire Queenes.Come Madame, you must straight to Westminster,There to be crowned Richards Royall Queene
Qu. Ah, cut my Lace asunder,That my pent heart may haue some scope to beat,Or else I swoone with this dead-killing newes
Anne. Despightfull tidings, O vnpleasing newes
Dors. Be of good cheare: Mother, how fares yourGrace?Qu. O Dorset, speake not to me, get thee gone,Death and Destruction dogges thee at thy heeles,Thy Mothers Name is ominous to Children.If thou wilt out-strip Death, goe crosse the Seas,And liue with Richmond, from the reach of Hell.Goe hye thee, hye thee from this slaughter-house,Lest thou encrease the number of the dead,And make me dye the thrall of Margarets Curse,Nor Mother, Wife, nor Englands counted Queene
Stanley. Full of wise care, is this your counsaile, Madame:Take all the swift aduantage of the howres:You shall haue Letters from me to my Sonne,In your behalfe, to meet you on the way:Be not ta'ne tardie by vnwise delay
Duch.Yorke. O ill dispersing Winde of Miserie.O my accursed Wombe, the Bed of Death:A Cockatrice hast thou hatcht to the World,Whose vnauoided Eye is murtherous
Stanley. Come, Madame, come, I in all haste was sent
Anne. And I with all vnwillingnesse will goe.O would to God, that the inclusiue VergeOf Golden Mettall, that must round my Brow,Were red hot Steele, to seare me to the Braines,Anoynted let me be with deadly Venome,And dye ere men can say, God saue the Queene
Qu. Goe, goe, poore soule, I enuie not thy glory,To feed my humor, wish thy selfe no harme
Anne. No: why? When he that is my Husband now,Came to me, as I follow'd Henries Corse,When scarce the blood was well washt from his hands,Which issued from my other Angell Husband,And that deare Saint, which then I weeping follow'd:O, when I say I look'd on Richards Face,This was my Wish: Be thou (quoth I) accurst,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,Then thou hast made me, by my deare Lords death.Loe, ere I can repeat this Curse againe,Within so small a time, my Womans heartGrossely grew captiue to his honey words,And prou'd the subiect of mine owne Soules Curse,Which hitherto hath held mine eyes from rest:For neuer yet one howre in his BedDid I enioy the golden deaw of sleepe,But with his timorous Dreames was still awak'd.Besides, he hates me for my Father Warwicke,And will (no doubt) shortly be rid of me
Qu. Poore heart adieu, I pittie thy complaining
Anne. No more, then with my soule I mourne for yours
Dors. Farewell, thou wofull welcommer of glory
Anne. Adieu, poore soule, that tak'st thy leaueof it
Du.Y. Go thou to Richmond, & good fortune guide thee,Go thou to Richard, and good Angels tend thee,Go thou to Sanctuarie, and good thoughts possesse thee,I to my Graue, where peace and rest lye with mee.Eightie odde yeeres of sorrow haue I seene,And each howres ioy wrackt with a weeke of teene
Qu. Stay, yet looke backe with me vnto the Tower.Pitty, you ancient Stones, those tender Babes,Whom Enuie hath immur'd within your Walls,Rough Cradle for such little prettie ones,Rude ragged Nurse, old sullen Play-fellow,For tender Princes: vse my Babies well;So foolish Sorrowes bids your Stones farewell.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Sound a Sennet. Enter Richard in pompe, Buckingham, Catesby,Ratcliffe,Louel.
Rich. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham
Buck. My gracious Soueraigne
Rich. Giue me thy hand.
Sound.
Thus high, by thy aduice, and thy assistance,Is King Richard seated:But shall we weare these Glories for a day?Or shall they last, and we reioyce in them?Buck. Still liue they, and for euer let them last
Rich. Ah Buckingham, now doe I play the Touch,To trie if thou be currant Gold indeed:Young Edward liues, thinke now what I would speake
Buck. Say on my louing Lord
Rich. Why Buckingham, I say I would be King
Buck. Why so you are, my thrice-renowned Lord
Rich. Ha? am I King? 'tis so: but Edward liues
Buck True, Noble Prince
Rich. O bitter consequence!That Edward still should liue true Noble Prince.Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.Shall I be plaine? I wish the Bastards dead,And I would haue it suddenly perform'd.What say'st thou now? speake suddenly, be briefe
Buck. Your Grace may doe your pleasure
Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all Ice, thy kindnesse freezes:Say, haue I thy consent, that they shall dye?Buc. Giue me some litle breath, some pawse, deare Lord,Before I positiuely speake in this:I will resolue you herein presently.
Exit Buck[ingham].
Catesby. The King is angry, see he gnawes his Lippe
Rich. I will conuerse with Iron-witted Fooles,And vnrespectiue Boyes: none are for me,That looke into me with considerate eyes,High-reaching Buckingham growes circumspect.Boy
Page. My Lord
Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting GoldWill tempt vnto a close exploit of Death?Page. I know a discontented Gentleman,Whose humble meanes match not his haughtie spirit:Gold were as good as twentie Orators,And will (no doubt) tempt him to any thing
Rich. What is his Name?Page. His Name, my Lord, is Tirrell
Rich. I partly know the man: goe call him hither,Boy.Enter.
The deepe reuoluing wittie Buckingham,No more shall be the neighbor to my counsailes.Hath he so long held out with me, vntyr'd,And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.Enter Stanley.
How now, Lord Stanley, what's the newes?Stanley. Know my louing Lord, the Marquesse DorsetAs I heare, is fled to Richmond,In the parts where he abides
Rich. Come hither Catesby, rumor it abroad,That Anne my Wife is very grieuous sicke,I will take order for her keeping close.Inquire me out some meane poore Gentleman,Whom I will marry straight to Clarence Daughter:The Boy is foolish, and I feare not him.Looke how thou dream'st: I say againe, giue out,That Anne, my Queene, is sicke, and like to dye.About it, for it stands me much vponTo stop all hopes, whose growth may dammage me.I must be marryed to my Brothers Daughter,Or else my Kingdome stands on brittle Glasse:Murther her Brothers, and then marry her,Vncertaine way of gaine. But I am inSo farre in blood, that sinne will pluck on sinne,Teare-falling Pittie dwells not in this Eye.Enter Tyrrel.
Is thy Name Tyrrel?Tyr. Iames Tyrrel, and your most obedient subiect
Rich. Art thou indeed?Tyr. Proue me, my gracious Lord
Rich. Dar'st thou resolue to kill a friend of mine?Tyr. Please you:But I had rather kill two enemies
Rich. Why then thou hast it: two deepe enemies,Foes to my Rest, and my sweet sleepes disturbers,Are they that I would haue thee deale vpon:Tyrrel, I meane those Bastards in the Tower
Tyr. Let me haue open meanes to come to them,And soone Ile rid you from the feare of them
Rich. Thou sing'st sweet Musique:Hearke, come hither Tyrrel,Goe by this token: rise, and lend thine Eare,
Whispers.
There is no more but so: say it is done,And I will loue thee, and preferre thee for it
Tyr. I will dispatch it straight.Enter.
Enter Buckingham.
Buck. My Lord, I haue consider'd in my minde,The late request that you did sound me in
Rich. Well, let that rest: Dorset is fled to Richmond
Buck. I heare the newes, my Lord
Rich. Stanley, hee is your Wiues Sonne: well, lookevnto it
Buck. My Lord, I clayme the gift, my due by promise,For which your Honor and your Faith is pawn'd,Th' Earledome of Hertford, and the moueables,Which you haue promised I shall possesse
Rich. Stanley looke to your Wife: if she conueyLetters to Richmond, you shall answer it
Buck. What sayes your Highnesse to my iust request?Rich. I doe remember me, Henry the SixtDid prophecie, that Richmond should be King,When Richmond was a little peeuish Boy.A King perhaps
Buck. May it please you to resolue me in my suit
Rich. Thou troublest me, I am not in the vaine.Enter
Buck. And is it thus? repayes he my deepe seruiceWith such contempt? made I him King for this?O let me thinke on Hastings, and be goneTo Brecnock, while my fearefull Head is on.Enter.
Enter Tyrrel.
Tyr. The tyrannous and bloodie Act is done,The most arch deed of pittious massacreThat euer yet this Land was guilty of:Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborneTo do this peece of ruthfull Butchery,Albeit they were flesht Villaines, bloody Dogges,Melted with tendernesse, and milde compassion,Wept like to Children, in their deaths sad Story.O thus (quoth Dighton) lay the gentle Babes:Thus, thus (quoth Forrest) girdling one anotherWithin their Alablaster innocent Armes:Their lips were foure red Roses on a stalke,And in their Summer Beauty kist each other.A Booke of Prayers on their pillow lay,Which one (quoth Forrest) almost chang'd my minde:But oh the Diuell, there the Villaine stopt:When Dighton thus told on, we smotheredThe most replenished sweet worke of Nature,That from the prime Creation ere she framed.Hence both are gone with Conscience and Remorse,They could not speake, and so I left them both,To beare this tydings to the bloody King.Enter Richard.
And heere he comes. All health my Soueraigne Lord
Ric. Kinde Tirrell, am I happy in thy Newes
Tir. If to haue done the thing you gaue in charge,Beget your happinesse, be happy then,For it is done
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,But where (to say the truth) I do not know
Rich. Come to me Tirrel soone, and after Supper,When thou shalt tell the processe of their death.Meane time, but thinke how I may do the good,And be inheritor of thy desire.Farewell till then
Tir. I humbly take my leaue
Rich. The Sonne of Clarence haue I pent vp close,His daughter meanly haue I matcht in marriage,The Sonnes of Edward sleepe in Abrahams bosome,And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.Now for I know the Britaine Richmond aymesAt yong Elizabeth my brothers daughter,And by that knot lookes proudly on the Crowne,To her go I, a iolly thriuing wooer.Enter Ratcliffe.
Rat. My Lord
Rich. Good or bad newes, that thou com'st in sobluntly?Rat. Bad news my Lord, Mourton is fled to Richmond,And Buckingham backt with the hardy WelshmenIs in the field, and still his power encreaseth
Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more neere,Then Buckingham and his rash leuied Strength.Come, I haue learn'd, that fearfull commentingIs leaden seruitor to dull delay.Delay leds impotent and Snaile-pac'd Beggery:Then fierie expedition be my wing,Ioues Mercury, and Herald for a King:Go muster men: My counsaile is my Sheeld,We must be breefe, when Traitors braue the Field.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter old Queene Margaret
Mar. So now prosperity begins to mellow,And drop into the rotten mouth of death:Heere in these Confines slily haue I lurkt,To watch the waining of mine enemies.A dire induction, am I witnesse to,And will to France, hoping the consequenceWill proue as bitter, blacke, and Tragicall.Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes heere?Enter Dutchesse and Queene.
Qu. Ah my poore Princes! ah my tender Babes:My vnblowed Flowres, new appearing sweets:If yet your gentle soules flye in the Ayre,And be not fixt in doome perpetuall,Houer about me with your ayery wings,And heare your mothers Lamentation
Mar. Houer about her, say that right for rightHath dim'd your Infant morne, to Aged night
Dut. So many miseries haue craz'd my voyce,That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,Edward for Edward, payes a dying debt
Qu. Wilt thou, O God, flye from such gentle Lambs,And throw them in the intrailes of the Wolfe?When didst thou sleepe, when such a deed was done?Mar. When holy Harry dyed, and my sweet Sonne
Dut. Dead life, blind sight, poore mortall liuing ghost,Woes Scene, Worlds shame, Graues due, by life vsurpt,Breefe abstract and record of tedious dayes,Rest thy vnrest on Englands lawfull earth,Vnlawfully made drunke with innocent blood
Qu. Ah that thou would'st assoone affoord a Graue,As thou canst yeeld a melancholly seate:Then would I hide my bones, not rest them heere,Ah who hath any cause to mourne but wee?Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reuerent,Giue mine the benefit of signeurie,And let my greefes frowne on the vpper handIf sorrow can admit Society.I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him:I had a Husband, till a Richard kill'd him:Thou had'st an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him:Thou had'st a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him
Dut. I had a Richard too, and thou did'st kill him;I had a Rutland too, thou hop'st to kill him
Mar. Thou had'st a Clarence too,And Richard kill'd him.From forth the kennell of thy wombe hath creptA Hell-hound that doth hunt vs all to death:That Dogge, that had his teeth before his eyes,To worry Lambes, and lap their gentle blood:That foule defacer of Gods handy worke:That reignes in gauled eyes of weeping soules:That excellent grand Tyrant of the earth,Thy wombe let loose to chase vs to our graues.O vpright, iust, and true-disposing God,How do I thanke thee, that this carnall CurrePrayes on the issue of his Mothers body,And makes her Pue-fellow with others mone
Dut. Oh Harries wife, triumph not in my woes:God witnesse with me, I haue wept for thine
Mar. Beare with me: I am hungry for reuenge,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:Yong Yorke, he is but boote, because both theyMatcht not the high perfection of my losse.Thy Clarence he is dead, that stab'd my Edward,And the beholders of this franticke play,Th' adulterate Hastings, Riuers, Vaughan, Gray,Vntimely smother'd in their dusky Graues.Richard yet liues, Hels blacke Intelligencer,Onely reseru'd their Factor, to buy soules,And send them thither: But at hand, at handInsues his pittious and vnpittied end.Earth gapes, Hell burnes, Fiends roare, Saints pray,To haue him sodainly conuey'd from hence:Cancell his bond of life, deere God I pray,That I may liue and say, The Dogge is dead
Qu. O thou did'st prophesie, the time would come,That I should wish for thee to helpe me curseThat bottel'd Spider, that foule bunch-back'd Toad
Mar. I call'd thee then, vaine flourish of my fortune:I call'd thee then, poore Shadow, painted Queen,The presentation of but what I was;The flattering Index of a direfull Pageant;One heau'd a high, to be hurl'd downe below:A Mother onely mockt with two faire Babes;A dreame of what thou wast, a garish FlaggeTo be the ayme of euery dangerous Shot;A signe of Dignity, a Breath, a Bubble;A Queene in ieast, onely to fill the Scene.Where is thy Husband now? Where be thy Brothers?Where be thy two Sonnes? Wherein dost thou Ioy?Who sues, and kneeles, and sayes, God saue the Queene?Where be the bending Peeres that flattered thee?Where be the thronging Troopes that followed thee?Decline all this, and see what now thou art.For happy Wife, a most distressed Widdow:For ioyfull Mother, one that wailes the name:For one being sued too, one that humbly sues:For Queene, a very Caytiffe, crown'd with care:For she that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me:For she being feared of all, now fearing one:For she commanding all, obey'd of none.Thus hath the course of Iustice whirl'd about,And left thee but a very prey to time,Hauing no more but Thought of what thou wast.To torture thee the more, being what thou art,Thou didst vsurpe my place, and dost thou notVsurpe the iust proportion of my Sorrow?Now thy proud Necke, beares halfe my burthen'd yoke,From which, euen heere I slip my wearied head,And leaue the burthen of it all, on thee.Farwell Yorkes wife, and Queene of sad mischance,These English woes, shall make me smile in France
Qu. O thou well skill'd in Curses, stay a-while,And teach me how to curse mine enemies
Mar. Forbeare to sleepe the night, and fast the day:Compare dead happinesse, with liuing woe:Thinke that thy Babes were sweeter then they were,And he that slew them fowler then he is:Bett'ring thy losse, makes the bad causer worse,Reuoluing this, will teach thee how to Curse
Qu. My words are dull, O quicken them with thine
Mar. Thy woes will make them sharpe,And pierce like mine.
Exit Margaret.
Dut. Why should calamity be full of words?Qu. Windy Atturnies to their Clients Woes,Ayery succeeders of intestine ioyes,Poore breathing Orators of miseries,Let them haue scope, though what they will impart,Helpe nothing els, yet do they ease the hart
Dut. If so then, be not Tongue-ty'd: go with me,And in the breath of bitter words, let's smotherMy damned Son, that thy two sweet Sonnes smother'd.The Trumpet sounds, be copious in exclaimes.Enter King Richard, and his Traine.
Rich. Who intercepts me in my Expedition?Dut. O she, that might haue intercepted theeBy strangling thee in her accursed wombe,From all the slaughters (Wretch) that thou hast done
Qu. Hid'st thou that Forhead with a Golden CrowneWhere't should be branded, if that right were right?The slaughter of the Prince that ow'd that Crowne,And the dyre death of my poore Sonnes, and Brothers.Tell me thou Villaine-slaue, where are my Children?Dut. Thou Toad, thou Toade,Where is thy Brother Clarence?And little Ned Plantagenet his Sonne?Qu. Where is the gentle Riuers, Vaughan, Gray?Dut. Where is kinde Hastings?Rich. A flourish Trumpets, strike Alarum Drummes:Let not the Heauens heare these Tell-tale womenRaile on the Lords Annointed. Strike I say.
Flourish. Alarums.
Either be patient, and intreat me fayre,Or with the clamorous report of Warre,Thus will I drowne your exclamations
Dut. Art thou my Sonne?Rich. I, I thanke God, my Father, and your selfe
Dut. Then patiently heare my impatience
Rich. Madam, I haue a touch of your condition,That cannot brooke the accent of reproofe
Dut. O let me speake
Rich. Do then, but Ile not heare
Dut. I will be milde, and gentle in my words
Rich. And breefe (good Mother) for I am in hast
Dut. Art thou so hasty? I haue staid for thee(God knowes) in torment and in agony
Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?Dut. No by the holy Rood, thou know'st it well,Thou cam'st on earth, to make the earth my Hell.A greeuous burthen was thy Birth to me,Tetchy and wayward was thy Infancie.Thy School-daies frightfull, desp'rate, wilde, and furious,Thy prime of Manhood, daring, bold, and venturous:Thy Age confirm'd, proud, subtle, slye, and bloody,More milde, but yet more harmfull; Kinde in hatred:What comfortable houre canst thou name,That euer grac'd me with thy company?Rich. Faith none, but Humfrey Hower,That call'd your GraceTo Breakefast once, forth of my company.If I be so disgracious in your eye,Let me march on, and not offend you Madam.Strike vp the Drumme
Dut. I prythee heare me speake
Rich. You speake too bitterly
Dut. Heare me a word:For I shall neuer speake to thee againe
Rich. So
Dut. Either thou wilt dye, by Gods iust ordinanceEre from this warre thou turne a Conqueror:Or I with greefe and extreame Age shall perish,And neuer more behold thy face againe.Therefore take with thee my most greeuous Curse,Which in the day of Battell tyre thee moreThen all the compleat Armour that thou wear'st.My Prayers on the aduerse party fight,And there the little soules of Edwards Children,Whisper the Spirits of thine Enemies,And promise them Successe and Victory:Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end:Shame serues thy life, and doth thy death attend.Enter.
Qu. Though far more cause, yet much lesse spirit to curseAbides in me, I say Amen to her
Rich. Stay Madam, I must talke a word with you
Qu. I haue no more sonnes of the Royall BloodFor thee to slaughter. For my Daughters (Richard)They shall be praying Nunnes, not weeping Queenes:And therefore leuell not to hit their liues
Rich. You haue a daughter call'd Elizabeth,Vertuous and Faire, Royall and Gracious?Qu. And must she dye for this? O let her liue,And Ile corrupt her Manners, staine her Beauty,Slander my Selfe, as false to Edwards bed:Throw ouer her the vaile of Infamy,So she may liue vnscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,I will confesse she was not Edwards daughter
Rich. Wrong not her Byrth, she is a Royall Princesse
Qu. To saue her life, Ile say she is not so
Rich. Her life is safest onely in her byrth
Qu. And onely in that safety, dyed her Brothers
Rich. Loe at their Birth, good starres were opposite
Qu. No, to their liues, ill friends were contrary
Rich. All vnauoyded is the doome of Destiny
Qu. True: when auoyded grace makes Destiny.My Babes were destin'd to a fairer death,If grace had blest thee with a fairer life
Rich. You speake as if that I had slaine my Cosins?Qu. Cosins indeed, and by their Vnckle couzend,Of Comfort, Kingdome, Kindred, Freedome, Life,Whose hand soeuer lanch'd their tender hearts,Thy head (all indirectly) gaue direction.No doubt the murd'rous Knife was dull and blunt,Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,To reuell in the Intrailes of my Lambes.But that still vse of greefe, makes wilde greefe tame,My tongue should to thy eares not name my Boyes,Till that my Nayles were anchor'd in thine eyes:And I in such a desp'rate Bay of death,Like a poore Barke, of sailes and tackling reft,Rush all to peeces on thy Rocky bosome
Rich. Madam, so thriue I in my enterprizeAnd dangerous successe of bloody warres,As I intend more good to you and yours,Then euer you and yours by me were harm'd
Qu. What good is couer'd with the face of heauen,To be discouered, that can do me good
Rich. Th' aduancement of your children, gentle LadyQu. Vp to some Scaffold, there to lose their heads
Rich. Vnto the dignity and height of Fortune,The high Imperiall Type of this earths glory
Qu. Flatter my sorrow with report of it:Tell me, what State, what Dignity, what Honor,Canst thou demise to any childe of mine
Rich. Euen all I haue; I, and my selfe and all,Will I withall indow a childe of thine:So in the Lethe of thy angry soule,Thou drowne the sad remembrance of those wrongs,Which thou supposest I haue done to thee
Qu. Be breefe, least that the processe of thy kindnesseLast longer telling then thy kindnesse date
Rich. Then know,That from my Soule, I loue thy Daughter
Qu. My daughters Mother thinkes it with her soule
Rich. What do you thinke?Qu. That thou dost loue my daughter from thy souleSo from thy Soules loue didst thou loue her Brothers,And from my hearts loue, I do thanke thee for it
Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:I meane that with my Soule I loue thy daughter,And do intend to make her Queene of England
Qu. Well then, who dost y meane shallbe her King
Rich. Euen he that makes her Queene:Who else should bee?Qu. What, thou?Rich. Euen so: How thinke you of it?Qu. How canst thou woo her?Rich. That I would learne of you,As one being best acquainted with her humour
Qu. And wilt thou learne of me?Rich. Madam, with all my heart
Qu. Send to her by the man that slew her Brothers.A paire of bleeding hearts: thereon ingraueEdward and Yorke, then haply will she weepe:Therefore present to her, as sometime MargaretDid to thy Father, steept in Rutlands blood,A hand-kercheefe, which say to her did dreyneThe purple sappe from her sweet Brothers body,And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withall.If this inducement moue her not to loue,Send her a Letter of thy Noble deeds:Tell her, thou mad'st away her Vnckle Clarence,Her Vnckle Riuers, I (and for her sake)Mad'st quicke conueyance with her good Aunt Anne
Rich. You mocke me Madam, this not the wayTo win your daughter
Qu. There is no other way,Vnlesse thou could'st put on some other shape,And not be Richard, that hath done all this
Ric. Say that I did all this for loue of her
Qu. Nay then indeed she cannot choose but hate theeHauing bought loue, with such a bloody spoyle
Rich. Looke what is done, cannot be now amended:Men shall deale vnaduisedly sometimes,Which after-houres giues leysure to repent.If I did take the Kingdome from your Sonnes,To make amends, Ile giue it to your daughter:If I haue kill'd the issue of your wombe,To quicken your encrease, I will begetMine yssue of your blood, vpon your Daughter:A Grandams name is little lesse in loue,Then is the doting Title of a Mother;They are as Children but one steppe below,Euen of your mettall, of your very blood:Of all one paine, saue for a night of groanesEndur'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 losse you haue, is but a Sonne being King,And by that losse, your Daughter is made Queene.I cannot make you what amends I would,Therefore accept such kindnesse as I can.Dorset your Sonne, that with a fearfull souleLeads discontented steppes in Forraine soyle,This faire Alliance, quickly shall call homeTo high Promotions, and great Dignity.The King that calles your beauteous Daughter Wife,Familiarly shall call thy Dorset, Brother:Againe shall you be Mother to a King:And all the Ruines of distressefull Times,Repayr'd with double Riches of Content.What? we haue many goodly dayes to see:The liquid drops of Teares that you haue shed,Shall come againe, transform'd to Orient Pearle,Aduantaging their Loue, with interestOften-times double gaine of happinesse.Go then (my Mother) to thy Daughter go,Make bold her bashfull yeares, with your experience,Prepare her eares to heare a Woers Tale.Put in her tender heart, th' aspiring FlameOf Golden Soueraignty: Acquaint the PrincesseWith the sweet silent houres of Marriage ioyes:And when this Arme of mine hath chastisedThe petty Rebell, dull-brain'd Buckingham,Bound with Triumphant Garlands will I come,And leade thy daughter to a Conquerors bed:To whom I will retaile my Conquest wonne,And she shalbe sole Victoresse, Cęsars Cęsar
Qu. What were I best to say, her Fathers BrotherWould be her Lord? Or shall I say her Vnkle?Or he that slew her Brothers, and her Vnkles?Vnder what Title shall I woo for thee,That God, the Law, my Honor, and her Loue,Can make seeme pleasing to her tender yeares?Rich. Inferre faire Englands peace by this Alliance
Qu. Which she shall purchase with stil lasting warre
Rich. Tell her, the King that may command, intreats
Qu. That at her hands, which the kings King forbids
Rich. Say she shall be a High and Mighty Queene
Qu. To vaile the Title, as her Mother doth
Rich. Say I will loue her euerlastingly
Qu. But how long shall that title euer last?Rich. Sweetly in force, vnto her faire liues end
Qu. But how long fairely shall her sweet life last?Rich. As long as Heauen and Nature lengthens it
Qu. As long as Hell and Richard likes of it
Rich. Say, I her Soueraigne, am her Subiect low
Qu. But she your Subiect, lothes such Soueraignty
Rich. Be eloquent in my behalfe to her
Qu. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told
Rich. Then plainly to her, tell my louing tale
Qu. Plaine and not honest, is too harsh a style
Rich. Your Reasons are too shallow, and to quicke
Qu. O no, my Reasons are too deepe and dead,Too deepe and dead (poore Infants) in their graues,Harpe on it still shall I, till heart-strings breake
Rich. Harpe not on that string Madam, that is past.Now by my George, my Garter, and my Crowne
Qu. Prophan'd, dishonor'd, and the third vsurpt
Rich. I sweare
Qu. By nothing, for this is no Oath:Thy George prophan'd, hath lost his Lordly Honor;Thy Garter blemish'd, pawn'd his Knightly Vertue;Thy Crowne vsurp'd, disgrac'd his Kingly Glory:If something thou would'st sweare to be beleeu'd,Sweare then by something, that thou hast not wrong'd
Rich. Then by my Selfe
Qu. Thy Selfe, is selfe-misvs'd
Rich. Now by the World
Qu. 'Tis full of thy foule wrongs
Rich. My Fathers death
Qu. Thy life hath it dishonor'd
Rich. Why then, by Heauen
Qu. Heauens wrong is most of all:If thou didd'st feare to breake an Oath with him,The vnity the King my husband made,Thou had'st not broken, nor my Brothers died.If thou had'st fear'd to breake an oath by him,Th' Imperiall mettall, circling now thy head,Had grac'd the tender temples of my Child,And both the Princes had bene breathing heere,Which now two tender Bed-fellowes for dust,Thy broken Faith hath made the prey for Wormes.What can'st thou sweare by now
Rich. The time to come
Qu. That thou hast wronged in the time ore-past:For I my selfe haue many teares to washHeereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee.The Children liue, whose Fathers thou hast slaughter'd,Vngouern'd youth, to waile it with their age:The Parents liue, whose Children thou hast butcher'd,Old barren Plants, to waile it with their Age.Sweare not by time to come, for that thou hastMisvs'd ere vs'd, by times ill-vs'd repast
Rich. As I entend to prosper, and repent:So thriue I in my dangerous AffayresOf hostile Armes: My selfe, my selfe confound:Heauen, and Fortune barre me happy houres:Day, yeeld me not thy light; nor Night, thy rest.Be opposite all Planets of good luckeTo my proceeding, if with deere hearts loue,Immaculate deuotion, holy thoughts,I tender not thy beautious Princely daughter.In her, consists my Happinesse, and thine:Without her, followes to my selfe, and thee;Her selfe, the Land, and many a Christian soule,Death, Desolation, Ruine, and Decay:It cannot be auoyded, but by this:It will not be auoyded, but by this.Therefore deare Mother (I must call you so)Be the Atturney of my loue to her:Pleade what I will be, not what I haue beene;Not my deserts, but what I will deserue:Vrge the Necessity and state of times,And be not peeuish found, in great Designes
Qu. Shall I be tempted of the Diuel thus?Rich. I, if the Diuell tempt you to do good
Qu. Shall I forget my selfe, to be my selfe
Rich. I, if your selfes remembrance wrong your selfe
Qu. Yet thou didst kil my Children
Rich. But in your daughters wombe I bury them.Where in that Nest of Spicery they will breedSelues of themselues, to your recomforture
Qu. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?Rich. And be a happy Mother by the deed
Qu. I go, write to me very shortly,And you shal vnderstand from me her mind.
Exit Q[ueene].
Rich. Beare her my true loues kisse, and so farewell.Relenting Foole, and shallow-changing Woman.How now, what newes?Enter Ratcliffe.
Rat. Most mightie Soueraigne, on the Westerne CoastRideth a puissant Nauie: to our ShoresThrong many doubtfull hollow-hearted friends,Vnarm'd, and vnresolu'd to beat them backe.'Tis thought, that Richmond is their Admirall:And there they hull, expecting but the aideOf Buckingham, to welcome them ashore
Rich. Some light-foot friend post to y Duke of Norfolk:Ratcliffe thy selfe, or Catesby, where is hee?Cat. Here, my good Lord
Rich. Catesby, flye to the Duke
Cat. I will, my Lord, with all conuenient haste
Rich. Catesby come hither, poste to Salisbury:When thou com'st thither: Dull vnmindfull Villaine,Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the Duke?Cat. First, mighty Liege, tell me your Highnesse pleasure,What from your Grace I shall deliuer to him
Rich. O true, good Catesby, bid him leuie straightThe greatest strength and power that he can make,And meet me suddenly at Salisbury
Cat. I goe.Enter.
Rat. What, may it please you, shall I doe at Salisbury?Rich. Why, what would'st thou doe there, before Igoe?Rat. Your Highnesse told me I should poste before
Rich. My minde is chang'd:Enter Lord Stanley.
Stanley, what newes with you?Sta. None, good my Liege, to please you with y hearing,Nor none so bad, but well may be reported
Rich. Hoyday, a Riddle, neither good nor bad:What need'st thou runne so many miles about,When thou mayest tell thy Tale the neerest way?Once more, what newes?Stan. Richmond is on the Seas
Rich. There let him sinke, and be the Seas on him,White-liuer'd Runnagate, what doth he there?Stan. I know not, mightie Soueraigne, but by guesse
Rich. Well, as you guesse
Stan. Stirr'd vp by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,He makes for England, here to clayme the Crowne
Rich. Is the Chayre emptie? is the Sword vnsway'd?Is the King dead? the Empire vnpossest?What Heire of Yorke is there aliue, but wee?And who is Englands King, but great Yorkes Heire?Then tell me, what makes he vpon the Seas?Stan. Vnlesse for that, my Liege, I cannot guesse
Rich. Vnlesse for that he comes to be your Liege,You cannot guesse wherefore the Welchman comes.Thou wilt reuolt, and flye to him, I feare
Stan. No, my good Lord, therefore mistrust me not
Rich. Where is thy Power then, to beat him back?Where be thy Tenants, and thy followers?Are they not now vpon the Westerne Shore,Safe-conducting the Rebels from their Shippes?Stan. No, my good Lord, my friends are in theNorth
Rich. Cold friends to me: what do they in the North,When they should serue their Soueraigne in the West?Stan. They haue not been commanded, mighty King:Pleaseth your Maiestie to giue me leaue,Ile muster vp my friends, and meet your Grace,Where, and what time your Maiestie shall please
Rich. I, thou would'st be gone, to ioyne with Richmond:But Ile not trust thee
Stan. Most mightie Soueraigne,You haue no cause to hold my friendship doubtfull,I neuer was, nor neuer will be false
Rich. Goe then, and muster men: but leaue behindYour Sonne George Stanley: looke your heart be firme,Or else his Heads assurance is but fraile
Stan. So deale with him, as I proue true to you.
Exit Stanley.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My gracious Soueraigne, now in Deuonshire,As I by friends am well aduertised,Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughtie Prelate,Bishop of Exeter, his elder Brother,With many moe Confederates, are in Armes.Enter another Messenger
Mess. In Kent, my Liege, the Guilfords are in Armes,And euery houre more CompetitorsFlocke to the Rebels, and their power growes strong.Enter another Messenger.
Mess. My Lord, the Armie of great Buckingham
Rich. Out on ye, Owles, nothing but Songs of Death,
He striketh him.
There, take thou that, till thou bring better newes
Mess. The newes I haue to tell your Maiestie,Is, that by sudden Floods, and fall of Waters,Buckinghams Armie is dispers'd and scatter'd,And he himselfe wandred away alone,No man knowes whither
Rich. I cry thee mercie:There is my Purse, to cure that Blow of thine.Hath any well-aduised friend proclaym'dReward to him that brings the Traytor in?Mess. Such Proclamation hath been made, my Lord.Enter another Messenger.
Mess. Sir Thomas Louell, and Lord Marquesse Dorset,'Tis said, my Liege, in Yorkeshire are in Armes:But this good comfort bring I to your Highnesse,The Brittaine Nauie is dispers'd by Tempest.Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a BoatVnto the shore, to aske those on the Banks,If they were his Assistants, yea, or no?Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham,Vpon his partie: he mistrusting them,Hoys'd sayle, and made his course againe for Brittaine
Rich. March on, march on, since we are vp in Armes,If not to fight with forraine Enemies,Yet to beat downe these Rebels here at home.Enter Catesby.
Cat. My Liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken,That is the best newes: that the Earle of RichmondIs with a mighty power Landed at Milford,Is colder Newes, but yet they must be told
Rich. Away towards Salsbury, while we reason here,A Royall battell might be wonne and lost:Some one take order Buckingham be broughtTo Salsbury, the rest march on with me.
Florish. Exeunt
Scena Quarta.
Enter Derby, and Sir Christopher.
Der. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me,That in the stye of the most deadly Bore,My Sonne George Stanley is frankt vp in hold:If I reuolt, off goes yong Georges head,The feare of that, holds off my present ayde.So get thee gone: commend me to thy Lord.Withall say, that the Queene hath heartily consentedHe should espouse Elizabeth hir daughter.But tell me, where is Princely Richmond now?Chri. At Penbroke, or at Hertford West in Wales
Der. What men of Name resort to him
Chri. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned Souldier,Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir Iames 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 withall
Der. Well hye thee to thy Lord: I kisse his hand,My Letter will resolue him of my minde.Farewell.
Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter Buckingham with Halberds, led to Execution.
Buc. Will not King Richard let me speake with him?Sher. No my good Lord, therefore be patient
Buc. Hastings, and Edwards children, Gray & Riuers,Holy King Henry, and thy faire Sonne Edward,Vaughan, and all that haue miscarriedBy vnder-hand corrupted foule iniustice,If that your moody discontented soules,Do through the clowds behold this present houre,Euen for reuenge mocke my destruction.This is All-soules day (Fellow) is it not?Sher. It is
Buc. Why then Al-soules day, is my bodies doomsdayThis is the day, which in King Edwards timeI wish'd might fall on me, when I was foundFalse to his Children, and his Wiues Allies.This is the day, wherein I wisht to fallBy the false Faith of him whom most I trusted.This, this All-soules day to my fearfull Soule,Is the determin'd respit of my wrongs:That high All-seer, which I dallied with,Hath turn'd my fained Prayer on my head,And giuen in earnest, what I begg'd in iest.Thus doth he force the swords of wicked menTo turne their owne points in their Masters bosomes.Thus Margarets curse falles heauy on my necke:When he (quoth she) shall split thy heart with sorrow,Remember Margaret was a Prophetesse:Come leade me Officers to the blocke of shame,Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
Exeunt. Buckingham with Officers.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Richmond, Oxford, Blunt, Herbert, and others, with drum and colours.
Richm. Fellowes in Armes, and my most louing FrendsBruis'd vnderneath the yoake of Tyranny,Thus farre into the bowels of the Land,Haue we marcht on without impediment;And heere receiue we from our Father StanleyLines of faire comfort and encouragement:The wretched, bloody, and vsurping Boare,(That spoyl'd your Summer Fields, and fruitfull Vines)Swilles your warm blood like wash, & makes his troughIn your embowel'd bosomes: This foule SwineIs now euen in the Centry of this Isle,Ne're to the Towne of Leicester, as we learne:From Tamworth thither, is but one dayes march.In Gods name cheerely on, couragious Friends,To reape the Haruest of perpetuall peace,By this one bloody tryall of sharpe Warre
Oxf. Euery mans Conscience is a thousand men,To fight against this guilty Homicide
Her. I doubt not but his Friends will turne to vs
Blunt. He hath no friends, but what are friends for fear,Which in his deerest neede will flye from him
Richm. All for our vantage, then in Gods name march,True Hope is swift, and flyes with Swallowes wings,Kings it makes Gods, and meaner creatures Kings.
Exeunt. Omnes.
Enter King Richard in Armes with Norfolke, Ratcliffe, and theEarle ofSurrey.
Rich. Here pitch our Tent, euen here in Bosworth field,My Lord of Surrey, why looke you so sad?Sur. My heart is ten times lighter then my lookes
Rich. My Lord of Norfolke
Nor. Heere most gracious Liege
Rich. Norfolke, we must haue knockes:Ha, must we not?Nor. We must both giue and take my louing Lord
Rich. Vp with my Tent, heere wil I lye to night,But where to morrow? Well, all's one for that.Who hath descried the number of the Traitors?Nor. Six or seuen thousand is their vtmost power
Rich. Why our Battalia trebbles that account:Besides, the Kings name is a Tower of strength,Which they vpon the aduerse Faction want.Vp with the Tent: Come Noble Gentlemen,Let vs suruey the vantage of the ground.Call for some men of sound direction:Let's lacke no Discipline, make no delay,For Lords, to morrow is a busie day.
Exeunt.
Enter Richmond, Sir William Branden, Oxford, and Dorset.
Richm. The weary Sunne, hath made a Golden set,And by the bright Tract of his fiery Carre,Giues token of a goodly day to morrow.Sir William Brandon, you shall beare my Standard:Giue me some Inke and Paper in my Tent:Ile draw the Forme and Modell of our Battaile,Limit each Leader to his seuerall Charge,And part in iust proportion our small Power.My Lord of Oxford, you Sir William Brandon,And your Sir Walter Herbert stay with me:The Earle of Pembroke keepes his Regiment;Good Captaine Blunt, beare my goodnight to him,And by the second houre in the Morning,Desire the Earle to see me in my Tent:Yet one thing more (good Captaine) do for me:Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know?Blunt. Vnlesse I haue mistane his Colours much,(Which well I am assur'd I haue not done)His Regiment lies halfe a Mile at leastSouth, from the mighty Power of the King
Richm. If without perill it be possible,Sweet Blunt, make some good meanes to speak with himAnd giue him from me, this most needfull Note
Blunt. Vpon my life, my Lord, Ile vndertake it,And so God giue you quiet rest to night
Richm. Good night good Captaine Blunt:Come Gentlemen,Let vs consult vpon to morrowes Businesse;Into my Tent, the Dew is rawe and cold.
They withdraw into the Tent.
Enter Richard, Ratcliffe, Norfolke, & Catesby.
Rich. What is't a Clocke?Cat. It's Supper time my Lord, it's nine a clocke
King. I will not sup to night,Giue me some Inke and Paper:What, is my Beauer easier then it was?And all my Armour laid into my Tent?Cat. It is my Liege: and all things are in readinesse
Rich. Good Norfolke, hye thee to thy charge,Vse carefull Watch, choose trusty Centinels,Nor. I go my Lord
Rich. Stir with the Larke to morrow, gentle Norfolk
Nor. I warrant you my Lord.
Exit
Rich. Ratcliffe
Rat. My Lord
Rich. Send out a Pursuiuant at ArmesTo Stanleys Regiment: bid him bring his powerBefore Sun-rising, least his Sonne George fallInto the blinde Caue of eternall night.Fill me a Bowle of Wine: Giue me a Watch,Saddle white Surrey for the Field to morrow:Look that my Staues be sound, & not too heauy. Ratcliff
Rat. My Lord
Rich. Saw'st the melancholly Lord Northumberland?Rat. Thomas the Earle of Surrey, and himselfe,Much about Cockshut time, from Troope to TroopeWent through the Army, chearing vp the Souldiers
King. So, I am satisfied: Giue me a Bowle of Wine,I haue not that Alacrity of Spirit,Nor cheere of Minde that I was wont to haue.Set it downe. Is Inke and Paper ready?Rat. It is my Lord
Rich. Bid my Guard watch. Leaue me.Ratcliffe, about the mid of night come to my TentAnd helpe to arme me. Leaue me I say.
Exit Ratclif.
Enter Derby to Richmond in his Tent.
Der. Fortune, and Victory sit on thy Helme
Rich. All comfort that the darke night can affoord,Be to thy Person, Noble Father in Law.Tell me, how fares our Noble Mother?Der. I by Attourney, blesse thee from thy Mother,Who prayes continually for Richmonds good:So much for that. The silent houres steale on,And flakie darkenesse breakes within the East.In breefe, for so the season bids vs be,Prepare thy Battell early in the Morning,And put thy Fortune to th' ArbitrementOf bloody stroakes, and mortall staring Warre:I, as I may, that which I would, I cannot,With best aduantage will deceiue the time,And ayde thee in this doubtfull shocke of Armes.But on thy side I may not be too forward,Least being seene, thy Brother, tender GeorgeBe executed in his Fathers sight.Farewell: the leysure, and the fearfull timeCuts off the ceremonious Vowes of Loue,And ample enterchange of sweet Discourse,Which so long sundred Friends should dwell vpon:God giue vs leysure for these rites of Loue.Once more Adieu, be valiant, and speed well
Richm. Good Lords conduct him to his Regiment:Ile striue with troubled noise, to take a Nap,Lest leaden slumber peize me downe to morrow,When I should mount with wings of Victory:Once more, good night kinde Lords and Gentlemen.
Exeunt. Manet Richmond.
O thou, whose Captaine I account my selfe,Looke on my Forces with a gracious eye:Put in their hands thy bruising Irons of wrath,That they may crush downe with a heauy fall,Th' vsurping Helmets of our Aduersaries:Make vs thy ministers of Chasticement,That we may praise thee in thy victory:To thee I do commend my watchfull soule,Ere I let fall the windowes of mine eyes:Sleeping, and waking, oh defend me still.
Sleeps.
Enter the Ghost of Prince Edward, Sonne to Henry the sixt.
Gh. to Ri[chard]. Let me sit heauy on thy soule to morrow:Thinke how thou stab'st me in my prime of youthAt Teukesbury: Dispaire therefore, and dye.
Ghost to Richm[ond].
Be chearefull Richmond,For the wronged SoulesOf butcher'd Princes, fight in thy behalfe:King Henries issue Richmond comforts thee.Enter the Ghost of Henry the sixt.