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-fellows with others' moan!
Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes;
God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
Q. Mar. 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;
Thy other Edward dead to quit my Edward;
Young York he is but boot, because both they
Match not the high perfection of my loss.
Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward;
And the beholders of this tragic play,
The 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 to say, The dog is dead!
Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy the time would
That I should wish for thee to help me curse
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad.
Q. Mar. 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 flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all 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 sued to, one that humbly sues;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
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 wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.
Farewell, York's wife,-and queen of sad mis-
These English woes shall make me smile in France. Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile, And teach me how to curse mine enemies!
Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day;
Compare dead happiness with living woe;
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
And he that slew them, fouler than he is:
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.
Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O quicken them
with thine!
Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and
pierce like mine. [Exit Q. MARGARET.
Duch. Why should calamity be full of words?
Q. Eliz. Windy attornies to their client woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries!
Let them have scope: though what they do impart
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.
Duch. If so, then be not tongue-tyed: go with me,
• Companion. Thrown into the bargain. Flaring.
And in the breath of bitter words let's smother My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd. [Drum within.
I hear his drum,-be copious in exclaims.
Enter KING RICHARD, and his Train, marching.
K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition?
Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her accursed womb,
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done.
Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden
Where should be branded, if that right were right, The slaughter of the prince that ow'd2 that crown. And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers? Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children? Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence?
And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?
Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?
Duch. Where is kind Hastings?
K. Rich. 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.
Duch. Art thou my son?
K. Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and your
Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee, God knows, in torment and in agony.
K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?
Duch. 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, desperate, 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 graced me in thy company?
K. Rich. Faith none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd your grace
To breakfast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,
Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.—
Strike up the drum.
I pr'ythee, hear me speak.
K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.
Duch.
Hear me a word;
For I shall never speak to thee again.
K. Rich. So.
Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordi-
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror:
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish,
And never look upon thy face again.
Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more,
Than all the complete armor 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.
Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse Abides in me; I say amen to her. [Going. K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with
For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,--|
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;
And therefore level not to hit their lives."
K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd-Elizabeth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
Q. Eliz. 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.
K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.
Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say-she is not so.
K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth.
Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her brothers.
K. Rich. Lo, at their births, good stars were
opposite.
Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were con-
trary.
K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny:
My babes were destined to a fairer death,
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.
K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my
cousins.
Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle
cozen'd
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hands soever lanced their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still 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 desperate bay of death,
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.
K. Rich. 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!
Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of
heaven,
To be discover'd, that can do me good?
K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle lady.
Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?
K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth's glory.
Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it;
Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honor,
Canst thou demises to any child of mine?
K. Rich. 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.
Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy
K. Rich. What do you think?
Q. Eliz. 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.
K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my mean-
ing:
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And do intend to make her queen of England.
Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall
be her king?
K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen: Who
else should be?
Q. Eliz. What, thou?
K. Rich.
Even so: What think you
of it, madam?
Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her?
K. Rich.
That I would learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humor.
Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?
Madam, with all my heart.
Constant. • Bequeath.
Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slow her
brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave,
Edward, and York; then, haply,9 will she weep:
Therefore present to her, as sometime 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.
K. Rich. You mock me, madam; this is not the
way
To win your daughter.
Q. Eliz.
There is no other way;
Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.
K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her?
Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose
but have thee,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now
amended;
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give 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 doting title of a mother!
They are as children, but one step below,
Even of your mettle, 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 air alliance quickly shall call 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 the aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess
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 vict'ress, Cæsar's Cæsar.
Q. Eliz. 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 honor, and her love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.
Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still last-
ing war.
K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command
entreats.
Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's King
Q. Eliz. To wail the title as her mother doth. K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly.
Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last? K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?
K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature, lengthens it.
Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it. K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low. Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.
K. Rich. Be eloquent, in my behalf, to her. Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told.
K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving tale.
Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style.
K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow, and too quick.
Q. Eliz. O no, my reasons are too deep and dead
Two deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam, that is past.
Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings
K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter,2 and my crown,
Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonor'd, and the third usurp'd.
K. Rich. I swear. Q. Eliz. By nothing; for this is no oath. Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honor; Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue; Thy crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory: If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd,. Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. K. Rich. Now, by the world,Q. Eliz.
'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.
K. Rich. My father's death,Q. Eliz.
Thy life hath that dishonor'd.
K. Rich. Then, by myself,Q. Eliz.
K. Rich. Why then, by God,Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him, The unity, the king thy brother made,' Had not been broken, nor my brother slain; If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him, The imperial metal, circling now thy head, Had graced the tender temples of my child; And both the princes had been breathing here, Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust, Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now?
By the time to come. Q. Eliz. 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 parents thou hast slaugh-
ter'd,
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age:
The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd,
Old barren plants, to wail it in their age:
Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
Misused, ere used, by times ill-used o'er-past.
K. Rich. As I intend to prosper and repent,
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
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 pure 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:
2 The ensigns of the Order of the Garter.
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Where, in that nest of spisery,4 they shall breed
Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.
Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?
K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed.
Q. Eliz. I go.-Write to me very shortly,
And you shall understand from me her mind.
K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so
farewell. [Kissing her. Exit Q. ELIZ.
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing-woman!
How now? what news?
Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following. Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back: And there they hull, expecting but the aid 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;
Of Buckingham, to welcome them ashore.
K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke
of Norfolk:-
Ratcliff, thyself,-or Catesby; where is he?
Cate. Here, my good lord.
K. Rich.
Catesby, fly to the duke.
Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.
K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither: Post to Salisbury;
When thou com'st thither,-Dull unmindful villain,
[TO CATESBY
Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke? Cute. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' pleasure,
What from your grace I shall deliver to him.
K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby;-Bid him levy
straight
The greatest strength and power he can make,
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.
Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury!
K. Rich. Why, what wouldst thou do there, before I go?
Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before Enter STANLEY.
K. Rich. My mind is changed.-Stanley, what news with you?
Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with the hearing;
Nor none so bad, but well may be reported.
K. Rich. Heyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!
What need'st thou run so many miles about,
When thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way?
Once more, what news?
Stan.
Richmond is on the seas.
K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on
him!
White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?
Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
K. Rich. Well, as you guess?
Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and
Morton,
He makes for England, here to claim the crown. K. Rich. 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?
Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. K. Rich. 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.
Stan. No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not.
K. Rich. 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?
The phoenix's nest.
And every hour more competitors5
4 Mess. 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,-
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat.
The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempests:
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks,
If they were his assistants, yea, or no;
Upon his party; he, mistrusting them,
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne.
K. Rich. 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.
That, in the sty of this most bloody boar,
My son George Stanley is frank'ds up in hold;
Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
The fear of that withholds my present aid.
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?
Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in Wales.
Stan. What men of name resort to him?
Chris. 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 fame and worth:
And towards London do they bend their course,
If by the way they be not fought withal.
Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; commend me
to him;
Tell him, the queen hath heartily consented
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
These letters will resolve him of my mind.
Farewell. [Gives Papers to SIR CHRISTOPHER.
[Exeunt.
Sher. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.
Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers,
Grey,
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, fellows, is it not?
Sher. It is, my lord."
Buck. 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, or 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.6
That high All-seer which I dallied with,
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Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head,
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
To turn their own points on 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, sirs, convey me to the block of shame,
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
[Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, &C
SCENE II.-Plain near Tamworth.
Enter, with Drum and Colors, RICHMOND, OXFORD,
SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and
others, with Forces, marching.
Richm. 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
Chaplain to the countess of Richmond.
A frank is a sty in which hogs are fattened
In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine
Lies 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.
Every man's conscience is a thousand
swords,
To fight against that bloody homicide.
Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends for fear;
Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him. Richm. 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 III-Bosworth Field.
Enter KING RICHARD, and Forces; the DUKE OF
NORFOLK, EARL OF SURREY, and others.
K. Rick. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bos-
worth field.-
My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?
Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.
K. Rich. My lord of Norfolk,-
Nor.
Here, most gracious liege. K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks; Ha! must we not?
Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord. K. Rich. Up with my tent: Here will I lie tonight;
[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?
Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.
K. Rich. 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 directions:-
Let's want no discipline, make no delay;
For, lords, to-inorrow is a busy day.
Enter, on the other Side of the Field, RICHMOND,
SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, and other Lords.
Some of the Soldiers pitch RICHMOND'S Tent.
Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set,
And, by the bright track 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 colors 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.
Richm. If without peril it be possible,
Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak
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!
Richm. Good night, good captain Blunt. Come,
gentlemen,
Let us consult upon to-morrow's business;
In to my tent, the air is raw and cold.
[They withdraw into the Tent.
Enter, to his Tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK, RAT-
CLIFF, and CATESBY.
K. Rich. What is't o'clock?
Cate.
It's nine o'clock.
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.com.bd/books/content?id=qxM4AAAAYAAJ&output=html_text&pg=PA475&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=editions:UOM39015070194660&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U1MQzpLA0qrlDWStTIAKcl-gCZ56A&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=488,156,381,336)
K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord North-
umberland?
Rat. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself,
Much about cock-shut2 time, from troop to troop
Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.
K. Rich. 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.-
So, set it down.-Is ink and paper ready?
Rat. It is, my lord.
K. Rich.
Bid my guard watch; leave me.
About the mid of night, come to my tent,
And help to arm me.-Leave me, I say.
[KING RICHARD retires into his Tent. Exeunt
RATCLIFF and CATESBY.
RICHMOND'S Tent opens, and discovers him, and
his Officers, &c.
Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!
Richm. All comfort that the dark night can afford,
Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!
Tell me, how fares our loving mother?
Stan. 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-sunder'd friends should dwell upon
God give us leisure for these rites of love!
Once more, adieu:-Be valiant, and speed well.
Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment:
I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap;
Lest leaden slumber peise3 me down to-morrow,
When I should mount with wings of victory:
Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.
[Exeunt Lords, &c. with STANLEY
Look on my forces with a gracious eye;
O Thou! whose captain I account myself,
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall
The usurping helmets of our adversaries!
That we may praise thee in the victory!
Make us thy ministers of chastisement,
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.
The Ghost of PRINCE EDWARD, son to HENRY
THE SIXTH, rises between the two Tents.
Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow.
[To KING RICHARD.
It's supper time, my lord: Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth
At Tewksbury; Despair, therefore, and die !-
K. Rich.
I will not sup to-night.-
Give me some ink and paper.-
• A watch-light.
Twilight.
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