Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,
[Sitting down.
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood!
Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat; [grave,
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here!
Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we?
[Sitting down by her.
Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent,
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.
Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill
I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. [him;
Q. Mar. 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 handy-work;
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!
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 [come,
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. [chance,-
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 a while,
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. [thine!
Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them with
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 attorneys 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-ty'd go with me,
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'd 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 And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? [Clarence? Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey? Duch. Where is kind Hastings? [drums!
K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets!-strike alaruins,
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord's anointed: Strike, I say.-
[Flourish. Alaruvs.
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 yourself.
Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience.
K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
That cannot brook the accent of reproof.
Duch. O, let me speak.
K. Rich.
Do, then; but I'll not hear.
Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words.
K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste. | To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
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 grac'd 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.
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 enterprize,
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 hea-
To be discover'd, that can do me good? [ven,
K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle
lady.
Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their
K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune,
The high imperial type of this earth's glory.
Q. Eliz. Flatter iny sorrows with report of it;
Tell me,
what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou demise to any child of mine?
K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all,
Hear me a word, 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.
For I shall never speak to thee again.
Duch. 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 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 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.
Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse
Abides in me; I say amen to her.
K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with you. Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood, 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. Elis. No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.
K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
Q. Eliz. 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.
K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my cou-
Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hands soever lanc'd 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,
Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kind-
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.
[ness
K. Rich. Then know, that, from my soul, I love thy
daughter.
Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her
K. Rich. What do you think?
[soul.
Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from
As one being best acquainted with her humour.
Q. Elis. And wilt thou learn of me?
K. Rich.
Madam, with all my heart.
Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her bro-
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave, [thers,
Edward, and York; then, haply, 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 could'st 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 doating 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 fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity:
Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style.
K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.
Q. E.iz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead;-
Too 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
break.
[crown,-
K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my
Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.
K. Rich. I swear.
Q. Elis.
By nothing for this is no oath.
Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy 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.
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 dishonour'd.
K. Rich. Why then, by God,-
Q. Eliz.
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 sov'reignty; 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 victress, Cæsar's Cæsar.
Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's
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?
K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.
Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still last-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 found in great designs.
God's wrong is most of all.
If thou had'st 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 grac'd 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?
K. Rich.
By the time to come.
Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time o'er-
For I myself have many tears to wash
[past;
Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee.
The children live, whose parents thou hast slaughter'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 with their age.
Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
Mis-us'd ere used, by times ill-us'd o'er-past.
K. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent!
bro-So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
[ther 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,
[entreats. K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command, Q. Eliz. That at her-hands, which the king's King forbids.
K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.
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
[it.
K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature lengthens
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, loaths such sov'reignty.
K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
Q. Elis. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly
told.
[tale.
K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving
Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.
Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself, to be myself?
K. Rich.Ay, if yourself's remembrance wrong your-
Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children. [self.
K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury them :
Where, in that nest of spicery, 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. ELIZABETH. 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 : 'Tis thought, that Richmond is their admiral; And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. [Norfolk: K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke of 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? Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' pleaWhat from your grace I shall deliver to him. [sure, 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 would'st thou do there, before I go? Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before. Enter STANLEY. K. Rich. My mind is chang'd.—Stanley, what news with you? [hearing; Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with the 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 may'st 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 Mor[ton, 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?
Star. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. K. Rich. Cold friends to me: What do they in the north,
When they should serve their sovereign in the west?
Stan. 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. K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with I will not trust you, sir. [Richmond: Stan.
Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful; I never was, nor never will be false. [behind
K. Rich.Well, go, muster men. But, hear you, leave Your son, George Stanley; look your heart be firm, Or else his head's assurance is but frail. Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you. [Exit STANLEY.
Mess. 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 more confederates, are in arms. Enter another Messenger.
2 Mess. 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.
3 Mess. My lord, the army of great BuckinghamK. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of death? [He strikes him. There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty, Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd ; Is, that, by sudden floods and fall of waters, And he himself wander'd away alone,
No man knows whither.
K. Rich.
O, I cry you 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?
3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.
Enter another Messenger.
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,-
The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempest:
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks,
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat
If they were his assistants, yea, or no;
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne.
Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up in
If not to fight with foreign enemies, [arms;
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.
Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken,
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford,
That is the best news; That the earl of Richmond
Is colder news, but yet they must be told.
A royal battle might be won and lost.-
K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury; while we reason
Some one take order, Buckingham be brought
[here,
To Salisbury; the rest march on with me. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.-A Room in Lord Stanley's House. Enter STANLEY and Sir CHRISTOPHER URSWICK. Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me : That, in the sty of this most bloody boar,
My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold;
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.
SCENE I.-Salisbury. An open Place. Enter the Sheriff and Guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution.
Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with him?
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 dooms-
This is the day, which, in king Edward's time, [day,
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.
That high All-seer which I dallied with,
Hath turned 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 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 colours, RICHMOND, OXFORD, Sir JAMES BLUNT, Sir WALTER HERBERT, and others, with Forces, marching.
Rich. 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
Lies now even in the center 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.
Orf. 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 Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him. [fear; Rich. All for our vantage. Then, in God's name,
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. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? [field.— 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
Nor. We must both give and take. my loving lord. K. Rich. 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?
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 direction :Let's want no discipline, make no delay; For, lords, to-morrow 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 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.
Richm. If without peril it be possible, Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with 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,
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