Duch.
Who meets us here?—my niece Plantagenet
Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster^{2 note}

Anne.
God give your graces both
A happy and a joyful time of day!

Q. Eliz.
As much to you, good sister! Whither away* ^note

?

Anne.
No further than the Tower; and, as I guess,
Upon the like devotion as yourselves,

To gratulate the gentle princes there.

Q. Eliz.
Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter all together: Enter Brakenbury.
And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.—
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
How doth the prince, and my young son of York?

Brak.
Right well, dear madam: By your patience,
I may not suffer you to visit them;
The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary.

Q. Eliz.
The king! who's that?

Brak.
I mean, the lord protector.

Q. Eliz.
The Lord protect him from that kingly title!
Hath he set bounds between their love, and me?
I am their mother, who shall bar me from them?

Duch.
I am their father's mother, I will see them.

Anne.
Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:
Then bring me to their sights^{3 note}

Brak.
No, madam, no, I may not leave it so^{4 note};
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. [Exit Brakenbury. Enter Stanley.

Stan.
Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,

And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.—
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster. [To the Duchess of Gloster.
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

Q. Eliz.
Ah, cut my lace asunder!
That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,
Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.

Anne.
Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!

Dor.
Be of good cheer:—Mother, how fares your grace?

Q. Eliz.
O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone,
Death and destruction dog thee at the heels;
Thy mother's name is ominous to children:
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.
Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house,
Lest thou increase the number of the dead;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,—
Nor mother, wife^{4 note}, nor England's counted queen.

Stan.
Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam:—
Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
You shall have letters from me to my son
In your behalf, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

Duch.
O ill-dispersing wind of misery!—
O my accursed womb, the bed of death;
A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
Whose unavoided eye is murderous^{5 note}

Stan.
Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.

Anne.
And I with all unwillingness will go.—
O, would to God, that the inclusive verge
Of golden metal, that must round my brow,
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain^{6 note}

Anointed let me be with deadly venom;
And die, ere men can say—God save the queen!

Q. Eliz.
Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory;
To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.

Anne.
No! why?—When he, that is my husband now,
Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse;
When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands,
Which issu'd from my other angel husband,
And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd;
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
This was my wish,—Be thou, quoth I, accurs'd,
For making me, so young, so old a widow!
And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife (if any be so mad)
More miserable by the life of thee,
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Even in so short a space, my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words,
And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse:
Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest;
For never yet one hour in his bed^{6 note}

Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

Q. Eliz.
Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining.

Anne.
No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.

Dor.
Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory!

Anne.
Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it!

Duch.
Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!— [To Dorset.
Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee!— [To Anne.
Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee! [To Q. Elizabeth.
I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!
Eighty odd years^{8 note} of sorrow have I seen,
And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen^{9 note}

Q. Eliz.
Stay yet^{1 note}; look back, with me, unto the Tower.—
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes,
Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls!
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
Rude ragged nurse! old sullen play-fellow^{2 note}

SCENE II. A Room of State in the Palace. Flourish of Trumpets. Richard, as King upon his Throne; Buckingham, Catesby, a Page, and Others.

K. Rich.
Stand all apart.—Cousin of Buckingham,—

Buck.
My gracious sovereign.

K. Rich.
Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice,
And thy assistance, is king Richard seated:—
But shall we wear these glories for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

Buck.
Still live they, and for ever let them last!

K. Rich.
Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch^{4 note}

Buck.
Say on, my loving lord.

K. Rich.
Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king.

Buck.
Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned liege.

K. Rich.
Ha! am I king? 'Tis so: but Edward lives.

Buck.
True, noble prince.

K. Rich.
O bitter consequence,
That Edward still should live,—true, noble prince!—
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull:—
Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead;
And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief.

Buck.
Your grace may do your pleasure.

K. Rich.
Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezes:
Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die?

Buck.
Give me some breath, some little pause, dear lord,
Before I positively speak in this:
I will resolve your grace immediately. [Exit Buckingham.

Cate.
The king is angry; see, he gnaws his lip^{5 note}. [Aside.

K. Rich.
I will converse with iron-witted fools, [Descends from his Throne.
And unrespective boys^{6 note}

High reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.—
Boy,—

Page.
My lord.

K. Rich.
Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting gold
Would tempt unto a close exploit^{7 note} of death?

Page.
I know a discontented gentleman,
Whose humble means match not his haughty mind:
Gold were as good as twenty orators,
And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.

K. Rich.
What is his name?

Page.
His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.

K. Rich.
I partly know the man; Go, call him hither, boy.— [Exit Page.
The deep-revolving witty^{8 note}

Stan.
Know, my loving lord^{9 note}

K. Rich.
Come hither, Catesby: rumour it abroad,
That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;
I will take order for her keeping close^{1 note}

Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.— Re-enter Page, with Tyrrel.
Is thy name—Tyrrel^{5 note}

Tyr.
James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

K. Rich.
Art thou, indeed?

Tyr.
Prove me, my gracious lord.

K. Rich.
Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

Tyr.
Please you; but I had rather kill two enemies.

K. Rich.
Why, then thou hast it; two deep enemies,
Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers,

Are they that I would have thee deal upon^{6 note}

Tyr.
Let me have open means to come to them,
And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.

K. Rich.
Thou sing'st sweet musick. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel;
Go, by this token:—Rise, and lend thine ear: [Whispers.
There is no more but so:—Say, it is done,
And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it^{7 note}
.

Tyr.
I will despatch it straight. [Exit. Re-enter Buckingham.

Buck.
My lord, I have consider'd in my mind
The late demand that you did sound me in.

K. Rich.
Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to Richmond.

Buck.
I hear the news, my lord.

K. Rich.
Stanley, he is your wife's son:—Well, look to it.

Buck.
My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,
For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd;
The earldom of Hereford^{8 note}

Which you have promised I shall possess.

K. Rich.
Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

Buck.
What says your highness to my just request?

K. Rich.
I do remember me,—Henry the sixth
Did prophecy, that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
A king!—perhaps^{9 note}

Buck.
My lord,—

K. Rich.
How chance, the prophet could not at that time,
Have told me, I being by^{9 note}, that I should kill him?

Buck.
My lord, your promise for the earldom,—

K. Rich.
Richmond!—When last I was at Exeter,
The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle,
And call'd it—Rouge-mont^{1 note}: at which name, I started;
Because a bard of Ireland told me once,
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

Buck.
My, lord,—

K. Rich.
Ay, what's o'clock?

Buck.
I am thus bold to put your grace in mind
Of what you promis'd me.

K. Rich.
Well, but what's o'clock?

Buck.
Upon the stroke of ten.

K. Rich.
Well, let it strike^{2 note}.

Buck.
Why, let it strike?

K. Rich.
Because that, like a Jack^{3 note}

Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I am not in the giving vein to-day.

Buck.
Why, then resolve me whether you will, or no.

K. Rich.
Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. [Exeunt King Richard and Train.

Buck.
And is it thus? repays he my deep service
With such contempt? made I him king for this?
O, let me think on Hastings; and be gone
To Brecknock^{4 note}, while my fearful head is on. [Exit. SCENE III. The Same. Enter Tyrrel.

Tyr.
The tyrannous and bloody act is done;
The most arch deed of piteous massacre,
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton, and Forrest, whom I did suborn
To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion,
Wept like two children, in their death's sad story.
O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes,—
Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms:
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay^{5 note}

Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind;
But, O, the devil—there the villain stopp'd;
When Dighton thus told on,—we smother'd
The most replenished sweet work of nature,
That, from the prime creation, e'er she fram'd.
Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse,
They could not speak; and so I left them both,
To bear this tidings to the bloody king. Enter King Richard.
And here he comes:—All health, my sovereign lord!

K. Rich.
Kind Tyrrel! am I happy in thy news?

Tyr.
If to have done the thing you gave in charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then,
For it is done.

K. Rich.
But did'st thou see them dead?

Tyr.
I did, my lord.

K. Rich.
And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

Tyr.
The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
But where, to say the truth, I do not know.

K. Rich.
Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper,
When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Mean time, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell, till then* ^note.

Tyr.
I humbly take my leave. [Exit.

K. Rich.
The son of Clarence have I pen'd up close^{6 note};
His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage^{7 note};
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond^{8 note} aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown,
To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. Enter Catesby.

Cate.
My lord,—

K. Rich.
Good news or bad, that thou com'st in so bluntly?

Cate.
Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond;
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,
Is in the field, and still his power encreaseth.

K. Rich.
Ely with Richmond troubles me more near,
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
Come,—I have learn'd, that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor^{9 note}
to dull delay;
Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary:
Then firy expedition^{1 note}

be my wing,
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!
Go, muster men: My counsel is my shield;
We must be brief, when traitors brave the field. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The Same. Before the Palace. Enter Queen Margaret.

Q. Mar.
So, now prosperity begins to mellow^{2 note}

And will to France; hoping, the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! who comes here? Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York.

Q. Eliz.
Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender bades!
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air,
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,
Hover about me with your airy wings,
And hear your mother's lamentation!

Q. Mar.
Hover about her; say, that right for right^{4 note}

Duch.
So many miseries have craz'd my voice,
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute,—
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

Q. Mar.
Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

Q. Eliz.
Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,

And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
When didst thou sleep^{5 note}

Q. Mar.
When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.

Duch.
Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost,
Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,
Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, [Siting down.
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood!

Q. Eliz.
Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a grave,
As thou can'st yield a melancholy seat;
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here!
Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we? [Sitting down by her.

Q. Mar.
If ancient sorrow be most reverent,
Give mine the benefit of seniory^{6 note}

And let my griefs frown on the upper hand^{7 note}

.
If sorrowcan 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 Henry^{8 note}

Duch.
I had a Richard too, and thou did'st kill him;
I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.

Q. Mar.
Thou had'st 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^{9 note}

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^{3 note}, 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 tragick play,
The adulterate Hastings^{4 note}

Q. Eliz.
O, thou didst prophecy, the time would come,
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^{6 note},

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* ^note

,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot^{7 note}
;
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^{8 note}


?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this^{9 note}, 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.* ^note]

Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about^{1 note},
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 mischance,—
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^{2 note} the day;
Compare dead happiness with living woe;
Think that thy babes were fairer^{3 note} than they were,
And he, that slew them, fouler than he is:
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse^{4 note}

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 attorneys to their client woes^{5 note}

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* ^note, 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 crown,
Where should be branded† ^note, if that right were right,
The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown^{8 note}
,
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 yourself.

Duch.
Then patiently hear my impatience.

K. Rich.
Madam, I have a touch of your condition^{9 note}

[Duch.
O, let me speak.

K. Rich.
Do, then; but I'll not hear* ^note.]

Duch.
I will be mild and gentle in my words.

K. Rich.
And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.

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^{1 note}

K. Rich.
'Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour^{3 note}

To breakfast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,

Let me march on, and not offend you, madam* ^note.—
Strike up the drum.

[Duch.
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† ^note

.]

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 cómplete 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^{4 note}, 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^{5 note}

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^{6 note}

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^{7 note} good stars were opposite.

Q. Eliz.
No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.

K. Rich.
All unavoided^{8 note}
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.

[* ^noteK. 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 lanc'd their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction^{9 note}

To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use^{2 note}
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 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^{3 note}

Q. Eliz.
Flatter my sorrows with report of it;
Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou demise^{4 note}

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^{5 note}

,
Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee.

Q. Eliz.
Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date* ^note.

K. Rich.
Then know, that from my soul, I love thy daughter.

Q. Eliz.
My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.

K. Rich.
What do you think?

Q. Eliz.
That thou dost love my daughter, from thy soul:
So, from thy soul's love, did'st 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 meaning.
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.
I, even I: What think you of it, madam^{6 note}

Q. Eliz.
How canst thou woo her?

K. Rich.
That I would learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humour.

Q. Eliz.
And wilt thou learn of me?

K. Rich.
Madam, with all my heart^{7 note}

Q. Eliz.
Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave,
Edward and York; then, haply, will she weep:
Therefore present to her,—as sometime Margaret^{8 note}
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† ^note;
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. ^note

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^{9 note} all this for love of her?

Q. Eliz.
Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but hate thee^{1 note}

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 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^{3 note}

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^{6 note}

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 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 lasting war.

K. Rich.
Tell her, the king, that may command, entreats.

Q. Eliz.
That at her hands, which the king's King forbids^{8 note}

K. Kich.
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^{9 note}

?

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 sov'reign, am her subject low^{1 note}
.

Q. Eliz.
But she, your subject, loaths such sov'reignty.

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^{2 note}
.

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;—
Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.

K. Rich.
Harp not^{3 note}

Q. Eliz.
Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings break.

K. Rich.
Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,—

Q. Eliz.
Profan'd, dishonour'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 honour;
Thy garter^{4 note}
, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory:
If something thou would'st 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.
Then, by myself,—

Q. Eliz.
Thyself is self-mis-us'd* ^note.

K. Rich.
Why then, by heaven,—

Q. Eliz.
God's wrong is most of all.
If thou had'st fear'd to break an oath by him^{5 note}

If thou had'st 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^{7 note}

K. Rich.
By the time to come^{9 note}.

Q. Eliz.
That thou hast wronged in the time o'er-past;
For I myself have many tears to wash
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^{1 note}:
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
Misus'd ere used, by times ill-us'd o'er-past.

K. Rich.
As I intend to prosper, and repent!
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt^{2 note}
Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!

Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours^{3 note}!
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:
Urge the necessity and state of times,
And be not peevish^{4 note}

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 your self's remembrance wrong yourself.

Q. Eliz.
But thou did'st kill my children.

K. Rich.
But in your daughter's womb I bury them:
Where in that nest of spicery, they shall breed^{5 note}

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^{6 note},
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^{7 note}!
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.

K. Rich.
Some light-foot friend post to the duke^{8 note} 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^{9 note}: 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' 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.

Cate.
I go. [Exit.

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?

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 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^{1 note}
, 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^{2 note}

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^{3 note}; 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-cónducting the rebels from their ships.

Stan.
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 would'st be gone to join with Richmond:
I will not trust you, sir^{4 note}.

Stan.
Most mighty sovereign,
You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful.
I never was, nor never will be false.

K. Rich.
Well, go, muster men. But, hear, you leave behind
Your son, George Stanley; look your heart befirm,
Or else his head's assurance is but frail.

Stan.
So deal with him, as I prove true to you. [Exit Stanley.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
As I by friends am well advértised,
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate,
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,
With many more confederates, are in arms. Enter a Messenger.

2 Mess.
In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in arms;
And every hour more competitors^{5 note}

3 Mess.
My lord, the army of great Buckingham—

K. 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^{6 note}



to tell your majesty,
Is,—that, by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd;
And he himself 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:
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks,
If they were his assistants, yea, or no;
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne^{7 note}.

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. Enter Catesby.

Cate.
My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken,
That is the best news; That the earl of Richmond
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford^{8 note},
Is colder news, but yet they must be told^{9 note}

K. Rich.
Away towards Salisbury; while we reason here^{1 note},
A royal battle might be won and lost^{2 note}

SCENE V. A Room in Lord Stanley's House. Enter Stanley and Sir Christopher Urswick.

Stan.
Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me^{3 note}

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^{4 note}


.
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^{5 note}

;
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.

Previous section

Next section