Queen.
Oh, my poor children!—Oh, my tender babes!
My unblown flowers, pluck'd by untimely hands;
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.
Why slept their guardian angels, when this deed was done?

Dut of York.
So many miseries have drain'd my eyes,
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute;
Why should calamity be full of words?

Queen.
Let's give 'em scope; for tho' they can't remove,
Yet do they ease affliction.

Dut. of York.
Why then, let us be loud in exclamations,
To Richard haste, and pierce him with our cries; [Trumpet sounds a March.
Hark! his trumpet sounds—this way he must pass.

Queen.
Alas! I've not the daring to confront him.

Dut. of York.
I have a mother's right, I'll force him hear me. Enter Glo'ster and Catesby, with Forces. Trumpet sounds a March.

Glo'st.
Who interrupts me in my expedition?

Dut. of York.
Dost thou not know me? Art thou not my son?

Glo'st.
I cry you mercy, madam, is it you?

Dut. of York.
Art thou my son?

Glo'st.
Ay, I thank heav'n, my father, and yourself.

Dut. of York.
Then I command thee, hear me.

Glo'st.
Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
That cannot brook the accent of reproof.

Dut. of York.
Stay, I'll be mild and gentle in my words.

Glo'st.
And brief, good mother, for I am in haste.

Dut. of York.
Why, I have staid for thee (just heaven knows)
In torment and in agony.

Glo'st.
And came I not at last to comfort you?

Dut. of York.
No, on my soul; too well thou know'st it,
A grievous burden was thy birth to me,
Techy and wayward was thy infancy,
Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and stubborn,
Thy age confirm'd, most subtle, proud, and bloody.

Glo'st.
If I am so disgracious in your eye,
Let me march on, and not offend you, madam;
Strike up the drum.

Dut. of York.
Yet stay, I charge thee hear me.

Queen.
If not, hear me—for I have wrongs will speak,
Without a tongue—Methinks the very sight
Of me should turn thee into stone;
Where are my children, Glo'ster?

Dut. of York.
Where is thy brother Clarence?

Queen.
Where Hastings?

Dut. of York.
Rivers?

Queen.
Vaughan?

Dut. of York.
Grey?

* ^noteGlo'st.
A flourish, trumpets; strike alarum, drums.
Let not the heav'ns hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the heav'n's anointed—Strike, I say. [Alarm of Drums and Trumpets.
Either be patient, and intreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.

Dut. of York.
Then hear me, heav'n, and heav'n at his latest hour
Be deaf to him, as he is now to me!
Ere from his war he 'turn a conqueror,
Ye powers, cut off his dangerous thread of life,
Lest his black sins rise higher in account,
Than hell has pains to punish!
Mischance and sorrow wait thee to the field!
Heart's discontent, languid, and lean despair,
With all the hells of guilt, pursue thy steps, for ever! [Exit.

Queen.
Tho' far more cause, yet much less power to curse,
Abides in me—I say Amen to her.

Glo'st.
Stay, madam, I would beg some words with you.

Queen.
What canst thou ask, that I have now to grant?
Is't another son? Glo'ster, I have none.

Glo'st.
You have a beauteous daughter, call'd Elizabeth.

Queen.
Must she die, too?

Glo'st.
For whose fair sake I'll bring more good to you,
Than ever you or yours from me had harm:
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
Thou'lt drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs
Which thou supposest me the cruel cause of.

Queen.
Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.

Glo'st.
Know then, that from my soul I love the fair
Elizabeth, and will, with your permission,
Seat her on the throne of England.

Queen.
Alas! vain man, how canst thou woo her?

Glo'st.
That I would learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humour.

Queen.
If thou wilt learn of me, then woo her thus:
Send to her, by the man that kill'd her brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts—thereon engrav'd,
Edward and York—then haply will she weep.
On this present her with an handkerchief,
Stain'd with their blood, to wipe her woeful eyes:
If this inducement move her not to love,
Read o'er the history of thy noble deeds;
Tell her, thy policy took off her uncles,
Clarence, Rivers, Grey, nay, and, for her sake,
Made quick conveyance with her dear aunt Anne.

Glo'st.
You mock me, madam; this is not the way
To win your daughter.

Queen.
What shall I say? still to affront his love,
I fear will but incense him to revenge;
And to consent, I should abhor myself:
Yet I may seemingly comply, and thus,
By sending Richmond word of his intent,
Shall gain some time to let my child escape him.
It shall be so. [Aside.
I have consider'd, sir, of your important wishes,
And could I but believe you real—

Glo'st.
Now by the sacred hosts of saints above—

Queen.
Oh do not swear, my lord; I ask no oath,
Unless my daughter doubt you more than I.

Glo'st.
Oh, my kind mother! (I must call you so)
Be thou to her my love's soft orator;
Plead what I will be, not what I have been,
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve.
And when this warlike arm shall have chastis'd
The audacious rebel, hot-brain'd Buckingham;
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
And lead your daughter to a conqueror's bed.

Queen.
My lord, farewel—in some few days expect
To hear how fair a progress I have made:
Till when, be happy as you're penitent.

Glo'st.
My heart goes with you to my love. Farewel, [Exit Queen.
Relenting, shallow-thoughted woman! Enter Ratcliff.
How now! the news!

Ratcliff.
Most gracious sovereign, on the western coasts,
Rides a most powerful navy, and our fears
Inform us Richmond is their admiral.
There do they hull, expecting but the aid
Of Buckingham, to welcome them ashore. [Exit.

Glo'st.
We must prevent him then—Come hither, Catesby.

Catesby.
My lord, your pleasure!

Glo'st.
Post to the duke of Norfolk, instantly,
Bid him straight levy all the strength and power
That he can make, and meet me suddenly,
At Salisbury—Commend me to his grace—away. [Exit Catesby. Enter Lord Stanley.
Well, my lord, what news have you gather'd?

Stanley.
Richmond is on the seas, my lord?

Glo'st
There let him sink—and be the seas on him,
White-liver'd renegade—what does he there!

Stanley.
I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

Glo'st.
Well, as you guess,

Stanley.
Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,
He makes for England, here to claim the crown.

Glo'st.
Traitor! the crown!—
Where is thy power then to beat him back?
Where be thy tenants, and thy followers?
The foe upon our coast, and thou no friends to meet 'em?

Or hast thou march'd them to the western shore,
To give the rebels conduct from their ships?

Stanley.
My lord, my friends are ready all i'th' North.

Glo'st.
The North! why what do they do i'th North,
When they should serve their sovereign in the West?

Stanley.
They yet have had no orders, sir, to move:
If 'tis your royal pleasure they should march,
I'll lead them on with utmost haste to join you,
Where, and what time, your majesty shall please.

Glo'st.
What, thou would'st be gone to join with Richmond?

Stanley.
Sir, you have no cause to doubt my loyalty,
I ne'er yet was, nor ever will be, false.

Glo'st.
Away then to thy friends, and lead 'em on
To meet me—hold, come back—I will not trust thee.
I've thought a way to make thee sure—your son,
George Stanley, sir, I'll have him left behind;
And look your heart be firm,
Or else his head's assurance is but frail.

Stanley.
As I prove true, my lord, so deal with him. [Exit. Enter Ratcliff.

Ratcliff.
My lord, the army of great Buckingham,
By sudden floods, and fall of waters,
Is half lost, and scatter'd:
And he himself wander'd away alone,
No man knows whither.

Glo'st.
Has any careful officer proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

Ratcliff.
Such proclamation has been made, my lord. Enter Catesby* ^note.

Catesby.
My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken.

Glo'st.
Off with his head—so much for Buckingham.

Catesby.
My lord, I am sorry I must tell more news.

Glo'st.
Out with it.

Catesby.
The earl of Richmond, with a mighty power,
Is landed, sir, at Milford;
And, to confirm the news, lord marquis Dorset,
And sir Thomas Lovewel, are up in Yorkshire.

Glo'st.
Why ay, this looks rebellion—Ho! my horse!
By heav'n the news alarms my stirring soul;
Come forth, my honest sword, which here I vow,
By my soul's hope, shall ne'er again be sheath'd;
Ne'er shall these watching eyes have needful rest,
Till death has clos'd 'em in a glorious grave,
Or fortune given me measure of revenge. [Exit.* ^note

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