Ghost.
Let me sit heavy on thy soul to morrow! [To K. Rich.
Think, how thou stab'd'st me in the prime of youth
At Tewksbury; therefore despair and die.
  Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls [To Richm.
Of butcher'd Princes fight in thy behalf:
King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. Enter the Ghost of Henry the Sixth.

Ghost.
When I was mortal, my anointed body [To K. Rich.
By thee was punched full of deadly holes;
Think on the Tower, and me; despair, and die.
Henry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die.
  Virtuous and holy, be thou Conqueror: [To Richm.
Harry, that prophesy'd thou should'st be King,
Doth comfort thee in sleep; live thou and flourish: Enter the Ghost of Clarence.

Ghost.
Let me sit heavy on thy soul to morrow! [To K. Rich.
I, that was wash'd to death in fulsom wine,
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death:
To morrow in the battel think on me,
And fall thy edgeless sword; despair and die.
  Thou off-spring of the House of Lancaster, [To Richm.

The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee;
Good angels guard thy battel! live, and flourish. Enter the Ghosts of Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan.

Riv.
Let me sit heavy on thy soul to morrow! [To K. Rich.
Rivers, that dy'd at Pomfret: despair, and die.

Gray.
Think upon Gray, and let thy soul despair. [To K. Rich.

Vaugh.
Think upon Vaughan, and with guilty fear
Let fall thy launce! Richard, despair and die. [To K. Rich.

All.
Awake! and think, our wrongs in Richard's bosom
Will conquer him. Awake, and win the day. [To Richm. Enter the Ghost of Lord Hastings.

Ghost.
Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake; [To K. Rich.
And in a bloody battel end thy days:
Think on lord Hastings; and despair and die.
  Quiet, untroubled soul, awake, awake! [To Richm.
Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake. Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes.

Ghosts.
Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the Tower:
Let us be Lead within thy bosom, Richard,(24) ^note

Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace; and wake in joy. [To Richm.
Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy!
Live, and beget a happy race of Kings—
Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. Enter the Ghost of Anne, his wife.

Ghost.
Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife,
That never slept a quiet hour with thee, [To K. Rich.
Now fills thy sleep with perturbations:
To morrow in the battel think on me,
And fall thy edgeless sword: despair and die.
  Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep: [To Richm.
Dream of success and happy victory,
Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. Enter the Ghost of Buckingham.

Ghost.
The first was I, that help'd thee to the Crown:
The last was I, that felt thy tyranny. [To K. Rich.
O, in the battel think on Buckingham,
And die in terror of thy guiltiness.
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death;
Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath.
  I dy'd for Holpe, ere I could lend thee aid;(25) ^note

K. Rich.
Give me another horse—bind up my wounds.
Have mercy, Jesu—soft, I did but dream.
O coward Conscience! how dost thou afflict me?
The lights burn blue—is it not dead midnight?

Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What? do I fear my self? there's none else by;
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murth'rer here? no; yes, I am.
Then fly—what, from my self? great reason; why?
Lest I revenge. What? my self on my self?
I love my self. Wherefore? for any good,
That I my self have done unto my self?
O, no. Alas, I rather hate my self,
For hateful deeds committed by my Self.
I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not.
Fool, of thy self speak well—Fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand sev'ral tongues,
And ev'ry tongue brings in a sev'ral Tale,
And ev'ry Tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury in high'st degree,
Murther, stern murther in the dir'st degree,
All several sins, all us'd in each degree,
Throng to the bar, all crying, guilty, guilty!
I shall despair: there is no creature loves me:
And if I die, no soul shall pity me.
Nay, wherefore should they? since that I my self
Find in my self no pity to my self.
Methought, the souls of all that I had murther'd
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
To morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. Enter Ratcliff.

Rat.
My lord,—

K. Rich.
Who's there?

Rat.
Ratcliffe, my lord. The early village cock
Hath twice done salutation to the morn;
Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.

K. Rich.
Ratcliff, I fear, I fear—

Rat.
Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.

K. Rich.
By the Apostle Paul, shadows to night
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard,
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
It is not yet near day. Come, go with me;

Under our tents, I'll play the eaves-dropper;
To hear, if any mean to shrink from me. [Exeunt K. Richard and Ratcliff. Enter the Lords to Richmond, sitting in his Tent.

Lords.
Good morrow, Richmond.

Richm.
'Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,
That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.

Lords.
How have you slept, my lord?

Richm.
The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams,
That ever enter'd in a drowsie head,
Have I since your departure had, my lords.
Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard murther'd,
Came to my tent, and cried on Victory.
I promise you, my heart is very jocund,
In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
How far into the morning, is it, lords?

Lords.
Upon the stroak of four.

Richm.
Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction.
More than I have said, loving Countrymen,
The leisure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell on; yet remember this,
God and our good Cause fight upon our side,
The Pray'rs of holy Saints, and wronged souls,
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces.
Richard except, those, whom we fight against,
Had rather have us win, than him they follow.
For what is he, they follow? truly, gentlemen,
A bloody tyrant, and a homicide:
One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
One, that made means to come by what he hath,
And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him.
A base foul stone, made precious by the foil
Of England's Chair, where he is falsely set:
One, that hath ever been God's enemy;
Then if you fight against God's enemy,
God will in justice ward you as his soldiers.
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain:
If you do fight against your Country's foes,

Your Country's Fat shall pay your pains the Hire.
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors.
If you do free your children from the sword,
Your children's children quit it in your age.
Then, in the name of God, and all these rights,
Advance your standards; draw your willing swords.
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
Shall be this cold corps on the earth's cold face:
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
The least of you shall share his part thereof.
Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly, chearfully,
God, and Saint George! Richmond, and Victory! Enter King Richard, Ratcliff and Catesby.

K. Rich.
What said Northumberland, as touching Richmond?

Rat.
That he was never trained up in arms.

K. Rich.
He said the truth; and what said Surrey then?

Rat.
He smil'd and said, the better for our purpose.

K. Rich.
He was i'th' right, and so, indeed, it is.
Tell the clock there—give me a Kalendar. [Clock strikes.
Who saw the Sun to day?

Rat.
Not I, my lord.

K. Rich.
Then he disdains to shine; for, by the book,
He should have brav'd the East an hour ago—
A black day it will be to some body, Ratcliff.

Rat.
My lord?

K. Rich.
The Sun will not be seen to day;
The sky doth frown and lowre upon our army—
I would these dewy tears were from the ground—
Not shine to day? why, what is that to me
More than to Richmond? for the self-same heav'n,
That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. Enter Norfolk.

Nor.
Arm, arm, my lord, the foe vaunts in the field.

K. Rich.
Come, bustle, bustle—caparison my horse.
Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his Power;
I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,

And thus my battel shall be ordered.
My Forward shall be drawn out all in length,
Consisting equally of horse and foot:
Our Archers shall be placed in the midst;
John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of the foot and horse.
They thus directed, we our self will follow
In the main battel, which on either side
Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse:
This and St. George to boot!—What think'st thou, Norfolk?

Nor.
A good direction, warlike Soveraign.
This paper found I on my tent this morning. [Giving a scrowl.

Jocky of Norfolk, be not so bold, [Reads.
For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.

K. Rich.
A thing devised by the enemy.
Go, gentlemen; go, each man to his Charge.
Let not our babling dreams affright our souls;
Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe:
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell,
If not to heav'n, then hand in hand to hell.
What shall I say more than I have inferr'd?
Remember, whom you are to cope withal;
A Sort of vagabonds, of rascals, run-aways,
A scum of Britons, and base lackey-peasants,
Whom their o'er-cloyed Country vomits forth
To desperate adventures and destruction.
You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest:
You having lands, and blest with beauteous wives,
They would restrain the one, distain the other.
And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,(26) ^note

A milk-sop, one that never in his life
Felt so much cold, as over shooes in snow.
Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again,
Lash hence these over-weening rags of France,
These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives;
Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
For want of Means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves.
If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us,
And not those bastard-Britons, whom our fathers
Have in their own Land beaten, bobb'd and thump'd;
And on record left them the heirs of shame.
Shall these enjoy our lands? lye with our wives?
Ravish our daughters?—hark, I hear their drum. [Drum afar off.
Fight, gentlemen of England; fight, bold yeomen!
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head:
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood:
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves! Enter a Messenger.
What says lord Stanley, will he bring his Power?

Mes.
My lord, he doth deny to come.

K. Rich.
Off with his son George's head.

Nor.
My lord, the enemy is past the marsh;
After the battel let George Stanley die.

K. Rich.
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom.
Advance our standards, set upon our foes;
Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons.
Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. [Exeunt.

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Catesby.

Cates.
Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue:
The King enacts more wonders than a man,
Daring an opposite to every danger!
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost. Alarum. Enter King Richard.

K. Rich.
A horse! a horse! my Kingdom for a horse!

Cates.
Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse.

K. Rich.
Slave, I have set my life upon a Cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the Dye:
I think, there be six Richmonds in the field;
Five have I slain to day instead of him.
A horse! a horse! my Kingdom for a horse! [Exeunt. Alarums. Enter King Richard and Richmond; they fight, Richard is slain. Retreat and Flourish. Enter Richmond, Stanley bearing the Crown, with divers other lords.

Richm.
God and your arms be prais'd, victorious friends,
The day is ours! the bloody dog is dead.

Stan.
Couragious Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee:
Lo, here these long-usurped royalties,
From the dead temples of this bloody wretch,
Have I pluckt off, to grace thy brows withal.
Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.

Richm.
Great God of heaven, say, Amen, to all!
But tell me first, is young George Stanley living?

Stanl.
He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town;
Whither, if you so please, we may withdraw us.

Richm.
What men of Name are slain on either side?

Stanl.
John Duke of Norfolk, Walter the lord Ferris,
Sir Robert Brakenbury, Sir William Brandon.

Richm.
Interr their bodies as becomes their births.
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled,
That in submission will return to us.

And then, as we have ta'en the Sacrament,
We will unite the White Rose and the Red.
Smile heav'n upon this fair Conjunction,
That long hath frown'd upon their enmity!
What traitor hears me, and says not, Amen?
England hath long been mad, and scarr'd her self;
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son,
The sons, compell'd, been butchers to the sire:
All this divided York and Lancaster,
Divided in their dire division.
O now let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true Succeeders of each royal House,
By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!
And let their heirs (God, if thy will be so)
Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace,
With smiling plenty, and fair prosp'rous days.
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord!
That would reduce these bloody days again,
And make poor England weep in streams of blood.
Let them not live to taste this Land's encrease,
That would with treason wound this fair Land's peace.
Now civil wounds are stopp'd, Peace lives agen:
That she may long live here, God say, Amen! [Exeunt.

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