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Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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SCENE III. Before Lord Hastings's House. Enter a Messenger to the door of Hastings.

Mes.
My Lord, my Lord,—

Hast. [within.]
Who knocks?

Mes.
One from Lord Stanley.

Hast.
What is't o'clock?

Mes.
Upon the stroke of four.
Enter Lord Hastings.

Hast.
Cannot thy master sleep these tedious nights?

Mes.
So it appears, by what I have to say.
First, he commends him to your noble self.

Hast.
What then?

Mes.
Then certifies your Lordship, that this night
He dreamt, the Boar had rased off his helm.
Besides, he says, there are two councils held;
And that may be determin'd at the one,
Which may make you and him to rue at th' other.
Therefore he sends to know your Lordship's pleasure,
If you will presently take horse with him,
And with all speed post with him tow'rds the north;
To shun the danger that his soul divines.

Hast.
Go, fellow, go, return unto thy Lord,

-- 291 --


Bid him not fear the separated Councils:
His honour, and myself, are at the one;
And, at the other, is my good friend Catesby;
Where nothing can proceed, that toucheth us,
Whereof I shall not have intelligence.
Tell him, his fears are shallow, 9 notewanting instance;
And for his dreams, I wonder, he's so fond
To trust the mock'ry of unquiet slumbers.
To fly the boar, before the boar pursues,
Were to incense the boar to follow us,
And make pursuit, where he did mean no chase.
Go, bid thy master rise and come to me,
And we will both together to the Tower,
Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.

Mes.
I'll go, my Lord, and tell him what you say.
[Exit. Enter Catesby.

Cates.
Many good morrows to my noble Lord!

Hast.
Good morrow, Catesby. You are early stirring;
What news, what news, in this our tott'ring State?

Cates.
It is a reeling world, indeed, my Lord;
And, I believe, will never stand upright,
Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.

Hast.
How! wear the garland? dost thou mean the crown?

Cates.
Ay, my good Lord.

Hast.
I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders,
Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd.
But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?

Cates.
Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you forward

-- 292 --


Upon his party, for the gain thereof;
And thereupon he sends you this good news,
That this same very day your enemies,
The kindred of the Queen, must die at Pomfret.

Hast.
Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,
Because they have been still my adversaries;
But that I'll give my voice on Richard's side,
To bar my master's heirs in true descent,
God knows, I will not do it, to the death.

Cates.
God keep your Lordship in that gracious mind!

Hast.
But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence,
That they, who brought me in my master's hate,
I live to look upon their tragedy.
Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older,
I'll send some packing that yet think not on't.

Cates.
'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious Lord,
When men are unprepar'd and look not for it.

Hast.
O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out
With Rivers, Vaughan, Gray; and so 'twill do
With some men else, who think themselves as safe
As thou and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear
To princely Richard and to Buckingham.

Cates.
The princes both make high account of you—
For they account his head upon the bridge.
[Aside.

Hast.
I know, they do; and I have well deserv'd it. Enter Lord Stanley.
Come on, come on, where is your boar-spear, man?
Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?

Stanl.
My Lord, good morrow; and, good morrow, Catesby;
You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,
I do not like these several Councils, I.

Hast.
My Lord,
I hold my life as dear as you do yours.

-- 293 --


And never in my days, I do protest,
Was it so precious to me as 'tis now;
Think you, but that I know our state secure,
I would be so triumphant as I am?

Stanl.
The Lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London,
Were jocund, and suppos'd their states were sure;
And they, indeed, had no cause to mistrust;
But yet, you see, how soon the day o'er-cast.
This sudden stab of rancor I misdoubt;
Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward!
What, shall we tow'rd the Tower? the day is spent.

Hast.
Come, come, 1 notehave with you.—Wot ye what, my Lord?
To day the Lords, you talk of, are beheaded.

Stanl.
2 noteThey, for their truth, might better wear their heads,
Than some, that have accus'd them, wear their hats.
—But come, my Lord, away.
Enter a Pursuivant.

Hast.
Go on before, I'll talk with this good fellow. [Exeunt Lord Stanley and Catesby.
Sirrah, how now? how goes the world with thee?

Purs.
The better, that your Lordship please to ask.

Hast.
I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now,
Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet;
Then I was going prisoner to the Tower,
By the suggestion of the Queen's allies,
But now I tell thee (keep it to thyself,)
This day those enemies are put to death,
And I in better state, than e'er I was.

Purs.
God * notehold it to your Honour's good content!

-- 294 --

Hast.
Gramercy, fellow; there, drink that for me.
[Throws him his purse.

Purs.
I thank your Honour. [Exit Pursuivant.
Enter a Priest.

Priest.
Well met, my Lord, I'm glad to see your Honour.

Hast.
I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.
I'm in your debt for your last * noteexercise:
Come the next sabbath, and I will content you.
[He whispers. Enter Buckingham.

Buck.
What, talking with a Priest, Lord Chamberlain?
Your friends at Pomfret they do need a Priest,
Your Honour hath no 3 noteshriving work in hand.

Hast.
Good faith, and when I met this holy man,
The men, you talk of, came into my mind.
What, go you tow'rd the Tower?

Buck.
I do, my Lord, but long I shall not stay:
I shall return before your Lordship thence.

Hast.
Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.

Buck.
And supper too, altho' thou know'st it not. [Aside.
Come, will you go?

Hast.
I'll wait upon your Lordship.
[Exeunt.

-- 295 --

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Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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