Ely.
Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. [Exit Ely.

Glo.
Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business;
And finds the testy gentleman so hot,

That he will lose his head, ere give consent,
His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it,
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.

Buck.
Withdraw yourself awhile, I'll go with you. [Exeunt Gloster, and Buckingham.

Stanl.
We have not yet set down this day of triumph.
To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden;
For I myself am not so well provided,
As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. Re-enter Bishop of Ely.

Ely.
Where is my lord protector? I have sent
For these strawberries.

Hast.
His grace looks chearfully and smooth this morning;
There's some conceit or other likes him well,
When he doth bid good morrow with such spirit.
I think, there's ne'er a man in Christendom,
Can lesser hide his love, or hate, than he;
For by his face straight shall you know his heart.

Stanl.
What of his heart perceive you in his face,
By any ^{9 note}

Hast.
Marry, that with no man here he is offended;
For, were he, he had shewn it in his looks. Re-enter Gloster, and Buckingham.

Glo.
I pray you all, tell me what they deserve,
That do conspire my death with devilish plots
Of damned witchcraft; and that have prevail'd
Upon my body with their hellish charms?

Hast.
The tender love I bear your grace, my lord,
Makes me most forward in this noble presence

To doom the offenders: Whosoe'er they be,
I say, my lord, they have deserved death.

Glo.
Then be your eyes the witness of their evil,
Look how I am bewitch'd; behold, mine arm
Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up:
And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch,
Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore,
That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.

Hast.
If they have done this deed, my noble lord,—

Glo.
If! thou protector of this damned strumpet,
Talk'st thou to me of ifs?—Thou art a traitor:—
Off with his head:—now, by saint Paul I swear,
I will not dine until I see the same.—
^{1 note}

Hast.
Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me;
For I, too fond, might have prevented this:
Stanley did dream, the boar did rase his helm;
But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly.

Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble^{2 note}

Cates.
Dispatch, my lord, the duke would be at dinner;
Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head.

Hast.
O momentary grace of mortal men,
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
^{3 note}
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks,
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast;
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

Lov.
Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim.

Hast.
Oh, bloody Richard!—miserable England!
I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee,
That ever wretched age hath look'd upon.—
Come, lead me to the block, bear him my head;
They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The Tower-walls. Enter Gloster, and Buckingham, in rusty armour^{4 note}, marvellous ill-favour'd.

Glo.
Come cousin, canst thou quake, and change thy colour?
Murder thy breath in middle of a word,—
And then again begin, and stop again,
As if thou wert distraught, and mad with terror?

Buck.
Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian:
Speak, and look back, and pry on every side,
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,
Intending deep suspicion: 9Q0876 ghastly looks
Are at my service, like enforced smiles;
And both are ready in their offices,
At any time, to grace my stratagems.
But what, is Catesby gone?

Glo.
He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along. Enter the Lord Mayor, and Catesby.

Buck.
Let me alone to entertain him.—Lord mayor!

Glo.
Look to the draw-bridge there.

Buck.
Hark! a drum.

Glo.
Catesby, o'erlook the walls.

Buck.
Lord mayor, the reason we have sent for you,—

Glo.
Look back, defend thee, here are enemies.

Buck.
God and our innocency defend and guard us! Enter Lovel, and Ratcliff, with Hastings' head.

Glo.
Be patient, they are friends; Ratcliff, and Lovel.

Lov.
Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,
The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.

Glo.
So dear I lov'd the man, that I must weep.
I took him for the plainest harmless creature,
That breath'd upon the earth a christian^{5 note}

Buck.
Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd traitor
That ever liv'd.—Look you, my lord mayor,
Would you imagine, or almost believe,
(Were't not, that by great preservation
We live to tell it you) the subtle traitor
This day had plotted, in the council-house,
To murder me, and my good lord of Gloster?

Mayor.
What! had he so?

Glo.
What! think you we are Turks, or infidels?
Or that we would, against the form of law,
Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death;
But that the extreme peril of the case,
The peace of England, and our persons' safety,
Enforc'd us to this execution?

Mayor.
Now, fair befal you! he deserv'd his death:
And your good graces both have well proceeded,
To warn false traitors from the like attempts.
I never look'd for better at his hands,
After he once fell in with mistress Shore.

Buck.
Yet had we not determin'd he should die,
Until your lordship came to see his end;
Which now the loving haste of these our friends,
Somewhat against our meaning, hath prevented:
Because, my lord, we would have had you heard
The traitor speak, and timorously confess
The manner and the purpose of his treasons;
That you might well have signify'd the same
Unto the citizens, who, haply, may
Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death.

Mayor.
But, my good lord, your grace's word shall serve,
As well as I had seen, and heard him speak:
And do not doubt, right noble princes both,
But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens
With all your just proceedings in this case.

Glo.
And to that end we wish'd your lordship here,
To avoid the censures of the carping world.

Buck.
But since you came too late of our intent,
Yet witness what you hear we did intend:
And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewel. [Exit Mayor.

Glo.
Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.
The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post:—
There, at your meetest vantage of the time,
Infer the bastardy of Edward's children:

Tell them, how Edward put to death a citizen^{6 note},
Only for saying—he would make his son
Heir to the crown; meaning, indeed, his house,
Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so.
Moreover, urge his hateful luxury,
And bestial appetite in change of lust;
Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives,
Even where his ranging eye^{7 note}, or savage heart,
Without controul, listed to make his prey.
Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:—
Tell them, when that my mother went with child
Of that insatiate Edward, noble York,
My princely father, then had wars in France;
And, by just computation of the time,
Found, that the issue was not his begot;
Which well appeared in his lineaments,
Being nothing like the noble duke my father.
Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off;
Because, my lord, you know, my mother lives.

Buck.
Doubt not, my lord; I'll play the orator,
As if the golden fee, for which I plead,
Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu.

Glo.
If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's castle;
Where you shall find me well accompanied,
With reverend fathers, and well-learned bishops.

Buck.
I go; and, towards three or four o'clock,
Look for the news that the Guild-hall affords. [Exit Buckingham.

Glo.
Go, Lovel, with all speed to doctor Shaw,—
Go thou to friar Penker^{8 note};—bid them both

Meet me, within this hour, at Baynard's castle. [Exeunt Lovel, and Catesby.
Now will I in, to take some privy order
To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight;
And to give notice, that no manner of person
Have, any time, recourse unto the princes. [Exit. SCENE VI. A Street. Enter a Scrivener.

Scriv.
Here is the indictment of the good lord Hastings;
Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd,
That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's^{9 note}.
And mark how well the sequel hangs together:—
Eleven hours I have spent to write it over,
For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me;
The precedent was full as long a doing:
And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd,
Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty.
Here's a good world the while!—Who is so gross,
That cannot see this palpable device?
Yet who so bold, but says—he sees it not?
Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,
When such bad dealing must be ^{1 note}seen in thought. [Exit.

SCENE VII. Baynard's castle. Enter Gloster, and Buckingham, at several doors.

Glo.
How now, how now? what say the citizens?

Buck.
Now by the holy mother of our Lord,
The citizens are mum, say not a word.

Glo.
Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children?

Buck.
I did; with his contract with lady Lucy,
And his contract by deputy in France:
The insatiate greediness of his desires,
And his enforcement of the city wives;
His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,—
As being got, your father then in France,
And his resemblance, being not like the duke.
Withal, I did infer your lineaments,—
Being the right idea of your father,
Both in your form and nobleness of mind:
Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace,
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;
Indeed, left nothing, fitting for your purpose,
Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse.
And, when my oratory grew toward end,
I bade them, that did love their country's good,
Cry—God save Richard, England's royal king!

Glo.
And did they so?

Buck.
No, so God help me, they spake not a word;
But, like dumb statues, or unbreathing stones,
Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale.
Which when I saw, I reprehended them;
And ask'd the mayor, what meant this wilful silence:
His answer was,—the people were not us'd
To be spoke to, but by the recorder.

Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again;—
Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd;
But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.
When he had done, some followers of mine own,
At lower end o' the hall, hurl'd up their caps,
And some ten voices cry'd, God save king Richard!
And thus I took the vantage of those few,—
Thanks, gentle citizens, and friends, quoth I;
This general applause, and chearful shout,
Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard:
And even here brake off, and came away.

Glo.
What tongueless blocks were they; Would they not speak?
Will not the mayor then, and his brethren, come?

Buck.
The mayor is here at hand; ^{2 note}

Glo.
I go; And if you plead as well for them,
^{3 note}

Buck.
Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor knocks. [Exit Gloster. Enter the Lord Mayor, and Citizens.
Welcome, my lord: I dance attendance here;
I think, the duke will not be spoke withal.— Enter Catesby.
Now, Catesby? what says your lord to my request?

Cates.
He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord,
To visit him to-morrow, or next day:
He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
Divinely bent to meditation;
And in no worldly suit would he be mov'd,
To draw him from his holy exercise.

Buck.
Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke;
Tell him, myself, the mayor and aldermen,
In deep designs, in matter of great moment,
No less importing than our general good,
Are come to have some conference with his grace.

Cates.
I'll signify so much unto him straight. [Exit.

Buck.
Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!
He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed,
But on his knees at meditation;
Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,
But meditating with two deep divines;
Not sleeping, ^{4 note}to engross his idle body,
But praying, to enrich his watchful soul:
Happy were England, would this virtuous prince
Take on himself the sovereignty thereof;
But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it.

Mayor.
Marry, God defend his grace should say us nay!

Buck.
I fear, he will: Here Catesby comes again:—

Re-enter Catesby.
Catesby, what says your lord?

Cates.
He wonders to what end you have assembled
Such troops of citizens to come to him,
His grace not being warn'd thereof before:
He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.

Buck.
Sorry I am, my noble cousin should
Suspect me, that I mean no good to him:
By heaven, we come to him in perfect love;
And so once more return and tell his grace. [Exit Catesby.
When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence;
So sweet is zealous contemplation. Enter Gloster above, between two Bishops^{5 note}


. Catesby returns.

Mayor.
See, where his grace stands 'tween two clergymen!

Buck.
Two props of virtue for a christian prince,
To stay him from the fall of vanity:
And, see, a book of prayer in his hand;
True ornaments to know a holy man.—
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince,
Lend favourable ear to our requests;
And pardon us the interruption
Of thy devotion, and right-christian zeal.

Glo.
My lord, there needs no such apology;
I rather do beseech you pardon me,
Who, earnest in the service of my God,

Deferr'd the visitation of my friends.
But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure?

Buck.
Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,
And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.

Glo.
I do suspect, I have done some offence,
That seems disgracious in the city's eye;
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.

Buck.
You have, my lord; Would it might please your grace,
On our entreaties, to amend your fault!

Glo.
Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?

Buck.
Know, then, it is your fault, that you resign
The supreme seat, the throne majestical,
The scepter'd office of your ancestors,
Your state of fortune, and your due of birth,
The lineal glory of your royal house,
To the corruption of a blemish'd stock:
Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
(Which here we waken to our country's good)
The noble isle doth want her proper limbs;
Her face defac'd with scars of infamy,
Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
^{6 note}

Which to recure^{7 note}, we heartily solicit
Your gracious self to take on you the charge
And kingly government of this your land:
Not as protector, steward, substitute,
Or lowly factor for another's gain;
But as successively, from blood to blood,
Your right of birth, your empery, your own.
For this, consorted with the citizens,
Your very worshipful and loving friends,
And by their vehement instigation,
In this just suit come I to move your grace.

Glo.
I cannot tell, if to depart in silence,
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof,
Best fitteth my degree, or your condition:
For, not to answer, you might haply think,
Tongue-ty'd ambition, not replying, yielded
To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,
Which fondly you would here impose on me;
If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
So season'd with your faithful love to me,
Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends.
Therefore,—to speak, and to avoid the first;
And then, in speaking, not to incur the last—
Definitively thus I answer you.
Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert
Unmeritable, shuns your high request.
First, if all obstacles were cut away,
And that my path were even to the crown,
As the ripe revenue and due of birth 9Q0877;
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,
So mighty, and so many, my defects,
That I would rather hide me from my greatness,—
Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,—
Than in my greatness covet to be hid,

And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.
But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me;
(^{7 note}And much I need to help you, if need were)
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
Will well become the seat of majesty,
And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.
On him I lay what you would lay on me,
The right and fortune of his happy stars,—
Which, God defend, that I should wring from him!

Buck.
My lord, this argues conscience in your grace;
But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,
All circumstances well considered.
You say, that Edward is your brother's son;
So say we too, but not by Edward's wife:
For first was he contract to lady Lucy,
Your mother lives a witness to his vow;
And afterwards by substitute betroth'd
To Bona, sister to the king of France.
These both put by, a poor petitioner,
A care-craz'd mother to a many sons,
A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
Even in the afternoon of her best days,
Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,
Seduc'd the pitch and height of all his thoughts
To base declension and loath'd bigamy: 9Q0878
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
This Edward, whom our manners call—the prince.
More bitterly could I expostulate,
Save that, for reverence to some alive,
I give a sparing limit to my tongue.
Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
This proffer'd benefit of dignity:
If not to bless us and the land withal,
Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry

From the corruption of abusing time,
Unto a lineal true-derived course.

Mayor.
Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you.

Buck.
Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.

Cates.
O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit.

Glo.
Alas, why would you heap these cares on me?
I am unfit for state and majesty:—
I do beseech you, take it not amiss;
I cannot, nor I will not yield to you.

Buck.
If you refuse it,—as in love and zeal,
Loth to depose the child, your brother's son;
As well we know your tenderness of heart,
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse^{9 note}

Cates.
Call them again, sweet prince, accept their suit;
If you deny them, all the land will rue it.

Glo.
Will you enforce me to a world of cares?
Well, call them again; I am not made of stone, [Exit Catesby.
But penetrable to your kind entreaties,
Albeit against my conscience and my soul.—

Re-enter Buckingham, and the rest.
Cousin of Buckingham,—and sage, grave men,—
Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no,
I must have patience to endure the load:
But if black scandal, or foul-fac'd reproach,
Attend the sequel of your imposition,
Your meer enforcement shall acquittance me
From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
For God doth know, and you may partly see,
How far I am from the desire of this.

Mayor.
God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it.

Glo.
In saying so, you shall but say the truth.

Buck.
Then I salute you with this royal title,—
Long live king Richard, England's worthy king!

All.
Amen.

Buck.
To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd?

Glo.
Even when you please, for you will have it so.

Buck.
To-morrow then we will attend your grace;
And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.

Glo. [To the Clergymen.]
Come, let us to our holy work again:—
Farewel, good cousin;—farewel, gentle friends^{1 note}. [Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I. Before the Tower. Enter the Queen, Dutchess of York, and Marquis of Dorset, at one door; Anne Dutchess of Gloster, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet, Clarence's young daughter, at the other.

Dutch.
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!

Queen.
As much to you, good sister! Whither away?

Anne.
No further than the Tower; and, as I guess,
Upon the like devotion as yourselves,
To gratulate the gentle princes there.

Queen.
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.

Queen.
The king! who's that?

Brak.
I mean, the lord protector.

Queen.
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?

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

Anne.
Their aunt am I in law, in love their mother:
Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame,
And take thy office from thee, on my peril.

Brak.
No, madam, no, ^{3 note}I may not leave it so;
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. [Exit Brakenbury. Enter Stanley.

Stanl.
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 Dutchess of Gloster.
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

Queen.
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.
Despightful tidings! O unpleasing news!

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

Queen.
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 out-strip 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 encrease the number of the dead;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,—
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.

Stanl.
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.

Dutch.
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!

Stanl.
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^{4 note}

Queen.
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 9Q0879
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
^{5 note}But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

Queen.
Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining.

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

Dor.
Farewel, thou woful welcomer of glory!

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

Dutch.
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 the Queen.
I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!
Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,
And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen^{6 note}

Queen.
Stay yet; 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!
^{7 note}Rude ragged nurse! old sullen play-fellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewel^{8 note}. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The court. Flourish of trumpets. Enter Richard, as King, 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.
^{9 note}

To try if thou be current gold, indeed:—
Young Edward lives;—Think now what I would speak.

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.

Cates.
The king is angry; see, he gnaws his lip^{1 note}.

K. Rich.
I will converse with iron-witted fools,
And unrespective boys^{2 note}

Page.
My lord.

K. Rich.
Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting gold
Would tempt unto a ^{3 note}close exploit 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 boy.
The deep-revolving witty^{4 note}

Enter Stanley.
How now, lord Stanley? what's the news?

Stanl.
Know, my loving lord,
The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled
To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.

K. Rich.
Come hither, Catesby: rumour it abroad,
That Anne my wife is very grievous sick;
I will take order for her keeping close.
Enquire me out some mean-born gentleman,
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter:—
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.—
Look, how thou dream'st!—I say again, give out,
That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die:
About it; for it stands me much upon,
To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me.— [Exit Catesby.
I must be marry'd to my brother's daughter,
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass:—
Murder her brothers, and then marry her!
Uncertain way of gain! But I am in
So far in blood, ^{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:
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

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.

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

Buck.
My lord, I have consider'd in my mind
That 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, and the moveables,
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 prophesy, that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
^{7 note}

Buck.
My lord,—

K. Rich.
How chance, the prophet could not at that time.
Have told me, I being by, 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 courtsy shew'd me the castle,
And call'd it—Rouge-mont: 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.

Buck.
Why let it strike?

K. Rich.
^{8 note}

Buck.
Why, then resolve me whe'r you will, or no.

K. Rich.
Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. Exit.

Buck.
Is it even so? 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, while my fearful head is on. [Exit. SCENE III. 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 deaths' 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; 9Q0880
Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind:
But, O, the devil—there the villain stopp'd;
When Dighton thus told on,—we smothered
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 these 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 didst 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.
Farewel, 'till then.

Tyr.
I humbly take my leave. [Exit.

K. Rich.
The son of Clarence have I pen'd up close;
His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;
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 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.

Cates.
My lord,—

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

Cates.
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 ^{9 note}
fearful commenting

Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary:
Then fiery expedition 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. [Exit. SCENE IV. Enter Queen Margaret.

Q. Mar.
So, now prosperity begins to mellow^{1 note}


,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,
To watch the wainng of mine enemies.
A ^{2 note}dire induction am I witness to,
And will to France; hoping, the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! who comes here? Enter the Queen, and the Dutchess of York.

Queen.
Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender babes!
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; ^{3 note}

Dutch.
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.

Queen.
Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
Why didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done?

Q. Mar.
When holy Henry'd, and my sweet son?

Dutch.
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, [Sitting down.
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood!

Queen.
Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a grave,
As thou canst 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 ^{4 note}

Dutch.
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 in galled eyes of weeping souls^{5 note},
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^{6 note}

Dutch.
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;
^{7 note}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,
^{8 note}

Queen.
O, thou didst prophesy, 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,
^{1 note}

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^{2 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.
Farewel, York's wife,—and queen of sad mischance,—
These English woes shall make me smile in France.

Queen.
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.

Queen.
My words are dull, O, quicken them with thine!

Q. Mar.
Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine. [Exit Margaret.

Dutch.
Why should calamity be full of words?

Queen.
^{3 note}

Poor breathing orators of miseries!
Let them have scope: though what they do impart
Help nothing else, yet they do ease the heart.

Dutch.
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?

Dutch.
O, she, that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her accursed womb,
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done.

Queen.
Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden crown,
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?

Dutch.
Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence?
And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?

Queen.
Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

Dutch.
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.

Dutch.
Art thou my son?

K. Rich.
Ay; I thank God, my father, and yourself.

Dutch.
Then patiently hear my impatience.

K. Rich.
Madam, I have ^{5 note}

Dutch.
O, let me speak.

K. Rich.
Do, then; but I'll not hear.

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

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

Dutch.
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?

Dutch.
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,
^{6 note}That ever grac'd me in thy company?

K. Rich.
Faith, none, but Humphry Houre^{7 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.—
Strike up the drum.

Dutch.
I pry'thee, hear me speak.

K. Rich.
You speak too bitterly.

Dutch.
Hear me a word;
For I shall never speak to thee again.

K. Rich.
So.

Dutch.
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 compleat 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;
^{8 note}Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. [Exit.

Queen.
Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse
Abides in me; I say amen to her. [Going.

K. Rich.
^{9 note}Stay, madam, I must speak a word with you.

Queen.
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.

Queen.
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^{1 note}.

Queen.
To save her life, I'll say—she is not so.

K. Rich.
Her life is safest only in her birth.

Queen.
And only in that safety dy'd her brothers.

K. Rich.
Lo, at their births good stars were opposite^{2 note}.

Queen.
No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.

K. Rich.
All unavoided is the doom of destiny.

Queen.
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 cousins.

Queen.
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^{3 note}

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,
That ever you or yours by me were harm'd!

Queen.
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.

Queen.
Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads.

K. Rich.
No, to the dignity and height of fortune,
^{4 note}The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

Queen.
Flatter my sorrows with report of it;
Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour,
^{5 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,
Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee.

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

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

Queen.
My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.

K. Rich.
What do you think?

Queen.
That thou dost love my daughter, from thy soul:
So, from thy soul's love, didst 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.

Queen.
Well then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

K. Rich.
Even he, that makes her queen; Who else should be?

Queen.
What, thou?

K. Rich.
I, even I: What think you of it, madam?

Queen.
How canst thou woo her?

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

Queen.
And wilt thou learn of me?

K. Rich.
Madam, with all my heart.

Queen.
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,—^{6 note}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 brothers' bodies,
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.

Queen.
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?

Queen.
Nay, then indeed, she cannot chuse but hate thee^{7 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 your daughter.
If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,
To quicken your encrease, 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 metal, of your very blood 9Q0881;
Of all one pain,—save for a night of groans
Endur'd of her, for whom you ^{9 note}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.
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;
^{1 note}

Queen.
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.

Queen.
Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

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

Queen.
That at her hands, which the king's King forbids^{2 note}.

K. Rich.
Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.

Queen.
To wail the title, as her mother doth.

K. Rich.
Say, I will love her everlastingly.

Queen.
But how long shall that title, ever, last^{3 note}

?

K. Rich.
Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.

Queen.
But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?

K. Rich.
As long as heaven, and nature, lengthens it.

Queen.
As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it.

K. Rich.
Say, I, her sov'reign, am her subject low^{4 note}
.

Queen.
But she, your subject, loaths such sov'reignty.

K. Rich.
Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

Queen.
An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told.

K. Rich.
Then, in plain terms tell her my loving tale.

Queen.
Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style.

K. Rich.
Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

Queen.
O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead;—
Two deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.

K. Rich.
Harp not on that string, madam; that is past^{5 note}.

Queen.
Harp on it still shall I, 'till heart-strings break.

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

Queen.
Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.

K. Rich.
I swear.

Queen.
By nothing; for this is no oath.
The george, profan'd, hath lost his holy honour;
The garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
The crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory:
If something thou wouldst swear to believ'd,
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

K. Rich.
Now by the world,—

Queen.
'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

K. Rich.
My father's death,—

Queen.
Thy life hath that dishonour'd.

K. Rich.
Then, by myself,—

Queen.
Thyself is self-mis-us'd.

K. Rich.
Why then, by heaven,—

Queen.
Heaven's wrong is most of all.
If thou didst fear to break an oath with heaven^{6 note},
The unity, the king my husband made,
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him^{7 note}

^{8 note}
Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust,
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What can'st thou swear by now?

K. Rich.
By time to come.

Queen.
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:
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 us'd, by times ill-us'd o'er-past.

K. Rich.
As I intend to prosper, and repent!
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
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,
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.

Queen.
Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

K. Rich.
Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.

Queen.
Shall I forget myself, to be myself?

K. Rich.
Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong yourself.

Queen.
But thou didst kill my children.

K. Rich.
But in your daughter's womb I bury them:
Where, in that nest of spicery^{9 note}, they shall breed
Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

Queen.
Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

K. Rich.
And be a happy mother by the deed.

Queen.
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 farewel. [Kissing her. Exit Queen.
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing—woman!
How now? what news? Enter Ratcliff, and Catesby.

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.
^{1 note}Some light-foot friend post to the duke of Norfolk;—
Ratcliff, thyself,—or Catesby; where is he?

Cates.
Here, my good lord.

K. Rich.
Catesby, fly to the duke.

Cates.
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?

Cates.
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.

Cates.
I go. [Exit.

Rat.
What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?

K. Rich.
Why, what wouldst thou do there, before I go?

Rat.
Your highness told me, I should post before. Enter Lord Stanley.

K. Rich.
My mind is chang'd.—Stanley, what news with you?

Stanl.
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?

Stanl.
Richmond is on the seas.

K. Rich.
There let him sink, and be the seas on him!
White-liver'd runagate^{2 note}
, what doth he there?

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

K. Rich.
Well, as you guess?

Stanl.
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 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?

Stanl.
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.

Stanl.
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?

Stanl.
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?

Stanl.
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 Richmond:
But I'll not trust you, sir.

Stanl.
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 thy men. But, hear you, leave behind

Your son, George Stanley: look your heart be firm,
Or else his head's assurance is but frail.

Stanl.
So deal with him, as I prove true to you. [Exit Stanley. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
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 Mes.
In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in arms;
And every hour ^{3 note}more competitors
Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. Enter another Messenger.

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 Mes.
The news I have 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.
Oh, 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 Mes.
Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.

Enter another Messenger.

4 Mes.
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 answered him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne.

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.

Cates.
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,
Is colder news, but yet it must be told.

K. Rich.
Away towards Salisbury; while we reason here,
A royal battle might be won and lost:—
Some one take order, Buckingham be brought
To Salisbury;—the rest march on with me. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Lord Stanley's house. Enter Lord Stanley, and Sir Christopher Urswick.

Stanl.
^{4 note}

That, in the stye 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 witholds my present aid.
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?

Chri.
At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in Wales.

Stanl.
What men of name resort to him?

Chri.
Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;
Sir Gilbert Talbot, and sir William Stanley;
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt,
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;
And many other of great name and worth:
And towards London do they bend their course,
If by the way they be not fought withal.

Stanl.
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.
Farewel. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I. Salisbury. Enter the Sheriff, with Buckingham, led to execution.

Buck.
Will not king Richard let me speak with him^{5 note}





?

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 doomsday.
This is the day, which, in king Edward's time,
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,

^{6 note}