Duch.
Who meets us here? my niece Plantagenet ^note
Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?
Now, for my life, she's wandering to the Tower,
On pure heart's love to greet the tender princes ^note.
Daughter, well met. ^note

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

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

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

Q. Eliz.
Kind sister, thanks: we'll enter all together. Enter Brakenbury ^note.
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? ^note

Brak.
Right well, dear madam. By your patience ^note,
I may not suffer you to visit them ^note;
The king hath straitly ^note charged the ^note contrary.

Q. Eliz.
The king! why, who's that? ^note

Brak.
I cry you mercy: ^note I mean the lord protector.

Q. Eliz.
The Lord protect him from that kingly title!
Hath he ^note set bounds ^note betwixt ^note their ^note love and me?
I am their mother; who should keep ^note me from them?

Duch.
I am ^note their father's mother; I ^note will see them.

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

Brak.
No, madam, no; I may not leave it so:
I am ^note bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. ^note Exit. ^note Enter Lord Stanley. ^note

Stan.
Let me but meet you, ladies ^note, one ^note hour hence,
And I'll salute your grace of York as mother, ^note
And reverend ^note looker on ^note, of two fair queens.

[To Anne ^note]
Come, madam, you must straight ^note to Westminster,
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

Q. Eliz.
O ^note, cut my lace in sunder ^note, that my pent heart
May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon ^note
With this dead-killing ^note news! ^note

Anne.
Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news! ^note

Dor.
Be of good cheer: mother, ^note how fares your grace?

Q. Eliz.
O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee hence ^note!
Death and destruction dog ^note thee at the heels ^note;
Thy mother's name is ominous ^note to children ^note.
If thou wilt outstrip ^note death, go cross the seas,
And live with Richmond, from the reach ^note 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 ^note mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.

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

Duch.
O ill-dispersing ^note wind of misery!
O my accursed womb, the bed of death!
A cockatrice hast ^note thou hatch'd ^note to the world,

Whose unavoided eye is murderous.

Stan.
Come, madam, come ^note; I in all haste was sent ^{note note}.

Anne. ^note
And I in ^note all unwillingness will go.
I would ^note to God that the inclusive ^note verge
Of golden metal that must round my brow
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain ^note!
Anointed let me be with deadly venom ^note,
And die, ere men can say, God save the queen!

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

Anne.
No! why? ^note When he that is my husband now
Came to me, as ^note I follow'd ^note Henry's corse ^note,
When scarce the blood was well ^note wash'd from his hands
Which issued from my other angel husband
And that dead ^note saint which ^note then I weeping follow'd ^note;
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
This was my wish: ‘Be thou,’ quoth I, ‘accursed,
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 ^note— ^note
As miserable by the life of thee
As ^note thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!’
Lo, ere ^note I can repeat this curse again,
Even in so short a space ^note, my woman's heart
Grossly ^note grew captive to his honey words

And proved the subject ^note of my ^note own soul's curse,
Which ever since ^note hath kept ^note my ^note eyes from rest ^note;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Have I enjoy'd ^note the golden dew ^note of sleep,
But have been waked by his timorous dreams ^note.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt ^note, shortly be rid of me.

Q. Eliz.
Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining. ^note

Anne.
No more than from ^note my soul I mourn for yours.

Q. Eliz. ^note
Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory!

Anne.
Adieu, poor soul, that ^note takest thy leave of it!

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

Q. Eliz.
Stay, yet ^note look back with me unto the Tower.
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
Whom envy hath immured within your walls!

Rough cradle for such little pretty ones! ^note
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrow bids ^note your stones farewell. ^note Exeunt. Scene II. London. The Palace. ^note Sennet. ^note Enter Richard, in pomp, crowned; ^note Buckingham, Catesby, a Page, and others. ^note

K. Rich.
Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham!

Buck.
My gracious sovereign? ^note

K. Rich.
Give me thy hand. [Here he ascendeth his throne. ^note] Thus high, by thy advice
And thy assistance, is king Richard seated: ^note
But shall we wear these honours ^note for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

Buck.
Still live they and for ^note ever may they ^note last!

K. Rich.
O ^note Buckingham, now do I ^note play ^note the touch,
To try if thou be current gold indeed:
Young Edward lives: think now what I would say ^note.

Buck.
Say on, my loving lord ^note.

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

Buck.
Why, so you are, my thrice renowned ^note liege ^note.

K. Rich.
Ha! am I king ^note? 'tis so: but Edward lives.

Buck.
True, noble prince.

K. Rich.
O bitter consequence,
That Edward still should live! ‘True ^note, noble prince!’
Cousin, thou wert ^note not wont to be so dull:
Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead;
And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
What sayest thou? ^note speak suddenly; be brief.

Buck.
Your grace may do your pleasure.

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

Buck.
Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord ^note,
Before I positively speak herein ^note:
I will resolve your grace immediately ^note. [Exit ^note.

Cate. [Aside to a stander by. ^note]
The king is angry: see, he bites the ^note lip. ^note

K. Rich.
I will converse with iron-witted ^note fools
And unrespective boys: none are for me
That look into me with considerate eyes:
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
Boy ^note!

Page. ^note
My lord ^note?

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

Page.
My lord, ^note I know a discontented gentleman,
Whose humble means match not his haughty mind ^note:
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 ^note.

K. Rich.
I partly know the man: go, call him hither. Exit Page. ^note
The deep-revolving ^note witty Buckingham
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel ^note:
Hath he so long held out with me untired,
And stops he now for breath? ^note Enter Stanley. ^note
How now! what news with you? ^note

Stan.
My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorset's fled
To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea
Where he abides. [Stands apart. ^note

K. Rich.
Catesby!

Cate.
My lord?

K. Rich.
Rumour it ^note abroad ^note
That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die:
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out some mean-born ^note gentleman,
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' ^note daughter:
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.
Look, how thou dream'st ^note! I say again, give out

That Anne my wife ^note 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. ^note
I must be married to my brother's ^note daughter,
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
Murder her brothers ^note, and then marry her!
Uncertain way of gain! But I am in
So far in blood that sin will pluck ^note on sin:
Tear-falling ^note pity dwells not in this eye. Re-enter ^note Page, with Tyrrel.
Is thy name Tyrrel?

Tyr.
James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. ^note

K. Rich.
Art thou, indeed?

Tyr.
Prove me, my gracious sovereign ^note.

K. Rich.
Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

Tyr.
Ay, my lord;
But I had ^note rather kill two enemies ^note.

K. Rich.
Why, there ^note thou hast it: two ^note deep enemies,
Foes to my rest and ^note my sweet sleep's ^note disturbers ^note
Are they that I would have thee deal upon:
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

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

K. Rich.
Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come ^note hither, Tyrrel ^note:

Go, by this ^note token: rise, and lend thine ear: [Whispers. ^note
There is ^note no more but so: say it is ^note done,
And I will love thee, and prefer thee too ^note.

Tyr.
'Tis done, my gracious ^note lord ^note.

K. Rich.
Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep.

Tyr.
Ye shall, my lord ^note. ^note [Exit. ^note Re-enter ^note Buckingham.

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

K. Rich.
Well, let that pass ^note. Dorset is fled to Richmond.

Buck.
I hear that ^note news, my lord.

K. Rich.
Stanley, he is your wife's son ^note: well, look to it ^note.

Buck.
My lord, I claim your ^note gift, my due by promise,
For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd;
The earldom of Hereford ^note and the moveables
The which you promised I should ^note possess.

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

Buck.
What says your highness to my just demand ^note?

K. Rich.
As I remember ^note, Henry the Sixth
Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
A king, perhaps, perhaps,— ^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 courtesy show'd ^note me the castle,
And call'd it Rougemont ^note: at which name I started,
Because a bard ^note 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 promised me.

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

Buck.
Upon the stroke of ten.

K. Rich.
Well, let it strike.

Buck.
Why let it strike?

K. Rich.
Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I am not in the giving vein to-day. ^note

Buck.
Why, then resolve me whether ^note you will or no. ^{note note}

R. Rich.
Tut, tut ^note,
Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein ^note. [Exeunt ^note all but Buckingham.

Buck.
Is it even so? ^note rewards ^note he my true ^note service
With such deep ^note 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.

^note Scene III. [Footnote: The same. ^note Enter Tyrrel ^note.

Tyr.
The tyrannous and bloody deed ^note is done,
The most arch act ^note of piteous massacre
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton and Forrest, whom ^note I did suborn
To do this ruthless piece of butchery ^note,
Although ^note they were flesh'd villains, bloody ^note dogs,
Melting ^note with tenderness and kind ^note compassion
Wept like two ^note children in their deaths' ^note sad stories ^note.
‘Lo, thus ^note,’ quoth Dighton, ‘lay those tender ^note babes:’
‘Thus, thus,’ quoth Forrest, ‘girdling ^note one ^note another
Within their innocent alabaster ^note arms:
Their lips were ^note four red roses on a stalk,
Which in ^note their ^note summer beauty kiss'd each other.
A book of prayers ^note on ^note their pillow lay;
Which once ^note,’ quoth Forrest, ‘almost changed my mind;
But O! the devil’—there ^note the villain stopp'd;

Whilst ^note Dighton thus told on: ‘We ^note smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature
That from the prime creation e'er she ^note framed.’
Thus both are gone with ^note conscience and remorse ^note;
They could not speak; and so I left them both,
To bring ^note this ^note tidings to the bloody king.
And here he comes ^note. Enter King Richard. ^note
All hail ^note, my sovereign liege ^note!

K. Rich.
Kind Tyrrel, am ^note I happy in thy news?

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

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 how or in what place ^note I do not know.

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

The son ^note of Clarence have I pent ^note 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 ^note good night.
Now, for I know the Breton ^note Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er ^note the crown,
To her I go ^note, a jolly thriving wooer. Enter Catesby. ^note

Cate. ^note
My lord!

K. Rich.
Good news or bad ^note, that thou comest in ^note so bluntly?

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

K. Rich.
Ely with Richmond troubles me more near ^note
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied ^note army ^note.
Come, I have heard ^note that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
Delay leads ^note impotent and snail-paced beggary:
Then fiery expedition be my wing ^note,
Jove's ^note Mercury, and ^note herald for a king!
Come ^note, muster men: my counsel is my shield;
We must be brief when traitors brave the field. [Exeunt.

^note Scene IV. [Footnote: Before the palace. ^note Enter ^note Queen Margaret.

Q. Mar.
So, now prosperity begins to mellow
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slily ^note have I lurk'd,
To watch the waning of mine adversaries ^note.
A dire induction am I witness to,
And will to France, hoping the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black ^note, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here? Enter ^note Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York.

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

Q. Mar.
Hover about her; say, that right for right ^note
Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.

Duch.
So many miseries have ^note crazed my voice,
That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb ^note.
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? ^note

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

Q. Eliz.
Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
When ^note didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?

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

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

Q. Eliz.
O ^note, that thou wouldst as well ^note afford a grave
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.
O, who hath any cause to mourn but I? ^note [Sitting ^note down by her.

Q. Mar.
If ancient ^note sorrow be most reverend ^note,
Give mine the benefit of seniory ^note,
And let my woes ^note frown on the upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society, ^note [Sitting ^note down with them.
Tell o'er ^note your woes again by viewing mine ^note:
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
I had a Harry ^note, till a Richard kill'd him:

Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.

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

Q. Mar.
Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard ^note kill'd him ^note.
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 ^note,
That foul defacer of God's handiwork,
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls ^note,
Thy womb let loose, to chase ^note us to our graves.
O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
How do I thank thee, that this ^note carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother's body,
And makes ^note her pew-fellow ^note with others' moan! ^note

Duch.
O Harry's wife ^note, triumph not in my woes!
God witness with me, I have wept for thine ^note.

Q. Mar.
Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that stabb'd ^note my Edward;
Thy other ^note Edward dead, to quit ^note my Edward;
Young York he is but boot, because both they
Match ^note not the high perfection of my loss:
Thy Clarence he is dead that kill'd ^note my Edward;

And the beholders of this tragic play ^note,
The adulterate ^note Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan ^note, Grey,
Untimely smother'd in their dusky ^note graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer ^note,
Only reserved their ^note factor, to buy souls
And send them ^note thither: but at hand, at hand, ^note
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end: ^note
Earth gapes ^note, hell ^note burns ^note, fiends roar ^note, saints pray, ^note
To have him suddenly convey'd away ^{note note}.
Cancel his bond ^note of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to say ^note, The dog is dead!

Q. Eliz.
O, thou didst ^note prophesy the time would come
That I should wish for thee to help me curse
That bottled spider ^note, that foul bunch-back'd ^note toad!

Q. Mar.
I call'd ^note thee then vain flourish of my fortune;
I call'd ^note thee then poor shadow, painted queen;
The presentation of but what I was;
The flattering index of a direful pageant ^note;
One heaved a-high ^note, to be hurl'd down below;
A mother only mock'd ^note with two sweet ^note babes;
A dream of what thou wert, ^note a breath, a bubble,

A sign of dignity, a garish flag
To be the aim of every dangerous shot ^note;
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where are thy children ^note? wherein dost thou joy?
Who sues to thee and cries ^note ‘God save the queen’?
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd ^note thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd ^note thee?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art:
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one being sued to, one that humbly ^note sues ^note;
For one ^note that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
For one ^note being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one ^note commanding all, obey'd of none ^note.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd ^note about,
And left thee ^note but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert ^note,
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 burthen'd ^note yoke;
From which even here I slip my weary neck ^note,
And leave the burthen of it all on thee.
Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance:
These English woes ^note will ^note make me smile in France.

Q. Eliz.
O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies!

Q. Mar.
Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days ^note;
Compare dead ^note happiness with living woe;
Think that thy ^note babes were fairer ^note than they were,
And he that slew them fouler than he is:
Bettering thy loss makes ^note the bad causer worse ^{note note}:
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

Q. Eliz.
My words ^note are dull; O, quicken them with thine!

Q. Mar.
Thy woes will make them sharp and pierce like mine ^note. [Exit. ^note

Duch.
Why should calamity be full of words?

Q. Eliz.
Windy attorneys to their client ^note woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate ^note joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries!
Let them have scope: though what they do ^note impart
Help not at all ^note, yet do they ^note ease the heart.

Duch.
If so, then ^note be not tongue-tied: go with me,
And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
My damned son, which ^note thy two sweet ^note sons smother'd.
I hear his drum ^note: be copious in exclaims. ^noteEnter King Richard, marching, with drums and trumpets. ^note

K. Rich.
Who intercepts my ^note 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.
Hidest ^note thou that forehead with a golden crown,
Where should be graven, if that right were right, ^note
The slaughter ^note of the prince that owed that crown,
And the dire death of my two ^note sons and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children? ^note

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

Q. Eliz.
Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey? ^note

K. Rich.
A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, drums!
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on ^note the Lord's anointed: strike, I say! [Flourish. Alarums. ^note
Either be patient, and entreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report ^note of war
Thus will I drown ^note your exclamations.

Duch.
Art thou my son?

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

Duch.
Then patiently hear ^note my impatience.

K. Rich.
Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
Which ^note cannot brook the accent of reproof.

Duch.
O, let me speak!

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

Duch.
I will be mild and gentle in my speech ^note.

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

Duch.
Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd ^note for thee,
God knows, in anguish, pain and agony ^note.

K. Rich.
And came I not at last to comfort you?

Duch.
No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well,
Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell.
A grievous burthen 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, ^note
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, bloody, treacherous ^note,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind ^note in hatred: ^note
What comfortable hour canst thou name,
That ever graced me in ^note thy company?

K. Rich.
Faith, none, but Humphrey ^note Hour, that call'd your grace ^note
To breakfast once forth of my ^note company. ^note
If I ^note be so disgracious ^note in your sight ^note,
Let me march on, and not offend your grace ^note.
Strike up the drum. ^note

Duch.
I prithee, 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 ^note die, by God's just ordinance,
Ere ^note from this ^note war thou turn a conqueror,
Or I with grief and ^note extreme age shall perish
And never look upon ^note thy face again.
Therefore take with thee my most heavy ^note curse;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
My prayers on the adverse party fight;
And there the little souls of Edward's ^note children
Whisper the spirits ^note of thine enemies
And promise them success and victory ^note.
Bloody thou art, ^note bloody will be ^note thy end;
Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. [Exit.

Q. Eliz.
Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse ^note
Abides in me; I say amen to all ^note.

K. Rich.
Stay, madam; I must speak ^note a word with you.

Q. Eliz.
I have no moe ^note sons of the royal blood
For thee to murder: for ^note 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 ^note of infamy:
So she may live unscarr'd of ^note bleeding slaughter,

I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.

K. Rich.
Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood ^note.

Q. Eliz.
To save her life, I'll say she is not so.

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

Q. Eliz.
And only in that safety died her brothers.

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

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

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

Q. Eliz.
True, when avoided grace makes destiny:
My babes were destined 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.

Q. Eliz.
Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. ^note
Whose hand soever lanced ^note 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,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
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. ^note

K. Rich.
Madam, so thrive I in my enterpise
And dangerous success of bloody wars ^note,
As I intend ^note more good to you and yours
Than ever you or yours ^note were by me wrong'd ^note!

Q. Eliz.
What good is cover'd with the face of heaven,
To be discover'd, that can do me good? ^note

K. Rich.
The advancement of your children, gentle ^note lady.

Q. Eliz.
Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?

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

Q. Eliz.
Flatter my sorrows ^note with report of it;
Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou demise ^note to any child of mine?

K. Rich.
Even all I have; yea, and ^note myself and all,
Will I withal ^note endow a child of thine;
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
Thou drown ^note the sad remembrance of those wrongs
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 ^note daughter ^note.

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 didst thou love her ^note brothers;
And from my heart's love I do ^note 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 mean ^note to make her queen of England.

Q. Eliz.
Say then ^note, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

K. Rich.
Even he that makes her queen: who should be else? ^{note note}

Q. Eliz.
What, thou?

K. Rich.
I, even I ^note: what think you of it, madam? ^note

Q. Eliz.
How canst thou woo her?

K. Rich.
That ^note would I ^note learn of you,
As one that are ^note best acquainted with her humour.

Q. Eliz.
And wilt thou learn of me?

K. Rich.
Madam, ^note with all my heart.

Q. Eliz.
Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave ^note
Edward and York; then haply ^note she will ^note weep:
Therefore present to her,—as sometime ^note Margaret
Did to thy ^note father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,—
A handkerchief ^note; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap ^note from her sweet brother's body ^note, ^note
And bid her dry ^note her weeping eyes therewith ^note.
If this inducement force ^note her not to love,
Send her a story of thy noble acts ^note;
Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; yea, and ^note, for her sake,
Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.

K. Rich.
Come, come, you mock me; ^note this is ^note not the way
To win your daughter.

Q. Eliz.
There is ^note no other way;
Unless thou couldst 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. ^note

Q. Eliz.
Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate ^note thee,
Having bought ^note love with such a bloody spoil.

K. Rich.
Look, what is done cannot be now amended:
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give ^note leisure to repent ^note.
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 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 ^note, of your very blood;
Of all one pain, save for a night of groans
Endured of her, for whom you bid ^note 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 ^note 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,
Advantaging their loan ^note with interest
Of ten times ^note double gain of happiness.
Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;
Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys:
And when this arm of mine hath chastised
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands ^note will I come
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victress ^note, Cæsar's Cæsar.

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? ^note

K. Rich.
Infer fair England's peace by this ^note alliance.

Q. Eliz.
Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

K. Rich.
Say that the king, which ^note may command, entreats.

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

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

Q. Eliz.
To wail ^note the title, as her mother doth.

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

Q. Eliz.
But how long shall that title ^note ‘ever ^note’ last?

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

Q. Eliz.
But how long fairly shall her sweet life ^note last?

K. Rich.
So long as heaven and nature lengthens ^note it.

Q. Eliz.
So long ^note as hell and Richard likes ^note of it.

K. Rich.
Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject love ^note.

Q. Eliz.
But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.

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 ^note my loving tale.

Q. Eliz.
Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

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

Q. Eliz.
O no, my ^note reasons are too deep and dead;
Too deep ^note and dead, poor infants, in their grave ^note.

K. Rich.
Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.

Q. Eliz.
Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break. ^{note note}

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

Q. Eliz.
Profaned, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.

K. Rich.
I swear— ^note

Q. Eliz.
By nothing; for this is no oath:
The George, profaned, hath lost his holy ^note honour;

The garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly ^note virtue;
The ^note crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory ^note.
If something thou wilt ^note swear to be believed,
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 ^note hath that ^note dishonour'd.

K. Rich.
Then, by myself—

Q. Eliz.
Thyself thyself misusest ^note. ^note

K. Rich.
Why then, by God—

Q. Eliz.
God's ^note wrong is most of all.
If thou hadst fear'd ^note to break an oath by Him ^note,
The unity the king thy brother ^note made
Had not been ^note broken, nor my brother slain ^note:
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him ^note,
The imperial metal, circling now thy brow ^note,
Had graced ^note the tender temples of my child,
And both the princes had been breathing here,
Which now, two tender playfellows ^note for ^note dust,
Thy broken faith hath ^note made a prey for ^note worms ^note.

What canst thou swear by now? ^note

K. Rich.
The time ^note to come.

Q. Eliz.
That thou hast wronged in the time ^note o'erpast;
For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee ^note.
The children live, whose parents ^note thou hast slaughter'd ^note,
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their ^note age;
The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd ^note,
Old wither'd ^note plants, to wail it with ^note their age.
Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
Misused ere ^note used, by time misused o'erpast ^{note note}.

K. Rich.
As I intend to prosper and repent,
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt ^note
Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!
Heaven ^note and fortune bar me happy hours ^note!
Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!
Be opposite all planets of good luck
To my proceedings ^note, if, with pure ^note heart's love,
Immaculate ^note devotion, holy thoughts,
I tender ^note not thy beauteous princely daughter!
In her consists my happiness and thine;
Without her, follows to this land and me,
To thee, herself ^note, and many a Christian soul,

Death, desolation ^note, ruin and decay:
It cannot be avoided but by this;
It will not be avoided but by this ^note.
Therefore, good ^note 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 ^note deserts ^note, but what I will deserve:
Urge the necessity and state of ^note times,
And be not peevish-fond ^note in great designs.

Q. Eliz.
Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

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

Q. Eliz.
Shall I forget myself to be myself?

K. Rich.
Ay ^note, if yourself's remembrance wrong yourself ^note.

Q. Eliz.
But ^note thou didst kill my children ^note.

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

Q. Eliz.
Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

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

Q. Eliz.
I go. Write to me ^note very ^note shortly,
And you shall understand from me her mind ^note. ^note

K. Rich.
Bear her my true love's kiss; and so ^note, farewell. [Exit ^note Queen Elizabeth.
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman ^note!

Enter ^note Ratcliff; Catesby following.
How now! what news? ^{note note}

Rat.
My gracious ^note sovereign, on the western coast
Rideth ^note a puissant navy; to the shore ^note
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back:
'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;
And there they ^note hull, expecting but the aid
Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

K. Rich.
Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk ^note:
Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he?

Cate.
Here, my lord ^note.

K. Rich.
Fly to the duke. [To Ratcliff ^note] Post thou to Salisbury: ^note
When thou comest thither ^note,—[To Catesby ^note] Dull unmindful villain,
Why stand'st thou still ^note, and go'st not to the duke?

Cate.
First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind ^note,
What from your grace I shall deliver to him ^note.

K. Rich.
O, true, good Catesby: bid him levy straight
The greatest strength and power he ^note can make,
And meet me presently ^note at Salisbury.

Cate.
I go. ^note [Exit. ^note

Rat.
What is 't ^note your highness' pleasure I shall do
At Salisbury? ^note

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

Rat.
Your highness told me I should post before.

K. Rich.
My mind is changed, sir, my mind is changed. Enter Lord Stanley. ^note
How now, what news with you? ^note

Stan.
None good, my lord ^note, to please you with the ^note hearing;
Nor none so bad, but it may well be told ^note.

K. Rich.
Hoyday ^note, a riddle! neither good nor bad!
Why dost ^note thou run so many mile ^note about,
When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer ^note 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, what doth he there?

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

K. Rich.
Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess? ^note

Stan.
Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely ^note,
He makes for England, there ^note 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 doth he ^note upon the sea ^note?

Stan.
Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. ^note

K. Rich.
Unless for that he comes to be your liege,
You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman ^note comes. ^note
Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.

Stan.
No, mighty liege ^note; therefore mistrust me not.

K. Rich.
Where is thy power then ^note to beat him ^note back?
Where are ^note thy tenants and thy followers?
Are they not now upon the western shore,
Safe-conducting ^note the rebels from their ships?

Stan.
No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.

K. Rich.
Cold friends to Richard ^note: what do they in the north,
When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

Stan.
They have not been commanded, mighty sovereign ^note:
Please it ^note 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 ^note be gone to join with Richmond:
I will not trust you, sir ^note.

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

K. Rich.
Well,
Go muster men; but, hear you, leave behind ^note

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

Stan.
So deal with him as I prove true to you. [Exit. ^note Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
As I by friends am well advertised,
Sir Edward ^note Courtney, and the haughty prelate
Bishop of Exeter, his brother there ^note,
With many moe ^note confederates, are in arms. Enter another Messenger.

Sec. Mess.
My liege, in Kent ^note, the Guildfords are in arms;
And every hour more competitors ^note
Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth ^note. Enter another Messenger.

Third Mess.
My lord, the army of the Duke of ^note Buckingham—

K. Rich.
Out on you ^note, owls! nothing but songs of ^note death? [He striketh him. ^note
Take that, until thou bring me ^note better news. ^note

Third Mess.
The news I have to tell your majesty
Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd;

And he himself wander'd away alone,
No man knows whither.

K. Rich.
I cry ^note thee mercy: ^note
There is my purse to cure that blow of thine ^note.
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd ^note
Reward ^note to him that brings the traitor in ^note?

Third Mess.
Such proclamation hath been made, my liege ^note. Enter another Messenger.

Fourth Mess.
Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset,
'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are ^note in arms.
Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace ^note,
The Breton ^note navy is dispersed by tempest ^note:
Richmond, in Dorsetshire ^note, sent out a boat
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks ^note
If they were his assistants, yea or no;
Who answer'd ^note him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
Hoised sail and made away for Brittany ^note.

K. Rich.
March on, march on, since we are up in arms;
If not to fight with foreign enemies,
Yet to beat ^note down these rebels here at home.

Re-enter ^note Catesby.

Cate.
My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken;
That is ^note the best news: that the Earl of Richmond
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford,
Is colder tidings ^note, yet they ^note 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. [Flourish. Exeunt. ^{note note} Scene V. [Footnote: Lord Derby's house. ^note Enter ^note Derby and Sir Christopher Urswick.

Der.
Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:
That in the sty of this most bloody ^note 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 ^note my present aid.
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?

Chris.
At Pembroke ^note, or at Ha'rford-west ^note, in Wales.

Der.
What men of name ^note resort ^note to him?

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

Der.
Return unto thy ^note lord; commend me to him:
Tell him the queen hath heartily consented
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
These letters ^note will resolve him of my mind.
Farewell. ^note [Exeunt.

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