Richm.
Fellows in Arms, and my most loving Friends,
Bruis'd underneath the Yoak of Tyranny,
Thus far into the Bowels of the Land,
Have we marcht on without Impediment;
And here receive we from our Father Stanley
Lines of fair Comfort and Encouragement:
The wretched, bloody and usurping Boar,
That spoil'd your Summer-Fields, and fruitful Vines,
Swills your warm Blood like Wash, and makes his Trough
In your embowell'd Bosoms; This soul Swine
Is now even in the Center of this Isle,
Near to the Town of Leicester, as we learn:
From Tamworth thither, is but one Day's march.
In God's Name cheerly on, couragious Friends,
To reap the Harvest of perpetual Peace,
By this one bloody trial of sharp War.

Oxf.
Every Man's Conscience is a thousand Men,
To fight against this guilty Homicide.

Herb.
I doubt not but his Friends will turn to us.

Blunt.
He hath no Friends, but what are Friends for fear,
Which in his dearest need will fly from him.

Richm.
All for our vantage, then in God's Name march,
True hope is swift, and flies with Swallow's Wings,
Kings it makes Gods, and meaner Creatures Kings. [Exeunt. Enter King Richard in Arms, with Norfolk, Ratcliff, and the Earl of Surrey.

K. Rich.
Here pitch our Tent, even here in Bosworth-field.
My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

Sur.
My Heart is ten times lighter than my Looks.

K. Rich.
My Lord of Norfolk.

Nor.
Here, most gracious Liege.

K. Rich.
Norfolk, we must have knocks:
Ha, must we not?

Nor.
We must both give and take, my loving Lord.

K. Rich.
Up with my Tent, here will I lye to Night,
But where to Morrow?—well all's one for that.
Who hath descry'd the number of the Traitors?

Nor.
Six or seven thousand is their utmost Power.

K. Rich.
Why our Battalia trebbles that account:
Besides, the King's Name is a Tower of Strength,
Which they upon the adverse Faction want.
Up with the Tent: Come, Noble Gentlemen,
Let us survey the vantage of the Ground.
Call for some Men of sound Direction:
Let's lack no Discipline, make no delay,
For, Lords, to Morrow is a busie Day. [Exeunt. Enter Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and Dorset.

Richm.
The weary Sun hath made a Golden set,
And by the bright Tract of his fiery Car,
Gives token of a goodly Day to Morrow.
Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my Standard:
Give me some Ink and Paper in my Tent;
I'll draw the Form and Model of our Battel,
Limit each Leader to his several Charge,
And part in just proportion our small Power.
My Lord of Oxford, you Sir William Brandon,
And you Sir William Herbert stay with me:
The Earl of Pembrook keeps his Regiment;
Good Captain Blunt, bear my good Night to him,
And by the second hour in the Morning,
Desire the Earl to see me in my Tent.
Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me:
Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know?

Blunt.
Unless I have mista'en his Colours much,
(Which well I am assur'd I have not done)
His Regiment lies, half a mile at least,
South from the mighty Power of the King.

Richm.
If without Peril it be possible,
Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him,
And give him from me this most needful Note.

Blunt.
Upon my self, my Lord, I'll undertake it,
And so God give you quiet rest to Night.

Richm.
Good Night, good Captain Blunt.
Come, Gentlemen,

Let us consult upon to Morrow's Business;
Into my Tent, the Dew is raw and cold. [They withdraw into the Tent. Enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Norfolk and Catesby.

K. Rich.
What is't a Clock?

Cates.
It's Supper time, my Lord, it's nine a Clock.

K. Rich.
I will not Sup to Night,
Give me some Ink and Paper:
What, is my Beaver easier than it was?
And all my Armor laid into my Tent?

Cates.
It is, my Liege; and all things are in readiness.

K. Rich.
Good Norfolk hye thee to thy Charge,
Use careful Watch, chuse trusty Centinels.

Nor.
I go, my Lord.

K. Rich.
Stir with the Lark to Morrow, gentle Norfolk.

Nor.
I warrant you, my Lord. [Exit.

K. Rich.
Ratcliff.

Rat.
My Lord.

K. Rich.
Send out a Pursuivant at Arms
To Stanley's Regiment; bid him bring his Power
Before Sun-rising, lest his Son George fall
Into the blind Cave of eternal Night.
Fill me a Bowl of Wine; give me a Watch:
Saddle white Surrey for the Field to Morrow:
Look that my Staves be found, and not too heavy. Ratcliff.

Rat.
My Lord.

K. Rich.
Saw'st the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

Rat.
Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself,
Much about Cock-shut time, from Troop to Troop
Went through the Army, cheering up the Soldiers.

K. Rich.
So, I am satisfied; give me a Bowl of Wine,
I have not that alacrity of Spirit,
Nor cheer of Mind that I was wont to have.
Set it down. Is Ink and Paper ready?

Rat.
It is, my Lord.

K. Rich.
Bid my Guard watch. Leave me.
Ratcliff, about the mid of Night come to my Tent,
And help to Arm. Leave me, I say. [Exit Ratcliff. Enter Derby to Richmond in his Tent.

Derby.
Fortune and Victory sit on thy Helm.

Richm.
All comfort that the dark Night can afford,

Be to thy Person, noble Father-in-Law,
Tell me, how fares our noble Mother?

Derby.
I, by Attorney, bless thee from thy Mother,
Who prays continually for Richmond's good;
So much for that. The silent Hours steal on,
And flaky Darkness breaks within the East.
In brief, for so the Season bids us be,
Prepare thy Battel early in the Morning,
And put thy Fortune to th' Arbitrement
Of bloody Stroaks, and mortal staring War:
I, as I may, (that which I would, I cannot)
With best advantage will deceive the time,
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of Arms.
But on thy side I may not be too forward,
Lest being seen, thy Brother, tender George,
Be executed in his Father's sight.
Farewel; the leisure, and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious Vows of Love,
And ample enterchange of sweet Discourse,
Which so long sundred Friends should dwell upon:
God give us leisure for these rites of Love.
Once more Adieu, be valiant, and speed well.

Richm.
Good Lords, conduct him to his Regiment:
I'll strive, with troubled Noise, to take a Nap,
Lest leaden slumber poize me down to morrow,
When I should mount with Wings of Victory:
Once more, good Night, kind Lords and Gentlemen. [Exeunt. Manet Richmond.
O thou, whose Captain I account my self,
Look on my Forces with a gracious Eye:
Put in their Hands thy brusing Irons of wrath,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall,
Th' usurping Helmets of our Adversaries.
Make us thy Ministers of Chastisement,
That we may praise thee in thy Victory:
To thee I do commend my watchful Soul,
E'er I let fall the Windows of mine Eyes:
Sleeping, and waking, oh defend me still. [Sleeps. Enter the Ghost of Prince Edward, Son to Henry the Sixth.

Ghost.
Let me sit heavy on thy Soul to morrow: [To K. Rich.

Think how thou stabb'dst me in the prime of Youth
At Tewksbury; despair therefore, and die.
Be cheerful, Richmond, [To Richm.
For the wronged Souls
Of butcher'd Princes fight in thy behalf:
King Henry's Issue, Richmond, comforts thee. Enter the Ghost of Henry the Sixth.

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

Ghost.
Let me sit heavy on thy Soul to morrow; [To K. Rich.
I that was wash'd to death in Fulsom Wine,
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death:
To morrow in the Battel think on me,
And fall thy edgless Sword, despair and die.
Thou Off-spring of the House of Lancaster, [To Richm.
The wronged Heirs of York do pray for thee,
Good Angels guard thy Battel, live and flourish. Enter the Ghosts of Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan.

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

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

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

All.
Awake. [To Richm.
And think our wrongs in Richard's Bosom
Will conquer. Awake, and win the Day. Enter the Ghost of Lord Hastings.

Ghost.
Bloody and guilty; guilty awake, [To K. Rich.
And in a bloody Battel end thy Days,
Think on Lord Hastings; despair and die.

Quiet untroubled Soul, [To Richm.
Awake, awake:
Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake. Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes.

Ghosts.
Dream on thy Cousins [To K. Rich.
Smother'd in the Tower:
Let us be laid within thy Bosom, Richard,
And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death.
Thy Nephews Souls bid thee despair and di .
Sleep Richmond, [To Richm.
Sleep in Peace, and wake in Joy,
Good Angels guard thee from the Boar's annoy,
Live, and beget a happy race of Kings.
Edward's unhappy Sons do bid thee flourish. Enter the Ghost of Anne his Wife.

Ghost.
Richard, thy Wife, [To K. Rich.
That wretched Anne, thy Wife,
That never slept a quiet Hour with thee,
Now fills thy sleep with perturbations,
To morrow in the Battel think on me,
And fall thy edgless Sword, despair and die.
Thou quiet Soul, [To Richm.
Sleep thou a quiet Sleep:
Dream of success, and happy Victory,
Thy Adversary's Wife doth pray for thee. Enter the Ghost of Buckingham.

Ghost.
The first was I, [To K. Rich.
That help'd thee to the Crown:
The last was I, that felt thy Tyranny.
O, in the Battel think on Buckingham,
And die in terror of thy guiltiness.
Dream on, dream on, of bloody Deeds and Death,
Fainting despair; despairing yield thy breath.
I dy'd for hope, [To Richm.
E'er I could lend thee aid;
But cheer thy Heart, and be thou not dismay'd:
God, and good Angels fight on Richmond's side,
And Richard falls in height of all his Pride. [The Ghosts vanish. [K. Richard starts out of his Dream.

K. Rich.
Give me another Horse, bind up my Wounds:
Have mercy, Jesu—Soft, I did but dream.

O coward Conscience! how dost thou afflict me?
The Lights burn blue—It is not dead Mid-night—
Cold fearful Drops stand on my trembling Flesh:
What? do I fear my self? There's none else by,
Richard loves Richard, that is, I am I.
Is there a Murtherer here? No; Yes, I am:
Then fly? what from my self? Great reason; why?
Lest I revenge. What? my self upon my self?
Alack, I love my self. Wherefore? For any good
That I my self have done upon my self?
O no. Alas, I rather hate my self,
For hateful Deeds committed by my self.
I am a Villain; yet I lie, I am not.
Fool, of thy self speak—wellFool, do not flatter.
My Conscience hath a thousand several Tongues,
And every Tongue brings in a several Tale,
And every Tale condemns me for a Villain;
Perjury, in the high'st degree,
Murther, stern Murther, in the dir'st degree,
All several Sins, all us'd in each degree,
Throng all to th' Bar, crying all, Guilty, guilty.
I shall despair, there is no Creature loves me;
And if I die, no Soul shall pity me.
Nay, wherefore should they? since that I my self
Find in my self no pity to my self.
Methought, the Souls of all that I had murther'd
Came to my Tent, and every one did threat
To morrows Vengeance on the head of Richard. Enter Ratcliff.

Rat.
My Lord.

K. Rich.
Who's there?

Rat.
Ratcliff, my Lord, 'tis I; the early Village Cock
Hath twice done Salutation to the Morn;
Your Friends are up, and buckle on their Armour.

K. Rich.
O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear—

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

K. Rich.
By the Apostle Paul, shadows to night
Have struck more terrour to the Soul of Richard,
Than can the substance of ten thousand Soldiers
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.

'Tis not yet near Day. Come, go with me,
Under our Tents; I'll play the Eaves-dropper,
To hear if any Man shrink from me. [Exeunt K. Richard and Ratcliff. Enter the Lords to Richmond sitting in his Tent.

Lords.
Good morrow, Richmond.

Richm.
Cry you mercy, Lords, and watchful Gentlemen,
That you have ta'en a tardy Sluggard here.

Lords.
How have you slept, my Lord?

Richm.
The sweetest Sleep,
And fairest boading Dreams,
That ever entred in a drowsie Head,
Have I since your departure had, my Lords.
Methought their Souls, whose Bodies Richard murther'd,
Came to my Tent, and cried on Victory.
I promise you my Heart is very jocund,
In the remembrance of so fair a Dream.
How far into the Morning is it, Lords?

Lords.
Upon the stroak of four.

Richm.
Why then 'tis time to Arm, and give direction.
More than I have said, loving Countrymen,
The leisure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell upon; yet remember this,
God, and our good Cause, fight upon our side,
The Prayers of holy Saints, and wronged Souls,
Like high rear'd Bulwarks, stand before our Faces.
Richard except, those whom we fight against,
Had rather have us win, than him they follow.
For, what is he they follow? Truly Gentlemen,
A bloody Tyrant, and a Homicide:
One rais'd in Blood, and one in Blood establish'd;
One that made means to come by what he hath,
And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him;
A base foul Stone, made precious by the foil
Of England's Chair, where he is falsely set.
One that hath ever been God's Enemy;
Then if you fight against God's Enemy,
God will in justice ward you as his Soldiers.

If you do swear to put a Tyrant down,
You sleep in Peace, the Tyrant being slain:
If you do fight against your Countries Foes,
Your Countries Fat shall pay your pains the hire.
If you do fight in safeguard of your Wives,
Your Wives shall welcome home the Conquerors,
If you do free your Children from the Sword,
Your Childrens Children quits it in your Age.
Then in the Name of God and all these rights,
Advance your Standards, draw your willing Swords.
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt,
Shall be this cold Corps on the Earth's cold face.
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt,
The least of you shall share his part thereof.
Sound Drums and Trumpets boldly, and chearfully,
God, and Saint George, Richmond, and Victory. Enter King Richard, Ratcliff, and Catesby.

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

Rat.
That he was never trained up in Arms.

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

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

K. Rich.
He was in the right, and so indeed it is.
Tell the Clock there. [Clock strikes.
Give me a Kalender—who saw the Sun to day?

Rat.
Not I, my Lord.

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

Rat.
My Lord.

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

Norf.
Arm, arm, my Lord, the Foes vaunt in the Field.

K. Rich.
Come, bustle, bustle—Caparison my Horse.
Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his Power,

I will lead forth my Soldiers to the Plain,
And thus my Battel shall be ordered.
My Foreward shall be drawn in length,
Consisting equally of Horse and Foot:
Our Archers shall be p aced in the midst;
John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of the Foot and Horse.
They thus directed, we will follow
In the main Battel, whose puissance on either side
Shall be well winged with our chiefest Horse:
This, and St. George to boot.
What think'st thou, Norfolk?

Nor.
A good Direction, warlike Sovereign.
This found I on my Tent this Morning. [Giving a Scrowl.

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

K. Rich.
A thing devised by the Enemy.
Go Gentlemen, every Man to his Charge,
Let not our babling Dreams affright our Souls,
For Conscience is a Word that Cowards use,
Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe,
Our strong Arms be our Conscience, Swords our Law.
March on, join bravely, let us to't pell mell,
If not to Heav'n, then hand in hand to Hell.
What shall I say more than I have inferr'd?
Remember whom you are to cope withal,
A sort of Vagabonds, Rascals, Run-aways,
A scum of Britains, and base Lackey-Peasants,
Whom their o'er-cloyed Country vomits forth
To desperate Adventures, and assur'd Destruction.
You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest:
You having Lands, and blest with beauteous Wives,
They would restrain the one, distain the other.
And who doth lead them, but a paltry Fellow?
Long kept in Britain at our Mother's Cost,
A Milk-sop, one that never in his Life
Felt so much Cold, as over Shooes in Snow:
Let's whip these Stragglers o'er the Seas again,
Lash hence these over-weening Rags of France,

These famish'd Beggars, weary of their Lives,
Who, but for dreaming on this fond Exploit,
For want of means, poor Rats, had hang'd themselves.
If we be conquer'd, let Men conquer us,
And not those Bastard-Britains, whom our Fathers
Have in their own Land beaten, bobb'd and thump'd,
And on Record, left them the Heirs of Shame.
Shall these enjoy our Lands? lye with our Wives?
Ravish our Daughters? [Drum afar off.
Hark, I hear their Drum,
Right Gentlemen of England, fight boldly, Yeomen,
Draw, Archers, draw your Arrows to the Head.
Spur your proud Horses hard, and ride in Blood,
Amaze the Welkin with your broken Staves. Enter a Messenger.
What says Lord Stanley, will he bring his Power?

Mes.
My Lord, he doth deny to come.

K. Rich.
Off with his Son George's Head.

Nor.
My Lord, the Enemy is past the Marsh;
After the Battel let George Stanley dye.

K. Rich.
A thousand Hearts are great within my Bosom.
Advance our Standards, set upon our Foes,
Our ancient word of Courage, fair St. George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery Dragons:
Upon them, Victory sits on our Helms. [Exeunt. Alarum. Excursions. Enter Catesby.

Cates.
Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk,
Rescue, Rescue:
The King enacts more Wonders than a Man,
Daring an opposite to every Danger:
His Horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of Death:
Rescue, fair Lord, or else the Day is lost. Alarums. Enter King Richard.

K. Rich.
A Horse, a Horse, my Kingdom for a Horse.

Cates.
Withdraw, my Lord, I'll help you to a Horse.

K. Rich.
Slave, I have set my Life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the Die:
I think there be six Richmonds in the Field,
Five have I slain to Day, instead of him.
A Horse, a Horse, my Kingdom for a Horse.

Alarum. Enter King Richard and Richmond, they fight, Richard is slain. Retreat, and Flourish. Enter Richmond, Derby bearing the Crown, with divers other Lords.

Richm.
God and your Arms be prais'd, Victorious Friends;
The Day is ours, the bloody Dog is dead

Derby.
Couragious Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee:
Lo, here these long usurped Royalties,
From the dead Temples of this bloody Wretch,
Have I pluckt off, to grace thy Brows withal.
Wear it, and make use of it.

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

Derby.
He is, my Lord, and safe in Leicester Town;
Whither, if you please, we may withdraw us.

Richm.
What Men of Note are slain on either Side?

Derby.
John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferris,
Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.

Richm.
Inter their Bodies as becomes their Births,
Proclaim a Pardon to the Soldiers fled,
That in Submission will return to us:
And then, as we have ta'en the Sacrament,
We will unite the White Rose, and the Red.
Smile Heav'n upon this fair Conjunction,
That long hath frown'd upon their Enmity:
What Traitor hears me, and says not Amen?
England hath long been mad, and scar'd her self;
The Brother blindly shed the Brother's Blood;
The Father rashly slaughter'd his own Son;
The Sons, compell'd, been Butchers to the Sire:
All this divided York and Lancaster,
Divided in their dire Division.
O now let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true Succeeders of each Royal House,
By God's fair Ordinance, conjoin together:
And let thy Heirs, God, if theit Will be so,
Enrich the time to come, with smooth-fac'd Peace,
With smiling Plenty, and fair prosperous Days.
Abate the edge of Traitors, Gracious Lord,

That would reduce these bloody Days again,
And make poor England weep in streams of Blood.
Let them not live to taste this Land's encrease,
That would with Treason wound this fair Land's Peace.
Now Civil Wounds are stopp'd, Peace lives again;
That she may long live here, God say, Amen. [Exeunt.

The

Previous section