Pr. Ed.
Why do you startle, Brother?

D. York.
O! I have been so frighted in my sleep!
Pray turn this way?

Pr. Ed.
Alas, I fain wou'd sleep, but cannot
Tho' 'tis the stillest night I ever knew.
Not the least breath has stir'd these four hours
Sure all the World's asleep but we.

D. York.
Hark! Pray Brother count the Clock! (Clock strikes.
—But two! O tedious night: I've slept an Age.
Wou'd it were day, I am so melancholy.

Pr. Ed.
Hark! What noise is that?
I thought I heard some one upon the stairs!
Hark! Again!

D. York.
O dear, I hear 'em too! Who is it, Brother?

Pr. Ed.
Bless me! a light too thro' the door! look there!

D. York.
Who is it? Hark! it unlocks! O! I am so afraid! Enter Dighton and Forrest with dark lanthorns.

Pr. Ed.
Bless me! What frightful men are these?

Both.
Who's there?

Pr. Ed.
Who's there?

Digh.
Hist, we've wak'd 'em! What shall we say?

For.
Nothing. We come to do.

Digh.
I'll see their Faces—

D. York.
Won't they speak to us? (Dighton looks in with his Lanthorn.
O save me! Hide me! Save me, Brother!

Pr. Ed.
O mercy Heaven! Who are you, Sirs,
That look so ghastly pale and terrible?

Digh.
I am a Fool.—I cannot answer 'em.

For.
You must die, my Lord, so must your Brother.

Pr. Ed.
O stay, for pity sake! What is our Crime, Sir?
Why must we die?

Digh.
The King, your Uncle, loves you not.

Pr. Ed.
O Cruel man!
Tell him we'll live in Prison all our days,
And, when we give occasion of offence,
Then let us die: H'as yet no cause to kill us.

For.
Pray.

Pr. Ed.
We do, Sir, to you. O spare us Gentlemen!
I was some time your King, and might have shown
You mercy: For your dear Souls sake pity us.

For.
We'll hear no more.

Both Pr.
O Mercy, Mercy!

For.
Down, down with 'em. They smother them, and the Scene shuts on them. Enter Tirrel. Solus.

Tir.
‘'Tis done: The barbarous bloody act is done.
‘O the most Arch-deed of pitious Massacre
‘That ever yet this Land was guilty of.
Ha! the King: His coming hither at this
Late hour, speaks him impatient for the welcome News. Enter Richard.

Rich.
Now my Tirrel, how are the Brats dispos'd?
Say; am I happy? Hast thou dealt upon 'em?

Tir.
‘If to have done the thing you gave in charge
‘Beget your happiness, then, Sir, be happy;
For it is done.

Rich.
But didst thou see 'em dead?

Tir.
I did, my Lord.

Rich.
And buried, my good Tirrel?

Tir.
In that I thought to ask your Grace's Pleasure.

Rich.
I have't—I'll have 'em sure—Get me a Coffin
Full of holes, let 'em be both cram'd into't;
And, hark thee, in the night-tide throw 'em down
The Thames; once in, they'll find the way to th'bottom.
Meantime but think how I may do thee good,
And be Inheritor of thy desire.

Tir.
I humbly thank your Highness.

Rich.
About it strait, good Tirrel.

Tir.
Conclude it done, my Lord. (Exit Tir.

Rich.
Why then my lowdest fears are husht.
‘The Sons of Edward have Eternal Rest,
‘And Ann, my Wife, has bid this World good night,
While fair Elizabeth my beauteous Neice
Like a New Morn lights onward to my wishes. Enter Catesby.

Cat.
My Lord!

Rich.
Good News, or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly?

Cat.
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 increases.

Rich.
Morton with Richmond, touches me more near
Than Buckingham and his rash levied numbers.
‘But come, dangers retreat when boldly they're oppos'd,
‘And dull delays lead impotence and fear.
‘Then fiery Expedition raise my Arm,
And fatal may it fall on crush'd Rebellion.
  Let's muster Men, my Councel is my Shield,
  We must be brief when Traytors brave the Field. [Exit. Enter the Queen and Dutchess of York.

Queen.
O my poor Children! O my tender Babes!
My unblown flowers pluck'd by untimely hands:
‘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 Mothers Lamentation:
Why slept their Guardian Angels, when this deed was done?

D. York.
‘So many miseries have drain'd my Eyes,
‘That my woe-wearied Tongue is still and mute.
‘Why should Calamity be full of Words?

Queen.
Let's give 'em scope, for tho' they can't remove,
‘Yet they do ease Affliction.

D. York.
Why then let us be loud in Exclamations
To Richard! Haste, and pierce him with our cries!
That from henceforth his Conscience may out-Tongue
The close whispers of his relentless heart.
Hark! His Trumpet sounds! This way he must pass.

Queen.
Alas, I've not the Daring to confront him.

D. York.
I have a Mothers right, I'll force him hear me.

Enter Richard with his Powers, the Dutchess meets and stops him, &c.

Rich.
Who intercepts me in my Expedition?

D. York.
Dost thou not know me? Art thou not my Son?

Rich.
I cry your mercy, Madam, is it you?

D. York.
‘Art thou my Son?

Rich.
I, I thank Heaven, my Father and your Self.

D. York.
‘Then I command thee, hear me. Rich.
Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
That cannot brook the accent of Reproof.

D. York.
Stay, I'll be mild and gentle in my Words.

Rich.
And brief, good Mother, for I am in haste. D. York.
Why, I have staid for thee (just Heaven knows
In Torment and Agony.

Rich.
And came I not at last to comfort you? D. York.
No, on my Soul, too well thou know'st it.
A grievous burthen was thy Birth to me;
Tetchy and way-ward was thy Infancy,
Thy prime of Manhood daring, bold and stubborn:
Thy Age confirm'd most subtle, proud and bloody. Rich.
If I am so disgracious in your eye,
Let me march on, and not offend you, Madam.
Strike up the Drum.

D: York.
Yet stay, I charge thee hear me.

Queen.
If not, hear me; for I have wrongs will speak
Without a Tongue: methinks the very sight
Of me shou'd turn thee into stone.
‘Where are my Children, Richard?

D. York.
‘Where is thy Brother Clarence?

Queen.
Where Hastings?

D. York.
‘Rivers?

Queen.
‘Vaughan?

D. York.
‘Grey?

Rich.
A Flourish, Trumpets: Strike Allarum, Drums.
Let not the Heavens hear these Tell-tale Women
Rail on the Heavens Anointed. Strike, I say. [Allarum of Drums and Trumpets.
Either be patient and intreat me fair,
Or with the Clamorous report of War
Thus will I drown your Exclamations.
Then hear me Heaven, and Heaven at his latest hour
Be Deaf to Him as he is now to me:
‘E'er from this War he turn a Conqueror,
Ye Pow'rs, cut off his dangerous thread of Life,

I east his black sins rise higher in Account,
Than Hell has pains to punish—
Mischance and sorrow wait thee to the Field:
Hearts Discontent, languid and lean Despair
With all the Hells of Guilt pursue thy steps for ever. [Ex. Duc.

Queen.
Tho' far more cause, yet much less power to curse
Abides in me: I say Amen to her.

Rich.
Stay, Madam, I wou'd beg some words with you?

Queen.
‘What canst thou ask, that I have now to grant?
‘Is't another Son? Richard I have none.

Rich.
You have a Beauteous Daughter call'd Elizabeth.

Queen.
‘Must she die too? Rich.
For whose fair sake I'll bring more Good to you,
Than ever You or Yours from me had Harm;
So in the Lethe of thy angry Soul
Thou'lt drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs
‘Which thou supposest me the cruel cause of. Queen.
Be brief, least that the process of thy Kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness Date.

Rich.
‘Know then, that from my Soul I love the fair
‘Elizabeth, and will, with your permission,
‘Seat her on the Throne of England.

Queen.
‘Alas, vain man, how canst thou wooe her? Rich.
That would I learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humour.

Queen.
If thou wilt learn of me, then wooe her thus,
Send to her, by the man that kill'd her Brothers,
‘A pair of bleeding Hearts; thereon Engrave
‘Edward and York: Then haply will she weep
‘On this. Present her with an Handkerchief
‘Stain'd in their Blood, to wipe her woeful Eyes.
If this Inducement move her not to Love,
Read o'er the History of thy Noble Deeds;
‘Tell her, thy Policy took off her Uncle
Clarence, Rivers, Grey; nay, and for her sake,
Made quick conveyance with her dear Aunt Ann. Rich.
You mock me, Madam; this is not the way
To win your Daughter.

Queen.
There is no other way,
Unless thou couldst put on some other form,
And not be Richard that has done all this.

Rich.
As I intend to prosper and Repent,
So thrive I in my dangerous Affairs
Of Hostile Arms; My self, my self 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 dear Hearts Love,
Immaculate Devotion, Holy Thoughts,
I tender not the fair Elizabeth,
In her consists my happiness and thine:
  Without her follows to my self and thee,
Her self, the Land, and many a Christian Soul,
Death, Desolation, Ruin and Decay.
“It cannot, will not be avoided, but by this.

Queen.
What shall I say? still to affront his love, Aside.
I fear will but incense him to Revenge. Aside.
And to consent I shou'd abhor my self, Aside.
Yet I may seemingly comply, and thus Aside.
By sending Richmond Word of his Intent, Aside.
Shall gain some time to let my Child escape him. Aside.
It shall be so,
I have consider'd, Sir, of your important wishes,
And cou'd I but believe you real—

Rich.
Now by the sacred Hosts of Saints above—

Queen.
O do not swear, my Lord, I ask no Oath;
Unless my Daughter doubts you more than I. Rich.
O my kind Mother (I must call you so)
Be thou to her my loves soft Orator;
Plead what I Will be, not what I Have been;
Not my deserts, but what I Will deserve:
‘And when this Warlike arm shall have chastis'd
‘Th'audacious Rebel hot-brain'd Buckingham:
Bound with Triumphant Garlands will I come,
And lead thy Daughter to a Conqueror's Bed.

Queen.
My Lord, farewel: in some few days expect
To hear how fair a progress I have made.
Till when be Happy, as you're Penitent.

Rich.
My heart goes with you to my Love, farewel.
‘Relenting, Shallow-thoughted Woman. [Exit. Q.
How now! the News?

Enter Ratcliff. Rat.
Most gracious Sovereign, on the Western Coasts
Rides a most powerful Navy and our fears
Inform us Richmond is their Admiral,
There do they Hull expecting but the aid,
Of Buckingham to welcome them a shore.

Rich.
‘We must prevent him then. Come hither Catesby.

Cat.
‘My Lord, your pleasure? Rich.
Post to the Duke of Norfolk instantly;
Bid him strait levy all the strength and power
That he can make, and meet me suddenly
At Salisbury: Commend me to his Grace: away! (Exit Cat.
Well, my Lord, What News have you gather'd? Enter Lord Stanley.

Ld. Stan.
Richmond is on the Seas, my Lord. Rich.
There let him sink, and be the Seas on Him:
White Liver'd Runnagade, what does he there?

Ld. Stan.
I know not, mighty Sovereign, but by guess.

Rich.
Well, as you guess? Ld. Stan.
Stir'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,
He makes for England here to claim the Crown.

Rich.
Traytor, the Crown: Where is thy power then
To beat him back?
Where be thy Tenants, and thy Followers?
‘The Foe upon our Coast, and thou no Friends to meet 'em?
Or hast thou marched 'em to the Western shore,
To give the Rebels Conduct from their Ships?

Ld. Stan.
My Lord, my Friends are ready all, i'th' North. Rich.
The North! Why, what do they do in the North,
When they shou'd serve their Sovereign in the West?

Ld. Stan.
They yet have had no Orders, Sir, to move:
If 'tis your Royal Pleasure they should march,
‘I'll lead 'em on with utmost haste to joyn you,
‘Where, and what Time your Majesty shall please.

Rich.
What, thou wou'dst be gone, to joyn with Richmond?

Ld. Stan.
‘Sir, you've no Cause to doubt my Loyalty;
‘I ne'er yet was, nor ever will be false.

Rich.
Away then, to thy Friends, and lead 'em on
‘To meet me—Hold! Come back! I will not trust thee,
I've thought a way to make thee sure: Your Son
George Stanley, Sir, I'll have him left behind;
And look your Heart be Firm,
Or else his heads Assurance is but Frail.

Ld. Stan.
As I prove true, my Lord, so deal with him. (Exit Stan. Enter a Messenger. Mes.
My Lord, the Army of Great Buckingham
By sudden Floods, and fall of Waters,
Is half lost and scatter'd,
And he himself wander'd away alone;
No man knows whither.

Rich.
‘Has any careful Officer proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the Traytor in?

Mes.
Such Proclamation has been made, my Lord. Enter Catesby.

Cat.
My Liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken.

Rich.
Off with his head. So much for Buckingham.

Cat.
My Lord, I'm sorry I must tell more News.

Rich.
Out with it. Cat.
The Earl of Richmond with a mighty power
Is Landed, Sir, at Milford:
And, to confirm the News, Lord Marquess Dorset,
And Sir Thomas Lovewel are up in Yorkshire.

Rich.
Why ay, this looks Rebellion. Ho! my Horse!
by Heaven the News allarms my stirring Soul.
‘And as the Wretch, whose favour weakned joynts,
‘Like strengthless hinges buckle under Life;
‘Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
‘From his fond Keeper's Arms, and starts away:
‘Even so these War-worn Limbs grown weak
‘From Wars disuse, being now inrag'd with War,
‘Feel a new Fury, and are thrice themselves.
Come forth my Honest Sword, which here I vow,
By my Souls hope, shall ne'er again be sheath'd,

Ne'er shall these watching Eyes have needful rest,
Till Death has clos'd 'em in a glorious Grave,
Or Fortune given me Measure of Revenge. [Exeunt. The End of the Fourth ACT.

Previous section