Q. M.
So, now prosperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,

To watch the waining of mine enemies ^note:
A 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, hastily; Dutchess of York following her.

Que.
Ah, my poor princes ^note! ah, my tender babes!
My unblown ^note flowers ^note, new-appearing sweets!
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. M.
Hover about her; say, that right for right14Q0887
Hath dim'd your infant morn to aged night.

Dut.
So many miseries have ^note craz'd my voice,
That my woe-weary'd tongue is still and mute. ^note—
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? ^note

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

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

Q. M.
When holy Henry ^note dy'd, and my sweet son?

Dut.
Dead life, blind sight, ^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 on it.
Unlawfully ^note made drunk with innocent ^note blood.

Que.
Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford ^note a grave,
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat;

Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here! [throwing herself by her.
Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we? ^note

Q. M.
If ancient sorrow be most reverent,
Give mine the benefit of seniory ^note,
And let my griefs ^note frown on the upper hand. [joining, and taking Seat between them.
If sorrow can admit society,
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine:— ^note
I had an Edward, 'till a Richard kill'd him;
I had a husband, 'till a Richard ^note kill'd him:
Thou hadst an Edward, 'till a Richard kill'd him;
Thou hadst a Richard, 'till a Richard kill'd him.

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

Q. M.
Thou hadst a Clarence too,14Q0888 and Richard ^note 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 ^note;
That foul defacer of God's handy-work;
14Q0889That excellent grand tyrant of the earth, ^note
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
Thy womb let loose, to chase 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 pue-fellow with others' moan!

Dut.
O Harry's wife, triúmph not in my woes;
God witness with me, I have wept for thine. ^note

Q. M.
Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.

Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'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 stab'd ^note my Edward;
And the beholders of this tragick ^note play, ^note
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;
Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls,
And send them ^note thither: But at hand, at hand,
Ensues his piteous and unpity'd end:
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar for him; saints pray,
To have him suddenly convey'd ^note from hence:—
Cancel his bond ^note of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to say ^note, The dog is dead!

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

Q. M.
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,
One heav'd a high ^note to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes ^note;
A dream of what thou wast; a garish flag, ^note
To be the aim of every dangerous shot;
A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where be thy two sons? wherein ^note dost thou joy?
Who sues, and kneels, and says ^note—God save the queen?

Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art.
For happy wife,14Q0890 a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care:
For one being su'd to, one that humbly sues; ^note
For one commanding all, obey'd of none;
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me.
Thus hath the course of justice whirl'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 yoke;
From which even here I slip my weary'd head, ^note
And leave the burthen of it all on thee.—
Farewel, York's wife,—and queen of sad mischance,—
These English woes shall make ^note me smile in France.

Que.
O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies.

Q. M.
Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day; ^note
Compare dead happiness ^note with living woe;
Think that thy 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;
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

Que.
My words ^note are dull, O, quicken them with thine!

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

Dut.
Why should calamity be full of words?

Que.
Windy attorneys to their ^note client ^note woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate ^note joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries,
Let them have scope: though what they do impart ^note
Help nothing else, yet ^note do they ease the heart.

Dut.
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 ^note sons smother'd. [Drum within.
I hear his drum,—be ^note copious in exclaims. Enter Richard, and Train, marching.

Ric.
Who intercepts me in ^note my expedition?

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

Que.
Hid'st ^note thou that forehead with a golden crown,
Where ^note should be branded, ^note if that right were right,
The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown,
And the dire death of my poor sons ^note, and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children?

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

Que.
Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey? ^note

Dut.
Where is kind Hastings?

Ric.
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 ^note of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.

Dut.
Art thou my son?

Ric.
Ay; I thank God, my father, and yourself.

Dut.
Then patiently hear my impatience.

Ric.
Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
That cannot ^note brook the accent of reproof.

Dut.
O, let me speak. ^note

Ric.
Do, then; but I'll not hear.

Dut.
I will be mild and gentle in my words. ^note

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

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

Ric.
And came I not at last to comfort you?

Dut.
No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well,
Thou cam'st 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, sly, and bloody, ^note
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred: ^note
What comfortable hour canst thou name,
That ever grac'd me in thy ^note company?

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

Dut.
I pr'ythee, hear me speak.

Ric.
You speak too bitterly.

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

Ric.
So.

Dut.
Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance,

Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
Or I with grief and extream age shall perish,
And never look upon thy ^note face again.
Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse ^note;
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 ^note.
Bloody thou art, bloody ^note will be thy end;
Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. [Exit Dutchess.

Que.
Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse
Abides in me; I say amen to her. ^note [going.

Ric.
Stay, madam, I must speak a ^note word with you.

Que.
I have no more sons of the royal blood,
For thee to murther ^note: for my daughters, Richard,—
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;
And therefore level not to hit their lives.

Ric.
You have a daughter call'd—Elizabeth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Que.
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 ^note infamy:
So she may live unscar'd of bleeding ^note slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.

Ric.
Wrong not her birth, she is a royal princess. ^note

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

Ric.
Her life is safest only ^note in her birth.

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

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

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

Ric.
All unavoided is the doom of destiny.

Que.
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.

Ric.
You speak, as if that I had slain my cousins. ^note

Que.
Cousins, indeed;14Q0891 and by their uncle cozen'd
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hand soever lanc'd ^note their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:
No doubt, the murth'rous 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.

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

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

Ric.
The advancement of your children, gentle lady. ^note

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

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

Que.
Flatter my sorrows ^note with report of it;

Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou devise ^note to any child of mine?

Ric.
Even all I have; ay, and ^note myself and all,
Will I withal ^note 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.

Que.
Be brief, left that the process of thy kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. ^note

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

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

Ric.
What do you think?

Que.
That thou dost love my daughter, from thy soul:
So, from thy soul's love, didst ^note thou love her ^note brothers;
And, from my heart's love, I do thank ^note thee for it.

Ric.
Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And do intend to ^note make her queen of England.

Que.
Well then ^note, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

Ric.
Even he, that makes her queen; Who else should be? ^note

Que.
What, thou?

Ric.
Even I: What think you of it, ^note madam?

Que.
How canst thou woo her?

Ric.
That would I ^note learn of you,
As one being best ^note acquainted with her humour.

Que.
And wilt thou learn of me?

Ric.
Madam, with all my heart.

Que.
Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave,
Edward, and York; then, haply, will she ^note weep:
Therefore present to her,—as sometime ^note Margaret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood ^note,—

A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. ^note
If this inducement move her ^note not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds ^note;
Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and ^note, for her sake,
Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.

Ric.
You ^note mock me, madam; this is not the way
To win your daughter.

Que.
There is no other way;
Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.

Ric.
Say, that14Q0892I did all this for love of her? ^note

Que.
Nay, then (indeed) she cannot choose but hate thee,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

Ric.
Look, what is done cannot be now amended:
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give ^note 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;
Of all one pain,—save for a night of groans
Endur'd of her, for whom you '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 ^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 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 sov'reignty; 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 laurels 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 vict'ress, Cæsar's Cæsar.

Que.
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?

Ric.
Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.

Que.
Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

Ric.
Tell her, the king, that may ^note command, entreats.

Que.
That at her hands, which the king's King forbids ^note.

Ric.
Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.

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

Ric.
Say, I will love her everlastingly.

Que.
But how long shall that title, ever, last?

Ric.
Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.

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

Ric.
As long ^note as heaven, and nature, lengthens it.

Que.
As long ^note as hell, and Richard, likes of it.

Ric.
Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject love. ^note

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

Ric.
Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

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

Ric.
Then plainly to her tell my ^note loving tale.

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

Ric.
Your ^note reasons are too shallow and too quick.

Que.
O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead;—
Too deep14Q0893 and dead, poor infants, in your ^note graves ^note.

Ric.
Harp not on that string, madam; that is past. ^note

Que.
Harp on it ^note still shall I, till heart-strings break.

Ric.
Now, by my george, my garter, and my crown,—

Que.
Prophan'd, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.

Ric.
I swear ^note:

Que.
By nothing; for this is no oath:
Thy george, prophan'd, hath lost his lordly ^note honour;

Thy garter ^note, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly ^note virtue;
Thy crown ^note, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory ^note:
If something ^note thou would'st swear ^note to be believ'd,
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

Ric.
Now by the world;

Que.
'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

Ric.
My father's death;

Que.
Thy ^note life hath that ^note dishonour'd.

Ric.
Then, by myself;

Que.
Thyself is self-mis-us'd. ^note

Ric.
Why then, by heaven: ^note

Que.
Heaven's wrong ^note is most of all.
If thou hadst fear'd ^note to break an oath by him ^note,
The unity, the king thy ^note brother ^note made,
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain: ^note
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him ^note,
The imperial metal, circling now thy head, ^note
Had grac'd the tender temples of my child;
And both the princes had been breathing here,
Which now, too ^note tender bed-fellows ^note for dust,
Thy broken faith hath made a prey ^note for worms.
What canst thou swear by now? ^note

Ric.
The ^note time to come.

Que.
That thou hast wronged in the time ^note o'er-past;
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,
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their ^note age;
The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd,
Old barren plants ^note, to wail it with their age:
Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
Mis-us'd ere us'd, by times ill-us'd ^note o'er-past ^note.

Ric.
As I intend to prosper, and repent!
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt ^note
Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!
Heaven, 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 proceeding ^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 myself, and thee, ^note
Herself, the land, 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.
Therefore, dear mother ^note, (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 ^note, but what I will deserve:
Urge the necessity and state of times,
And be not peevish found ^note in great designs.

Que.
Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

Ric.
Ay, if the devil tempt you to ^note do good.

Que.
Shall I forget myself, to be myself?

Ric.
Ay, if yourself's ^note remembrance wrong yourself.

Que.
But ^note thou didst kill my children.

Ric.
But in your daughter's womb I bury ^note them:
Where, in that nest of spicery,14Q0894 they shall ^note breed
Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

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

Ric.
And be a happy mother by the ^note deed.

Que.
I go.—Write to me very shortly,

And you shall understand from me her mind. ^note

Ric.
Bear her my true love's kiss, [saluting the Queen.] and so ^note farewel; [Exit Queen.
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing—woman. Enter Ratcliff; Catesby following.
How now? what news? ^note

Rat.
Most mighty sovereign ^note, on the western coast
Rideth a ^note puissant navy; to the shore ^note
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.

Ric.
Some light-foot friend post to the duke of Norfolk;—
Ratcliff, thyself,—or Catesby, Where is he?

Cat.
Here, my good ^note lord.

Ric.
Catesby, fly to the duke. ^note

Cat.
I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.

Ric.
Ratcliff, come ^note hither: Post to Salisbury;
When thou com'st thither, ^note—Dull unmindful villain,
Why stay'st thou here, and ^note go'st not to the duke?

Cat.
First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' pleasure, ^note
What from your grace I shall deliver ^note to him.

Ric.
O, true, good Catesby; Bid him levy straight
The greatest strength and power he ^note can make,
And meet me suddenly ^note at Salisbury.

Cat.
I go. [Exit Cat.

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

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

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

Ric.
My mind is chang'd.—Stanley, what ^note news with you?

Sta.
None good, my liege ^note, to please you with the hearing ^note;
Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. ^note

Ric.
Heyday, a riddle; neither good, nor bad!
What need'st ^note thou run so many miles ^note about,
When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest ^note way?
Once more, what news?

Sta.
Richmond is on the seas.

Ric.
There let him sink, and be the seas on him!
White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?

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

Ric.
Well, as you guess? ^note

Sta.
Stir'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, ^note
He makes for England, here ^note to claim the crown.

Ric.
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?

Sta.
Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.

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

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

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

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

Ric.
Cold friends to me: What ^note do they in the north,
When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

Sta.
They have not been commanded, mighty king: ^note
Pleaseth ^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.

Ric.
Ay, ay, thou ^note wouldst be gone, to join with Richmond:
I will not trust you, ^note sir.

Sta.
Most mighty sovereign,
You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful;
I never was, nor never will be, false.

Ric.
Well, go, muster thy men. But, hear you, leave ^note behind
Your son, George Stanley: look your heart be ^note firm,
Or else his head's assurance is but frail.

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

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

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

3. M.
My lord, the army of great Buckingham ^note—

Ric.
Out on ye ^note, owls! nothing but songs of death!
There, take thou † that, till thou bring ^note better news. [striking him.

3. M.
The news ^note I have to tell your majesty,
Is,—that, by sudden floods ^note and fall of waters ^note,
Buckingham's ^note army is dispers'd and scatter'd;
And he himself wander'd away alone ^note,
No man knows whither.

Ric.
O, I cry you ^note mercy: ^note
There is &dagger2; my purse, to cure that blow of thine.
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd ^note
Reward to him ^note that brings ^note the traitor in?

3. M.
Such proclamation hath been made, my lord. ^note Enter another Messenger.

4. M.
Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord marquiss Dorset,
'Tis said, my liege, in ^note Yorkshire are in arms.
But this good comfort bring I to your highness, ^note—
The Breton navy is dispers'd by tempest ^note:
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, 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 him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
Hois'd sail, and made his course again for ^note Bretagne.

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

Cat.
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 ^note it must ^note be told.

Ric.
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.

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