K. Rich.
Who intercepts me in my expedition?

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

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

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

Queen.
Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Gray?

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

Dutch.
Art thou my son?

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

Dutch.
Then patiently hear my impatience.

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

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

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

Dutch.
Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee,
God knows, in anguish, pain and agony.

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

Dutch.
No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well,
Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.

A grevious burthen was thy birth to me,
&wlquo;Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
&wlquo;Thy school-days frightful, desp'rate, wild and furious;
&wlquo;Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold and venturous:
&wlquo;Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly and bloody.&wrquo;
What comfortable hour canst thou name,
That ever grac'd me in thy company?

K. Rich.
Faith, none but Humphry Houre, that call'd your Grace
To breakfast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,
Let me march on, and not offend your Grace.
Strike up the Drum.

Dutch.
I pry'thee, hear me speak.

K. Rich.
You speak too bitterly.

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

K. Rich.
So,—

Dutch.
Either thou'lt 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 face again.
Therefore take with thee my most heavy Curse;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more,
Than all the compleat armour that thou wear'st!
My prayers on the adverse party fight,
And there the little souls of Edward's children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies,
And promise them success and victory!
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end!
Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. [Exit.

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

K. Rich.
Stay, Madam, I must speak a word with you.

Queen.
I have no more Sons of the royal blood
For thee to slaughter; for my daughters, Richard,
They shall be praying Nuns, not weeping Queens;
And therefore level not to hit their lives.

K. Rich.
You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Queen.
And must she die for this? O let her live,
And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty,
Slander myself as false to Edward's bed,
Throw over her the veil of infamy:
So she may live unscarr'd from bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.

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

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

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

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

K. Rich.
No, at their births good stars were opposite.

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

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

Queen.
True; when avoided grace makes destiny.
My babes were destin'd to a fairer death,
If grace had blest thee with a fairer life.

K. Rich.
You speak, as if that I had slain my cousins?

Queen.
Cousins, indeed; and by their Uncle couzen'd
Of Comfort, Kingdom, Kindred, Freedom, Life:
Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction.
No doubt, the murd'rous knife was dull and blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the intrails 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 desp'rate bay of death,

Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

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

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

K. Rich.
Th' advancement of your children, gentle lady.

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

K. Rich.
No, to the dignity and height of fortune,
^{9 note}The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

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

K. Rich.
Ev'n all I have; ay, and myself and all,
Will I withal endow a child of thine:
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
Thou drown the sad Remembrance of those wrongs,
Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee.

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

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

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

K. Rich.
What do you think?

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

K. Rich.
Be not so hasty to confound my meaning;
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And do intend to make her Queen of England.

Queen.
Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her King?

K. Rich.
Ev'n he, that makes her Queen; who else should be?

Queen.
What, thou!

K. Rich.
Even so; how think you of it?

Queen.
How canst thou woo her?

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

Queen.
And wilt thou learn of me?

K. Rich.
With all my heart.

Queen.
Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave
Edward and York; then, haply, will she weep:
Therefore present to her, as sometime Marg'ret
Did to thy father, steept in Rutland's blood,
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple tide from her sweet brothers' bodies,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes therewith.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;
Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake,
Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.

K. Rich.
You mock me, Madam; this is not the way
To win your daughter.

Queen.
There's no other way,
Unless thou could'st put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.

K. Rich.
Say, that I did all this for love of her.

Queen.
Nay then, indeed, she cannot chuse but hate thee;
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

K. Rich.
^{1 note}Look, what is done, cannot be now amended;

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give leisure to repent of.
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 less little ^note 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 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 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 th'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 garlands 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, Cæsar's Cæsar.

Queen.
What were I best to say, her father's brother
Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle?
Or he that slew her brothers, and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honour, and her love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?

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

Queen.
Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

K. Rich.
Tell her, the King, that may command, intreats—

Queen.
That at her hands, which the King's King forbids.

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

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

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

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

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

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

K. Rich.
As long as heav'n and nature lengthen it.

Queen.
As long as hell and Richard like of it.

K. Rich.
Say, I, her Sov'reign, am her Subject now.

Queen.
But she, your Subject, loaths such Sov'reignty.

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

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

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

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

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

Queen.
O no, my reasons are too deep and dead;

Two deep and dead poor infants in their grave;
Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings break.

K. Rich.
Harp not on that string, Madam; that is past.
Now by my George, my Garter, and my Crown—

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

K. Rich.
I swear.

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

K. Rich.
Now by the world—

Queen.
'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

K. Rich.
My father's death—

Queen.
Thy life hath that dishonour'd.

K. Rich.
Then by myself.

Queen.
Thyself thyself misusest.

K. Rich.
Why then, by heav'n—

Queen.
Heav'n's wrong is most of all:
If thou didst fear to break an oath with heav'n,
The unity the King my husband made
Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers dy'd.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath with heav'n,
Th' imperial metal, circling now thy head,
Had grac'd the tender temples of my child;
And both the Princes had been breathing here;
Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust,
Thy broken faith hath made a prey to worms.
What canst thou swear by now?

K. Edw.
By time to come.

Queen.
That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast:
For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee.
The children live, whose fathers thou hast slaughter'd,
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age.

The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd,
Old wither'd plants, to wail it in their age.
Swear not by time to come, for that thou hast
Misus'd ere us'd, by times ill-us'd o'er past.

K. Rich.
As I intend to prosper and repent,
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
Of hostile arms! myself, myself confound;
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours;
Day yield me not thy light, nor night thy rest;
Be opposite all planets of good luck
To my proceeding; if with pure heart's love,
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,
I tender not thy beauteous Princely Daughter!
In her consists my happiness, and thine;
Without her, follows to myself and thee,
Herself, the Land, and many a christian soul,
Death, desolation, ruin, and decay.
It cannot be avoided, but by this;
It will not be avoided, but by this.
Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you so,)
Be the attorney of my love to her;
Plead what I will be, not what I have been;
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve:
Urge the necessity and state of times;
And be not peevish found in great designs.

Queen.
Shall I be tempted of the Devil thus?

K. Rich.
Ay, if the Devil tempt you to do good.

Queen.
Shall I forget myself to be myself?

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

Queen.
But thou didst kill my children.

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

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

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

Queen.
I go, write to me shortly.

K. Rich.
Bear her my true love's kiss, and so farewel— [Exit Queen.
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing, woman!

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