Ghost.
Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow! [To K. Rich.
Think how thou stab'st me in the prime of youth
At Tewksbury; therefore despair and die.
  Be cheerful Richmond, for the wronged souls [To Richm.
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 prophesy'd thou should'st be King,

Doth comfort thee in sleep; live thou 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
Let fall thy launce! Richard, despair and die. [To K. Rich.

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

Ghost.
Bloody and guilty; guiltily awake; [To K. Rich.
And in a bloody battel end thy days:
Think on lord Hastings; and despair and die.
  Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake. [To Richm.
Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake. Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes.

Ghosts.
Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the Tower:
Let us be laid within thy bosom, Richard, [To K. Rich.
And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!
Thy Nephews souls bid thee despair and die.

  Sleep Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy. [To Richm.
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, that wretched Anne thy wife,
That never slept a quiet hour with thee, [To K. Rich.
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, sleep thou a quiet sleep: [To Richm.
Dream of success and happy victory,
Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. Enter the Ghost of Buckingham.

Ghost.
The first was I that help'd thee to the crown:
The last was I that felt thy tyranny. [To K. Rich.
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, ere I could lend thee aid; [To Richm.
But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd:
God and good angels fight on Richmon's side,
And Richard fall 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—is it not dead midnight?
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What? do I fear my self? there's none else by,

Is there a murth'rer here? no; yes, I am.* ^note










My conscience hath a thousand sev'ral tongues,
And ev'ry tongue brings in a sev'ral tale,
And ev'ry tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury in high'st degree,
Murther, stern murther in the dir'st degree,
All several sins all us'd in each degree,
Throng to the bar, all crying, guilty, guilty!
I shall despair: there is no creature loves me:
And if I die, no soul will pity me.* ^note




Methought, the souls of all that I had murther'd
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. Enter Ratcliff.

Rat.
My lord.

K. Rich.
Who's there?

Rat.
Ratcliff, my lord. The early village cock
Hath twice done salutation to the morn;
Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.

K. Rich.
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 terror to the soul of Richard,
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
It is not yet near day. Come, go with me,
Under our tents; I'll play the eaves-dropper,
To hear if any mean to shrink from me. [Exeunt K. Richard and Ratcliff.

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