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 i'th' right, and so indeed it is.
Tell the clock there—give me a Kalendar. [Clock strikes.
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 it will 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.

Nor.
Arm, arm, my lord, the foe vaunts 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 placed in the midst;

John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of the foot and horse.
They thus directed, we our self will follow
In the main battel, which 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 Soveraign.
This paper 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, go each man to his charge.
Let not our babling dreams affright our souls;
Conscience is but 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, of rascals, run-aways,
A scum of Britons, and base lackey-peasants,
Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth
To desperate adventures and 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-Britons, 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?—hark, I hear their drum. [Drum afar off.
Fight gentlemen of England, fight bold 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 die.

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.

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