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J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
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SCENE II. Before Lord Hastings' House. Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
My lord! my lord!—
[Knocking.

Hast. [Within.]
—Who knocks1 note?

-- 411 --

Mess.
One from the lord Stanley.

Hast. [Within.]
What is't o'clock?

Mess.
Upon the stroke of four.
Enter Hastings.

Hast.
Cannot my lord Stanley2 note sleep these tedious nights?

Mess.
So it appears3 note by that I have to say.
First, he commends him to your noble self.

Hast.
What then?

Mess.
Then certifies your lordship, that this night
He dreamt the boar had rased off his helm4 note


:
Besides, he says, there are two councils kept;
And that may be determin'd at the one,
Which may make you and him to rue at th' other.
Therefore, he sends to know your lordship's pleasure,—
If you will presently take horse with him,
And with all speed post with him toward the north,
To shun the danger that his soul divines.

Hast.
Go, fellow, go; return unto thy lord.
Bid him not fear the separated council:
His honour and myself are at the one,
And at the other is my good friend Catesby;
Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us,
Whereof I shall not have intelligence.
Tell him, his fears are shallow, without instance:
And for his dreams—I wonder he's so simple5 note

-- 412 --


To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers.
To fly the boar, before the boar pursues,
Were to incense the boar to follow us,
And make pursuit, where he did mean no chase.
Go, bid thy master rise and come to me;
And we will both together to the Tower,
Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.

Mess.
I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say6 note.
[Exit. Enter Catesby.

Cate.
Many good morrows to my noble lord!

Hast.
Good morrow, Catesby: you are early stirring.
What news, what news, in this our tottering state?

Cate.
It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord;
And, I believe, will never stand upright,
Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.

Hast.
How! wear the garland! dost thou mean the crown?

Cate.
Ay, my good lord.

Hast.
I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders,
Before I'll see7 note the crown so foul misplac'd.
But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?

Cate.
Ay, on my life8 note; and hopes to find you forward
Upon his party for the gain thereof:
And thereupon he sends you this good news,—
That this same very day your enemies,
The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret.

Hast.
Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,
Because they have been still my adversaries9 note;

-- 413 --


But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side,
To bar my master's heirs in true descent,
God knows, I will not do it, to the death.

Cate.
God keep your lordship in that gracious mind.

Hast.
But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence,
That they which brought me in my master's hate,
I live to look upon their tragedy.
Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older1 note


,
I'll send some packing that yet think not on't.

Cate.
'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,
When men are unprepar'd, and look not for it.

Hast.
O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out
With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey; and so 'twill do
With some men else, who think themselves as safe
As thou, and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear
To princely Richard, and to Buckingham.

Cate.
The princes both make high account of you;
For they account his head upon the bridge.
[Aside.

Hast.
I know they do, and I have well deserv'd it. Enter Stanley.
Come on, come on2 note; where is your boar-spear, man?
Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?

Stan.
My lord, good morrow: — good morrow, Catesby.—
You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,
I do not like these several councils, I.

Hast.
My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours3 note;
And never, in my days, I do protest,

-- 414 --


Was it so precious to me as 'tis now4 note.
Think you, but that I know our state secure,
I would be so triumphant as I am?

Stan.
The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London,
Were jocund, and suppos'd their states were sure,
And they, indeed, had no cause to mistrust;
But yet, you see, how soon the day o'er-cast:
This sudden stab5 note of rancour I misdoubt.
Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward!
What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent6 note

.

Hast.
Come, come, have with you.—Wot you what, my lord?
To-day, the lords you talk of are beheaded.

Stan.
They for their truth might better wear their heads,
Than some that have accus'd them wear their hats.
But come, my lord, let's away.
Enter a Pursuivant.

Hast.
Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow. [Exeunt Stan. and Catesby.
How now, sirrah! how goes the world with thee?

Purs.
The better, that your lordship please to ask.

Hast.
I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now,
Than when thou met'st me last, where now we meet:
Then, was I going prisoner to the Tower,
By the suggestion of the queen's allies;

-- 415 --


But now, I tell thee, (keep it to thyself)
This day those enemies are put to death,
And I in better state than ere I was.

Purs.
God hold it, to your honour's good content.

Hast.
Gramercy, fellow. There, drink that for me.
[Throwing him his Purse.

Purs.
I thank your honour. [Exit Pursuivant.
Enter a Priest.

Pr.
Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.

Hast.
I thank thee, good sir John7 note, with all my heart.
I am in your debt for your last exercise8 note;
Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.

Pr.
I'll wait upon your lordship.
Enter Buckingham.

Buck.
What, talking with a priest, lord chamberlain!
Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest:
Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.

Hast.
'Good faith, and when I met this holy man,
The men you talk of came into my mind.
What, go you toward the Tower?

Buck.
I do, my lord; but long I cannot stay there:
I shall return before your lordship thence.

Hast.
Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.

Buck.
And supper too, although thou know'st it not. [Aside.
Come, will you go?

Hast.
I'll wait upon your lordship9 note.
[Exeunt. 11Q0775

-- 416 --

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J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
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