Hast.
Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met
Is to determine of the coronation:
In God's name, speak, when is this royal day?

Buck.
Are all things ready for the royal time?

Stan.
They are; and want but nomination.

Ely.
To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day.

Buck.
Who knows the lord protector's mind herein?
Who is most inward^{8 note} with the noble duke?

Ely.
Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind.

Buck.
We know each other's faces^{9 note}; for our hearts,
He knows no more of mine, than I of yours;
Nor I of his, my lord, than you of mine.
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.

Hast.
I thank his grace, I know he loves me well;
But for his purpose in the coronation,
I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd
His gracious pleasure any way therein:
But you, my honourable lords^{1 note}, may name the time;
And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice,
Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. Enter Gloster.

Ely.
In happy time here comes the duke himself.

Glo.
My noble lords and cousins, all, good morrow.
I have been long a sleeper; but, I trust,
My absence doth neglect no great design,
Which by my presence might have been concluded.

Buck.
Had you not come upon your cue^{2 note}, my lord,
William lord Hastings had pronounc'd your part,
I mean, your voice, for crowning of the king.

Glo.
Than my lord Hastings, no man might be bolder:
His lordship knows me well, and loves me well^{3 note}



.
My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn,
I saw good strawberries in your garden there;
I do beseech you, send for some of them.

Ely.
Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. [Exit Ely.

Glo.
Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. [Takes him aside.
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business,
And finds the testy gentleman so hot,
That he will lose his head, ere give consent,
His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it,
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.

Buck.
Withdraw yourself awhile; I'll go with you^{4 note}. [Exeunt Gloster and Buckingham.

Stan.
We have not yet set down this day of triumph.
To-morrow, in my judgment^{5 note}, is too sudden;
For I myself am not so well provided,
As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. Re-enter Bishop of Ely.

Ely.
Where is my lord, the duke of Gloster?
I have sent for these strawberries.

Hast.
His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this morning^{6 note}:
There's some conceit or other likes him well,
When that he bids good morrow with such spirit.
I think, there's never a man in Christendom
Can lesser hide his love, or hate, than he;
For by his face straight shall you know his heart.

Stan.
What of his heart perceive you in his face,
By any livelihood^{7 note} he show'd to-day?

Hast.
Marry, that with no man here he is offended;

For, were he, he had shown it in his looks^{8 note}. Re-enter Gloster and Buckingham.

Glo.
I pray you all, tell me what they deserve,
That do conspire my death with devilish plots
Of damned witchcraft? and that have prevail'd
Upon my body with their hellish charms?

Hast.
The tender love I bear your grace, my lord,
Makes me most forward in this princely presence
To doom th' offenders: whosoe'er they be^{9 note},
I say, my lord, they have deserved death.

Glo.
Then, be your eyes the witness of their evil.
Look how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm
Is like a blasted sapling wither'd up:
And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch,
Consorted with that harlot^{1 note}, strumpet Shore,
That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.

Hast.
If they have done this deed, my noble lord^{2 note},—

Glo.
If! thou protector of this damned strumpet,
Talk'st thou to me of ifs?—Thou art a traitor:—
Off with his head!—now, by Saint Paul I swear,
I will not dine until I see the same.—
Lovel, and Ratcliff, look that it be done^{3 note}:
The rest, that love me, rise, and follow me^{4 note}. [Exeunt Council, with Gloster and Buckingham.

Hast.
Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me;
For I, too fond, might have prevented this.

Stanley did dream the boar did rase his helm^{5 note};
And I did scorn it, and disdain'd to fly^{6 note}.
Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,
And started when he look'd upon the Tower,
As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.
O! now I need the priest that spake to me:
I now repent I told the pursuivant,
As too triumphing, how mine enemies,
To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd^{7 note}


,
And I myself secure in grace and favour.
O, Margaret, Margaret! now thy heavy curse
Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head.

Rat.
Come, come; despatch^{8 note}, the duke would be at dinner:
Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.

Hast.
O, momentary grace of mortal men!
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God.
Who builds his hope in air of your good looks,
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast;
Ready with every nod to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

Lov.
Come, come, despatch: 'tis bootless to exclaim.

Hast.
O, bloody Richard!—miserable England!
I prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee,
That ever wretched age hath look'd upon^{9 note}.

Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head:
They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead. [Exeunt.

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