SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Tower.

[Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY.]

BRAKENBURY.

Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?

CLARENCE.

O, I have pass'd a miserable night,

So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,

That, as I am a Christian faithful man,

I would not spend another such a night

Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days,—

So full of dismal terror was the time!

BRAKENBURY.

What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me.

CLARENCE.

Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower,

And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;

And, in my company, my brother Gloster;

Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches: thence we look'd toward England,

And cited up a thousand heavy times,

During the wars of York and Lancaster,

That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along

Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling,

Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard

Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown!

What dreadful noise of waters in my ears!

What sights of ugly death within my eyes!

Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;

A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,

Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

All scatt'red in the bottom of the sea:

Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in the holes

Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept,—

As 'twere in scorn of eyes,—reflecting gems,

That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,

And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.

BRAKENBURY.

Had you such leisure in the time of death

To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?

CLARENCE.

Methought I had; and often did I strive

To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood

Stopp'd in my soul, and would not let it forth

To find the empty, vast, and wandering air;

But smother'd it within my panting bulk,

Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.

BRAKENBURY.

Awak'd you not in this sore agony?

CLARENCE.

No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life;

O, then began the tempest to my soul!

I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood

With that grim ferryman which poets write of,

Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

The first that there did greet my stranger soul

Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;

Who spake aloud, "What scourge for perjury

Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?"

And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by

A shadow like an Angel, with bright hair

Dabbled in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud

"Clarence is come,—false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,—

That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;—

Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!"

With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends

Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears

Such hideous cries that, with the very noise,

I trembling wak'd, and for a season after

Could not believe but that I was in hell,—

Such terrible impression made my dream.

BRAKENBURY.

No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;

I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

CLARENCE.

Ah, Brakenbury, I have done these things

That now give evidence against my soul,

For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me!—

O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee,

But Thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,

Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone,—

O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!—

Keeper, I prithee sit by me awhile;

My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

BRAKENBURY.

I will, my lord; God give your grace good rest!—

[CLARENCE reposes himself on a chair.]

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,

Makes the night morning and the noontide night.

Princes have but their titles for their glories,

An outward honour for an inward toil;

And, for unfelt imaginations,

They often feel a world of restless cares:

So that, between their tides and low name,

There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

[Enter the two MURDERERS.]

FIRST MURDERER.

Ho! who's here?

BRAKENBURY.

What wouldst thou, fellow, and how cam'st thou hither?

FIRST MURDERER.

I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.

BRAKENBURY.

What, so brief?

SECOND MURDERER.

'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious.—Let

him see our commission and talk no more.

[A paper is delivered to BRAKENBURY, who reads it.]

BRAKENBURY.

I am, in this, commanded to deliver

The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands:—

I will not reason what is meant hereby,

Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.

There lies the Duke asleep,—and there the keys;

I'll to the king and signify to him

That thus I have resign'd to you my charge.

FIRST MURDERER.

You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom: fare you well.

[Exit BRAKENBURY.]

SECOND MURDERER.

What, shall we stab him as he sleeps?

FIRST MURDERER.

No; he'll say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

SECOND MURDERER.

When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake until the great

judgment-day.

FIRST MURDERER.

Why, then he'll say we stabb'd him sleeping.

SECOND MURDERER.

The urging of that word "judgment" hath bred a kind of remorse in

me.

FIRST MURDERER.

What, art thou afraid?

SECOND MURDERER.

Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned

for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.

FIRST MURDERER.

I thought thou hadst been resolute.

SECOND MURDERER.

So I am, to let him live.

FIRST MURDERER.

I'll back to the Duke of Gloster and tell him so.

SECOND MURDERER.

Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little: I hope my holy humour will

change; it was wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.

FIRST MURDERER.

How dost thou feel thyself now?

SECOND MURDERER.

Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.

FIRST MURDERER.

Remember our reward, when the deed's done.

SECOND MURDERER.

Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward.

FIRST MURDERER.

Where's thy conscience now?

SECOND MURDERER.

O, in the Duke of Gloster's purse.

FIRST MURDERER.

So, when he opens his purse to give us our reward,

thy conscience flies out.

SECOND MURDERER.

'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few or none will entertain it.

FIRST MURDERER.

What if it come to thee again?

SECOND MURDERER.

I'll not meddle with it,—it makes a man coward;

a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man

cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his

neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'tis a blushing shame-

faced spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills a man

full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold

that by chance I found; it beggars any man that keeps it:

it is turned out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing;

and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust

to himself and live without it.

FIRST MURDERER.

Zounds,'tis even now at my elbow, persuading me

not to kill the duke.

SECOND MURDERER.

Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not; he would

insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh.

FIRST MURDERER.

I am strong-framed; he cannot prevail with me.

SECOND MURDERER.

Spoke like a tall man that respects thy reputation.

Come, shall we fall to work?

FIRST MURDERER.

Take him on the costard with the hilts of thy sword,

and then throw him in the malmsey-butt in the next room.

SECOND MURDERER.

O excellent device! and make a sop of him.

FIRST MURDERER.

Soft! he wakes.

SECOND MURDERER.

Strike!

FIRST MURDERER.

No, we'll reason with him.

CLARENCE.

Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine.

SECOND MURDERER.

You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.

CLARENCE.

In God's name, what art thou?

FIRST MURDERER.

A man, as you are.

CLARENCE.

But not as I am, royal.

SECOND MURDERER.

Nor you as we are, loyal.

CLARENCE.

Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.

FIRST MURDERER.

My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own.

CLARENCE.

How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!

Your eyes do menace me; why look you pale?

Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?

SECOND MURDERER.

To, to, to—

CLARENCE.

To murder me?

BOTH MURDERERS.

Ay, ay.

CLARENCE.

You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,

And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.

Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

FIRST MURDERER.

Offended us you have not, but the king.

CLARENCE.

I shall be reconcil'd to him again.

SECOND MURDERER.

Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.

CLARENCE.

Are you drawn forth among a world of men

To slay the innocent? What is my offence?

Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?

What lawful quest have given their verdict up

Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounc'd

The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death?

Before I be convict by course of law,

To threaten me with death is most unlawful.

I charge you, as you hope to have redemption

By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins,

That you depart, and lay no hands on me:

The deed you undertake is damnable.

FIRST MURDERER.

What we will do, we do upon command.

SECOND MURDERER.

And he that hath commanded is our king.

CLARENCE.

Erroneous vassals! the great King of kings

Hath in the table of his law commanded

That thou shalt do no murder: will you then

Spurn at His edict and fulfil a man's?

Take heed; for He holds vengeance in His hand

To hurl upon their heads that break His law.

SECOND MURDERER.

And that same vengeance doth He hurl on thee

For false forswearing, and for murder too:

Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight

In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.

FIRST MURDERER.

And like a traitor to the name of God

Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade

Unripp'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son.

SECOND MURDERER.

Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend.

FIRST MURDERER.

How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us,

When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?

CLARENCE.

Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?

For Edward, for my brother, for his sake:

He sends you not to murder me for this;

For in that sin he is as deep as I.

If God will be avenged for the deed,

O, know you yet He doth it publicly.

Take not the quarrel from His powerful arm;

He needs no indirect or lawless course

To cut off those that have offended Him.

FIRST MURDERER.

Who made thee, then, a bloody minister

When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,

That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?

CLARENCE.

My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.

FIRST MURDERER.

Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy faults,

Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

CLARENCE.

If you do love my brother, hate not me;

I am his brother, and I love him well.

If you are hir'd for meed, go back again,

And I will send you to my brother Gloster,

Who shall reward you better for my life

Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

SECOND MURDERER.

You are deceiv'd, your brother Gloster hates you.

CLARENCE.

O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear:

Go you to him from me.

FIRST MURDERER.

Ay, so we will.

CLARENCE.

Tell him when that our princely father York

Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm

And charg'd us from his soul to love each other,

He little thought of this divided friendship:

Bid Gloster think of this, and he will weep.

FIRST MURDERER.

Ay, millstones; as he lesson'd us to weep.

CLARENCE.

O, do not slander him, for he is kind.

FIRST MURDERER.

Right, as snow in harvest.—Come, you deceive yourself:

'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.

CLARENCE.

It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune,

And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs,

That he would labour my delivery.

FIRST MURDERER.

Why, so he doth, when he delivers you

From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven.

SECOND MURDERER.

Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.

CLARENCE.

Have you that holy feeling in your souls,

To counsel me to make my peace with God,

And are you yet to your own souls so blind

That you will war with God by murdering me?—

O, sirs, consider, they that set you on

To do this deed will hate you for the deed.

SECOND MURDERER.

What shall we do?

CLARENCE.

Relent, and save your souls.

FIRST MURDERER.

Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish.

CLARENCE.

Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.

Which of you, if you were a prince's son,

Being pent from liberty, as I am now,—

If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,—

Would not entreat for life?—

My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;

O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,

Come thou on my side, and entreat for me,

As you would beg, were you in my distress:

A begging prince what beggar pities not?

SECOND MURDERER.

Look behind you, my lord.

FIRST MURDERER. [Stabs him.]

Take that, and that: if all this will not do,

I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.

[Exit with the body.]

SECOND MURDERER.

A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd!

How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands

Of this most grievous murder!

[Re-enter FIRST MURDERER.]

FIRST MURDERER.

How now, what mean'st thou that thou help'st me not?

By heavens, the duke shall know how slack you have

been!

SECOND MURDERER.

I would he knew that I had sav'd his brother!

Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;

For I repent me that the duke is slain.

[Exit.]

FIRST MURDERER.

So do not I: go, coward as thou art.—

Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole,

Till that the duke give order for his burial:

And when I have my meed, I will away;

For this will out, and then I must not stay.

[Exit.]

SCENE I. London. A Room in the palace.

[Enter KING EDWARD, led in sick, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others.]

KING EDWARD.

Why, so. Now have I done a good day's work:—

You peers, continue this united league:

I every day expect an embassage

From my Redeemer, to redeem me hence;

And more at peace my soul shall part to heaven,

Since I have made my friends at peace on earth.

Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand;

Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.

RIVERS.

By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate;

And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.

HASTINGS.

So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!

KING EDWARD.

Take heed you dally not before your king;

Lest He that is the supreme King of kings

Confound your hidden falsehood, and award

Either of you to be the other's end.

HASTINGS.

So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!

RIVERS.

And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!

KING EDWARD.

Madam, yourself is not exempt from this;—

Nor you, son Dorset;—Buckingham, nor you;—

You have been factious one against the other.

Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;

And what you do, do it unfeignedly.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

There, Hastings; I will never more remember

Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!

KING EDWARD.

Dorset, embrace him;—Hastings, love lord marquis.

DORSET.

This interchange of love, I here protest,

Upon my part shall be inviolable.

HASTINGS.

And so swear I.

[Embraces Dorset.]

KING EDWARD.

Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league

With thy embracements to my wife's allies,

And make me happy in your unity.

BUCKINGHAM.

Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate

Upon your grace [to the queen], but with all duteous love

Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me

With hate in those where I expect most love!

When I have most need to employ a friend,

And most assured that he is a friend,

Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,

Be he unto me!—this do I beg of heaven

When I am cold in love to you or yours.

[Embracing Rivers &c.]

KING EDWARD.

A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,

Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.

There wanteth now our brother Gloster here,

To make the blessed period of this peace.

BUCKINGHAM.

And, in good time, here comes the noble duke.

[Enter GLOSTER.]

GLOSTER.

Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen;

And, princely peers, a happy time of day!

KING EDWARD.

Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.

Gloster, we have done deeds of charity;

Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,

Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

GLOSTER.

A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord,—

Among this princely heap, if any here,

By false intelligence or wrong surmise,

Hold me a foe;

If I unwittingly, or in my rage,

Have aught committed that is hardly borne

To any in this presence, I desire

To reconcile me to his friendly peace:

'Tis death to me to be at enmity;

I hate it, and desire all good men's love.—

First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,

Which I will purchase with my duteous service;—

Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,

If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us;—

Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset,

That all without desert have frown'd on me;

Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of you;—

Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen;—indeed, of all.

I do not know that Englishman alive

With whom my soul is any jot at odds

More than the infant that is born to-night:

I thank my God for my humility.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

A holy day shall this be kept hereafter:—

I would to God all strifes were well compounded.—

My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness

To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

GLOSTER.

Why, madam, have I off'red love for this,

To be so flouted in this royal presence?

Who knows not that the gentle duke is dead?

[They all start.]

You do him injury to scorn his corse.

KING EDWARD.

Who knows not he is dead! Who knows he is?

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!

BUCKINGHAM.

Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?

DORSET.

Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence

But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.

KING EDWARD.

Is Clarence dead? the order was revers'd.

GLOSTER.

But he, poor man, by your first order died,

And that a winged Mercury did bear;

Some tardy cripple bore the countermand

That came too lag to see him buried.

God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,

Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood,

Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,

And yet go current from suspicion!

[Enter Stanley.]

STANLEY.

A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!

KING EDWARD.

I pr'ythee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow.

STANLEY.

I Will not rise unless your highness hear me.

KING EDWARD.

Then say at once what is it thou request'st.

STANLEY.

The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life;

Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman

Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

KING EDWARD.

Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death,

And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?

My brother kill'd no man,—his fault was thought,

And yet his punishment was bitter death.

Who su'd to me for him? who, in my wrath,

Kneel'd at my feet, and bid me be advis'd?

Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love?

Who told me how the poor soul did forsake

The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?

Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury,

When Oxford had me down, he rescu'd me,

And said "Dear brother, live, and be a king"?

Who told me, when we both lay in the field

Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me

Even in his garments, and did give himself,

All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night?

All this from my remembrance brutish wrath

Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you

Had so much grace to put it in my mind.

But when your carters or your waiting-vassals

Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac'd

The precious image of our dear Redeemer,

You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;

And I, unjustly too, must grant it you:—

But for my brother not a man would speak,—

Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself

For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all

Have been beholding to him in his life;

Yet none of you would once beg for his life.—

O God, I fear Thy justice will take hold

On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this!

Come, Hastings, help me to my closet.

Ah, poor Clarence!

[Exeunt KING, QUEEN, HASTINGS, RIVERS, DORSET, and GREY.]

GLOSTER.

This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not

How that the guilty kindred of the queen

Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death?

O, they did urge it still unto the king!

God will revenge it.—Come, lords, will you go

To comfort Edward with our company?

BUCKINGHAM.

We wait upon your grace.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. Another Room in the palace.

[Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with A SON and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE.]

SON.

Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?

DUCHESS.

No, boy.

DAUGHTER.

Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast,

And cry "O Clarence, my unhappy son!"

SON.

Why do you look on us, and shake your head,

And call us orphans, wretches, castaways,

If that our noble father were alive?

DUCHESS.

My pretty cousins, you mistake me both;

I do lament the sickness of the king,

As loath to lose him, not your father's death;

It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost.

SON.

Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead.

The king mine uncle is to blame for this:

God will revenge it; whom I will importune

With earnest prayers all to that effect.

DAUGHTER.

And so will I.

DUCHESS.

Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well:

Incapable and shallow innocents,

You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death.

SON.

Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloster

Told me, the king, provok'd to it by the queen,

Devis'd impeachments to imprison him:

And when my uncle told me so, he wept,

And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek;

Bade me rely on him as on my father,

And he would love me dearly as his child.

DUCHESS.

Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape,

And with a virtuous visard hide deep vice!

He is my son; ay, and therein my shame;

Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

SON.

Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?

DUCHESS.

Ay, boy.

SON.

I cannot think it.—Hark! what noise is this?

[Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, distractedly; RIVERS and DORSET following her.]

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and weep,

To chide my fortune, and torment myself?

I'll join with black despair against my soul,

And to myself become an enemy.

DUCHESS.

What means this scene of rude impatience?

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

To make an act of tragic violence:—

Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.—

Why grow the branches when the root is gone?

Why wither not the leaves that want their sap?—

If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,

That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's;

Or, like obedient subjects, follow him

To his new kingdom of perpetual rest.

DUCHESS.

Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow

As I had title in thy noble husband!

I have bewept a worthy husband's death,

And liv'd by looking on his images:

But now two mirrors of his princely semblance

Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death,

And I for comfort have but one false glass,

That grieves me when I see my shame in him.

Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother,

And hast the comfort of thy children left;

But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms,

And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands,—

Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I,—

Thine being but a moiety of my moan,—

To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries?

SON.

Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father's death!

How can we aid you with our kindred tears?

DAUGHTER.

Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd,

Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Give me no help in lamentation;

I am not barren to bring forth complaints:

All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes,

That I, being govern'd by the watery moon,

May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!

Ah for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward!

CHILDREN.

Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence!

DUCHESS.

Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone.

CHILDREN.

What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone.

DUCHESS.

What stays had I but they? and they are gone.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Was never widow had so dear a loss!

CHILDREN.

Were never orphans had so dear a loss!

DUCHESS.

Was never mother had so dear a loss!

Alas, I am the mother of these griefs!

Their woes are parcell'd, mine is general.

She for an Edward weeps, and so do I:

I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she:

These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I;

I for an Edward weep, so do not they:—

Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd,

Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse,

And I will pamper it with lamentation.

DORSET.

Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeas'd

That you take with unthankfulness His doing:

In common worldly things 'tis called ungrateful,

With dull unwillingness to repay a debt

Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;

Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,

For it requires the royal debt it lent you.

RIVERS.

Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,

Of the young prince your son: send straight for him;

Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives.

Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave,

And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.

[Enter GLOSTER, BUCKINGHAM, STANLEY, HASTINGS, RATCLIFF and others.]

GLOSTER.

Sister, have comfort: all of us have cause

To wail the dimming of our shining star;

But none can help our harms by wailing them.—

Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;

I did not see your grace:—humbly on my knee

I crave your blessing.

DUCHESS.

God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast,

Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

GLOSTER.

Amen! [Aside.]

And make me die a good old man!—

That is the butt end of a mother's blessing;

I marvel that her grace did leave it out.

BUCKINGHAM.

You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers,

That bear this heavy mutual load of moan,

Now cheer each other in each other's love:

Though we have spent our harvest of this king,

We are to reap the harvest of his son.

The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts,

But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together,

Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept;

Me seemeth good that, with some little train,

Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetched

Hither to London, to be crown'd our king.

RIVERS.

Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM.

Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude,

The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out;

Which would be so much the more dangerous

By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd:

Where every horse bears his commanding rein

And may direct his course as please himself,

As well the fear of harm as harm apparent,

In my opinion, ought to be prevented.

GLOSTER.

I hope the king made peace with all of us;

And the compact is firm and true in me.

RIVERS.

And so in me; and so, I think, in all:

Yet, since it is but green, it should be put

To no apparent likelihood of breach,

Which haply by much company might be urg'd:

Therefore I say with noble Buckingham,

That it is meet so few should fetch the prince.

HASTINGS.

And so say I.

GLOSTER.

Then be it so; and go we to determine

Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.

Madam,—and you, my mother,—will you go

To give your censures in this business?

[Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOSTER.]

BUCKINGHAM.

My lord, whoever journeys to the prince,

For God'd sake, let not us two stay at home;

For by the way I'll sort occasion,

As index to the story we late talk'd of,

To part the queen's proud kindred from the Prince.

GLOSTER.

My other self, my counsel's consistory,

My oracle, my prophet!—my dear cousin,

I, as a child, will go by thy direction.

Toward Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. London. A street.

[Enter two CITIZENS, meeting.]

FIRST CITIZEN.

Good morrow, neighbour: whither away so fast?

SECOND CITIZEN.

I promise you, I scarcely know myself:

Hear you the news abroad?

FIRST CITIZEN.

Yes,—that the king is dead.

SECOND CITIZEN.

Ill news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better:

I fear, I fear 'twill prove a giddy world.

[Enter third CITIZEN.]

THIRD CITIZEN.

Neighbours, God speed!

FIRST CITIZEN.

Give you good morrow, sir.

THIRD CITIZEN.

Doth the news hold of good King Edward's death?

SECOND CITIZEN.

Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!

THIRD CITIZEN.

Then, masters, look to see a troublous world.

FIRST CITIZEN.

No, no; by God's good grace, his son shall reign.

THIRD CITIZEN.

Woe to that land that's govern'd by a child!

SECOND CITIZEN.

In him there is a hope of government,

Which, in his nonage, council under him,

And, in his full and ripen'd years, himself,

No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well.

FIRST CITIZEN.

So stood the state when Henry the Sixth

Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old.

THIRD CITIZEN.

Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot;

For then this land was famously enrich'd

With politic grave counsel; then the king

Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace.

FIRST CITIZEN.

Why, so hath this, both by his father and mother.

THIRD CITIZEN.

Better it were they all came by his father,

Or by his father there were none at all;

For emulation who shall now be nearest

Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.

O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloster!

And the queen's sons and brothers haught and proud:

And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule,

This sickly land might solace as before.

FIRST CITIZEN.

Come, come, we fear the worst; all will be well.

THIRD CITIZEN.

When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks;

When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;

When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?

Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.

All may be well; but, if God sort it so,

'Tis more than we deserve or I expect.

SECOND CITIZEN.

Truly, the hearts of men are fun of fear:

You cannot reason almost with a man

That looks not heavily and fun of dread.

THIRD CITIZEN.

Before the days of change, still is it so:

By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust

Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see

The water swell before a boisterous storm.

But leave it all to God.—Whither away?

SECOND CITIZEN.

Marry, we were sent for to the justices.

THIRD CITIZEN.

And so was I; I'll bear you company.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Palace.

[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the young DUKE OF YORK, QUEEN ELIZABETH, and the DUCHESS OF YORK.]

ARCHBISHOP.

Last night, I hear, they lay at Stony Straford,

And at Northampton they do rest to-night:

Tomorrow, or next day, they will be here.

DUCHESS.

I long with all my heart to see the prince:

I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

But I hear no; they say my son of York

Has almost overta'en him in his growth.

YORK.

Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.

DUCHESS.

Why, my good cousin? it is good to grow.

YORK.

Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper,

My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow

More than my brother. "Ay," quoth my uncle Gloster,

"Small herbs have grace: great weeds do grow apace."

And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,

Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.

DUCHESS.

Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold

In him that did object the same to thee:

He was the wretched'st thing when he was young,

So long a growing and so leisurely,

That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.

ARCHBISHOP.

And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam.

DUCHESS.

I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.

YORK.

Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd,

I could have given my uncle's grace a flout

To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine.

DUCHESS.

How, my young York? I pr'ythee let me hear it.

YORK.

Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast

That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old:

'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.

Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.

DUCHESS.

I pr'ythee, pretty York, who told thee this?

YORK.

Grandam, his nurse.

DUCHESS.

His nurse! why she was dead ere thou wast born.

YORK.

If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

A parlous boy!—go to, you are too shrewd.

ARCHBISHOP.

Good madam, be not angry with the child.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Pitchers have ears.

ARCHBISHOP.

Here comes a messenger.

[Enter a MESSENGER.]

What news?

MESSENGER.

Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

How doth the prince?

MESSENGER.

Well, madam, and in health.

DUCHESS.

What is thy news?

MESSENGER.

Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to Pomfret,

With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.

DUCHESS.

Who hath committed them?

MESSENGER.

The mighty dukes, Gloster and Buckingham.

ARCHBISHOP.

For what offence?

MESSENGER.

The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd;

Why or for what the nobles were committed

Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Ah me, I see the ruin of my house!

The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind;

Insulting tyranny begins to jet

Upon the innocent and aweless throne:—

Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre!

I see, as in a map, the end of all.

DUCHESS.

Accursed and unquiet wrangling days

How many of you have mine eyes beheld?

My husband lost his life to get the crown;

And often up and down my sons were toss'd

For me to joy and weep their gain and loss:

And being seated, and domestic broils

Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors

Make war upon themselves; brother to brother,

Blood to blood, self against self: O, preposterous

And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen;

Or let me die, to look on death no more!

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Come, come, my boy; we will to sanctuary.—

Madam, farewell.

DUCHESS.

Stay, I will go with you.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

You have no cause.

ARCHBISHOP. [To the queen.]

My gracious lady, go.

And thither bear your treasure and your goods.

For my part, I'll resign unto your grace

The seal I keep; and so betide to me

As well I tender you and all of yours!

Go, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE I. London. A street.

[The trumpets sound. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES, GLOSTER, BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, CARDINAL BOURCHIER, and others.]

BUCKINGHAM.

Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber.

GLOSTER.

Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign:

The weary way hath made you melancholy.

PRINCE.

No, uncle; but our crosses on the way

Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy:

I want more uncles here to welcome me.

GLOSTER.

Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years

Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit:

Nor more can you distinguish of a man

Than of his outward show; which, God He knows,

Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.

Those uncles which you want were dangerous;

Your grace attended to their sugar'd words

But look'd not on the poison of their hearts:

God keep you from them and from such false friends!

PRINCE.

God keep me from false friends! but they were none.

GLOSTER.

My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you.

[Enter the LORD MAYOR and his train.]

MAYOR.

God bless your grace with health and happy days!

PRINCE.

I thank you, good my lord;—and thank you all.

[Exeunt MAYOR, &c.]

I thought my mother and my brother York

Would long ere this have met us on the way:

Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not

To tell us whether they will come or no!

BUCKINGHAM.

And, in good time, here comes the sweating lord.

[Enter HASTINGS.]

PRINCE.

Welcome, my lord: what, will our mother come?

HASTINGS.

On what occasion, God He knows, not I,

The queen your mother and your brother York

Have taken sanctuary: the tender prince

Would fain have come with me to meet your grace,

But by his mother was perforce withheld.

BUCKINGHAM.

Fie, what an indirect and peevish course

Is this of hers?—Lord cardinal, will your grace

Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York

Unto his princely brother presently?

If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him,

And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.

CARDINAL.

My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory

Can from his mother win the Duke of York,

Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate

To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid

We should infringe the holy privilege

Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land

Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.

BUCKINGHAM.

You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord,

Too ceremonious and traditional:

Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,

You break not sanctuary in seizing him.

The benefit thereof is always granted

To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place

And those who have the wit to claim the place:

This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserv'd it;

And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it:

Then, taking him from thence that is not there,

You break no privilege nor charter there.

Oft have I heard of sanctuary-men;

But sanctuary-children ne'er till now.

CARDINAL.

My lord, you shall o'errule my mind for once.—

Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?

HASTINGS.

I go, my lord.

PRINCE.

Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.

[Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS.]

Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come,

Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?

GLOSTER.

Where it seems best unto your royal self.

If I may counsel you, some day or two

Your highness shall repose you at the Tower:

Then where you please and shall be thought most fit

For your best health and recreation.

PRINCE.

I do not like the Tower, of any place.—

Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?

BUCKINGHAM.

He did, my gracious lord, begin that place;

Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.

PRINCE.

Is it upon record, or else reported

Successively from age to age, he built it?

BUCKINGHAM.

Upon record, my gracious lord.

PRINCE.

But say, my lord, it were not register'd,

Methinks the truth should live from age to age,

As 'twere retail'd to all posterity,

Even to the general all-ending day.

GLOSTER. [Aside.]

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

PRINCE.

What say you, uncle?

GLOSTER.

I say, without characters, fame lives long.—

[Aside.]

Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity,

I moralize two meanings in one word.

PRINCE.

That Julius Caesar was a famous man;

With what his valour did enrich his wit,

His wit set down to make his valour live;

Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;

For now he lives in fame, though not in life.—

I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham,—

BUCKINGHAM.

What, my gracious lord?

PRINCE.

An if I live until I be a man,

I'll win our ancient right in France again,

Or die a soldier as I liv'd a king.

GLOSTER. [Aside.]

Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

BUCKINGHAM.

Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York.

[Enter YORK, HASTINGS, and the CARDINAL.]

PRINCE.

Richard of York! how fares our loving brother?

YORK.

Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now.

PRINCE.

Ay brother,—to our grief, as it is yours:

Too late he died that might have kept that title,

Which by his death hath lost much majesty.

GLOSTER.

How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?

YORK.

I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord,

You said that idle weeds are fast in growth:

The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.

GLOSTER.

He hath, my lord.

YORK.

And therefore is he idle?

GLOSTER.

O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.

YORK.

Then he is more beholding to you than I.

GLOSTER.

He may command me as my sovereign;

But you have power in me as in a kinsman.

YORK.

I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.

GLOSTER.

My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart!

PRINCE.

A beggar, brother?

YORK.

Of my kind uncle, that I know will give,

And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.

GLOSTER.

A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.

YORK.

A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it!

GLOSTER.

Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.

YORK.

O, then, I see you will part but with light gifts;

In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.

GLOSTER.

It is too heavy for your grace to wear.

YORK.

I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.

GLOSTER.

What, would you have my weapon, little lord?

YORK.

I would, that I might thank you as you call me.

GLOSTER.

How?

YORK.

Little.

PRINCE.

My Lord of York will still be cross in talk:—

Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.

YORK.

You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me:—

Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;

Because that I am little, like an ape,

He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.

BUCKINGHAM.

With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!

To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,

He prettily and aptly taunts himself:

So cunning and so young is wonderful.

GLOSTER.

My lord, wil't please you pass along?

Myself and my good cousin Buckingham

Will to your mother, to entreat of her

To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.

YORK.

What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?

PRINCE.

My lord protector needs will have it so.

YORK.

I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.

GLOSTER.

Why, what should you fear?

YORK.

Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost:

My grandam told me he was murder'd there.

PRINCE.

I fear no uncles dead.

GLOSTER.

Nor none that live, I hope.

PRINCE.

An if they live, I hope I need not fear.

But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,

Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.

[Sennet. Exeunt PRINCE, YORK, HASTINGS, CARDINAL, and Attendants.]

BUCKINGHAM.

Think you, my lord, this little prating York

Was not incensed by his subtle mother

To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?

GLOSTER.

No doubt, no doubt: O, 'tis a parlous boy;

Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable:

He is all the mother's, from the top to toe.

BUCKINGHAM.

Well, let them rest.—Come hither, Catesby.

Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend

As closely to conceal what we impart:

Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way;—

What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter

To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,

For the instalment of this noble duke

In the seat royal of this famous isle?

CATESBY.

He for his father's sake so loves the prince

That he will not be won to aught against him.

BUCKINGHAM.

What think'st thou then of Stanley? will not he?

CATESBY.

He will do all in all as Hastings doth.

BUCKINGHAM.

Well then, no more but this: go, gentle Catesby,

And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings

How he doth stand affected to our purpose;

And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,

To sit about the coronation.

If thou dost find him tractable to us,

Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons:

If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling,

Be thou so too; and so break off the talk,

And give us notice of his inclination:

For we to-morrow hold divided councils,

Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd.

GLOSTER.

Commend me to Lord William: tell him, Catesby,

His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries

To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle;

And bid my lord, for joy of this good news,

Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.

BUCKINGHAM.

Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly.

CATESBY.

My good lords both, with all the heed I can.

GLOSTER.

Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?

CATESBY.

You shall, my lord.

GLOSTER.

At Crosby Place, there shall you find us both.

[Exit CATESBY.]

BUCKINGHAM.

Now, my lord, what shall we do if we perceive

Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?

GLOSTER.

Chop off his head. man;—somewhat we will do:—

And, look when I am king, claim thou of me

The earldom of Hereford, and all the movables

Whereof the king my brother was possess'd.

BUCKINGHAM.

I'll claim that promise at your grace's hand.

GLOSTER.

And look to have it yielded with all kindness.

Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards

We may digest our complots in some form.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. Before LORD HASTING'S house.

[Enter a MESSENGER.]

MESSENGER.

My lord, my lord!—

[Knocking.]

HASTINGS.

[Within.] Who knocks?

MESSENGER.

One from the Lord Stanley.

HASTINGS.

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

MESSENGER.

Upon the stroke of four.

[Enter HASTINGS.]

HASTINGS.

Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious nights?

MESSENGER.

So it appears by that I have to say.

First, he commends him to your noble self.

HASTINGS.

What then?

MESSENGER.

Then certifies your lordship that this night

He dreamt the boar had razed off his helm:

Besides, he says there are two councils held;

And that may be determin'd at the one

Which may make you and him to rue at the 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.

HASTINGS.

Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;

Bid him not fear the separated councils:

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 simple

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.

MESSENGER.

I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say.

[Exit.]

[Enter CATESBY.]

CATESBY.

Many good morrows to my noble lord!

HASTINGS.

Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring:

What news, what news, in this our tottering state?

CATESBY.

It is a reeling world indeed, my lord;

And I believe will never stand upright

Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.

HASTINGS.

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

CATESBY.

Ay, my good lord.

HASTINGS.

I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders

Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd.

But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?

CATESBY.

Ay, on my life; 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.

HASTINGS.

Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,

Because they have been still my adversaries:

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.

CATESBY.

God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!

HASTINGS.

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 older,

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

CATESBY.

'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,

When men are unprepar'd and look not for it.

HASTINGS.

O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out

With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do

With some men else that think themselves as safe

As thou and I; who, as thou knowest, are dear

To princely Richard and to Buckingham.

CATESBY.

The princes both make high account of you,—

[Aside.]

For they account his head upon the bridge.

HASTINGS.

I know they do, and I have well deserv'd it.

[Enter STANLEY.]

Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?

Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?

STANLEY.

My lord, good morrow; and good morrow, Catesby:—

You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,

I do not like these several councils, I.

HASTINGS.

My lord, I hold my life as dear as you do yours;

And never in my days, I do protest,

Was it so precious to me as 'tis now;

Think you, but that I know our state secure,

I would be so triumphant as I am?

STANLEY.

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'ercast!

This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt;

Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward.

What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent.

HASTINGS.

Come, come, have with you.—Wot you what, my lord?

To-day the lords you talk'd of are beheaded.

STANLEY.

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.]

HASTINGS.

Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow.

[Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY.]

How now, sirrah! how goes the world with thee?

PURSUIVANT.

The better that your lordship please to ask.

HASTINGS.

I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now

Than when thou mett'st me last where now we meet:

Then was I going prisoner to the Tower,

By the suggestion of the queen's allies;

But now, I tell thee,—keep it to thyself,—

This day those enemies are put to death,

And I in better state than e'er I was.

PURSUIVANT.

God hold it, to your honour's good content!

HASTINGS.

Gramercy, fellow: there, drink that for me.

[Throwing him his purse.]

PURSUIVANT.

I thank your honour.

[Exit.]

[Enter a PRIEST.]

PRIEST.

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

HASTINGS.

I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.

I am in your debt for your last exercise;

Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.

[Enter BUCKINGHAM.]

BUCKINGHAM.

What, talking with a priest, lord chamberlain!

Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest;

Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.

HASTINGS.

Good faith, and when I met this holy man,

The men you talk of came into my mind.—

What, go you toward the Tower?

BUCKINGHAM.

I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there;

I shall return before your lordship thence.

HASTINGS.

Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.

BUCKINGHAM.

[Aside.] And supper too, although thou knowest it not.—

Come, will you go?

HASTINGS.

I'll wait upon your lordship.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. Pomfret. Before the Castle.

[Enter RATCLIFF, with Guard, conducting RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN to execution.]

RIVERS.

Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this,—

To-day shalt thou behold a subject die

For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.

GREY.

God bless the prince from all the pack of you!

A knot you are of damned blood-suckers.

VAUGHAN.

You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter.

RATCLIFF.

Despatch; the limit of your lives is out.

RIVERS.

O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,

Fatal and ominous to noble peers!

Within the guilty closure of thy walls

Richard the Second here was hack'd to death:

And, for more slander to thy dismal seat,

We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink.

GREY.

Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon our heads,

When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I,

For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.

RIVERS.

Then curs'd she Richard, then curs'd she Buckingham,

Then curs'd she Hastings:—O, remember, God,

To hear her prayer for them, as now for us!

And for my sister, and her princely sons,

Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,

Which, as Thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt.

RATCLIFF.

Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.

RIVERS.

Come, Grey;—come, Vaughan;—let us here embrace.

Farewell, until we meet again in heaven.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Tower.

[BUCKINGHAM, STANLEY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP of ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL, and others sitting at a table: Officers of the Council attending.]

HASTINGS.

Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met

Is to determine of the coronation.

In God's name speak,—when is the royal day?

BUCKINGHAM.

Are all things ready for that royal time?

STANLEY.

Thery are, and wants but nomination.

ELY.

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

BUCKINGHAM.

Who knows the lord protector's mind herein?

Who is most inward with the noble duke?

ELY.

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

BUCKINGHAM.

We know each other's faces: for our hearts,

He knows no more of mine than I of yours;

Or I of his, my lord, than you of mine.—

Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.

HASTINGS.

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, may name the time;

And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice,

Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part.

ELY.

In happy time, here comes the duke himself.

[Enter GLOSTER.]

GLOSTER.

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.

BUCKINGHAM.

Had you not come upon your cue, my lord,

William Lord Hastings had pronounc'd your part,—

I mean, your voice,—for crowning of the king.

GLOSTER.

Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder;

His lordship knows me well and loves me well.—

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.]

GLOSTER.

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.

BUCKINGHAM.

Withdraw yourself awhile; I'll go with you.

[Exeunt GLOSTER and BUCKINGHAM.]

STANLEY.

We have not yet set down this day of triumph.

To-morrow, in my judgment, 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.

HASTINGS.

His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this morning;

There's some conceit or other likes him well

When that he bids good morrow with such spirit.

I think there's ne'er a man in Christendom

Can lesser hide his love or hate than he;

For by his face straight shall you know his heart.

STANLEY.

What of his heart perceive you in his face

By any livelihood he showed to-day?

HASTINGS.

Marry, that with no man here he is offended;

For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.

[Re-enter GLOSTER and BUCKINGHAM.]

GLOSTER.

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?

HASTINGS.

The tender love I bear your grace, my lord,

Makes me most forward in this princely presence

To doom the offenders: whosoe'er they be.

I say, my lord, they have deserved death.

GLOSTER.

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-strumpet Shore,

That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.

HASTINGS.

If they have done this deed, my noble lord,—

GLOSTER.

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:—

The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.

[Exeunt all except HASTINGS, LOVEL, and RATCLIFF.]

HASTINGS.

Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me;

For I, too fond, might have prevented this.

Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm;

And I did scorn it, and disdain to fly.

Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,

And started, when he look'd upon the Tower,

As loth 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,

And I myself secure in grace and favour.

O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse

Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head!

RATCLIFF.

Come, come, despatch; the duke would be at dinner:

Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.

HASTINGS.

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.

LOVEL.

Come, come, despatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim.

HASTINGS.

O bloody Richard!—miserable England!

I prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee

That ever wretched age hath look'd upon.—

Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head:

They smile at me who shortly shall be dead.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE V. London. The Tower Walls.

[Enter GLOSTER and BUCKINGHAM in rusty armour, marvellous ill-favoured.]

GLOSTER.

Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change thy colour,

Murder thy breath in middle of a word,

And then again begin, and stop again,

As if thou were distraught and mad with terror?

BUCKINGHAM.

Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;

Speak and look back, and pry on every side,

Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,

Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks

Are at my service, like enforced smiles;

And both are ready in their offices,

At any time to grace my stratagems.

But what, is Catesby gone?

GLOSTER.

He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.

[Enter the LORD MAYOR and CATESBY.]

BUCKINGHAM.

Lord mayor,—

GLOSTER.

Look to the drawbridge there!

BUCKINGHAM.

Hark! a drum.

GLOSTER.

Catesby, o'erlook the walls.

BUCKINGHAM.

Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent,—

GLOSTER.

Look back, defend thee,—here are enemies.

BUCKINGHAM.

God and our innocency defend and guard us!

GLOSTER.

Be patient; they are friends,—Ratcliff and Lovel.

[Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS' head.]

LOVEL.

Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,

The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.

GLOSTER.

So dear I lov'd the man that I must weep.

I took him for the plainest harmless creature

That breath'd upon the earth a Christian;

Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded

The history of all her secret thoughts:

So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue

That, his apparent open guilt omitted,—

I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife,—

He liv'd from all attainder of suspects.

BUCKINGHAM.

Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd traitor

That ever liv'd.—

Would you imagine, or almost believe,—

Were't not that by great preservation

We live to tell it you,—that the subtle traitor

This day had plotted, in the council-house,

To murder me and my good Lord of Gloster!

MAYOR.

Had he done so?

GLOSTER.

What! think you we are Turks or Infidels?

Or that we would, against the form of law,

Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death,

But that the extreme peril of the case,

The peace of England and our persons' safety,

Enforc'd us to this execution?

MAYOR.

Now, fair befall you! he deserv'd his death;

And your good graces both have well proceeded,

To warn false traitors from the like attempts.

I never look'd for better at his hands

After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.

BUCKINGHAM.

Yet had we not determin'd he should die

Until your lordship came to see his end;

Which now the loving haste of these our friends,

Something against our meanings, have prevented:

Because, my lord, we would have had you heard

The traitor speak, and timorously confess

The manner and the purpose of his treasons;

That you might well have signified the same

Unto the citizens, who haply may

Misconster us in him, and wail his death.

MAYOR.

But, my good lord, your grace's word shall serve

As well as I had seen and heard him speak:

And do not doubt, right noble princes both,

But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens

With all your just proceedings in this case.

GLOSTER.

And to that end we wish'd your lordship here,

To avoid the the the censures of the carping world.

BUCKINGHAM.

But since you come too late of our intent,

Yet witness what you hear we did intend:

And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell.

[Exit LORD MAYOR.]

GLOSTER.

Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.

The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post:—

There, at your meet'st advantage of the time,

Infer the bastardy of Edward's children:

Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen,

Only for saying he would make his son

Heir to the crown;—meaning, indeed, his house,

Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so.

Moreover, urge his hateful luxury,

And bestial appetite in change of lust;

Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives,

Even where his raging eye or savage heart,

Without control, listed to make a prey.

Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:—

Tell them, when that my mother went with child

Of that insatiate Edward, noble York,

My princely father, then had wars in France

And, by true computation of the time,

Found that the issue was not his begot;

Which well appeared in his lineaments,

Being nothing like the noble duke my father.

Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off;

Because, my lord, you know my mother lives.

BUCKINGHAM.

Doubt not, my lord, I'll play the orator

As if the golden fee for which I plead

Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu.

GLOSTER.

If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's Castle;

Where you shall find me well accompanied

With reverend fathers and well learned bishops.

BUCKINGHAM.

I go; and towards three or four o'clock

Look for the news that the Guildhall affords.

[Exit.]

GLOSTER.

Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw.—

Go thou [to CATESBY] to Friar Penker;—bid them both

Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle.

[Exeunt LOVEL and CATESBY.]

Now will I in, to take some privy order

To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight;

And to give order that no manner person

Have any time recourse unto the princes.

[Exit.]

SCENE VI. London. A street.

[Enter a SCRIVENER.]

SCRIVENER.

Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;

Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd,

That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's.

And mark how well the sequel hangs together:—

Eleven hours I have spent to write it over,

For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me;

The precedent was full as long a-doing:

And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd,

Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty.

Here's a good world the while! Who is so gross

That cannot see this palpable device!

Yet who so bold but says he sees it not!

Bad is the world; and all will come to naught,

When such ill dealing must be seen in thought.

[Exit.]

SCENE VII. London. Court of Baynard's Castle.

[Enter GLOSTER and BUCKINGHAM, meeting.]

GLOSTER.

How now, how now! what say the citizens?

BUCKINGHAM.

Now, by the holy mother of our Lord,

The citizens are mum, say not a word.

GLOSTER.

Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children?

BUCKINGHAM.

I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,

And his contract by deputy in France;

The insatiate greediness of his desires,

And his enforcement of the city wives;

His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,—

As being got, your father then in France,

And his resemblance, being not like the duke:

Withal I did infer your lineaments,—

Being the right idea of your father,

Both in your form and nobleness of mind;

Laid open all your victories in Scotland,

Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace,

Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;

Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose

Untouch'd or slightly handled in discourse:

And when mine oratory drew toward end

I bid them that did love their country's good

Cry "God save Richard, England's royal king!"

GLOSTER.

And did they so?

BUCKINGHAM.

No, so God help me, they spake not a word;

But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,

Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale.

Which when I saw, I reprehended them;

And ask'd the mayor what meant this wilful silence:

His answer was—the people were not us'd

To be spoke to but by the recorder.

Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again,—

"Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd;"

But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.

When he had done, some followers of mine own,

At lower end of the hall hurl'd up their caps,

And some ten voices cried, "God save King Richard!"

And thus I took the vantage of those few,—

"Thanks, gentle citizens and friends," quoth I;

"This general applause and cheerful shout

Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard:"

And even here brake off and came away.

GLOSTER.

What, tongueless blocks were they! would they not speak?

Will not the mayor, then, and his brethren, come?

BUCKINGHAM.

The mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear;

Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit:

And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,

And stand between two churchmen, good my lord;

For on that ground I'll make a holy descant:

And be not easily won to our requests;

Play the maid's part,—still answer nay, and take it.

GLOSTER.

I go; and if you plead as well for them

As I can say nay to thee for myself,

No doubt we bring it to a happy issue.

BUCKINGHAM.

Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor knocks.

[Exit GLOSTER.]

[Enter the LORD MAYOR, ALDERMEN, and Citizens.]

Welcome, my lord. I dance attendance here;

I think the duke will not be spoke withal.

[Enter, from the Castle, CATESBY.]

Now, Catesby,—what says your lord to my request?

CATESBY.

He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord,

To visit him to-morrow or next day:

He is within, with two right reverend fathers,

Divinely bent to meditation:

And in no worldly suit would he be mov'd,

To draw him from his holy exercise.

BUCKINGHAM.

Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke;

Tell him, myself, the mayor and aldermen,

In deep designs, in matter of great moment,

No less importing than our general good,

Are come to have some conference with his grace.

CATESBY.

I'll signify so much unto him straight.

[Exit.]

BUCKINGHAM.

Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!

He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed,

But on his knees at meditation;

Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,

But meditating with two deep divines;

Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,

But praying, to enrich his watchful soul:

Happy were England would this virtuous prince

Take on his grace the sovereignty thereof:

But, sure, I fear, we shall not win him to it.

MAYOR.

Marry, God defend his grace should say us nay!

BUCKINGHAM.

I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again.

[Re-enter CATESBY.]

Now, Catesby, what says his grace?

CATESBY.

He wonders to what end you have assembled

Such troops of citizens to come to him:

His grace not being warn'd thereof before,

He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.

BUCKINGHAM.

Sorry I am my noble cousin should

Suspect me, that I mean no good to him:

By heaven, we come to him in perfect love;

And so once more return and tell his grace.

[Exit CATESBY.]

When holy and devout religious men

Are at their beads, 'tis much to draw them thence,—

So sweet is zealous contemplation.

[Enter GLOSTER in a Galery above, between two BISHOPS. CATESBY

returns.]

MAYOR.

See where his grace stands 'tween two clergymen!

BUCKINGHAM.

Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,

To stay him from the fall of vanity:

And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,—

True ornaments to know a holy man.—

Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince,

Lend favourable ear to our requests;

And pardon us the interruption

Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.

GLOSTER.

My lord, there needs no such apology:

I rather do beseech you pardon me,

Who, earnest in the service of my God,

Deferr'd the visitation of my friends.

But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure?

BUCKINGHAM.

Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,

And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.

GLOSTER.

I do suspect I have done some offence

That seems disgracious in the city's eye;

And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.

BUCKINGHAM.

You have, my lord: would it might please your grace,

On our entreaties, to amend your fault!

GLOSTER.

Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?

BUCKINGHAM.

Know then, it is your fault that you resign

The supreme seat, the throne majestical,

The scepter'd office of your ancestors,

Your state of fortune and your due of birth,

The lineal glory of your royal house,

To the corruption of a blemish'd stock:

Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,—

Which here we waken to our country's good,—

The noble isle doth want her proper limbs;

Her face defac'd with scars of infamy,

Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,

And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf

Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion.

Which to recure, we heartily solicit

Your gracious self to take on you the charge

And kingly government of this your land;—

Not as protector, steward, substitute,

Or lowly factor for another's gain;

But as successively, from blood to blood,

Your right of birth, your empery, your own.

For this, consorted with the citizens,

Your very worshipful and loving friends,

And, by their vehement instigation,

In this just cause come I to move your grace.

GLOSTER.

I cannot tell if to depart in silence

Or bitterly to speak in your reproof

Best fitteth my degree or your condition:

If not to answer, you might haply think

Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded

To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,

Which fondly you would here impose on me;

If to reprove you for this suit of yours,

So season'd with your faithful love to me,

Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends.

Therefore,—to speak, and to avoid the first,

And then, in speaking, not to incur the last,—

Definitively thus I answer you.

Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert

Unmeritable shuns your high request.

First, if all obstacles were cut away,

And that my path were even to the crown,

As the ripe revenue and due of birth,

Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,

So mighty and so many my defects,

That I would rather hide me from my greatness,—

Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,—

Than in my greatness covet to be hid,

And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.

But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me,—

And much I need to help you, were there need;—

The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,

Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,

Will well become the seat of majesty,

And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.

On him I lay that you would lay on me,—

The right and fortune of his happy stars;

Which God defend that I should wring from him!

BUCKINGHAM.

My lord, this argues conscience in your grace;

But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,

All circumstances well considered.

You say that Edward is your brother's son:

So say we too, but not by Edward's wife;

For first was he contract to Lady Lucy,—

Your mother lives a witness to his vow,—

And afterward by substitute betroth'd

To Bona, sister to the King of France.

These both put off, a poor petitioner,

A care-craz'd mother to a many sons,

A beauty-waning and distressed widow,

Even in the afternoon of her best days,

Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,

Seduc'd the pitch and height of his degree

To base declension and loath'd bigamy:

By her, in his unlawful bed, he got

This Edward, whom our manners call the prince.

More bitterly could I expostulate,

Save that, for reverence to some alive,

I give a sparing limit to my tongue.

Then, good my lord, take to your royal self

This proffer'd benefit of dignity;

If not to bless us and the land withal,

Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry

From the corruption of abusing time

Unto a lineal true-derived course.

MAYOR.

Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you.

BUCKINGHAM.

Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.

CATESBY.

O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!

GLOSTER.

Alas, why would you heap those cares on me?

I am unfit for state and majesty:—

I do beseech you, take it not amiss:

I cannot nor I will not yield to you.

BUCKINGHAM.

If you refuse it,—as, in love and zeal,

Loath to depose the child, your brother's son—

As well we know your tenderness of heart

And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,

Which we have noted in you to your kindred,

And equally, indeed, to all estates,—

Yet know, whe'er you accept our suit or no,

Your brother's son shall never reign our king;

But we will plant some other in the throne,

To the disgrace and downfall of your house:

And in this resolution here we leave you.—

Come, citizens, we will entreat no more.

[Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, the MAYOR and citizens retiring.]

CATESBY.

Call them again, sweet prince, accept their suit:

If you deny them, all the land will rue it.

GLOSTER.

Will you enforce me to a world of cares?

Call them again.

[CATESBY goes to the MAYOR, &c., and then exit.]

I am not made of stone,

But penetrable to your kind entreaties,

Albeit against my conscience and my soul.

[Re-enter BUCKINGHAM and CATESBY, MAYOR, &c., coming forward.]

Cousin of Buckingham,—and sage grave men,

Since you will buckle fortune on my back,

To bear her burden, whe'er I will or no,

I must have patience to endure the load:

But if black scandal or foul-fac'd reproach

Attend the sequel of your imposition,

Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me

From all the impure blots and stains thereof;

For God doth know, and you may partly see,

How far I am from the desire of this.

MAYOR.

God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it.

GLOSTER.

In saying so, you shall but say the truth.

BUCKINGHAM.

Then I salute you with this royal title,—

Long live King Richard, England's worthy king!

ALL.

Amen.

BUCKINGHAM.

To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd?

GLOSTER.

Even when you please, for you will have it so.

BUCKINGHAM.

To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace:

And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.

GLOSTER. [To the BISHOPS.]

Come, let us to our holy work again.—

Farewell, my cousin;—farewell, gentle friends.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE I. London. Before the Tower

[Enter, on one side, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS of YORK, and MARQUIS of DORSET; on the other, ANNE DUCHESS of GLOSTER, leading LADY MARGARET PLANTAGENET, CLARENCE's young daughter.]

DUCHESS.

Who meets us here?—my niece Plantagenet,

Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster?

Now, for my life, she's wandering to the Tower,

On pure heart's love, to greet the tender princes.—

Daughter, well met.

ANNE.

God give your graces both

A happy and a joyful time of day!

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

As much to you, good sister! Whither away?

ANNE.

No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,

Upon the like devotion as yourselves,

To gratulate the gentle princes there.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter all together:—

And in good time, here the lieutenant comes.

[Enter BRAKENBURY.]

Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,

How doth the prince, and my young son of York?

BRAKENBURY.

Right well, dear madam. By your patience,

I may not suffer you to visit them.

The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

The king! who's that?

BRAKENBURY.

I mean the lord protector.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

The Lord protect him from that kingly title!

Hath he set bounds between their love and me?

I am their mother; who shall bar me from them?

DUCHESS.

I am their father's mother; I will see them.

ANNE.

Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:

Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame,

And take thy office from thee on my peril.

BRAKENBURY.

No, madam, no,—I may not leave it so:

I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.

[Exit.]

[Enter STANLEY.]

STANLEY.

Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,

And I'll salute your grace of York as mother

And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.—

[To the DUCHESS OF GLOSTER.]

Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,

There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Ah, cut my lace asunder,

That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,

Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news!

ANNE.

Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!

DORSET.

Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your grace?

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone!

Death and destruction dog thee at thy heels;

Thy mother's name is ominous to children.

If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,

And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell:

Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,

Lest thou increase the number of the dead;

And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,

Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.

STANLEY.

Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.—

Take all the swift advantage of the hours;

You shall have letters from me to my son

In your behalf, to meet you on the way:

Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

DUCHESS.

O ill-dispersing wind of misery!—

O my accursed womb, the bed of death!

A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,

Whose unavoided eye is murderous.

STANLEY.

Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.

ANNE.

And I with all unwillingness will go.—

O, would to God that the inclusive verge

Of golden metal that must round my brow

Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain !

Anointed let me be with deadly venom,

And die ere men can say God save the queen!

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Go, go, poor soul; I envy not thy glory;

To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.

ANNE.

No, why?—When he that is my husband now

Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse;

When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands

Which issued from my other angel husband,

And that dear saint which then I weeping follow'd;

O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,

This was my wish,—"Be thou," quoth I, "accurs'd

For making me, so young, so old a widow!

And when thou wedd'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;

And be thy wife,—if any be so mad,—

More miserable by the life of thee

Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!"

Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,

Within so small a time, my woman's heart

Grossly grew captive to his honey words,

And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse,—

Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest;

For never yet one hour in his bed

Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,

But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.

Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;

And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.

ANNE.

No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.

DORSET.

Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory!

ANNE.

Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it!

DUCHESS. [To DORSET.]

Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!—

[To ANNE.]

Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee!—

[To QUEEN ELIZABETH.]

Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee!

I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!

Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,

And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Stay yet, look back with me unto the Tower.—

Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes

Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls!

Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!

Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow

For tender princes, use my babies well!

So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. London. A Room of State in the Palace.

[Flourish of trumpets. RICHARD, as King, upon his throne; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL, a Page, and others.]

KING RICHARD.

Stand all apart—Cousin of Buckingham,—

BUCKINGHAM.

My gracious sovereign?

KING RICHARD.

Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice

And thy assistance, is King Richard seated:—

But shall we wear these glories for a day?

Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

BUCKINGHAM.

Still live they, and for ever let them last!

KING RICHARD.

Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch,

To try if thou be current gold indeed:—

Young Edward lives;—think now what I would speak.

BUCKINGHAM.

Say on, my loving lord.

KING RICHARD.

Why, Buckingham, I say I would be king.

BUCKINGHAM.

Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord.

KING RICHARD.

Ha! am I king? 'tis so: but Edward lives.

BUCKINGHAM.

True, noble prince.

KING RICHARD.

O bitter consequence,

That Edward still should live,—true, noble Prince!—

Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull:—

Shall I be plain?—I wish the bastards dead;

And I would have it suddenly perform'd.

What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief.

BUCKINGHAM.

Your grace may do your pleasure.

KING RICHARD.

Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezes:

Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?

BUCKINGHAM.

Give me some little breath, some pause, dear lord,

Before I positively speak in this:

I will resolve your grace immediately.

[Exit.]

CATESBY.

[Aside.] The king is angry: see, he gnaws his lip.

KING RICHARD.

I will converse with iron-witted fools

[Descends from his throne.]

And unrespective boys; none are for me

That look into me with considerate eyes:

High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.

Boy!—

PAGE.

My lord?

KING RICHARD.

Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold

Will tempt unto a close exploit of death?

PAGE.

I know a discontented gentleman

Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit:

Gold were as good as twenty orators,

And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything.

KING RICHARD.

What is his name?

PAGE.

His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.

KING RICHARD.

I partly know the man: go, call him hither, boy.

[Exit PAGE.]

The deep-revolving witty Buckingham

No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels:

Hath he so long held out with me untir'd,

And stops he now for breath?—well, be it so.

[Enter STANLEY.]

How now, Lord Stanley! what's the news?

STANLEY.

Know, my loving lord,

The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled

To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.

KING RICHARD.

Come hither, Catesby: rumour it abroad

That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;

I will take order for her keeping close:

Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman,

Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter;—

The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.—

Look how thou dream'st!—I say again, give out

That Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die:

About it; for it stands me much upon,

To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.

[Exit CATESBY.]

I must be married to my brother's daughter,

Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass:—

Murder her brothers, and then marry her!

Uncertain way of gain! But I am in

So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin:

Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

[Re-enter PAGE, with TYRREL.]

Is thy name Tyrrel?

TYRREL.

James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

KING RICHARD.

Art thou, indeed?

TYRREL.

Prove me, my gracious lord.

KING RICHARD.

Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

TYRREL.

Please you. But I had rather kill two enemies.

KING RICHARD.

Why, then thou hast it: two deep enemies,

Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers,

Are they that I would have thee deal upon:—

Tyrell, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

TYRREL.

Let me have open means to come to them,

And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.

KING RICHARD.

Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel:

Go, by this token:—rise, and lend thine ear:

[Whispers.] There is no more but so:—say it is done,

And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.

TYRREL.

I will despatch it straight.

[Exit.]

[Re-enter BUCKINGHAM.]

BUCKINGHAM.

My lord, I have consider'd in my mind

The late request that you did sound me in.

KING RICHARD.

Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to Richmond.

BUCKINGHAM.

I hear the news, my lord.

KING RICHARD.

Stanley, he is your wife's son:—well, look to it.

BUCKINGHAM.

My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,

For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd:

The earldom of Hereford, and the movables

Which you have promised I shall possess.

KING RICHARD.

Stanley, look to your wife: if she convey

Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

BUCKINGHAM.

What says your highness to my just request?

KING RICHARD.

I do remember me:—Henry the Sixth

Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,

When Richmond was a little peevish boy.

A king!—perhaps,—

BUCKINGHAM.

My lord,—

KING RICHARD.

How chance the prophet could not at that time

Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

BUCKINGHAM.

My lord, your promise for the earldom,—

KING RICHARD.

Richmond!—When last I was at Exeter,

The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle

And call'd it Rougemount; at which name I started,

Because a bard of Ireland told me once

I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

BUCKINGHAM.

My lord—

KING RICHARD.

Ay, what's o'clock?

BUCKINGHAM.

I am thus bold to put your grace in mind

Of what you promis'd me.

KING RICHARD.

Well, but what's o'clock?

BUCKINGHAM.

Upon the stroke of ten.

KING RICHARD.

Well, let it strike.

BUCKINGHAM.

Why let it strike?

KING RICHARD.

Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke

Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.

I am not in the giving vein to-day.

BUCKINGHAM.

Why then, resolve me whether you will or no.

KING RICHARD.

Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.

[Exeunt KING RICHARD and Train.]

BUCKINGHAM.

And is it thus? repays he my deep service

With such contempt? made I him king for this?

O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone

To Brecknock while my fearful head is on!

[Exit.]

SCENE III. London. Another Room in the Palace.

[Enter TYRREL.]

TYRREL.

The tyrannous and bloody act is done,—

The most arch deed of piteous massacre

That ever yet this land was guilty of.

Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn

To do this piece of ruthless butchery,

Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,

Melted with tenderness and mild compassion,

Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story.

"O, thus," quoth Dighton, "lay the gentle babes,"—

"Thus, thus," quoth Forrest, "girdling one another

Within their alabaster innocent arms:

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,

And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.

A book of prayers on their pillow lay;

Which once," quoth Forrest, "almost chang'd my mind;

But, O, the devil,"—there the villain stopp'd;

When Dighton thus told on:—"We smothered

The most replenished sweet work of nature

That from the prime creation e'er she framed."—

Hence both are gone; with conscience and remorse

They could not speak; and so I left them both,

To bear this tidings to the bloody king:—

And here he comes:—

[Enter KING RICHARD.]

All health, my sovereign lord!

KING RICHARD.

Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?

TYRREL.

If to have done the thing you gave in charge

Beget your happiness, be happy then,

For it is done.

KING RICHARD.

But didst thou see them dead?

TYRREL.

I did, my lord.

KING RICHARD.

And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

TYRREL.

The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;

But where, to say the truth, I do not know.

KING RICHARD.

Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper,

When thou shalt tell the process of their death.

Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,

And be inheritor of thy desire.

Farewell till then.

TYRREL.

I humbly take my leave.

[Exit.]

KING RICHARD.

The son of Clarence have I pent up close;

His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;

The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,

And Anne my wife hath bid the world good-night.

Now, for I know the Britagne Richmond aims

At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,

And by that knot looks proudly on the crown,

To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.

[Enter RATCLIFF.]

RATCLIFF.

My lord,—

KING RICHARD.

Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so bluntly?

RATCLIFF.

Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond;

And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,

Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

KING RICHARD.

Ely with Richmond troubles me more near

Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.

Come,—I have learn'd that fearful commenting

Is leaden servitor to dull delay;

Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary:

Then fiery expedition be my wing,

Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!

Go, muster men: my counsel is my shield;

We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. London. Before the Palace.

[Enter QUEEN MARGARET.]

QUEEN MARGARET.

So, now prosperity begins to mellow,

And drop into the rotten mouth of death.

Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd

To watch the waning of mine enemies.

A dire induction am I witness to,

And will to France; hoping the consequence

Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.—

Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here?

[Retires.]

[Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK.]

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender babes!

My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!

If yet your gentle souls fly in the air

And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,

Hover about me with your airy wings

And hear your mother's lamentation!

QUEEN MARGARET.

Hover about her; say that right for right

Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.

DUCHESS.

So many miseries have craz'd my voice

That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.—

Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

QUEEN MARGARET.

Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,

Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,

And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?

When didst Thou sleep when such a deed was done?

QUEEN MARGARET.

When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.

DUCHESS.

Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost,

Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,

Brief abstract and record of tedious days,

Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,

[Sitting down.]

Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a grave

As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!

Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.

Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?

[Sitting down by her.]

QUEEN MARGARET. [Coming forward.]

If ancient sorrow be most reverent,

Give mine the benefit of seniory,

And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.

If sorrow can admit society,

[Sitting down with them.]

Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine:—

I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;

I had a Henry, till a Richard kill'd him:

Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;

Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.

DUCHESS.

I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;

I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.

QUEEN MARGARET.

Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him.

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept

A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death:

That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,

To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood;

That foul defacer of God's handiwork;

That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,

That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,—

Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.—

O upright, just, and true-disposing God,

How do I thank Thee that this carnal cur

Preys on the issue of his mother's body,

And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!

DUCHESS.

O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes!

God witness with me, I have wept for thine.

QUEEN MARGARET.

Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,

And now I cloy me with beholding it.

Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;

The other Edward dead to quit my Edward;

Young York he is but boot, because both they

Match not the high perfection of my loss:

Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward;

And the beholders of this frantic play,

The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,

Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.

Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;

Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls,

And send them thither: but at hand, at hand,

Ensues his piteous and unpitied end:

Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,

To have him suddenly convey'd from hence.—

Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,

That I may live to say "The dog is dead."

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

O, thou didst prophesy the time would come

That I should wish for thee to help me curse

That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad!

QUEEN MARGARET.

I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my fortune;

I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen;

The presentation of but what I was,

The flattering index of a direful pageant;

One heav'd a-high to be hurl'd down below,

A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;

A dream of what thou wast; a garish flag,

To be the aim of every dangerous shot;

A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;

A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.

Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?

Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy?

Who sues, and kneels, and says, "God save the queen?"

Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?

Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?

Decline all this, and see what now thou art:

For happy wife, a most distressed widow;

For joyful mother, one that wails the name;

For one being su'd to, one that humbly sues;

For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;

For she that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;

For she being fear'd of all, now fearing one;

For she commanding all, obey'd of none.

Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about

And left thee but a very prey to time;

Having no more but thought of what thou wast,

To torture thee the more, being what thou art.

Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not

Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?

Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke;

From which even here I slip my weary head,

And leave the burden of it all on thee.

Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance:—

These English woes shall make me smile in France.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile,

And teach me how to curse mine enemies!

QUEEN MARGARET.

Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day;

Compare dead happiness with living woe;

Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were,

And he that slew them fouler than he is;

Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;

Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine!

QUEEN MARGARET.

Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.

[Exit.]

DUCHESS.

Why should calamity be full of words?

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Windy attorneys to their client woes,

Airy succeeders of intestate joys,

Poor breathing orators of miseries!

Let them have scope: though what they do impart

Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.

DUCHESS.

If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me,

And in the breath of bitter words let's smother

My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd.

[Drum within.]

I hear his drum:—be copious in exclaims.

[Enter KING RICHARD and his Train, marching.]

KING RICHARD.

Who intercepts me in my expedition?

DUCHESS.

O, she that might have intercepted thee,

By strangling thee in her accursed womb,

From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Hidest 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?

DUCHESS.

Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence?

And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

DUCHESS.

Where is kind Hastings?

KING RICHARD.

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 entreat me fair,

Or with the clamorous report of war

Thus will I drown your exclamations.

DUCHESS.

Art thou my son?

KING RICHARD.

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

DUCHESS.

Then patiently hear my impatience.

KING RICHARD.

Madam, I have a touch of your condition

That cannot brook the accent of reproof.

DUCHESS.

O, let me speak!

KING RICHARD.

Do, then; but I'll not hear.

DUCHESS.

I will be mild and gentle in my words.

KING RICHARD.

And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.

DUCHESS.

Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee,

God knows, in torment and in agony.

KING RICHARD.

And came I not at last to comfort you?

DUCHESS.

No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well

Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.

A grievous burden was thy birth to me;

Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;

Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious;

Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous;

Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,

More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:

What comfortable hour canst thou name

That ever grac'd me with thy company?

KING RICHARD.

Faith, none but Humphrey Hour, that call'd your grace

To breakfast once forth of my company.

If I be so disgracious in your eye,

Let me march on and not offend you, madam.—

Strike up the drum.

DUCHESS.

I pr'ythee hear me speak.

KING RICHARD.

You speak too bitterly.

DUCHESS.

Hear me a word;

For I shall never speak to thee again.

KING RICHARD.

So.

DUCHESS.

Either thou wilt die by God's just ordinance

Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;

Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish

And never more behold thy face again.

Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse;

Which in the day of battle tire thee more

Than all the complete 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 ELIZABETH.

Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse

Abides in me; I say amen to her.

[Going.]

KING RICHARD.

Stay, madam, I must talk a word with you.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

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.

KING RICHARD.

You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth.

Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

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 of bleeding slaughter,

I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.

KING RICHARD.

Wrong not her birth; she is of royal blood.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

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

KING RICHARD.

Her life is safest only in her birth.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

And only in that safety died her brothers.

KING RICHARD.

Lo, at their births good stars were opposite.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.

KING RICHARD.

All unavoided is the doom of destiny.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

True, when avoided grace makes destiny:

My babes were destined to a fairer death,

If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.

KING RICHARD.

You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd

Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.

Whose hand soever lanc'd their tender hearts,

Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:

No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt

Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,

To revel in the entrails 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 desperate bay of death,

Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,

Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

KING RICHARD.

Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise

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 ELIZABETH.

What good is cover'd with the face of heaven,

To be discover'd, that can do me good?

KING RICHARD.

Advancement of your children, gentle lady.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?

KING RICHARD.

Unto the dignity and height of honour,

The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Flatter my sorrows with report of it;

Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,

Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

KING RICHARD.

Even 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 ELIZABETH.

Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness

Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.

KING RICHARD.

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

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.

KING RICHARD.

What do you think?

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

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.

KING RICHARD.

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 ELIZABETH.

Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

KING RICHARD.

Even he that makes her queen: who else should be?

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

What, thou?

KING RICHARD.

I, even I: what think you of it, madam?

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

How canst thou woo her?

KING RICHARD.

That would I learn of you,

As one being best acquainted with her humour.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

And wilt thou learn of me?

KING RICHARD.

Madam, with all my heart.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

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 sometimes Margaret

Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,—

A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain

The purple sap from her sweet brothers' bodies,

And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.

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.

KING RICHARD.

You mock me, madam; this is not the way

To win your daughter.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

There is no other way;

Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,

And not be Richard that hath done all this.

KING RICHARD.

Say that I did all this for love of her?

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,

Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

KING RICHARD.

Look, what is done cannot be now amended:

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,

Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.

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 little less in love

Than is the doating title of a mother;

They are as children but one step below,

Even of your mettle, 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 the aspiring flame

Of golden sovereignty; 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 victoress, Caesar's Caesar.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

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?

KING RICHARD.

Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Which she shall purchase with still-lasting war.

KING RICHARD.

Tell her the king, that may command, entreats.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

That at her hands which the king's King forbids.

KING RICHARD.

Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

To wail the title, as her mother doth.

KING RICHARD.

Say I will love her everlastingly.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

But how long shall that title, "ever," last?

KING RICHARD.

Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?

KING RICHARD.

As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

As long as hell and Richard likes of it.

KING RICHARD.

Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.

KING RICHARD.

Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

KING RICHARD.

Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

KING RICHARD.

Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead;—

Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.

KING RICHARD.

Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings break.

KING RICHARD.

Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,—

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

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

KING RICHARD.

I swear,—

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

By nothing; for this is no oath:

Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his lordly honour;

Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;

Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory.

If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd,

Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

KING RICHARD.

Now, by the world,—

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

KING RICHARD.

My father's death,—

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Thy life hath that dishonour'd.

KING RICHARD.

Then, by myself,—

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Thy self is self-misus'd.

KING RICHARD.

Why, then, by God,—

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

God's wrong is most of all.

If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,

The unity the king thy brother made

Had not been broken, nor my brother slain:

If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,

The 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 bedfellows for dust,

Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.

What canst thou swear by now?

KING RICHARD.

The time to come.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast;

For I myself have many tears to wash

Hereafter time, for time past wronged 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 barren plants, to wail it with their age.

Swear not by time to come: for that thou hast

Misus'd ere used, by times ill-us'd o'erpast.

KING RICHARD.

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 ELIZABETH.

Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

KING RICHARD.

Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Shall I forget myself to be myself?

KING RICHARD.

Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong yourself.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Yet thou didst kill my children.

KING RICHARD.

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 ELIZABETH.

Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

KING RICHARD.

And be a happy mother by the deed.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

I go.—Write to me very shortly,

And you shall understand from me her mind.

KING RICHARD.

Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell.

[Kissing her. Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH.]

Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!

[Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following.]

How now! what news?

RATCLIFF.

Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast

Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore

Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,

Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back:

'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;

And there they hull, expecting but the aid

Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

KING RICHARD.

Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk:—

Ratcliff, thyself,—or Catesby; where is he?

CATESBY.

Here, my good lord.

KING RICHARD.

Catesby, fly to the duke.

CATESBY.

I will my lord, with all convenient haste.

KING RICHARD.

Ratcliff, come hither: post to Salisbury:

When thou com'st thither,—

[To CATESBY.] Dull, unmindful villain,

Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke?

CATESBY.

First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' pleasure,

What from your grace I shall deliver to him.

KING RICHARD.

O, true, good Catesby:—bid him levy straight

The greatest strength and power that he can make,

And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.

CATESBY.

I go.

[Exit.]

RATCLIFF.

What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?

KING RICHARD.

Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?

RATCLIFF.

Your highness told me I should post before.

[Enter STANLEY.]

KING RICHARD.

My mind is chang'd.—Stanley, what news with you?

STANLEY.

None good, my liege, to please you with the hearing;

Nor none so bad but well may be reported.

KING RICHARD.

Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!

What need'st thou run so many miles about,

When thou mayest tell thy tale the nearest way?

Once more, what news?

STANLEY.

Richmond is on the seas.

KING RICHARD.

There let him sink, and be the seas on him!

White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?

STANLEY.

I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

KING RICHARD.

Well, as you guess?

STANLEY.

Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,

He makes for England here, to claim the crown.

KING RICHARD.

Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway'd?

Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd?

What heir of York is there alive but we?

And who is England's king but great York's heir?

Then tell me, what makes he upon the seas?

STANLEY.

Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.

KING RICHARD.

Unless for that he comes to be your liege,

You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.

Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.

STANLEY.

No, mighty leige; therefore mistrust me not.

KING RICHARD.

Where is thy power, then, to beat him back?

Where be thy tenants and thy followers?

Are they not now upon the western shore,

Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?

STANLEY.

No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.

KING RICHARD.

Cold friends to me: what do they in the north,

When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

STANLEY.

They have not been commanded, mighty king:

Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave,

I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace

Where and what time your majesty shall please.

KING RICHARD.

Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond;

But I'll not trust thee.

STANLEY.

Most mighty sovereign,

You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful:

I never was nor never will be false.

KING RICHARD.

Go, then, and muster men. But leave behind

Your son, George Stanley: look your heart be firm,

Or else his head's assurance is but frail.

STANLEY.

So deal with him as I prove true to you.

[Exit.]

[Enter a MESSENGER.]

MESSENGER.

My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,

As I by friends am well advertised,

Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate,

Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,

With many more confederates, are in arms.

[Enter a second MESSENGER.]

SECOND MESSENGER.

In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in arms;

And every hour more competitors

Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.

[Enter a third MESSENGER.]

THIRD MESSENGER.

My lord, the army of great Buckingham,—

KING RICHARD.

Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of death?

[He strikes him.]

There, take thou that till thou bring better news.

THIRD MESSENGER.

The news I have to tell your majesty

Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters,

Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd;

And he himself wander'd away alone,

No man knows whither.

KING RICHARD.

I cry you mercy:

There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.

Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd

Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

THIRD MESSENGER.

Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.

[Enter a fourth MESSENGER.]

FOURTH MESSENGER.

Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset,

'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.

But this good comfort bring I to your highness,—

The Britagne navy is dispers'd by tempest:

Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat

Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks

If they were his assistants, yea or no;

Who answer'd him they came from Buckingham

Upon his party. He, mistrusting them,

Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Britagne.

KING RICHARD.

March on, march on, since we are up in arms;

If not to fight with foreign enemies,

Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.

[Re-enter CATESBY.]

CATESBY.

My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken,—

That is the best news: that the Earl of Richmond

Is with a mighty power landed at Milford

Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.

KING RICHARD.

Away towards Salisbury! while we reason here

A royal battle might be won and lost:—

Some one take order Buckingham be brought

To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.

[Flourish. Exeunt.]

SCENE V. A Room in LORD STANLEY'S house.

[Enter STANLEY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK.]

STANLEY.

Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:—

That in the sty of the most deadly boar

My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold:

If I revolt, off goes young George's head;

The fear of that holds off my present aid.

So, get thee gone: commend me to thy lord;

Withal say that the queen hath heartily consented

He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter.

But tell me, where is princely Richmond now?

CHRISTOPHER.

At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west in Wales.

STANLEY.

What men of name resort to him?

CHRISTOPHER.

Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;

Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley;

Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,

And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;

And many other of great name and worth:

And towards London do they bend their power,

If by the way they be not fought withal.

STANLEY.

Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand;

My letter will resolve him of my mind.

Farewell.

[Gives papers to SIR CHRISTOPHER. Exeunt.]

SCENE I. Salisbury. An open place.

[Enter the Sheriff and Guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution.]

BUCKINGHAM.

Will not King Richard let me speak with him?

SHERIFF.

No, my good lord; therefore be patient.

BUCKINGHAM.

Hastings, and Edward's children, Grey, and Rivers,

Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,

Vaughan, and all that have miscarried

By underhand corrupted foul injustice,—

If that your moody discontented souls

Do through the clouds behold this present hour,

Even for revenge mock my destruction!—

This is All-Souls' day, fellow, is it not?

SHERIFF.

It is, my lord.

BUCKINGHAM.

Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday.

This is the day which in King Edward's time

I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found

False to his children and his wife's allies;

This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall

By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;

This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul

Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs:

That high All-Seer which I dallied with

Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head

And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.

Thus doth He force the swords of wicked men

To turn their own points in their masters' bosoms:

Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck,—

"When he," quoth she, "shall split thy heart with sorrow,

Remember Margaret was a prophetess."—

Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame;

Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. Plain near Tamworth.

[Enter with drum and colours, RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and others, with Forces, marching.]

RICHMOND.

Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,

Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny,

Thus far into the bowels of the land

Have we march'd on without impediment;

And here receive we from our father Stanley

Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.

The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar

That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines,

Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough

In your embowell'd bosoms,—this foul swine

Lies now even in the centre of this isle,

Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn:

From Tamworth thither is but one day's march.

In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends,

To reap the harvest of perpetual peace

By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

OXFORD.

Every man's conscience is a thousand swords,

To fight against that bloody homicide.

HERBERT.

I doubt not but his friends will turn to us.

BLUNT.

He hath no friends but what are friends for fear,

Which in his dearest need will fly from him.

RICHMOND.

All for our vantage. Then in God's name, march:

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;

Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. Bosworth Field.

[Enter KING RICHARD and Forces; the DUKE OF NORFOLK, the EARL of

SURREY, and others.]

KING RICHARD.

Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.—

My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

SURREY.

My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.

KING RICHARD.

My Lord of Norfolk,—

NORFOLK.

Here, most gracious liege.

KING RICHARD.

Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we not?

NORFOLK.

We must both give and take, my loving lord.

KING RICHARD.

Up With my tent! Here will I lie to-night;

[Soldiers begin to set up the King's tent.]

But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that.—

Who hath descried the number of the traitors?

NORFOLK.

Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.

KING RICHARD.

Why, our battalia trebles that account:

Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength,

Which they upon the adverse faction want.—

Up with the tent!—Come, noble gentlemen,

Let us survey the vantage of the ground;—

Call for some men of sound direction:—

Let's lack no discipline, make no delay;

For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day.

[Exeunt.]

[Enter, on the other side of the field, RICHMOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, and other Lords. Some of the Soldiers pitch RICHMOND'S tent.]

RICHMOND.

The weary sun hath made a golden set,

And by the bright tract of his fiery car

Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.

Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.—

Give me some ink and paper in my tent:

I'll draw the form and model of our battle,

Limit each leader to his several charge,

And part in just proportion our small power.—

My Lord of Oxford,—you, Sir William Brandon,—

And you, Sir Walter Herbert,—stay with me.—

The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment:—

Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him,

And by the second hour in the morning

Desire the earl to see me in my tent:

Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me,—

Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know?

BLUNT.

Unless I have mista'en his colours much,—

Which well I am assur'd I have not done,—

His regiment lies half a mile at least

South from the mighty power of the king.

RICHMOND.

If without peril it be possible,

Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him

And give him from me this most needful note.

BLUNT.

Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it;

And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!

RICHMOND.

Good night, good Captain Blunt.—Come, gentlemen,

Let us consult upon to-morrow's business:

In to my tent; the air is raw and cold.

[They withdraw into the tent.]

[Enter, to his tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK, RATCLIFF, and CATESBY.]

KING RICHARD.

What is't o'clock?

CATESBY.

It's supper-time, my lord; It's six o'clock.

KING RICHARD.

I will not sup to-night.—

Give me some ink and paper.—

What, is my beaver easier than it was?

And all my armour laid into my tent?

CATESBY.

It is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.

KING RICHARD.

Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;

Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.

NORFOLK.

I go, my lord.

KING RICHARD.

Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.

NORFOLK.

I warrant you, my lord.

[Exit.]

KING RICHARD.

Ratcliff,—

RATCLIFF.

My lord?

KING RICHARD.

Send out a pursuivant-at-arms

To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power

Before sunrising, lest his son George fall

Into the blind cave of eternal night.—

Fill me a bowl of wine.—Give me a watch.—

Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.—

Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.—

Ratcliff,—

RATCLIFF.

My lord?

KING RICHARD.

Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

RATCLIFF.

Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself,

Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop

Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.

KING RICHARD.

So, I am satisfied.—Give me a bowl of wine:

I have not that alacrity of spirit

Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.

Set it down.—Is ink and paper ready?

RATCLIFF.

It is, my lord.

KING RICHARD.

Bid my guard watch; leave me.

Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent

And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.

[KING RICHARD retires into his tent. Exeunt RATCLIFF and CATESBY.]

[RICHMOND's tent opens, and discovers him and his Officers, &c.]

STANLEY.

Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!

RICHMOND.

All comfort that the dark night can afford

Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!

Tell me, how fares our loving mother?

STANLEY.

I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother,

Who prays continually for Richmond's good.

So much for that.—The silent hours steal on,

And flaky darkness breaks within the east.

In brief,—for so the season bids us be,—

Prepare thy battle early in the morning,

And put thy fortune to the arbitrement

Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.

I, as I may,—that which I would I cannot,—

With best advantage will deceive the time,

And aid thee in this doubtful stroke of arms:

But on thy side I may not be too forward,

Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,

Be executed in his father's sight.

Farewell: the leisure and the fearful time

Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love

And ample interchange of sweet discourse,

Which so-long-sunder'd friends should dwell upon:

God give us leisure for these rites of love!

Once more, adieu: be valiant, and speed well!

RICHMOND.

Good lords, conduct him to his regiment:

I'll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap,

Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow,

When I should mount with wings of victory:

Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.

[Exeunt Lords, &c., with STANLEY.]

O Thou Whose captain I account myself,

Look on my forces with a gracious eye;

Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath,

That they may crush down with a heavy fall

The usurping helmets of our adversaries!

Make us Thy ministers of chastisement,

That we may praise Thee in Thy victory!

To Thee I do commend my watchful soul

Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes:

Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still!

[Sleeps.]

[The Ghost of PRINCE EDWARD, son to HENRY THE SIXTH, rises between the two tents.]

GHOST.

[To KING RICHARD.] Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!

Think how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of youth

At Tewksbury: despair, therefore, and die!—

[To RICHMOND.] Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls

Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf:

King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee.

[The Ghost of HENRY THE SIXTH rises.]

GHOST.

[To KING RICHARD.] When I was mortal, my anointed body

By thee was punched full of deadly holes:

Think on the Tower and me: despair, and die,—

Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die.—

[To RICHMOND.] Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!

Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king,

Doth comfort thee in thy sleep: live, and flourish!

[The Ghost of CLARENCE rises.]

GHOST.

[To KING RICHARD.] Let me sit heavy in thy soul to-morrow!

I that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine,

Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death!

To-morrow in the battle think on me,

And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!—

[To RICHMOND.] Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster,

The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee:

Good angels guard thy battle! live, and flourish!

[The Ghosts of RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN rise.]

GHOST OF RIVERS.

[To KING RICHARD.] Let me sit heavy in thy soul to-morrow,

Rivers that died at Pomfret! despair and die!

GHOST OF GREY.

[To KING RICHARD.] Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair!

GHOST OF VAUGHAN.

[To KING RICHARD.] Think upon Vaughan, and, with guilty fear,

Let fall thy lance: despair and die!—

ALL THREE.

[To RICHMOND.] Awake, and think our wrongs in Richard's bosom

Will conquer him!—awake, and win the day!

[The GHOST of HASTINGS rises.]

GHOST.

[To KING RICHARD.] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,

And in a bloody battle end thy days!

Think on Lord Hastings: despair and die!—

[To RICHMOND.] Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!

Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake!

[The Ghosts of the two young PRINCES rise.]

GHOSTS.

[To KING RICHARD.] Dream on thy cousins smothered in the Tower:

Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard,

And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!

Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die!—

[To RICHMOND.] Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy;

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.

[The GHOST of QUEEN ANNE rises.]

GHOST.

[To KING RICHARD.] Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife,

That never slept a quiet hour with thee,

Now fills thy sleep with perturbations:

To-morrow in the battle think on me,

And fall thy edgeless sword: despair and die!—

[To RICHMOND.] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep;

Dream of success and happy victory:

Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.

[The Ghost of BUCKINGHAM rises.]

GHOST.

[To KING RICHARD.] The first was I that help'd thee to the crown;

The last was I that felt thy tyranny:

O, in the battle 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!—

[To RICHMOND.] I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid:

But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismay'd:

God and good angels fight on Richmond's side;

And Richard falls in height of all his pride.

[The GHOSTS vanish. KING RICHARD starts out of his dream.]

KING RICHARD.

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.—It is now dead midnight.

Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.

What, do I fear myself? there's none else by:

Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.

Is there a murderer here? No;—yes, I am:

Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why,—

Lest I revenge. What,—myself upon myself!

Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? for any good

That I myself have done unto myself?

O, no! alas, I rather hate myself

For hateful deeds committed by myself!

I am a villain: yet I lie, I am not.

Fool, of thyself speak well:—fool, do not flatter.

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,

And every tongue brings in a several tale,

And every tale condemns me for a villain.

Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree;

Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree;

All several sins, all us'd in each degree,

Throng to the bar, crying all "Guilty! guilty!"

I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;

And if I die no soul will pity me:

And wherefore should they,—since that I myself

Find in myself no pity to myself?

Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd

Came to my tent; and every one did threat

To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

[Enter RATCLIFF.]

RATCLIFF.

My lord,—

KING RICHARD.

Who's there?

RATCLIFF.

Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock

Hath twice done salutation to the morn;

Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.

KING RICHARD.

O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream!—

What think'st thou,—will our friends prove all true?

RATCLIFF.

No doubt, my lord.

KING RICHARD.

O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,—

RATCLIFF.

Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.

KING RICHARD

By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night

Have stuck 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 see if any mean to shrink from me.

[Exeunt KING RICHARD and RATCLIFF.]

[RICHMOND wakes. Enter OXFORD and others.]

LORDS.

Good morrow, Richmond!

RICHMOND.

Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,

That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.

LORDS.

How have you slept, my lord?

RICHMOND.

The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams

That ever enter'd in a drowsy head

Have I since your departure had, my lords.

Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murder'd

Came to my tent and cried on victory:

I promise you, my heart is very jocund

In the remembrance of so fair a dream.

How far into the morning is it, lords?

LORDS.

Upon the stroke of four.

RICHMOND.

Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction.—

[He advances to the Troops.]

More than I have said, loving countrymen,

The leisure and enforcement of the time

Forbids to dwell on: yet remember this,—

God and our good cause fight upon our side;

The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,

Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces;

Richard except, those whom we fight against

Had rather have us win than him they follow:

For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen,

A bloody tyrant and a homicide;

One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;

One that made means to come by what he hath,

And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him;

A base foul stone, made precious by the foil

Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;

One that hath ever been God's enemy.

Then, if you fight against God's enemy,

God will, in justice, ward you as His soldiers;

If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,

You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;

If you do fight against your country's foes,

Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire;

If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,

Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;

If you do free your children from the sword,

Your children's children quit it in your age.

Then, in the name of God and all these rights,

Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.

For me, the ransom of my bold attempt

Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;

But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt

The least of you shall share his part thereof.

Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;

God and Saint George! Richmond and victory!

[Exeunt.]

[Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, Attendants, and Forces.]

KING RICHARD.

What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?

RATCLIFF.

That he was never trained up in arms.

KING RICHARD.

He said the truth; and what said Surrey then?

RATCLIFF.

He smil'd, and said, "the better for our purpose."

KING RICHARD.

He was in the right; and so indeed it is.

[Clock strikes.]

Tell the clock there.—Give me a calendar.—

Who saw the sun to-day?

RATCLIFF.

Not I, my lord.

KING RICHARD.

Then he disdains to shine; for by the book

He should have brav'd the east an hour ago:

A black day will it be to somebody.—

Ratcliff,—

RATCLIFF.

My lord?

KING RICHARD.

The sun will not be seen to-day;

The sky doth frown and lower 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 selfsame heaven

That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.

[Enter NORFOLK.]

NORFOLK.

Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.

KING RICHARD.

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 battle shall be ordered:—

My foreward shall be drawn out all 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 this foot and horse.

They thus directed, we will follow

In the main battle; whose puissance on either side

Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.

This, and Saint George to boot!—What think'st thou,

Norfolk?

NORFOLK.

A good direction, warlike sovereign.—

This found I on my tent this morning.

[Giving a scroll.]

KING RICHARD.

[Reads.] "Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold,

For Dickon thy master is bought and sold."

A thing devised by the enemy.—

Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge:

Let not our babbling 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 heaven, 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, rascals, and runaways,

A scum of Britagnes, and base lackey peasants,

Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth

To desperate adventures and assur'd destruction.

You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;

You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives,

They would restrain the one, distain the other.

And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,

Long kept in Britagne at our mother's cost?

A milk-sop, one that never in his life

Felt so much cold as over shoes 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 conquered, let men conquer us,

And not these bastard Britagnes, 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? lie 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?

MESSENGER.

My lord, he doth deny to come.

KING RICHARD.

Off with his son George's head!

NORFOLK.

My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh:

After the battle let George Stanley die.

KING RICHARD.

A thousand hearts are great within my bosom:

Advance our standards, set upon our foes;

Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,

Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!

Upon them! Victory sits on our helms.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. Another part of the Field.

[Alarum; excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces; to him CATESBY.]

CATESBY.

Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!

The king enacts more wonders than a man,

Daring an opposite to every danger:

His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,

Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.

Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!

[Alarum. Enter KING RICHARD.]

KING RICHARD. :A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

CATESBY.

Withdraw, my lord! I'll help you to a horse.

KING RICHARD.

Slave, I have set my life upon a cast,

And I will stand the hazard of the die:

I think there be six Richmonds in the field:

Five have I slain to-day instead of him.—

A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE V. Another part of the Field.

[Alarums. Enter, from opposite sides, KING RICHARD and RICHMOND; and exeunt fighting. Retreat and flourish. Then re-enter RICHMOND, with STANLEY bearing the crown, and divers other Lords and Forces.]

RICHMOND.

God and your arms be prais'd, victorious friends;

The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.

STANLEY.

Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee!

Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty

From the dead temples of this bloody wretch

Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal.

Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.

RICHMOND.

Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!—

But, tell me is young George Stanley living?

STANLEY.

He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town,

Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.

RICHMOND.

What men of name are slain on either side?

STANLEY.

John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,

Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.

RICHMOND.

Inter their bodies as becomes their births:

Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled

That in submission will return to us:

And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament,

We will unite the white rose and the red:—

Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,

That long have frown'd upon their emnity!

What traitor hears me, and says not Amen?

England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself;

The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,

The father rashly slaughter'd his own son,

The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire:

All this divided York and Lancaster,

Divided in their dire division,—

O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth,

The true succeeders of each royal house,

By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!

And let their heirs,—God, if Thy will be so,—

Enrich the time to come with smooth'd-fac'd peace,

With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days!

Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,

That would reduce these bloody days again,

And make poor England weep in streams of blood!

Let them not live to taste this land's increase

That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!

Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again:

That she may long live here, God say Amen!

[Exeunt.]

This work was published before January 1, 1927, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.

 

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