K. Rich.

Even so: What think

you

of it, madam? Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her? K. Rich. That I would learn of you, As one being best acquainted with her humour. Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me? K. Rich.

Madam, with all my heart. Q. Eliz. 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 sometime 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 brother's body,
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.
K. Rich. You mock me, madam; this is not the
way

To win your daughter.
Q. Eliz.
There is no other way;
Unless thou could'st put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.
K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her?
Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose
but have thee,

Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now
amended:

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give 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 doting 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 victress, Cæsar's Cæsar.
Q. Eliz. 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?
K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this al-
liance.

Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command,

entreats.

Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's King forbids.2

K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty

queen.

Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth,
K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly.
Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last?
K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.
Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life
last?

K. Rich. As long as Heaven, and nature lengthens it.

Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it. K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject

low.

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 bed-fellows for dust,
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now?

K. Rich.

By the time to come. Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast;

For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee.
The children live, whose parents thou hast slaugh-
ter'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 us'd, by times ill-us'd o'erpast.

K. Rich. 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 peevish1 found in great designs.

Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.
QEliz. Shall I forget myself, to be myself?
K. Rich. Ay, if yourself's remembrance wrong
yourself.

Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children.

K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury them :

Where, in that nest of spicery,2 they shall breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. Q. Eliz. I go.-Write to me very shortly, And you shall understand from me her mind. K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so farewell. [Kissing her. Exit Q. Eliz. Relenting fool, and shallow, changing-woman! How now? what news?

Enter Ratcliff; Catesby following. Rat. 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. K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke of Norfolk:-

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

(1) Foolish. (2) The phoenix's nest.

Cate. Here, my good lord. K. Rich.

Catesby, fly to the duke. Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste. K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither: Post to Salisbury; When thou com'st thither,-Dull unmindful villain, [To Catesby.

Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke? Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' pleasure,

What from your grace I shall deliver to him.

K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby;-Bid him levy straight

The greatest strength and power he can make,
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.

Cate. I go.

[Exit. Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?

K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do there, before I go?

Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before. Enter Stanley.

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

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

Nor none so bad, but well may be reported.
R. Rich. Heyday, a riddle! neither good nor
bad!

What need'st thou run so many miles about,
When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest way?
Once more,
what news?
Stan.

Richmond is on the seas. K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on him!

White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?
Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
K. Rich. Well, as you guess?

Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and

Morton,

He makes for England, here to claim the crown. K. Rich. 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?

Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.
K. Rich. 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.

Stan. No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not. K. Rich. 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?
Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the
north.

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

When they should serve their sovereign in the west? Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty

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.

Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords, To fight against that bloody homicide.

Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us.

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. Richm. 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!
Richm. 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.

for fear;

Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him.

Richm. 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,
Earl of Surrey, and others.

and Catesby.

ness.

Bosworth field.

My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.
K. Rich. My lord of Norfolk,-
Nor.

Here, most gracious liege. K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks; Ha! must we not?

Nor. I go, my lord.

K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle

Norfolk.

Nor. I warrant you, my lord.

K. Rich. Ratcliff,

Rat. My lord?
K. Rich.

[Exit.

[Exeunt.

Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. K. Rich. 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 want no discipline, make no delay; For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. Enter, on the other side of the field, Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and other Lords. Some of the soldiers pitch Richmond's tent. Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set, And, by the bright track 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 keeps2 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 :

(1) Appoint. (2) Remains with. (3) A watch-light.

(4) Wood of the lances.

Rat. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself, Much about cock-shut5 time, from troop to troop, Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.

K. Rich. I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine: Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have,I have not that alacrity of spirit, So, set it down.--Is ink and paper ready? Rat. It is, my lord.

K. Rich. Bid my guard watch; leave me. 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. Enter Stanley.

Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm! Richm. All comfort that the dark night can afford, Be to thy person, noble father-in-law! Tell me, how fares our loving mother?

Stan. 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 shock 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!
Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment :
I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap;
Lest leaden slumber peisel 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. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!
[To King Richard.
Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth
At Tewksbury; Despair therefore, and die!-
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 King Henry the Sixth rises. Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body [To King Richard. 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.-Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror! [To Richmond Harry, that prophesy'd thou should'st be king, Doth comfort thee in thy sleep; Live, and flourish!

The Ghost of Clarence rises.

Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow! [To King Richard. 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!Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, [To Richmond. 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. Riv. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow, [To King Richard. Rivers, that died at Pomfret! Despair, and die! (1) Weigh.

Let fall thy lance! Despair, and die!—

[To King Richard. All. Awake! and think, our wrongs in Richard's bosom [To Richmond. Will conquer him ;-awake, and win the day! The Ghost of Hastings rises. Ghost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake; [To King Richard. And in a bloody battle end thy days! Think on lord Hastings; and despair, and die !— Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!

[To Richmond. Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake! The Ghosts of the two young Princes rise. Ghosts. Dream on thy cousins smother'd 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.—

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. 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 !---
Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep;
Dream of success and happy victory;
[To Richmond
Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.

crown;

The Ghost of Buckingham rises. Ghost. The first was I, that help'd thee to the [To King Richard. 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!-I died for hope, ere I could lend thee aid:

[To Richmond. 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.

K. Rich. Give me another horse,-bind up my wounds,

!

Have mercy, Jesu!-Soft; I did but dream;
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me
The lights burn blue.It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
What do I fear? myself? there's none else by:

Is there a murderer here? No:-Yes; I am:

Then fly,-What, from myself? Great reason
Why?

Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself?
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.