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And look, your heart be firm,

Or else, his head's assurance is but frail.

Stanley. As I prove true, my lord, so deal with

him.

Enter RATCLIFF.

[Exit.

Ratcliff. My lord, the army of great Buckingham, By sudden floods, and fall of waters,

Is half lost, and scatter'd :

And he himself wander'd away, alone,
No man knows whither.

Glost. Has any careful officer proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the traitor in ?

Ratcliff. Such proclamation has been made, my lord.

Enter CATESBY.

Catesby. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is

taken.

Glost. Off with his head!-so much for Buckingham.

Catesby. My lord, I am sorry I must tell more

news.

Glost. Out with it!

Catesby. The Earl of Richmond, with a mighty power,

Is landed, sir, at Milford;

And, to confirm the news, Lord Marquis Dorset,
And Sir Thomas Lovewel, are up in Yorkshire.
Glost. Why, ay, this looks rebellion-Ho! my
horse!

By Heav'n, the news alarms my stirring soul!
Come forth, my honest sword, which, here, I vow,
By my soul's hope, shall ne'er again be sheath'd!-
Ne'er shall these watching eyes have needful rest,
Till death has clos'd 'em in a glorious grave,
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.

[Exit.

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.

The Country.

Enter RICHMOND, SIR W. BRANDON, SIR R.
BRACKENBURY, OXFORD, BLUNT, and Others.

Rich. Thus far, into the bowels of the land,
Have we march'd on, without impediment.
Gloster, the bloody, and devouring boar,
Whose ravenous appetite has spoil'd your fields,
Laid this rich country waste, and rudely cropp'd
Its ripen'd hope of fair posterity,

Is now even in the centre of the isle,

As we're inform'd, near to the town of Leicester:
From Tamworth, thither, is but one day's march;
And here, receive we, from our father, Stanley,
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement,
Such, as will help to animate our cause;
On which, let's cheerly on, couragious friends,
To reap the harvest of a lasting peace,

Or fame, more lasting, from a well-fought war.
Sir W. Brand. Your words have fire, my lord, and
warm our men,

Who look'd, methought, but cold, before-dishearten'd,

With the unequal numbers of the foe.

Rich. Why, double them, still our cause would conquer them.

Thrice is he arm'd, that has his quarrel just;

And he, but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted:
The very weight of Gloster's guilt shall crush him.
Sir R. Brack. His best friends, no doubt, will soon
be ours.

Sir W. Brand. He has no friends, but what are such, through fear.

Rich. And we, no foes, but what are such to Heav'n.

Then, doubt not, Heav'n's for us-let's on, my friends; True hope ne'er tires, but mounts, with eagles' wings; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Bosworth Field.

Enter GLOSTER, NORFOLK, RATCLIFF, &c.

Glost. Here pitch our tent, even in Bosworth Field:

My good Lord of Norfolk, the cheerful speed

Of your supply, hast merited my thanks.

Nor. I am rewarded, sir, in having power

To serve your majesty.

Glost. You have our thanks, my

tent!

lord : up

with

my

Here I will lie, to-night-but where to-morrow?
Well, no matter where-has any careful friend
Discover'd yet, the number of the rebels?

Nor. My lord, as I from spies am well inform'd, Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.

Glost. Why, our battalions treble that account; Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, Which they, upon the adverse faction, want.

Nor. Their wants are greater yet, my lord—those e'en

Of motion, life, and spirit. Did you but know
How wretchedly their men disgrace the field—
Oh, such a tatter'd host of mounted scarecrows!
So poor, so famish'd! their executors,

The greedy crows, fly, hovering o'er their heads,
Impatient for their lean inheritance.

Glost. Now, by St. Paul, we'll send them dinners and apparel!

Nay, give their fasting horses provender,

And after, fight them.-How long must we stay,
My lords, before these desperate fools, will give
Us time to lay their faces upwards?

Nor. Unless their famine saves our swords that la

bour,

To-morrow's sun will light them to their ruin;
So soon, I hear, they mean to give us battle.

Glost. The sooner, still the better--Come, my lords,

Now let's survey the 'vantage of the ground-
Call me some men of sound direction.

Nor. My gracious lord

Glost. What say'st thou, Norfolk?

Nor. Might I advise your majesty, you yet Shall save the blood that may be shed to-morrow. Glost. How so, my lord?

Nor. The poor condition of the rebels tells me, That, on a pardon offer'd to the lives

Of those, who instantly shall quit their arms,

Young Richmond, ere to-morrow's dawn, were friendless.

Glost. Why, that, indeed, was our sixth Harry's

way,

Which made his reign one scene of rude commotion. I'll be, in men's despite, a monarch; no,

Let kings that fear, forgive-Blows and revenge for

me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Wood.

Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, BLUNT, &c.

Rich. The weary sun has made a golden set,
And by yon ruddy brightness of the clouds,
Gives tokens of a goodly day to-morrow.
Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.
Here have I drawn the model of our battle,
Which parts, in just proportion, our small power:
Here may each leader know his several charge,
My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir Walter Herbert,
And you, Sir William Brandon, stay with me:
The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment.

Enter OFFICER.

Offi. Sir, a gentleman, that calls himself Stanley, Desires admittance to the Earl of Richmond.

Rich. Now, by our hopes, my noble father-in-law! Admit him-my good friends, your leave awhile.

Enter LORD STANLEY.

My honour'd father! on my soul,

The joy of seeing you this night, is more

Than my most knowing hopes presag'd-what news? Stanley. I, by commission, bless thee from thy mother,

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