The Plays of William Shakspeare

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.

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.

Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy I cannot make you what amends I would,
kindness

Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.

Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul,

K. Rich. Then know, that, from my soul, I love Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,

thy daughter.

This fair alliance quickly shall call home

Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her To high promotions and great dignity:

soul.

K. Rich. What do you think?

Q. Eliz. 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.
K. Rich. 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.
Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be
her king?

K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen; Who
else should be?

Q. Eliz. What thou?
K. Rich.

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;

Even so: What think you Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame

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

ers,

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 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.

Of golden sov'reignty; 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

alliance.

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.

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, length-
ens it.

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

Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loaths such
sov'reignty.

K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly

told.

K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving

tale.

Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style.
K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and toa

quick.

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K. Rich. Why then, by God,
Q. Eliz.
God's wrong is most of all.
If thou had'st 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 had'st 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'er-
past;

For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee.
The children live, whose parents 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
Mis-us'd ere used, by times ill-us'd o'er past.

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 peevish 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.
Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself, to be myself?

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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?
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

Nor none so bad, but well may be reported.

K. 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 un sway'd?

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? 3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, m、 liege.

Enter another Messenger.

4 Mess. 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 Bretagne 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 Bretagne.
K. Rich. 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.

That, in the sty of this most woody boar,
My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold;
If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
The fear of that withholds my present aid.
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?
Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in
Wales.

Stan. What men of name resort to him?
Chris. 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 fame and worth:
And towards London do they bend their course,
If by the way they be not fought withal.
Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; commend me
to him;

Tell him the queen hath heartily consented
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
These letters will resolve him of my mind.
Farewell.

[Gives papers to CHRISTOPHER
[Frenm

Sher. No, my good lord: therefore be patient.
Buck. Hastings and Edward's children, Rivers,
Grey,

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, fellows, is it not?
Sher. It is, my lord.

Buck. 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, or 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 turned 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 on 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, sirs, convey me to the block of shame;
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
[Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, &c.

Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends 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.

K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in 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. We must both give and take, my loving lord. K. Rich. Up with my tent: Here will I lie tonight;

[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?

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.

[Exeunt.

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. —

Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.

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 swin
Lies now even in the center 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.

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.
Richm. If without peril it be possible,

Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords, Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with

To fight against that bloody homicide.

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

him,

And give him from me this most needful note.

Let us consult upon to-morrow's business;
In to my tent, the air is raw and cold.

Come,

[They withdraw into the tent.

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

K. Rich. What is't o'clock ?

Cate.

It's nine o'clock.

K. Rich.

It's supper time, my lord;

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?

Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it; | Of bloody strokes, and mortal-staring war, And so, God give you quict rest to-night! I, as I may, (that which I would, I cannot,) Richm. Good night, good captain Blunt. With best advantage will deceive the time, And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms: gentlemen, 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 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.

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

K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.

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?

[Exit.

K. Rich.
Send out a pursuivant at arms
To Stanley's regiment: bid him bring his power
Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall
Into the blind cave of eternal light.
Fill me a bowl of wine.. - Give me a watch:
[TO CATESBY.

Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.
Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.
Ratcliff,

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! Grey. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul de spair! [To KING RICHARD

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