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Duch. Either thou wilt die by God's just | To be discover'd, that can do me good? ordinance,

K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle lady.

Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose
their heads?

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.


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K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny.

My babes were destin'd to a fairer death,
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.
K. Rich. You speak as if that I had slain my


Q. Eliz. 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.

K. Rich. 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.
Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face
of heaven,


K. Rich. Unto the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrow with report of it,
Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

K. Rich. 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.
Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy


Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.

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

Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.


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 brothers' 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

K. Rich. You mock me, madam; this is not
the way

To win your daughter.

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

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. Even so: how think you of it?
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,

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.

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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 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 330
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


Would be her lord? or shall I say her uncle ?
Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles? 340
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

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

K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may com-
mand, entreats.

Q. Eliz. That at her hands which the kings'
King forbids.

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

Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth.
K. Rich. Say I will love her everlastingly. 350
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?

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, loathes such sovereignty.

Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings break.

K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,—

Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third

K. Rich. I swear-
Q. Eliz.


By nothing; for this is no oath.
Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honour;
Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory.
If something thou would'st swear to be believ'd,
Swear then by something that thou hast not

K. Rich. Now, by the world,
Q. Eliz.

K. Rich. My father's death,-
Q. Eliz.

Thy life hath it dishonour'd.
K. Rich. Then, by myself,-
Q. Eliz.

Thyself is self-misus'd.

K. Rich. Why then, by God,-
Q. Eliz.
God's wrong is most of all.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him,
The unity the king my husband made
Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died:
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 the prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now?

K. Rich. As long as heaven and nature lengthens it

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


K. Rich. Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.
Q. Eliz. Plain and not honestis too harsha style.
K. Rich, Your reasons are too shallow and too

Q. Eliz. O, no! my reasons are too deep and

Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.

'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.


K. Rich.

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 fathers thou hast


Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age:
The parents live, whose children thou hast

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 affairs
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 dear 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, good 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-fond 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? 421
K. Rich. Ay, if yourself's remembrance wrong


Q. Eliz. Yet thou didst kill my children. K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury them :

Where, in that nest of spicery, they will 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. 430 K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss; and so farewell. Exit Queen ELIZABETII. Relenting fool, and shallow changing woman! Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following. How now! what news?

Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western


Rideth a puissant navy; to the shores
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?
Cates. Here, my good lord.
K. Rich.
Catesby, fly to the duke.
Cates. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.
K. Rich. 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? Cates. 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.

Cates. I go.


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

Nor none so bad but well may be reported.


K. Rich. Heyday, ariddle! 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?

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;


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?


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?

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Enter a third Messenger. Third Mess. My lord, the army of great Buckingham

K. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs

of death? He strikes him. There, take thou that, till thou bring better news.

Third Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters, 511 Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd ; And he himself wander'd away alone,

No man knows whither.

I cry thee mercy:

K. Rich. 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 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.

Enter a fourth Messenger.

Fourth Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord
Marquess Dorset,

'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms: 520
But this good comfort bring I to your highness,
The Breton 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 away for Brittany.

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SCENE I.-Salisbury. An open Place. Enter the Sheriff and Guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution.

Buck. Will not King Richard let me speak with him?

Sher. No, my good lord; therefore be patient. Buck. 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, fellows, is it not?
Sher. It is, my lord.


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

This is the day that, in King Edward's time,

K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found

in arms;

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SCENE V. - The Same. A Room in Lord


Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:

That in the sty of the most bloody 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 con-

He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?
Chris. At Pembroke or at Ha'rford-west, in


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,

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 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
Toturn theirown 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, lead me, officers, to the block of shame;
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of

SCENE II.-A Plain near Tamworth. Enter, with drum and colours, RICHMOND, OXFord, Sir JAMES BLUNT, Sir WALTER HERBERT, and Others, with Forces, marching.

Richm. 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 10
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,

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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,-

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

Nor. We must both give and take, my gracious lord.

K. Rich. Up with my tent! here will I lie tonight;

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



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Enter, on the other side of the field, RICHMOND, Sir
WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, and other Officers.
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 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,
Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him,
And give him from me this most needful scroll.


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 dew is raw and cold.

They withdraw into the tent.

Enter, to his tent, King RICHARD, Norfolk,

K. Rich. What is 't o'clock ?
It's nine o'clock.

It's supper-time, my lord;

K. Rich. 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? Cates. 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!
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 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.


Rat. My lord!

K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

Rat. Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself, Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. K. Rich. So; 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.
Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?
Rat. It is, my lord.

K. Rich. 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, etc.


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,


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