The Tragedy of Richard III The Tragedy of Richard III / William Shakespeare: Ed. Mowat, Barbara; Werstine, Paul: TEI encoding for EMOTHE Richard III The Tragedy of EMOTHE0664

Source text for this digital edition:
Shakespeare, William. Richard III [online] Edited by Barbara Mowat and Paul Werstine. Washington DC: Folger Shakespeare Library, 2018. Folger Digital Texts. https://shakespeare.folger.edu/shakespeares-works/richard-iii/

Digital text encoding for EMOTHE:

Amelang, David J.

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As adapted to the present platform, this digital text has the turn-unders in verse lines placed back to their respective single lines, and therefore does not follow the Folger line numbering system, which counts turn-unders as lines too as they appear in the print Folger editions.

Characters in the Play

RICHARD, Duke of Gloucester, later King Richard III

LADY ANNE, widow of Edward, son to the late King Henry VI; later wife to Richard

KING EDWARD IV, brother to Richard

PRINCE EDWARD, their son

RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK, their son

GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE, brother to Edward and Richard

Clarence’s BOY

Clarence’s DAUGHTER

DUCHESS OF YORK, mother of Richard, Edward, and Clarence

QUEEN MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM

WILLIAM, LORD HASTINGS, Lord Chamberlain

LORD STANLEY, Earl of Derby

EARL RIVERS, brother to Queen ElizabetH

LORD GREY, sons of Queen Elizabeth by her former marriage

MARQUESS OF DORSET, sons of Queen Elizabeth by her former marriage

SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN

SIR WILLIAM CATESBY, Richard’s supporter

SIR RICHARD RATCLIFFE, Richard’s supporter

LORD LOVELL, Richard’s supporter

DUKE OF NORFOLK, Richard’s supporter

EARL OF SURREY, Richard’s supporter

EARL OF RICHMOND, Henry Tudor, later King Henry VII

EARL OF OXFORD, Richmond’s supporter

SIR JAMES BLUNT, Richmond’s supporter

SIR WALTER HERBERT, Richmond’s supporter

SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, Richmond’s supporter

SIR CHRISTOPHER, a priest

ARCHBISHOP

CARDINAL

JOHN MORTON, BISHOP OF ELY

SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower in London

JAMES TYRREL, gentleman

GENTLEMAN, attending Lady Anne

FIRST_MURDERER

SECOND MURDERER

KEEPER in the Tower

LORD MAYOR of London

PURSUIVANT

SIR JOHN, a priest

SCRIVENER

PAGE

SHERIFF

Seven MESSENGERS

GHOSTS of King Henry VI, his son Prince Edward, Clarence, Rivers, Grey, Vaughan, the two Princes, Hastings, Lady Anne, and Buckingham

Guards, Tressel, Berkeley, Halberds, Gentlemen, Anthony

QUEEN ELIZABETH, Edward’s wife, formerly the Lady Grey

FIRST CITIZEN

THIRD_CITIZEN

ACT 1

Scene 1

Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester, alone.

RICHARD

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this son of York,

And all the clouds that loured upon our house

In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,

Our bruisèd arms hung up for monuments,

Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,

Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front;

And now, instead of mounting barbèd steeds

To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,

He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,

Nor made to court an amorous looking glass;

I, that am rudely stamped and want love’s majesty

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;

I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,

Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,

Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time

Into this breathing world scarce half made up,

And that so lamely and unfashionable

That dogs bark at me as I halt by them —

Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,

Have no delight to pass away the time,

Unless to see my shadow in the sun

And descant on mine own deformity.

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover

To entertain these fair well-spoken days,

I am determinèd to prove a villain

And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,

By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,

To set my brother Clarence and the King

In deadly hate, the one against the other;

And if King Edward be as true and just

As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,

This day should Clarence closely be mewed up

About a prophecy which says that “G”

Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be.

Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.

Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury.

Brother, good day. What means this armèd guard

That waits upon your Grace?

CLARENCE

His Majesty,

Tend’ring my person’s safety, hath appointed

This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

RICHARD

Upon what cause?

CLARENCE

Because my name is George.

RICHARD

Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours.

He should, for that, commit your godfathers.

O, belike his Majesty hath some intent

That you should be new christened in the Tower.

But what’s the matter, Clarence? May I know?

CLARENCE

Yea, Richard, when I know, ⟨for⟩ I protest

As yet I do not. But, as I can learn,

He hearkens after prophecies and dreams,

And from the crossrow plucks the letter G,

And says a wizard told him that by “G”

His issue disinherited should be.

And for my name of George begins with G,

It follows in his thought that I am he.

These, as I learn, and such like toys as these

Hath moved his Highness to commit me now.

RICHARD

Why, this it is when men are ruled by women.

’Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower.

My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, ’tis she

That ⟨tempers⟩ him to this extremity.

Was it not she and that good man of worship,

Anthony Woodeville, her brother there,

That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,

From whence this present day he is delivered?

We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

CLARENCE

By heaven, I think there is no man secure

But the Queen’s kindred and night-walking heralds

That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore.

Heard you not what an humble suppliant

Lord Hastings was ⟨to her⟩ for ⟨his⟩ delivery?

RICHARD

Humbly complaining to her Deity

Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.

I’ll tell you what: I think it is our way,

If we will keep in favor with the King,

To be her men and wear her livery.

The jealous o’erworn widow and herself,

Since that our brother dubbed them gentlewomen,

Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.

BRAKENBURY

I beseech your Graces both to pardon me.

His Majesty hath straitly given in charge

That no man shall have private conference,

Of what degree soever, with your brother.

RICHARD

Even so. An please your Worship, Brakenbury,

You may partake of anything we say.

We speak no treason, man. We say the King

Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen

Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous.

We say that Shore’s wife hath a pretty foot,

A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue,

And that the Queen’s kindred are made gentlefolks.

How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?

BRAKENBURY

With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.

RICHARD

Naught to do with Mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow,

He that doth naught with her, excepting one,

100

Were best to do it secretly, alone.

BRAKENBURY

101

I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and withal

102

Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

CLARENCE

103

We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

RICHARD

104

We are the Queen’s abjects and must obey. —

105

Brother, farewell. I will unto the King,

106

And whatsoe’er you will employ me in,

107

Were it to call King Edward’s widow “sister,”

108

I will perform it to enfranchise you.

109

Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood

110

Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

CLARENCE

111

I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

RICHARD

112

Well, your imprisonment shall not be long.

113

I will deliver you or else lie for you.

114

Meantime, have patience.

CLARENCE

I must, perforce. Farewell.

Exit Clarence, ⸢Brakenbury , and guard.⸣

RICHARD

115

Go tread the path that thou shalt ne’er return.

116

Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so

117

That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,

118

If heaven will take the present at our hands.

119

But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings?

Enter Lord Hastings.

HASTINGS

120

Good time of day unto my gracious lord.

RICHARD

121

As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain.

122

Well are you welcome to ⟨the⟩ open air.

123

How hath your Lordship brooked imprisonment?

HASTINGS

124

With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must.

125

But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks

126

That were the cause of my imprisonment.

RICHARD

127

No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too,

128

For they that were your enemies are his

129

And have prevailed as much on him as you.

HASTINGS

130

More pity that the eagles should be mewed,

131

Whiles kites and buzzards ⟨prey⟩ at liberty.

RICHARD

132

What news abroad?

HASTINGS

133

No news so bad abroad as this at home:

134

The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy,

135

And his physicians fear him mightily.

RICHARD

136

Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed.

137

O, he hath kept an evil diet long,

138

And overmuch consumed his royal person.

139

’Tis very grievous to be thought upon.

140

Where is he, in his bed?

HASTINGS

141

He is.

RICHARD

142

Go you before, and I will follow you.

Exit Hastings.

143

He cannot live, I hope, and must not die

144

Till George be packed with post-horse up to heaven.

145

I’ll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence

146

With lies well steeled with weighty arguments,

147

And, if I fail not in my deep intent,

148

Clarence hath not another day to live;

149

Which done, God take King Edward to His mercy,

150

And leave the world for me to bustle in.

151

For then I’ll marry Warwick’s youngest daughter.

152

What though I killed her husband and her father?

153

The readiest way to make the wench amends

154

Is to become her husband and her father;

155

The which will I, not all so much for love

156

As for another secret close intent

157

By marrying her which I must reach unto.

158

But yet I run before my horse to market.

159

Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns.

160

When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

He exits.

Scene 2

Enter the corse of Henry the Sixth ⸢on a bier,⸣ with Halberds to guard it, Lady Anne being the mourner, ⸢accompanied by Gentlemen.⸣

ANNE

Set down, set down your honorable load,

If honor may be shrouded in a hearse,

Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament

Th’ untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.

⸢They set down the bier.⸣

Poor key-cold figure of a holy king,

Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster,

Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood,

Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost

To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,

Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son,

Stabbed by the selfsame hand that made these wounds.

Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life

I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.

O, cursèd be the hand that made these holes;

Cursèd the heart that had the heart to do it;

Cursèd the blood that let this blood from hence.

More direful hap betide that hated wretch

That makes us wretched by the death of thee

Than I can wish to wolves, to spiders, toads,

Or any creeping venomed thing that lives.

If ever he have child, abortive be it,

Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,

Whose ugly and unnatural aspect

May fright the hopeful mother at the view,

And that be heir to his unhappiness.

If ever he have wife, let her be made

More miserable by the death of him

Than I am made by my young lord and thee. —

Come now towards Chertsey with your holy load,

Taken from Paul’s to be interrèd there.

⸢They take up the bier.⸣

And still, as you are weary of this weight,

Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry’s corse.

Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester.

RICHARD

Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

ANNE

What black magician conjures up this fiend

To stop devoted charitable deeds?

RICHARD

Villains, set down the corse or, by Saint Paul,

I’ll make a corse of him that disobeys.

GENTLEMAN

My lord, stand back and let the coffin pass.

RICHARD

Unmannered dog, ⟨stand⟩ thou when I command! —

Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,

Or by Saint Paul I’ll strike thee to my foot

And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

⸢They set down the bier.⸣

ANNE

⸢to the Gentlemen and Halberds⸣

What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid?

Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal,

And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. —

Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell.

Thou hadst but power over his mortal body;

His soul thou canst not have. Therefore begone.

RICHARD

Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

ANNE

Foul devil, for God’s sake, hence, and trouble us not,

For thou hast made the happy Earth thy hell,

Filled it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.

If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,

Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.

⸢She points to the corpse.⸣

O, gentlemen, see, see dead Henry’s wounds

Open their congealed mouths and bleed afresh! —

Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,

For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood

From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells.

Thy deeds, inhuman and unnatural,

Provokes this deluge most unnatural. —

O God, which this blood mad’st, revenge his death!

O Earth, which this blood drink’st, revenge his death!

Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead,

Or Earth gape open wide and eat him quick,

As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood,

Which his hell-governed arm hath butcherèd.

RICHARD

Lady, you know no rules of charity,

Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

ANNE

Villain, thou know’st nor law of God nor man.

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

RICHARD

But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

ANNE

O, wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

RICHARD

More wonderful, when angels are so angry.

Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,

Of these supposèd crimes to give me leave

By circumstance but to acquit myself.

ANNE

Vouchsafe, defused infection of ⟨a⟩ man,

Of these known evils but to give me leave

By circumstance to curse thy cursèd self.

RICHARD

Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have

Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

ANNE

Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make

No excuse current but to hang thyself.

RICHARD

By such despair I should accuse myself.

ANNE

And by despairing shalt thou stand excused

For doing worthy vengeance on thyself

That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

RICHARD

Say that I slew them not.

ANNE

Then say they were not slain.

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

RICHARD

I did not kill your husband.

ANNE

Why then, he is alive.

RICHARD

Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward’s hands.

ANNE

In thy foul throat thou liest. Queen Margaret saw

Thy murd’rous falchion smoking in his blood,

The which thou once didst bend against her breast,

But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

RICHARD

I was provokèd by her sland’rous tongue,

100

That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

ANNE

101

Thou wast provokèd by thy bloody mind,

102

That never dream’st on aught but butcheries.

103

Didst thou not kill this king?

RICHARD

104

I grant you.

ANNE

105

Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me too

106

Thou mayst be damnèd for that wicked deed.

107

O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

RICHARD

108

The better for the King of heaven that hath him.

ANNE

109

He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

RICHARD

110

Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither,

111

For he was fitter for that place than Earth.

ANNE

112

And thou unfit for any place but hell.

RICHARD

113

Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

ANNE

114

Some dungeon.

RICHARD

115

Your bedchamber.

ANNE

116

Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

RICHARD

117

So will it, madam, till I lie with you.

ANNE

118

I hope so.

RICHARD

I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,

119

To leave this keen encounter of our wits

120

And fall something into a slower method:

121

Is not the causer of the timeless deaths

122

Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,

123

As blameful as the executioner?

ANNE

124

Thou wast the cause and most accursed effect.

RICHARD

125

Your beauty was the cause of that effect —

126

Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep

127

To undertake the death of all the world,

128

So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

ANNE

129

If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,

130

These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

RICHARD

131

These eyes could not endure that beauty’s wrack.

132

You should not blemish it, if I stood by.

133

As all the world is cheerèd by the sun,

134

So I by that. It is my day, my life.

ANNE

135

Black night o’ershade thy day, and death thy life.

RICHARD

136

Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.

ANNE

137

I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

RICHARD

138

It is a quarrel most unnatural

139

To be revenged on him that loveth thee.

ANNE

140

It is a quarrel just and reasonable

141

To be revenged on him that killed my husband.

RICHARD

142

He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband

143

Did it to help thee to a better husband.

ANNE

144

His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

RICHARD

145

He lives that loves thee better than he could.

ANNE

146

Name him.

RICHARD

Plantagenet.

ANNE

Why, that was he.

RICHARD

147

The selfsame name, but one of better nature.

ANNE

148

Where is he?

RICHARD

Here.

(⟨She⟩ spits at him.)

Why dost thou spit at me?

ANNE

149

Would it were mortal poison for thy sake.

RICHARD

150

Never came poison from so sweet a place.

ANNE

151

Never hung poison on a fouler toad.

152

Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.

RICHARD

153

Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

ANNE

154

Would they were basilisks’ to strike thee dead.

RICHARD

155

I would they were, that I might die at once,

156

For now they kill me with a living death.

157

Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,

158

Shamed their aspects with store of childish drops.

159

These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear —

160

No, when my father York and Edward wept

161

To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made

162

When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him;

163

Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,

164

Told the sad story of my father’s death

165

And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,

166

That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks

167

Like trees bedashed with rain — in that sad time,

168

My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;

169

And what these sorrows could not thence exhale

170

Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.

171

I never sued to friend nor enemy;

172

My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word.

173

But now thy beauty is proposed my fee,

174

My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue to speak.

She looks scornfully at him.

175

Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made

176

For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

177

If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,

178

Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword,

179

Which if thou please to hide in this true breast

180

And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,

181

I lay it naked to the deadly stroke

182

And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

He ⸢kneels and⸣ lays his breast open; she offers at ⸢it⸣ with his sword.

183

Nay, do not pause, for I did kill King Henry —

184

But ’twas thy beauty that provokèd me.

185

Nay, now dispatch; ’twas I that stabbed young Edward —

186

But ’twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

She falls the sword.

187

Take up the sword again, or take up me.

ANNE

188

Arise, dissembler. Though I wish thy death,

189

I will not be thy executioner.

RICHARD

190

⸢rising⸣

Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

ANNE

191

I have already.

RICHARD

That was in thy rage.

192

Speak it again and, even with the word,

193

This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love,

194

Shall for thy love kill a far truer love.

195

To both their deaths shalt thou be accessory.

ANNE

196

I would I knew thy heart.

RICHARD

197

’Tis figured in my tongue.

ANNE

198

I fear me both are false.

RICHARD

199

Then never ⟨was man⟩ true.

ANNE

200

Well, well, put up your sword.

RICHARD

201

Say then my peace is made.

ANNE

202

That shalt thou know hereafter.

RICHARD

203

But shall I live in hope?

ANNE

204

All men I hope live so.

⟨RICHARD⟩

205

Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

⟨ANNE

206

To take is not to give.⟩

⸢He places the ring on her hand.⸣

RICHARD

207

Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger;

208

Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart.

209

Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.

210

And if thy poor devoted servant may

211

But beg one favor at thy gracious hand,

212

Thou dost confirm his happiness forever.

ANNE

213

What is it?

RICHARD

214

That it may please you leave these sad designs

215

To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,

216

And presently repair to Crosby House,

217

Where, after I have solemnly interred

218

At Chertsey monast’ry this noble king

219

And wet his grave with my repentant tears,

220

I will with all expedient duty see you.

221

For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,

222

Grant me this boon.

ANNE

223

With all my heart, and much it joys me too

224

To see you are become so penitent. —

225

Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.

RICHARD

226

Bid me farewell.

ANNE

’Tis more than you deserve;

227

But since you teach me how to flatter you,

228

Imagine I have said “farewell” already.

Two exit with Anne.

⸢The bier is taken up.⸣

GENTLEMAN

229

Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

RICHARD

230

No, to Whitefriars. There attend my coming.

⸢Halberds and gentlemen⸣ exit ⸢with⸣ corse.

231

Was ever woman in this humor wooed?

232

Was ever woman in this humor won?

233

I’ll have her, but I will not keep her long.

234

What, I that killed her husband and his father,

235

To take her in her heart’s extremest hate,

236

With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,

237

The bleeding witness of my hatred by,

238

Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,

239

And I no friends to back my suit ⟨at all⟩

240

But the plain devil and dissembling looks?

241

And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!

242

Ha!

243

Hath she forgot already that brave prince,

244

Edward, her lord, whom I some three months since

245

Stabbed in my angry mood at Tewkesbury?

246

A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,

247

Framed in the prodigality of nature,

248

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,

249

The spacious world cannot again afford.

250

And will she yet abase her eyes on me,

251

That cropped the golden prime of this sweet prince

252

And made her widow to a woeful bed?

253

On me, whose all not equals Edward’s moiety?

254

On me, that halts and am misshapen thus?

255

My dukedom to a beggarly denier,

256

I do mistake my person all this while!

257

Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,

258

Myself to be a marv’lous proper man.

259

I’ll be at charges for a looking glass

260

And entertain a score or two of tailors

261

To study fashions to adorn my body.

262

Since I am crept in favor with myself,

263

I will maintain it with some little cost.

264

But first I’ll turn yon fellow in his grave

265

And then return lamenting to my love.

266

Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,

267

That I may see my shadow as I pass.

He exits.

Scene 3

Enter Queen ⸢Elizabeth, the Lord Marquess of Dorset,⸣ Lord Rivers, and Lord Grey.

RIVERS

Have patience, madam. There’s no doubt his Majesty

Will soon recover his accustomed health.

GREY

In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse.

Therefore, for God’s sake, entertain good comfort

And cheer his Grace with quick and merry eyes.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

If he were dead, what would betide on me?

GREY

No other harm but loss of such a lord.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

The loss of such a lord includes all harms.

GREY

The heavens have blessed you with a goodly son

To be your comforter when he is gone.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

Ah, he is young, and his minority

Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,

A man that loves not me nor none of you.

RIVERS

Is it concluded he shall be Protector?

QUEEN ELIZABETH

It is determined, not concluded yet;

But so it must be if the King miscarry.

Enter Buckingham and ⸢Lord Stanley, Earl of⸣ Derby.

GREY

Here comes the lord of Buckingham, and Derby.

BUCKINGHAM

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

Good time of day unto your royal Grace.

STANLEY

God make your Majesty joyful, as you have been.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

The Countess Richmond, good my lord of Derby,

To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.

Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she’s your wife

And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured

I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

STANLEY

I do beseech you either not believe

The envious slanders of her false accusers,

Or if she be accused on true report,

Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds

From wayward sickness and no grounded malice.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

Saw you the King today, my lord of Derby?

STANLEY

But now the Duke of Buckingham and I

Are come from visiting his Majesty.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

BUCKINGHAM

Madam, good hope. His Grace speaks cheerfully.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

God grant him health. Did you confer with him?

BUCKINGHAM

Ay, madam. He desires to make atonement

Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,

And between them and my Lord Chamberlain,

And sent to warn them to his royal presence.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

Would all were well — but that will never be.

I fear our happiness is at the height.

Enter Richard, ⸢Duke of Gloucester, and Hastings.⸣

RICHARD

They do me wrong, and I will not endure it!

Who is it that complains unto the King

That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not?

By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly

That fill his ears with such dissentious rumors.

Because I cannot flatter and look fair,

Smile in men’s faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,

Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,

I must be held a rancorous enemy.

Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,

But thus his simple truth must be abused

With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

GREY

To who in all this presence speaks your Grace?

RICHARD

To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.

When have I injured thee? When done thee wrong? —

Or thee? — Or thee? Or any of your faction?

A plague upon you all! His royal Grace,

Whom God preserve better than you would wish,

Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing while

But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter.

The King, on his own royal disposition,

And not provoked by any suitor else,

Aiming belike at your interior hatred

That in your outward action shows itself

Against my children, brothers, and myself,

Makes him to send, that he may learn the ground.

RICHARD

I cannot tell. The world is grown so bad

That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.

Since every Jack became a gentleman,

There’s many a gentle person made a Jack.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester.

You envy my advancement, and my friends’.

God grant we never may have need of you.

RICHARD

Meantime God grants that ⟨we⟩ have need of you.

Our brother is imprisoned by your means,

Myself disgraced, and the nobility

Held in contempt, while great promotions

Are daily given to ennoble those

That scarce some two days since were worth a noble.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

By Him that raised me to this careful height

From that contented hap which I enjoyed,

I never did incense his Majesty

Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been

An earnest advocate to plead for him.

My lord, you do me shameful injury

Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.

RICHARD

You may deny that you were not the mean

Of my Lord Hastings’ late imprisonment.

RIVERS

She may, my lord, for —

RICHARD

She may, Lord Rivers. Why, who knows not so?

She may do more, sir, than denying that.

She may help you to many fair preferments

And then deny her aiding hand therein,

And lay those honors on your high desert.

What may she not? She may, ay, marry, may she —

RIVERS

What, marry, may she?

RICHARD

What, marry, may she? Marry with a king,

100

A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too.

101

Iwis, your grandam had a worser match.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

102

My lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne

103

Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs.

104

By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty

105

Of those gross taunts that oft I have endured.

106

I had rather be a country servant-maid

107

Than a great queen with this condition,

108

To be so baited, scorned, and stormèd at.

Enter old Queen Margaret, ⸢apart from the others.⸣

109

Small joy have I in being England’s queen.

QUEEN MARGARET

110

⸢aside⸣

And lessened be that small, God I beseech Him!

111

Thy honor, state, and seat is due to me.

RICHARD

112

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

What, threat you me with telling of the King?

113

⟨Tell him and spare not. Look, what I have said,⟩

114

I will avouch ’t in presence of the King;

115

I dare adventure to be sent to th’ Tower.

116

’Tis time to speak. My pains are quite forgot.

QUEEN MARGARET

117

⸢aside⸣

Out, devil! I do remember them too well:

118

Thou killed’st my husband Henry in the Tower,

119

And Edward, my poor son, at Tewkesbury.

RICHARD

120

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king,

121

I was a packhorse in his great affairs,

122

A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,

123

A liberal rewarder of his friends.

124

To royalize his blood, I spent mine own.

QUEEN MARGARET

125

⸢aside⸣

Ay, and much better blood than his or thine.

RICHARD

126

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

In all which time, you and your husband Grey

127

Were factious for the House of Lancaster. —

128

And, Rivers, so were you. — Was not your husband

129

In Margaret’s battle at Saint Albans slain?

130

Let me put in your minds, if you forget,

131

What you have been ere this, and what you are;

132

Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

QUEEN MARGARET

133

⸢aside⸣

A murd’rous villain, and so still thou art.

RICHARD

134

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick,

135

Ay, and forswore himself — which Jesu pardon! —

QUEEN MARGARET

136

⸢aside⸣

Which God revenge!

RICHARD

137

To fight on Edward’s party for the crown;

138

And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up.

139

I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward’s,

140

Or Edward’s soft and pitiful, like mine.

141

I am too childish-foolish for this world.

QUEEN MARGARET

142

⸢aside⸣

Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this world,

143

Thou cacodemon! There thy kingdom is.

RIVERS

144

My lord of Gloucester, in those busy days

145

Which here you urge to prove us enemies,

146

We followed then our lord, our sovereign king.

147

So should we you, if you should be our king.

RICHARD

148

If I should be? I had rather be a peddler.

149

Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

150

As little joy, my lord, as you suppose

151

You should enjoy were you this country’s king,

152

As little joy you may suppose in me

153

That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.

QUEEN MARGARET

154

⸢aside⸣

⸢As⸣ little joy enjoys the queen thereof,

155

For I am she, and altogether joyless.

156

I can no longer hold me patient.

⸢She steps forward.⸣

157

Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out

158

In sharing that which you have pilled from me!

159

Which of you trembles not that looks on me?

160

If not, that I am queen, you bow like subjects,

161

Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels. —

162

Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away.

RICHARD

163

Foul, wrinkled witch, what mak’st thou in my sight?

QUEEN MARGARET

164

But repetition of what thou hast marred.

165

That will I make before I let thee go.

RICHARD

166

Wert thou not banishèd on pain of death?

QUEEN MARGARET

167

I was, but I do find more pain in banishment

168

Than death can yield me here by my abode.

169

A husband and a son thou ow’st to me;

170

⸢To Queen Elizabeth.⸣

And thou a kingdom; — all of you, allegiance.

171

This sorrow that I have by right is yours,

172

And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.

RICHARD

173

The curse my noble father laid on thee

174

When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,

175

And with thy scorns drew’st rivers from his eyes,

176

And then, to dry them, gav’st the Duke a clout

177

Steeped in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland —

178

His curses then, from bitterness of soul

179

Denounced against thee, are all fall’n upon thee,

180

And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

181

So just is God to right the innocent.

HASTINGS

182

O, ’twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,

183

And the most merciless that e’er was heard of!

RIVERS

184

Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

DORSET

185

No man but prophesied revenge for it.

BUCKINGHAM

186

Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

QUEEN MARGARET

187

What, were you snarling all before I came,

188

Ready to catch each other by the throat,

189

And turn you all your hatred now on me?

190

Did York’s dread curse prevail so much with heaven

191

That Henry’s death, my lovely Edward’s death,

192

Their kingdom’s loss, my woeful banishment,

193

Should all but answer for that peevish brat?

194

Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?

195

Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!

196

Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,

197

As ours by murder to make him a king.

198

⸢To Queen Elizabeth.⸣

Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales,

199

For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales,

200

Die in his youth by like untimely violence.

201

Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,

202

Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self.

203

Long mayst thou live to wail thy children’s death

204

And see another, as I see thee now,

205

Decked in thy rights, as thou art stalled in mine.

206

Long die thy happy days before thy death,

207

And, after many lengthened hours of grief,

208

Die neither mother, wife, nor England’s queen. —

209

Rivers and Dorset, you were standers-by,

210

And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son

211

Was stabbed with bloody daggers. God I pray Him

212

That none of you may live his natural age,

213

But by some unlooked accident cut off.

RICHARD

214

Have done thy charm, thou hateful, withered hag.

QUEEN MARGARET

215

And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.

216

If heaven have any grievous plague in store

217

Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,

218

O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe

219

And then hurl down their indignation

220

On thee, the troubler of the poor world’s peace.

221

The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul.

222

Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv’st,

223

And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends.

224

No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,

225

Unless it be while some tormenting dream

226

Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils.

227

Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog,

228

Thou that wast sealed in thy nativity

229

The slave of nature and the son of hell,

230

Thou slander of thy heavy mother’s womb,

231

Thou loathèd issue of thy father’s loins,

232

Thou rag of honor, thou detested —

RICHARD

Margaret.

QUEEN MARGARET

233

Richard!

RICHARD

234

Ha?

QUEEN MARGARET

235

I call thee not.

RICHARD

236

I cry thee mercy, then, for I did think

237

That thou hadst called me all these bitter names.

QUEEN MARGARET

238

Why, so I did, but looked for no reply.

239

O, let me make the period to my curse!

RICHARD

240

’Tis done by me and ends in “Margaret.”

QUEEN ELIZABETH

241

⸢to Queen Margaret⸣

Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.

QUEEN MARGARET

242

Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune,

243

Why strew’st thou sugar on that bottled spider,

244

Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?

245

Fool, fool, thou whet’st a knife to kill thyself.

246

The day will come that thou shalt wish for me

247

To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-backed toad.

HASTINGS

248

False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,

249

Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.

QUEEN MARGARET

250

Foul shame upon you, you have all moved mine.

RIVERS

251

Were you well served, you would be taught your duty.

QUEEN MARGARET

252

To serve me well, you all should do me duty:

253

Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects.

254

O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!

DORSET

255

⸢to Rivers⸣

Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.

QUEEN MARGARET

256

Peace, Master Marquess, you are malapert.

257

Your fire-new stamp of honor is scarce current.

258

O, that your young nobility could judge

259

What ’twere to lose it and be miserable!

260

They that stand high have many blasts to shake them,

261

And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

RICHARD

262

Good counsel, marry. — Learn it, learn it, marquess.

DORSET

263

It touches you, my lord, as much as me.

RICHARD

264

Ay, and much more; but I was born so high.

265

Our aerie buildeth in the cedar’s top,

266

And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.

QUEEN MARGARET

267

And turns the sun to shade. Alas, alas,

268

Witness my son, now in the shade of death,

269

Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath

270

Hath in eternal darkness folded up.

271

Your aerie buildeth in our aerie’s nest.

272

O God, that seest it, do not suffer it!

273

As it is won with blood, lost be it so.

BUCKINGHAM

274

Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity.

QUEEN MARGARET

275

Urge neither charity nor shame to me.

276

⸢Addressing the others.⸣

Uncharitably with me have you dealt,

277

And shamefully my hopes by you are butchered.

278

My charity is outrage, life my shame,

279

And in that shame still live my sorrows’ rage.

BUCKINGHAM

280

Have done, have done.

QUEEN MARGARET

281

O princely Buckingham, I’ll kiss thy hand

282

In sign of league and amity with thee.

283

Now fair befall thee and thy noble house!

284

Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,

285

Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

BUCKINGHAM

286

Nor no one here, for curses never pass

287

The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

QUEEN MARGARET

288

I will not think but they ascend the sky,

289

And there awake God’s gentle sleeping peace.

290

⸢Aside to Buckingham.⸣

O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!

291

Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,

292

His venom tooth will rankle to the death.

293

Have not to do with him. Beware of him.

294

Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him,

295

And all their ministers attend on him.

RICHARD

296

What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM

297

Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

QUEEN MARGARET

298

What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel,

299

And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?

300

O, but remember this another day,

301

When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,

302

And say poor Margaret was a prophetess. —

303

Live each of you the subjects to his hate,

304

And he to yours, and all of you to God’s.

She exits.

BUCKINGHAM

305

My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses.

RIVERS

306

And so doth mine. I muse why she’s at liberty.

RICHARD

307

I cannot blame her. By God’s holy mother,

308

She hath had too much wrong, and I repent

309

My part thereof that I have done to her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

310

I never did her any, to my knowledge.

RICHARD

311

Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.

312

I was too hot to do somebody good

313

That is too cold in thinking of it now.

314

Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid;

315

He is franked up to fatting for his pains.

316

God pardon them that are the cause thereof.

RIVERS

317

A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion

318

To pray for them that have done scathe to us.

RICHARD

319

So do I ever —

320

(speaks to himself)

being well advised,

321

For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself.

Enter Catesby.

CATESBY

322

Madam, his Majesty doth call for you, —

323

And for your Grace, — and yours, my gracious ⟨lords.⟩

QUEEN ELIZABETH

324

Catesby, I come. — Lords, will you go with me?

RIVERS

325

We wait upon your Grace.

All but ⸢Richard , Duke of⸣ Gloucester exit.

RICHARD

326

I do the wrong and first begin to brawl.

327

The secret mischiefs that I set abroach

328

I lay unto the grievous charge of others.

329

Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness,

330

I do beweep to many simple gulls,

331

Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham,

332

And tell them ’tis the Queen and her allies

333

That stir the King against the Duke my brother.

334

Now they believe it and withal whet me

335

To be revenged on Rivers, Dorset, Grey;

336

But then I sigh and, with a piece of scripture,

337

Tell them that God bids us do good for evil;

338

And thus I clothe my naked villainy

339

With odd old ends stol’n forth of Holy Writ,

340

And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

Enter two Murderers.

341

But soft, here come my executioners. —

342

How now, my hardy, stout, resolvèd mates?

343

Are you now going to dispatch this thing?

⸢MURDERER⸣

344

We are, my lord, and come to have the warrant

345

That we may be admitted where he is.

RICHARD

346

Well thought upon. I have it here about me.

⸢He gives a paper.⸣

347

When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.

348

But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,

349

Withal obdurate; do not hear him plead,

350

For Clarence is well-spoken and perhaps

351

May move your hearts to pity if you mark him.

⸢MURDERER⸣

352

Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate.

353

Talkers are no good doers. Be assured

354

We go to use our hands and not our tongues.

RICHARD

355

Your eyes drop millstones when fools’ eyes fall tears.

356

I like you lads. About your business straight.

357

Go, go, dispatch.

⸢MURDERERS⸣

We will, my noble lord.

⟨They exit.⟩

Scene 4

Enter Clarence and Keeper.

KEEPER

Why looks your Grace so heavily today?

CLARENCE

O, I have passed 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.

KEEPER

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

CLARENCE

Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower

And was embarked to cross to Burgundy,

And in my company my brother Gloucester,

Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches. ⟨Thence⟩ we looked toward England

And cited up a thousand heavy times,

During the wars of York and Lancaster,

That had befall’n us. As we paced along

Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Methought that Gloucester 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 wracks,

A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon,

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,

Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

All scattered 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 wooed the slimy bottom of the deep

And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.

KEEPER

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

Stopped in my soul and would not let it forth

To find the empty, vast, and wand’ring air,

But smothered it within my panting bulk,

Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.

KEEPER

Awaked you not in this sore agony?

CLARENCE

No, no, my dream was lengthened after life.

O, then began the tempest to my soul.

I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,

With that sour 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, renownèd Warwick,

Who spake aloud “What scourge for perjury

Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?”

And so he vanished. Then came wand’ring by

A shadow like an angel, with bright hair

Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud

“Clarence is come — false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,

That stabbed me in the field by Tewkesbury.

Seize on him, furies. Take him unto torment.”

With that, ⟨methoughts,⟩ a legion of foul fiends

Environed me and howlèd in mine ears

Such hideous cries that with the very noise

I trembling waked, and for a season after

Could not believe but that I was in hell,

Such terrible impression made my dream.

KEEPER

No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you.

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

CLARENCE

Ah keeper, keeper, 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 avenged 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.

KEEPER

I will, my lord. God give your Grace good rest.

⸢Clarence sleeps.⸣

Enter Brakenbury the Lieutenant.

BRAKENBURY

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,

Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.

Princes have but their titles for their glories,

An outward honor for an inward toil,

And, for unfelt imaginations,

They often feel a world of restless cares,

So that between their titles and low name

There’s nothing differs but the outward fame.

Enter two Murderers.

FIRST MURDERER

Ho, who’s here?

BRAKENBURY

What wouldst thou, fellow? And how cam’st thou hither?

SECOND MURDERER

86I would speak with Clarence, and I 87came hither on my legs.

BRAKENBURY

What, so brief?

FIRST MURDERER

89’Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. — 90Let him see our commission, and talk no more.

⸢Brakenbury⸣ reads ⸢the commission.⸣

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 from the meaning.

There lies the Duke asleep, and there the keys.

⸢He hands them keys.⸣

I’ll to the King and signify to him

That thus I have resigned to you my charge.

FIRST MURDERER

98You may, sir. ’Tis a point of wisdom. 99Fare you well.

⸢Brakenbury and the Keeper⸣ exit.

SECOND MURDERER

100What, shall ⟨I⟩ stab him as he 101sleeps?

FIRST MURDERER

102No. He’ll say ’twas done cowardly, 103when he wakes.

SECOND MURDERER

104Why, he shall never wake until the 105great Judgment Day.

FIRST MURDERER

106Why, then he’ll say we stabbed him 107sleeping.

SECOND MURDERER

108The urging of that word “judgment” 109hath bred a kind of remorse in me.

FIRST MURDERER

110What, art thou afraid?

SECOND MURDERER

111Not to kill him, having a warrant, 112but to be damned for killing him, from the which 113no warrant can defend me.

FIRST MURDERER

114I thought thou hadst been resolute.

SECOND MURDERER

115So I am — to let him live.

FIRST MURDERER

116I’ll back to the Duke of Gloucester 117and tell him so.

SECOND MURDERER

118Nay, I prithee stay a little. I hope 119this passionate humor of mine will change. It was 120wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.

FIRST MURDERER

121How dost thou feel thyself now?

SECOND MURDERER

122⟨Faith,⟩ some certain dregs of conscience 123are yet within me.

FIRST MURDERER

124Remember our reward when the 125deed’s done.

SECOND MURDERER

126⟨Zounds,⟩ he dies! I had forgot the 127reward.

FIRST MURDERER

128Where’s thy conscience now?

SECOND MURDERER

129O, in the Duke of Gloucester’s 130purse.

FIRST MURDERER

131When he opens his purse to give us 132our reward, thy conscience flies out.

SECOND MURDERER

133’Tis no matter. Let it go. There’s 134few or none will entertain it.

FIRST MURDERER

135What if it come to thee again?

SECOND MURDERER

136I’ll not meddle with it. It makes a 137man a coward: a man cannot steal but it accuseth 138him; a man cannot swear but it checks him; a man 139cannot lie with his neighbor’s wife but it detects 140him. ’Tis a blushing, shamefaced spirit that mutinies 141in a man’s bosom. It fills a man full of 142obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold 143that by chance I found. It beggars any man that 144keeps it. It is turned out of towns and cities for a 145dangerous thing, and every man that means to live 146well endeavors to trust to himself and live without it.

FIRST MURDERER

147⟨Zounds,⟩ ’tis even now at my elbow, 148persuading me not to kill the Duke.

SECOND MURDERER

149Take the devil in thy mind, and 150believe him not. He would insinuate with thee but 151to make thee sigh.

FIRST MURDERER

152I am strong-framed. He cannot prevail 153with me.

SECOND MURDERER

154Spoke like a tall man that respects 155thy reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?

FIRST MURDERER

156Take him on the costard with the 157hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the 158malmsey butt in the next room.

SECOND MURDERER

159O, excellent device — and make a 160sop of him!

FIRST MURDERER

161Soft, he wakes.

SECOND MURDERER

162Strike!

FIRST MURDERER

163No, we’ll reason with him.

⸢Clarence wakes.⸣

CLARENCE

164

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

SECOND MURDERER

165

You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.

CLARENCE

166

In God’s name, what art thou?

FIRST MURDERER

A man, as you are.

CLARENCE

167

But not, as I am, royal.

FIRST MURDERER

168

Nor you, as we are, loyal.

CLARENCE

169

Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.

FIRST MURDERER

170

My voice is now the King’s, my looks mine own.

CLARENCE

171

How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!

172

Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale?

173

Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?

SECOND MURDERER

174

To, to, to —

CLARENCE

175

To murder me?

BOTH

176

Ay, ay.

CLARENCE

177

You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so

178

And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.

179

Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

FIRST MURDERER

180

Offended us you have not, but the King.

CLARENCE

181

I shall be reconciled to him again.

SECOND MURDERER

182

Never, my lord. Therefore prepare to die.

CLARENCE

183

Are you drawn forth among a world of men

184

To slay the innocent? What is my offense?

185

Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?

186

What lawful quest have given their verdict up

187

Unto the frowning judge? Or who pronounced

188

The bitter sentence of poor Clarence’ death

189

Before I be convict by course of law?

190

To threaten me with death is most unlawful.

191

I charge you, as you hope ⟨to have redemption,

192

By Christ’s dear blood shed for our grievous sins,⟩

193

That you depart, and lay no hands on me.

194

The deed you undertake is damnable.

FIRST MURDERER

195

What we will do, we do upon command.

SECOND MURDERER

196

And he that hath commanded is our king.

CLARENCE

197

Erroneous vassals, the great King of kings

198

Hath in the table of His law commanded

199

That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then

200

Spurn at His edict and fulfill a man’s?

201

Take heed, for He holds vengeance in His hand

202

To hurl upon their heads that break His law.

SECOND MURDERER

203

And that same vengeance doth He hurl on thee

204

For false forswearing and for murder too.

205

Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight

206

In quarrel of the House of Lancaster.

FIRST MURDERER

207

And, like a traitor to the name of God,

208

Didst break that vow, and with thy treacherous blade

209

⸢Unrippedst⸣ the bowels of thy sovereign’s son.

SECOND MURDERER

210

Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend.

FIRST MURDERER

211

How canst thou urge God’s dreadful law to us

212

When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?

CLARENCE

213

Alas! For whose sake did I that ill deed?

214

For Edward, for my brother, for his sake.

215

He sends you not to murder me for this,

216

For in that sin he is as deep as I.

217

If God will be avengèd for the deed,

218

O, know you yet He doth it publicly!

219

Take not the quarrel from His powerful arm;

220

He needs no indirect or lawless course

221

To cut off those that have offended Him.

FIRST MURDERER

222

Who made thee then a bloody minister

223

When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet,

224

That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?

CLARENCE

225

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

FIRST MURDERER

226

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

227

Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

CLARENCE

228

If you do love my brother, hate not me.

229

I am his brother, and I love him well.

230

If you are hired for meed, go back again,

231

And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,

232

Who shall reward you better for my life

233

Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

SECOND MURDERER

234

You are deceived. Your brother Gloucester hates you.

CLARENCE

235

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

236

Go you to him from me.

FIRST MURDERER

Ay, so we will.

CLARENCE

237

Tell him, when that our princely father York

238

Blessed his three sons with his victorious arm,

239

He little thought of this divided friendship.

240

Bid Gloucester think ⟨of⟩ this, and he will weep.

FIRST MURDERER

241

Ay, millstones, as he lessoned us to weep.

CLARENCE

242

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

FIRST MURDERER

243

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

244

’Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.

CLARENCE

245

It cannot be, for he bewept my fortune,

246

And hugged me in his arms, and swore with sobs

247

That he would labor my delivery.

FIRST MURDERER

248

Why, so he doth, when he delivers you

249

From this Earth’s thralldom to the joys of heaven.

SECOND MURDERER

250

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

CLARENCE

251

Have you that holy feeling in your souls

252

To counsel me to make my peace with God,

253

And are you yet to your own souls so blind

254

That you will war with God by murd’ring me?

255

O sirs, consider: they that set you on

256

To do this deed will hate you for the deed.

SECOND MURDERER

257

⸢to First Murderer⸣

What shall we do?

CLARENCE

Relent, and save your souls.

258

Which of you — if you were a prince’s son

259

Being pent from liberty, as I am now —

260

If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,

261

Would not entreat for life? ⸢Ay,⸣ you would beg,

262

Were you in my distress.

FIRST MURDERER

263

Relent? No. ’Tis cowardly and womanish.

CLARENCE

264

Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.

265

⸢To Second Murderer.⸣

My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks.

266

O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,

267

Come thou on my side and entreat for me.

268

A begging prince what beggar pities not?

SECOND MURDERER

269

Look behind you, my lord.

FIRST MURDERER

270

Take that, and that.

(Stabs him.)

If all this will not do,

271

I’ll drown you in the malmsey butt within.

He exits ⸢with the body.⸣

SECOND MURDERER

272

A bloody deed, and desperately dispatched.

273

How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands

274

Of this most grievous murder.

Enter First Murderer.

FIRST MURDERER

275

How now? What mean’st thou that thou help’st me not?

276

By ⟨heavens,⟩ the Duke shall know how slack you have been.

SECOND MURDERER

277

I would he knew that I had saved his brother.

278

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

279

For I repent me that the Duke is slain.

He exits.

FIRST MURDERER

280

So do not I. Go, coward as thou art.

281

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

282

Till that the Duke give order for his burial.

283

And when I have my meed, I will away,

284

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

He exits.

ACT 2

Scene 1

Flourish. Enter King ⸢Edward,⸣ sick, Queen ⸢Elizabeth,⸣ Lord Marquess Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Buckingham, Woodeville, ⸢Grey, and Scales.⸣

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 ⟨in⟩ 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

⸢taking Hastings’ hand⸣

By heaven, my soul is purged 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

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

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.

⸢Hastings kisses her hand.⸣

KING EDWARD

Dorset, embrace him. — Hastings, love Lord Marquess.

DORSET

This interchange of love, I here protest,

Upon my part shall be inviolable.

HASTINGS

And so swear I.

⸢They embrace.⸣

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

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate

Upon your Grace, 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 assurèd that he is a friend,

Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile

Be he unto me: this do I beg of ⟨God,⟩

When I am cold in love to you or yours.

⸢Queen Elizabeth and Buckingham⸣ embrace.

KING EDWARD

A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,

Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.

There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here

To make the blessèd period of this peace.

BUCKINGHAM

And in good time

Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliffe and the Duke.

Enter Ratcliffe, and ⸢Richard , Duke of⸣ Gloucester.

RICHARD

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.

Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity,

Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,

Between these swelling, wrong-incensèd peers.

RICHARD

A blessèd labor, 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

⟨By⟩ 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 lodged between us; —

Of you and you, Lord Rivers and of Dorset,

That all without desert have frowned on me; —

Of you, Lord Woodeville 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 tonight.

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.

RICHARD

Why, madam, have I offered 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 color hath forsook his cheeks.

KING EDWARD

Is Clarence dead? The order was reversed.

RICHARD

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

And that a wingèd Mercury did bear.

Some tardy cripple bare the countermand,

That came too lag to see him burièd.

God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,

Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood,

Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,

And yet go current from suspicion.

Enter ⸢Lord Stanley,⸣ Earl of Derby.

STANLEY

⸢kneeling⸣

A boon, my sovereign, for my service done.

KING EDWARD

I prithee, peace. My soul is full of sorrow.

STANLEY

I will not rise unless your Highness hear me.

KING EDWARD

100

Then say at once what is it thou requests.

STANLEY

101

The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant’s life,

102

Who slew today a riotous gentleman

103

Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

KING EDWARD

104

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

105

And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?

106

My brother killed no man; his fault was thought,

107

And yet his punishment was bitter death.

108

Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath,

109

Kneeled ⟨at⟩ my feet, and ⟨bade⟩ me be advised?

110

Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?

111

Who told me how the poor soul did forsake

112

The mighty Warwick and did fight for me?

113

Who told me, in the field at Tewkesbury,

114

When Oxford had me down, he rescued me,

115

And said “Dear brother, live, and be a king”?

116

Who told me, when we both lay in the field

117

Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me

118

Even in his garments and did give himself,

119

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

120

All this from my remembrance brutish wrath

121

Sinfully plucked, and not a man of you

122

Had so much grace to put it in my mind.

123

But when your carters or your waiting vassals

124

Have done a drunken slaughter and defaced

125

The precious image of our dear Redeemer,

126

You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon,

127

And I, unjustly too, must grant it you.

⸢Stanley rises.⸣

128

But for my brother, not a man would speak,

129

Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself

130

For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all

131

Have been beholding to him in his life,

132

Yet none of you would once beg for his life.

133

O God, I fear Thy justice will take hold

134

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

135

Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. —

136

Ah, poor Clarence.

Some exit with King and Queen.

RICHARD

137

This is the fruits of rashness. Marked you not

138

How that the guilty kindred of the Queen

139

Looked pale when they did hear of Clarence’ death?

140

O, they did urge it still unto the King.

141

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

142

To comfort Edward with our company?

BUCKINGHAM

143

We wait upon your Grace.

They exit.

Scene 2

Enter the old Duchess of York with the two children of Clarence.

BOY

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”?

BOY

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.

BOY

Then, you conclude, my grandam, he is dead.

The King mine uncle is to blame for it.

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 caused your father’s death.

BOY

Grandam, we can, for my good uncle Gloucester

Told me the King, provoked to it by the Queen,

Devised impeachments to imprison him;

And when my uncle told me so, he wept,

And pitied me, and kindly kissed my cheek,

Bade me rely on him as on my father,

And he would love me dearly as a child.

DUCHESS

Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape,

And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice.

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

Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

BOY

Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?

DUCHESS

Ay, boy.

BOY

I cannot think it. Hark, what noise is this?

Enter Queen ⸢Elizabeth⸣ with her hair about her ears, Rivers and Dorset after 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-wingèd souls may catch the King’s,

Or, like obedient subjects, follow him

To his new kingdom of ne’er-changing night.

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 lived with looking on his images;

But now two mirrors of his princely semblance

Are cracked 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 snatched my husband from mine arms

And plucked 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!

BOY

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father’s death.

How can we aid you with our kindred tears?

DAUGHTER

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

Our fatherless distress was left unmoaned.

Your widow-dolor 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 governed 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 parceled; 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 distressed,

Pour all your tears. I am your sorrow’s nurse,

And I will pamper it with lamentation.

DORSET

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeased

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 crowned. In him your comfort lives.

Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward’s grave

100

And plant your joys in living Edward’s throne.

Enter Richard, ⸢Duke of Gloucester,⸣ Buckingham, ⸢Lord Stanley, Earl of⸣ Derby, Hastings, and Ratcliffe.

RICHARD

101

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause

102

To wail the dimming of our shining star,

103

But none can help our harms by wailing them. —

104

Madam my mother, I do cry you mercy;

105

I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee

106

I crave your blessing.

⸢He kneels.⸣

DUCHESS

107

God bless thee, and put meekness in thy breast,

108

Love, charity, obedience, and true duty.

RICHARD

109

⸢standing⸣

Amen.

110

⸢Aside.⸣

And make me die a good old man!

111

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

112

I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.

BUCKINGHAM

113

You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers

114

That bear this heavy mutual load of moan,

115

Now cheer each other in each other’s love.

116

Though we have spent our harvest of this king,

117

We are to reap the harvest of his son.

118

The broken rancor of your high-swoll’n hates,

119

But lately splintered, knit, and joined together,

120

Must gently be preserved, cherished, and kept.

121

Meseemeth good that with some little train

122

Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet

123

Hither to London, to be crowned our king.

RIVERS

124

Why “with some little train,” my lord of Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM

125

Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude

126

The new-healed wound of malice should break out,

127

Which would be so much the more dangerous

128

By how much the estate is green and yet ungoverned.

129

Where every horse bears his commanding rein

130

And may direct his course as please himself,

131

As well the fear of harm as harm apparent,

132

In my opinion, ought to be prevented.

RICHARD

133

I hope the King made peace with all of us;

134

And the compact is firm and true in me.

RIVERS

135

And so in me, and so, I think, in all.

136

Yet since it is but green, it should be put

137

To no apparent likelihood of breach,

138

Which haply by much company might be urged.

139

Therefore I say with noble Buckingham

140

That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince.

HASTINGS

141

And so say I.

RICHARD

142

Then be it so, and go we to determine

143

Who they shall be that straight shall post to ⟨Ludlow.⟩ —

144

Madam, and you, my sister, will you go

145

To give your censures in this business?

All but Buckingham and Richard exit.

BUCKINGHAM

146

My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,

147

For ⟨God’s⟩ sake let not us two stay at home.

148

For by the way I’ll sort occasion,

149

As index to the story we late talked of,

150

To part the Queen’s proud kindred from the Prince.

RICHARD

151

My other self, my council’s consistory,

152

My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin,

153

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

154

Toward ⟨Ludlow⟩ then, for we’ll not stay behind.

They exit.

Scene 3

Enter one Citizen at one door, and another at the other.

FIRST CITIZEN

Good morrow, neighbor, 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 another Citizen.

THIRD CITIZEN

Neighbors, 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 governed 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 ripened years, himself,

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

FIRST CITIZEN

So stood the state when Henry the Sixth

Was crowned 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 enriched

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 Gloucester,

And the Queen’s sons and brothers haught and proud,

And were they to be ruled, 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 makes 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 full of fear.

You cannot reason almost with a man

That looks not heavily and full 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 boist’rous 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.

They exit.

Scene 4

Enter Archbishop, ⸢the⸣ young ⸢Duke of⸣ York, Queen ⸢Elizabeth,⸣ and the Duchess ⸢of York.⸣

ARCHBISHOP

Last night, I ⟨hear,⟩ they lay at Stony Stratford,

And at Northampton they do rest tonight.

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 talked how I did grow

More than my brother. “Ay,” quoth my uncle Gloucester,

“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.

YORK

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 remembered,

I could have given my uncle’s Grace a flout

To touch his growth nearer than he touched mine.

DUCHESS

How, my young York? I prithee 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 prithee, 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.

DUCHESS

Good madam, be not angry with the child.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

Pitchers have ears.

Enter a Messenger.

ARCHBISHOP

Here comes 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,

And, with them, Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.

DUCHESS

Who hath committed them?

MESSENGER

The mighty dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham.

ARCHBISHOP

For what offense?

MESSENGER

The sum of all I can, I have disclosed.

Why, or for what, the nobles were committed

Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

Ay me! I see the ruin of my house.

The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind.

Insulting tyranny begins to jut

Upon the innocent and aweless throne.

Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre.

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

DUCHESS

Accursèd 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 tossed

For me to joy, and weep, their gain and loss.

And being seated, and domestic broils

Clean overblown, themselves the conquerors

Make war upon themselves, brother to brother,

Blood to blood, self against self. O, preposterous

And frantic outrage, end thy damnèd spleen,

Or let me die, to look on Earth no more.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

⸢to York⸣

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 Queen Elizabeth⸣

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.

They exit.

ACT 3

[Scene 1]

The trumpets sound. Enter young Prince ⸢Edward,⸣ ⸢Richard Duke of⸣ Gloucester, Buckingham, ⸢the⸣ Cardinal, ⸢Catesby,⸣ and others.

BUCKINGHAM

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

RICHARD

⸢to Prince⸣

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.

RICHARD

Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years

Hath not yet dived 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 sugared words

But looked 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.

RICHARD

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

Enter Lord Mayor ⸢with others.⸣

MAYOR

God bless your Grace with health and happy days.

PRINCE

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

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!

Enter Lord Hastings.

BUCKINGHAM

And in good time here comes the sweating lord.

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 blessèd 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 deserved the place

And those who have the wit to claim the place.

This prince hath neither claimed it nor deserved 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, never 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.

[The Cardinal and Hastings exit.]

Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,

Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?

RICHARD

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 registered,

Methinks the truth should live from age to age,

As ’twere retailed to all posterity,

Even to the general all-ending day.

RICHARD

⸢aside⸣

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

PRINCE

What say you, uncle?

RICHARD

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 valor did enrich his wit,

His wit set down to make his [valor] 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 lived a king.

RICHARD

⸢aside⸣

Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

Enter young ⸢Duke of⸣ York, Hastings, ⸢and the⸣ Cardinal.

BUCKINGHAM

Now in good time here comes the Duke of York.

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,

100

Which by his death hath lost much majesty.

RICHARD

101

How fares our cousin, noble lord of York?

YORK

102

I thank you, gentle uncle. O my lord,

103

You said that idle weeds are fast in growth.

104

The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far.

RICHARD

105

He hath, my lord.

YORK

And therefore is he idle?

RICHARD

106

O my fair cousin, I must not say so.

YORK

107

Then he is more beholding to you than I.

RICHARD

108

He may command me as my sovereign,

109

But you have power in me as in a kinsman.

YORK

110

I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.

RICHARD

111

My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart.

PRINCE

112

A beggar, brother?

YORK

113

Of my kind uncle, that I know will give,

114

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

RICHARD

115

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

YORK

116

A greater gift? O, that’s the sword to it.

RICHARD

117

Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.

YORK

118

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

119

In weightier things you’ll say a beggar nay.

RICHARD

120

It is too heavy for your Grace to wear.

YORK

121

I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.

RICHARD

122

What, would you have my weapon, little lord?

YORK

123

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

RICHARD

124

How?

YORK

125

Little.

PRINCE

126

My lord of York will still be cross in talk.

127

Uncle, your Grace knows how to bear with him.

YORK

128

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

129

Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me.

130

Because that I am little, like an ape,

131

He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.

BUCKINGHAM

132

⸢aside⸣

With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!

133

To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,

134

He prettily and aptly taunts himself.

135

So cunning and so young is wonderful.

RICHARD

136

⸢to Prince⸣

My lord, will ’t please you pass along?

137

Myself and my good cousin Buckingham

138

Will to your mother, to entreat of her

139

To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.

YORK

140

⸢to Prince⸣

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

PRINCE

141

My Lord Protector needs will have it so.

YORK

142

I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.

RICHARD

143

Why, what should you fear?

YORK

144

Marry, my uncle Clarence’ angry ghost.

145

My grandam told me he was murdered there.

PRINCE

146

I fear no uncles dead.

RICHARD

147

Nor none that live, I hope.

PRINCE

148

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

149

⸢To York.⸣

But come, my lord. With a heavy heart,

150

Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.

[A sennet. Prince ⸢Edward , the Duke of⸣ York, ⸢and⸣ Hastings exit. Richard, Buckingham, and Catesby remain.]

BUCKINGHAM

151

⸢to Richard⸣

Think you, my lord, this little prating York

152

Was not incensèd by his subtle mother

153

To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?

RICHARD

154

No doubt, no doubt. O, ’tis a parlous boy,

155

Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable.

156

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

BUCKINGHAM

157

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

158

Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend

159

As closely to conceal what we impart.

160

Thou knowest our reasons, urged upon the way.

161

What thinkest thou? Is it not an easy matter

162

To make William Lord Hastings of our mind

163

For the installment of this noble duke

164

In the seat royal of this famous isle?

CATESBY

165

He, for his father’s sake, so loves the Prince

166

That he will not be won to aught against him.

BUCKINGHAM

167

What think’st thou then of Stanley? Will not he?

CATESBY

168

He will do all in all as Hastings doth.

BUCKINGHAM

169

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

170

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

171

How he doth stand affected to our purpose

172

And summon him tomorrow to the Tower

173

To sit about the coronation.

174

If thou dost find him tractable to us,

175

Encourage him and tell him all our reasons.

176

If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling,

177

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

178

And give us notice of his inclination;

179

For we tomorrow hold divided councils,

180

Wherein thyself shalt highly be employed.

RICHARD

181

Commend me to Lord William. Tell him, Catesby,

182

His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries

183

Tomorrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle,

184

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

185

Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.

BUCKINGHAM

186

Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly.

CATESBY

187

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

RICHARD

188

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

CATESBY

189

You shall, my lord.

RICHARD

190

At Crosby House, there shall you find us both.

Catesby exits.

BUCKINGHAM

191

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

192

Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?

RICHARD

193

Chop off his head. Something we will determine.

194

And look when I am king, claim thou of me

195

The earldom of Hereford, and all the movables

196

Whereof the King my brother was possessed.

BUCKINGHAM

197

I’ll claim that promise at your Grace’s hand.

RICHARD

198

And look to have it yielded with all kindness.

199

Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards

200

We may digest our complots in some form.

They exit.

Scene 2

Enter a Messenger to the door of Hastings.

MESSENGER

⸢knocking⸣

My lord, my lord.

HASTINGS

⸢within⸣

Who knocks?

MESSENGER

One from the Lord Stanley.

HASTINGS

⸢within⸣

What is ’t o’clock?

MESSENGER

Upon the stroke of four.

Enter Lord 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 razèd off his helm.

Besides, he says there are two councils kept,

And that may be determined at the one

Which may make you and him to rue at th’ 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 council.

His Honor 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 mock’ry 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.

He exits.

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 tott’ring 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 misplaced.

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 unprepared 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 know’st, 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 deserved it.

Enter Lord Stanley.

Come on, come on. Where is your boar-spear, man?

Fear you the boar and go so unprovided?

STANLEY

My lord, good morrow. — 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 supposed 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 rancor 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?

Today the lords you ⟨talked⟩ of are beheaded.

STANLEY

They, for their truth, might better wear their heads

Than some that have accused 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.

Lord Stanley and Catesby exit.

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 met’st me last where now we meet.

Then was I going prisoner to the Tower

100

By the suggestion of the Queen’s allies.

101

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

102

This day those enemies are put to death,

103

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

PURSUIVANT

104

God hold it, to your Honor’s good content!

HASTINGS

105

Gramercy, fellow. There, drink that for me.

Throws him his purse.

PURSUIVANT

106

I thank your Honor.

Pursuivant exits.

Enter a Priest.

PRIEST

107

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

HASTINGS

108

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

109

I am in your debt for your last exercise.

110

Come the next sabbath, and I will content you.

PRIEST

111

I’ll wait upon your Lordship.

⸢Priest exits.⸣

Enter Buckingham.

BUCKINGHAM

112

What, talking with a priest, Lord Chamberlain?

113

Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest;

114

Your Honor hath no shriving work in hand.

HASTINGS

115

Good faith, and when I met this holy man,

116

The men you talk of came into my mind.

117

What, go you toward the Tower?

BUCKINGHAM

118

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

119

I shall return before your Lordship thence.

HASTINGS

120

Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.

BUCKINGHAM

121

⸢aside⸣

And supper too, although thou know’st it not. —

122

Come, will you go?

HASTINGS

I’ll wait upon your Lordship.

They exit.

Scene 3

Enter Sir Richard Ratcliffe, with Halberds, carrying the nobles ⟨Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan⟩ to death at Pomfret.

RIVERS

Sir Richard Ratcliffe, let me tell thee this:

Today shalt thou behold a subject die

For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.

GREY

⸢to Ratcliffe⸣

God bless the Prince from all the pack of you!

A knot you are of damnèd bloodsuckers.

VAUGHAN

⸢to Ratcliffe⸣

You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter.

RATCLIFFE

Dispatch. 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 hacked 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 fall’n upon our heads,

When she exclaimed on Hastings, you, and I,

For standing by when Richard stabbed her son.

RIVERS

Then cursed she Richard. Then cursed she Buckingham.

Then cursed 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.

RATCLIFFE

Make haste. The hour of death is expiate.

RIVERS

Come, Grey. Come, Vaughan. Let us here embrace.

⸢They embrace.⸣

Farewell until we meet again in heaven.

They exit.

Scene 4

Enter Buckingham, ⸢Lord Stanley, Earl of⸣ Derby, Hastings, Bishop of Ely, Norfolk, Ratcliffe, Lovell, with others, at a table.

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

Is all things ready for the royal time?

STANLEY

It is, and wants but nomination.

ELY

Tomorrow, 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 delivered

His gracious pleasure any way therein.

But you, my honorable 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.

Enter ⸢Richard , Duke of⸣ Gloucester.

ELY

In happy time here comes the Duke himself.

RICHARD

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 pronounced your part —

I mean your voice for crowning of the King.

RICHARD

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 Bishop ⸢of Ely.⸣

RICHARD

Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.

⸢They move 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.

⸢Richard and Buckingham⸣ exit.

STANLEY

We have not yet set down this day of triumph.

Tomorrow, in my judgment, is too sudden,

For I myself am not so well provided

As else I would be, were the day prolonged.

Enter the Bishop of Ely.

ELY

Where is my lord the Duke of Gloucester?

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 never 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 today?

HASTINGS

Marry, that with no man here he is offended,

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

Enter Richard and Buckingham.

RICHARD

I pray you all, tell me what they deserve

That do conspire my death with devilish plots

Of damnèd witchcraft, and that have prevailed

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 th’ offenders, whosoe’er they be.

I say, my lord, they have deservèd death.

RICHARD

Then be your eyes the witness of their evil.

⸢He shows his arm.⸣

Look how I am bewitched! Behold mine arm

Is like a blasted sapling withered up;

And this is Edward’s wife, that monstrous witch,

Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore,

That by their witchcraft thus have markèd me.

HASTINGS

If they have done this deed, my noble lord —

RICHARD

If? Thou protector of this damnèd 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. —

Lovell and Ratcliffe, look that it be done. —

The rest that love me, rise and follow me.

They exit. Lovell and Ratcliffe remain, with the Lord Hastings.

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 today my foot-cloth horse did stumble,

And started when he looked upon the Tower,

As loath to bear me to the slaughterhouse.

O, now I need the priest that spake to me!

I now repent I told the pursuivant,

As too triumphing, how mine enemies

Today at Pomfret bloodily were butchered,

And I myself secure in grace and favor.

O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse

Is lighted on poor Hastings’ wretched head.

RATCLIFFE

Come, come, dispatch. 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

100

Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

LOVELL

101

Come, come, dispatch. ’Tis bootless to exclaim.

HASTINGS

102

O bloody Richard! Miserable England,

103

I prophesy the fearfull’st time to thee

104

That ever wretched age hath looked upon. —

105

Come, lead me to the block. Bear him my head.

106

They smile at me who shortly shall be dead.

They exit.

⸢Scene 5⸣

Enter Richard and Buckingham, in rotten armor, marvelous ill-favored.

RICHARD

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

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 enforcèd smiles,

And both are ready, in their offices,

At any time to grace my stratagems.

But what, is Catesby gone?

RICHARD

He is; and see he brings the Mayor along.

Enter the Mayor and Catesby.

BUCKINGHAM

Lord Mayor —

RICHARD

Look to the drawbridge there!

BUCKINGHAM

Hark, a drum!

RICHARD

Catesby, o’erlook the walls.

⸢Catesby exits.⸣

BUCKINGHAM

Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent —

RICHARD

Look back! Defend thee! Here are enemies.

BUCKINGHAM

God and our ⟨innocence⟩ defend and guard us!

Enter Lovell and Ratcliffe, with Hastings’ head.

RICHARD

Be patient. They are friends, Ratcliffe and Lovell.

LOVELL

Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,

The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.

RICHARD

So dear I loved the man that I must weep.

I took him for the plainest harmless creature

That breathed upon the Earth a Christian;

Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded

The history of all her secret thoughts.

So smooth he daubed his vice with show of virtue

That, his apparent open guilt omitted —

I mean his conversation with Shore’s wife —

He lived from all attainder of suspects.

BUCKINGHAM

Well, well, he was the covert’st sheltered traitor

That ever lived. —

Would you imagine, or almost believe,

Were ’t not that by great preservation

We live to tell it, that the subtle traitor

This day had plotted, in the council house,

To murder me and my good lord of Gloucester?

MAYOR

Had he done so?

RICHARD

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

Enforced us to this execution?

MAYOR

Now fair befall you! He deserved his death,

And your good Graces both have well proceeded

To warn false traitors from the like attempts.

BUCKINGHAM

I never looked for better at his hands

After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.

Yet had we not determined 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, I 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 Graces’ words 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.

RICHARD

And to that end we wished your Lordship here,

T’ avoid the censures of the carping world.

BUCKINGHAM

Which 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.

Mayor exits.

RICHARD

Go after, after, cousin Buckingham.

The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post.

There, at your meetest vantage 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 termèd so.

Moreover, urge his hateful luxury

And bestial appetite in change of lust,

Which stretched unto their servants, daughters, wives,

Even where his raging eye or savage heart,

Without control, lusted 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 appearèd 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.

RICHARD

If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard’s Castle,

Where you shall find me well accompanied

100

With reverend fathers and well-learnèd bishops.

BUCKINGHAM

101

I go; and towards three or four o’clock

102

Look for the news that the Guildhall affords.

Buckingham exits.

RICHARD

103

Go, Lovell, with all speed to Doctor Shaa.

104

⸢To Ratcliffe.⸣

Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both

105

Meet me within this hour at Baynard’s Castle.

⸢Ratcliffe and Lovell⸣ exit.

106

Now will I go to take some privy order

107

To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight,

108

And to give order that no manner person

109

Have any time recourse unto the Princes.

⟨He exits.⟩

⸢Scene 6⸣

Enter a Scrivener.

SCRIVENER

Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings,

Which in a set hand fairly is engrossed,

That it may be today 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 lived,

Untainted, unexamined, 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.

He exits.

⸢Scene 7⸣

Enter Richard and Buckingham at several doors.

RICHARD

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.

RICHARD

Touched you the bastardy of Edward’s children?

BUCKINGHAM

I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy

And his contract by deputy in France;

Th’ unsatiate greediness of his desire

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

Untouched 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!”

RICHARD

And did they so?

BUCKINGHAM

No. So God help me, they spake not a word

But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,

Stared each on other and looked deadly pale;

Which when I saw, I reprehended them

And asked the Mayor what meant this willful silence.

His answer was, the people were not used

To be spoke to but by the Recorder.

Then he was urged to tell my tale again:

“Thus saith the Duke. Thus hath the Duke inferred” —

But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.

When he had done, some followers of mine own,

At lower end of the hall, hurled 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.

RICHARD

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.

RICHARD

I go. An 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.

⸢Knocking within.⸣

BUCKINGHAM

Go, go, up to the leads. The Lord Mayor knocks.

⟨⸢Richard⸣ exits.⟩

Enter the Mayor and Citizens.

Welcome, my lord. I dance attendance here.

I think the Duke will not be spoke withal.

Enter Catesby.

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

CATESBY

He doth entreat your Grace, my noble lord,

To visit him tomorrow or next day.

He is within, with two right reverend fathers,

Divinely bent to meditation,

And in no worldly suits would he be moved

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.

He exits.

BUCKINGHAM

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

He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed,

But on his knees at meditation;

Not dallying with a brace of courtesans,

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.

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 warned 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.

⟨Catesby⟩ exits.

When holy and devout religious men

Are at their beads, ’tis much to draw them thence,

So sweet is zealous contemplation.

Enter Richard aloft, between two Bishops.

⸢Catesby reenters.⸣

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,

100

Lend favorable ear to our requests,

101

And pardon us the interruption

102

Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.

RICHARD

103

My lord, there needs no such apology.

104

I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,

105

Who, earnest in the service of my God,

106

Deferred the visitation of my friends.

107

But, leaving this, what is your Grace’s pleasure?

BUCKINGHAM

108

Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above

109

And all good men of this ungoverned isle.

RICHARD

110

I do suspect I have done some offense

111

That seems disgracious in the city’s eye,

112

And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.

BUCKINGHAM

113

You have, my lord. Would it might please your Grace,

114

On our entreaties, to amend your fault.

RICHARD

115

Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?

BUCKINGHAM

116

Know, then, it is your fault that you resign

117

The supreme seat, the throne majestical,

118

The sceptered office of your ancestors,

119

Your state of fortune, and your due of birth,

120

The lineal glory of your royal house,

121

To the corruption of a blemished stock,

122

Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,

123

Which here we waken to our country’s good,

124

The noble isle doth want ⟨her⟩ proper limbs —

125

⟨Her⟩ face defaced with scars of infamy,

126

⸢Her⸣ royal stock graft with ignoble plants,

127

And almost shouldered in the swallowing gulf

128

Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion;

129

Which to recure, we heartily solicit

130

Your gracious self to take on you the charge

131

And kingly government of this your land,

132

Not as Protector, steward, substitute,

133

Or lowly factor for another’s gain,

134

But as successively, from blood to blood,

135

Your right of birth, your empery, your own.

136

For this, consorted with the citizens,

137

Your very worshipful and loving friends,

138

And by their vehement instigation,

139

In this just cause come I to move your Grace.

RICHARD

140

I cannot tell if to depart in silence

141

Or bitterly to speak in your reproof

142

Best fitteth my degree or your condition.

143

If not to answer, you might haply think

144

Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded

145

To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,

146

Which fondly you would here impose on me.

147

If to reprove you for this suit of yours,

148

So seasoned with your faithful love to me,

149

Then on the other side I checked my friends.

150

Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first,

151

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

152

Definitively thus I answer you:

153

Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert

154

Unmeritable shuns your high request.

155

First, if all obstacles were cut away

156

And that my path were even to the crown

157

As the ripe revenue and due of birth,

158

Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,

159

So mighty and so many my defects,

160

That I would rather hide me from my greatness,

161

Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,

162

Than in my greatness covet to be hid

163

And in the vapor of my glory smothered.

164

But, God be thanked, there is no need of me,

165

And much I need to help you, were there need.

166

The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,

167

Which, mellowed by the stealing hours of time,

168

Will well become the seat of majesty,

169

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

170

On him I lay that you would lay on me,

171

The right and fortune of his happy stars,

172

Which God defend that I should wring from him.

BUCKINGHAM

173

My lord, this argues conscience in your Grace,

174

But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,

175

All circumstances well considerèd.

176

You say that Edward is your brother’s son;

177

So say we too, but not by Edward’s wife.

178

For first was he contract to Lady Lucy —

179

Your mother lives a witness to his vow —

180

And afterward by substitute betrothed

181

To Bona, sister to the King of France.

182

These both put off, a poor petitioner,

183

A care-crazed mother to a many sons,

184

A beauty-waning and distressèd widow,

185

Even in the afternoon of her best days,

186

Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,

187

Seduced the pitch and height of his degree

188

To base declension and loathed bigamy.

189

By her in his unlawful bed he got

190

This Edward, whom our manners call “the Prince.”

191

More bitterly could I expostulate,

192

Save that, for reverence to some alive,

193

I give a sparing limit to my tongue.

194

Then, good my lord, take to your royal self

195

This proffered benefit of dignity,

196

If not to bless us and the land withal,

197

Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry

198

From the corruption of abusing times

199

Unto a lineal, true-derivèd course.

MAYOR

200

Do, good my lord. Your citizens entreat you.

BUCKINGHAM

201

Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffered love.

CATESBY

202

O, make them joyful. Grant their lawful suit.

RICHARD

203

Alas, why would you heap this care on me?

204

I am unfit for state and majesty.

205

I do beseech you, take it not amiss;

206

I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you.

BUCKINGHAM

207

If you refuse it, as in love and zeal

208

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

209

As well we know your tenderness of heart

210

And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,

211

Which we have noted in you to your kindred

212

And equally indeed to all estates —

213

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

214

Your brother’s son shall never reign our king,

215

But we will plant some other in the throne,

216

To the disgrace and downfall of your house.

217

And in this resolution here we leave you. —

218

Come, citizens. ⟨Zounds, I’ll⟩ entreat no more.

⟨RICHARD

219

O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham!⟩

⸢Buckingham and some others⸣ exit.

CATESBY

220

Call him again, sweet prince. Accept their suit.

221

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

RICHARD

222

Will you enforce me to a world of cares?

223

Call them again. I am not made of stones,

224

But penetrable to your kind entreaties,

225

Albeit against my conscience and my soul.

Enter Buckingham and the rest.

226

Cousin of Buckingham and sage, grave men,

227

Since you will buckle Fortune on my back,

228

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

229

I must have patience to endure the load;

230

But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach

231

Attend the sequel of your imposition,

232

Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me

233

From all the impure blots and stains thereof,

234

For God doth know, and you may partly see,

235

How far I am from the desire of this.

MAYOR

236

God bless your Grace! We see it and will say it.

RICHARD

237

In saying so, you shall but say the truth.

BUCKINGHAM

238

Then I salute you with this royal title:

239

Long live Richard, England’s worthy king!

ALL

240

Amen.

BUCKINGHAM

241

Tomorrow may it please you to be crowned?

RICHARD

242

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

BUCKINGHAM

243

Tomorrow, then, we will attend your Grace,

244

And so most joyfully we take our leave.

RICHARD

245

⸢to the Bishops⸣

Come, let us to our holy work again. —

246

Farewell, my ⟨cousin.⟩ Farewell, gentle friends.

They exit.

ACT 4

Scene 1

⟨Enter Queen ⸢Elizabeth, with the⸣ Duchess of York, ⸢and the Lord⸣ Marquess ⸢of⸣ Dorset, at one door; ⸢Anne,⸣ Duchess of Gloucester ⸢with Clarence’s daughter,⸣ at another door.⟩

DUCHESS

Who meets us here? My niece Plantagenet

Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?

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

On pure heart’s love, to greet the tender prince. —

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.

Enter ⸢Brakenbury ,⸣ the Lieutenant.

And in good time here the Lieutenant comes. —

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 charged 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.

⸢Brakenbury the⸣ Lieutenant exits.

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 Anne.⸣

Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,

There to be crownèd 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

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

Be of good cheer, mother. How fares your Grace?

QUEEN ELIZABETH

O Dorset, speak not to me. Get thee gone.

Death and destruction dogs 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 slaughterhouse,

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.

⸢To Dorset.⸣

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 accursèd womb, the bed of death!

A cockatrice hast thou hatched to the world,

Whose unavoided eye is murderous.

STANLEY

⸢to Anne⸣

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 brains!

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 humor, wish thyself no harm.

ANNE

No? Why? When he that is my husband now

Came to me as I followed Henry’s corse,

When scarce the blood was well washed from his hands

Which issued from my other angel husband

And that dear saint which then I weeping followed —

O, when, I say, I looked on Richard’s face,

This was my wish: be thou, quoth I, accursed

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 proved 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 awaked.

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 wracked 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 immured within your walls —

100

Rough cradle for such little pretty ones.

101

Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow

102

For tender princes, use my babies well.

103

So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell.

They exit.

Scene 2

Sound a sennet. Enter Richard in pomp; Buckingham, Catesby, Ratcliffe, Lovell, ⸢and others, including a Page.⸣

RICHARD

Stand all apart. — Cousin of Buckingham.

⸢The others move aside.⸣

BUCKINGHAM

My gracious sovereign.

RICHARD

Give me thy hand.

⟨Here he ascendeth the throne.⟩ Sound ⸢trumpets .⸣

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 forever let them last.

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.

RICHARD

Why, Buckingham, I say I would be king.

BUCKINGHAM

Why so you are, my thrice-renownèd lord.

RICHARD

Ha! Am I king? ’Tis so — but Edward lives.

BUCKINGHAM

True, noble prince.

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 performed.

What sayst thou now? Speak suddenly. Be brief.

BUCKINGHAM

Your Grace may do your pleasure.

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 you herein presently.

Buckingham exits.

CATESBY

⸢aside to the other Attendants⸣

The King is angry. See, he gnaws his lip.

RICHARD

⸢aside⸣

I will converse with iron-witted fools

And unrespective boys. None are for me

That look into me with considerate eyes.

High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. —

Boy!

PAGE

⸢coming forward⸣

My lord?

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.

RICHARD

What is his name?

PAGE

His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.

RICHARD

I partly know the man. Go, call him hither, boy.

⸢Page⸣ exits.

⸢Aside.⸣

The deep-revolving witty Buckingham

No more shall be the neighbor to my counsels.

Hath he so long held out with me, untired,

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 Marquess Dorset, as I hear, is fled

To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.

⸢He walks aside.⸣

RICHARD

Come hither, Catesby. Rumor 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.

⸢Catesby exits.⸣

⸢Aside.⸣

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.

Enter Tyrrel.

Is thy name Tyrrel?

TYRREL

James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

RICHARD

Art thou indeed?

TYRREL

Prove me, my gracious lord.

RICHARD

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

TYRREL

Please you. But I had rather kill two enemies.

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.

Tyrrel, 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.

RICHARD

Thou sing’st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel.

⸢Tyrrel approaches Richard and kneels.⸣

Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear.

⸢Tyrrel rises, and Richard⸣ whispers ⸢to him. Then Tyrrel steps back.⸣

There is no more but so. Say it is done,

And I will love thee and prefer thee for it.

TYRREL

I will dispatch it straight.

He exits.

Enter Buckingham.

BUCKINGHAM

My lord, I have considered in my mind

The late request that you did sound me in.

RICHARD

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

BUCKINGHAM

I hear the news, my lord.

RICHARD

Stanley, he is your wife’s son. Well, look unto it.

BUCKINGHAM

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

For which your honor and your faith is pawned —

Th’ earldom of ⟨Hereford⟩ and the movables

Which you have promisèd I shall possess.

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?

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 —

RICHARD

How chance the prophet could not at that time

100

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

BUCKINGHAM

101

My lord, your promise for the earldom —

RICHARD

102

Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,

103

The Mayor in courtesy showed me the castle

104

And called it Rougemont, at which name I started,

105

Because a bard of Ireland told me once

106

I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

BUCKINGHAM

107

My lord —

RICHARD

108

Ay, what’s o’clock?

BUCKINGHAM

109

I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind

110

Of what you promised me.

RICHARD

111

Well, but what’s o’clock?

BUCKINGHAM

112

Upon the stroke of ten.

RICHARD

113

Well, let it strike.

BUCKINGHAM

114

Why let it strike?

RICHARD

115

Because that, like a jack, thou keep’st the stroke

116

Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.

117

I am not in the giving vein today.

BUCKINGHAM

118

Why then, resolve me whether you will or no.⟩

RICHARD

119

Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.

He exits, ⸢and is followed by all but Buckingham.⸣

BUCKINGHAM

120

And is it thus? Repays he my deep service

121

With such contempt? Made I him king for this?

122

O, let me think on Hastings and be gone

123

To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on!

He exits.

⸢Scene 3⸣

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 fleshed 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 kissed each other.

A book of prayers on their pillow lay,

Which ⟨once,⟩” quoth Forrest, “almost changed my mind,

But, O, the devil — ” There the villain stopped;

When Dighton thus told on: “We smotherèd

The most replenishèd 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.

Enter Richard.

And here he comes. — All health, my sovereign lord.

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.

RICHARD

But did’st thou see them dead?

TYRREL

I did, my lord.

RICHARD

And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

TYRREL

The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them,

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

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.

⟨Tyrrel exits.⟩

RICHARD

The son of Clarence have I pent up close,

His daughter meanly have I matched in marriage,

The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom,

And Anne my wife hath bid this world goodnight.

Now, for I know the Breton 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 Ratcliffe.

RATCLIFFE

My lord.

RICHARD

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

RATCLIFFE

Bad news, my lord. Morton is fled to Richmond,

And Buckingham, backed with the hardy Welshmen,

Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

RICHARD

Ely with Richmond troubles me more near

Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.

Come, I have learned that fearful commenting

Is leaden servitor to dull delay;

Delay ⟨leads⟩ impotent and snail-paced 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.

They exit.

⸢Scene 4⸣

Enter old Queen Margaret.

QUEEN MARGARET

So now prosperity begins to mellow

And drop into the rotten mouth of death.

Here in these confines slyly have I lurked

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?

⸢She steps aside.⸣

Enter Duchess ⟨of York⟩ and Queen ⸢Elizabeth .⸣

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 fixed in doom perpetual,

Hover about me with your airy wings

And hear your mother’s lamentation.

QUEEN MARGARET

⸢aside⸣

Hover about her; say that right for right

Hath dimmed your infant morn to agèd night.

DUCHESS

So many miseries have crazed my voice

That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.

Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

QUEEN MARGARET

⸢aside⸣

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

⸢aside⸣

When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.

DUCHESS

⸢to Queen Elizabeth⸣

Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost,

Woe’s scene, world’s shame, grave’s due by life usurped,

Brief abstract and record of tedious days,

Rest thy unrest on England’s lawful earth,

Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

⸢as they both sit down⸣

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?

QUEEN MARGARET

⸢coming forward⸣

If ancient sorrow be most reverend,

Give mine the benefit of seigniory,

And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.

If sorrow can admit society,

⟨Tell over your woes again by viewing mine.⟩

I had an Edward till a Richard killed him;

I had a husband till a Richard killed him.

Thou hadst an Edward till a Richard killed him;

Thou hadst a Richard till a Richard killed him.

DUCHESS

I had a Richard too, and thou did’st kill him;

I had a Rutland too; thou ⸢holp’st⸣ to kill him.

QUEEN MARGARET

Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard killed him.

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept

A hellhound 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 excellent grand tyrant of the Earth,

That reigns in gallèd eyes of weeping souls;

That foul defacer of God’s handiwork

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

⸢standing⸣

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 killed my Edward,

⟨Thy⟩ other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;

Young York, he is but boot, because both they

Matched not the high perfection of my loss.

Thy Clarence he is dead that stabbed my Edward,

And the beholders of this frantic play,

Th’ adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,

Untimely smothered in their dusky graves.

Richard yet lives, hell’s black intelligencer,

Only reserved 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 conveyed from hence.

Cancel his bond of life, dear God I pray,

That I may live and say “The dog is dead.”

QUEEN ELIZABETH

⸢standing⸣

O, thou didst prophesy the time would come

That I should wish for thee to help me curse

That bottled spider, that foul bunch-backed toad!

QUEEN MARGARET

I called thee then “vain flourish of my fortune.”

I called thee then poor shadow, “painted queen,”

The presentation of but what I was,

The flattering index of a direful pageant,

One heaved a-high to be hurled down below,

A mother only mocked 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 ⟨are⟩ thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy?

Who sues and kneels and says “God save the Queen?”

Where be the bending peers that flattered thee?

Where be the thronging troops that followed thee?

Decline all this, and see what now thou art:

For happy wife, a most distressèd widow;

For joyful mother, one that wails the name;

100

For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;

101

For queen, a very caitiff crowned with care;

102

For she that scorned at me, now scorned of me;

103

For she being feared of all, now fearing one;

104

For she commanding all, obeyed of none.

105

Thus hath the course of justice whirled about

106

And left thee but a very prey to time,

107

Having no more but thought of what thou wast

108

To torture thee the more, being what thou art.

109

Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not

110

Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?

111

Now thy proud neck bears half my burdened yoke,

112

From which even here I slip my ⟨weary⟩ head

113

And leave the burden of it all on thee.

114

Farewell, York’s wife, and queen of sad mischance.

115

These English woes shall make me smile in France.

⸢She begins to exit.⸣

QUEEN ELIZABETH

116

O, thou well-skilled in curses, stay awhile,

117

And teach me how to curse mine enemies.

QUEEN MARGARET

118

Forbear to sleep the ⟨nights,⟩ and fast the ⟨days;⟩

119

Compare dead happiness with living woe;

120

Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were,

121

And he that slew them fouler than he is.

122

Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse.

123

Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

124

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

QUEEN MARGARET

125

Thy woes will make them sharp and pierce like mine.

Margaret exits.

DUCHESS

126

Why should calamity be full of words?

QUEEN ELIZABETH

127

Windy attorneys to their clients’ woes,

128

Airy succeeders of ⟨intestate⟩ joys,

129

Poor breathing orators of miseries,

130

Let them have scope; though what they will impart

131

Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.

DUCHESS

132

If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me,

133

And in the breath of bitter words let’s smother

134

My damnèd son that thy two sweet sons smothered.

⸢A trumpet sounds.⸣

135

The trumpet sounds. Be copious in exclaims.

Enter King Richard and his train, ⸢including Catesby.⸣

RICHARD

136

Who intercepts me in my expedition?

DUCHESS

137

O, she that might have intercepted thee,

138

By strangling thee in her accursèd womb,

139

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

QUEEN ELIZABETH

140

⸢to Richard⸣

Hid’st thou that forehead with a golden crown

141

Where should be branded, if that right were right,

142

The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown

143

And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers?

144

Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children?

DUCHESS

145

⸢to Richard⸣

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

146

And little Ned Plantagenet his son?

QUEEN ELIZABETH

147

⸢to Richard⸣

Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

DUCHESS

148

⸢to Richard⸣

Where is kind Hastings?

RICHARD

149

A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums!

150

Let not the heavens hear these telltale women

151

Rail on the Lord’s anointed. Strike, I say!

Flourish. Alarums.

152

Either be patient and entreat me fair,

153

Or with the clamorous report of war

154

Thus will I drown your exclamations.

DUCHESS

155

Art thou my son?

RICHARD

156

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

DUCHESS

157

Then patiently hear my impatience.

RICHARD

158

Madam, I have a touch of your condition,

159

That cannot brook the accent of reproof.

DUCHESS

160

O, let me speak!

RICHARD

Do then, but I’ll not hear.

DUCHESS

161

I will be mild and gentle in my words.

RICHARD

162

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

DUCHESS

163

Art thou so hasty? I have stayed for thee,

164

God knows, in torment and in agony.

RICHARD

165

And came I not at last to comfort you?

DUCHESS

166

No, by the Holy Rood, thou know’st it well.

167

Thou cam’st on Earth to make the Earth my hell.

168

A grievous burden was thy birth to me;

169

Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;

170

Thy school days frightful, desp’rate, wild, and furious;

171

Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous;

172

Thy age confirmed, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,

173

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

174

What comfortable hour canst thou name,

175

That ever graced me with thy company?

RICHARD

176

Faith, none but Humfrey Hower, that called your Grace

177

To breakfast once, forth of my company.

178

If I be so disgracious in your eye,

179

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

180

Strike up the drum.

DUCHESS

I prithee, hear me speak.

RICHARD

181

You speak too bitterly.

DUCHESS

Hear me a word,

182

For I shall never speak to thee again.

RICHARD

183

So.

DUCHESS

184

Either thou wilt die by God’s just ordinance

185

Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror,

186

Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish

187

And nevermore behold thy face again.

188

Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse,

189

Which in the day of battle tire thee more

190

Than all the complete armor that thou wear’st.

191

My prayers on the adverse party fight,

192

And there the little souls of Edward’s children

193

Whisper the spirits of thine enemies

194

And promise them success and victory.

195

Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end.

196

Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.

She exits.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

197

Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse

198

Abides in me. I say amen to her.

RICHARD

199

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

QUEEN ELIZABETH

200

I have no more sons of the royal blood

201

For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard,

202

They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens,

203

And therefore level not to hit their lives.

RICHARD

204

You have a daughter called Elizabeth,

205

Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

206

And must she die for this? O, let her live,

207

And I’ll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty,

208

Slander myself as false to Edward’s bed,

209

Throw over her the veil of infamy.

210

So she may live unscarred of bleeding slaughter,

211

I will confess she was not Edward’s daughter.

RICHARD

212

Wrong not her birth. She is a royal princess.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

213

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

RICHARD

214

Her life is safest only in her birth.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

215

And only in that safety died her brothers.

RICHARD

216

Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

217

No, to their lives ill friends were contrary.

RICHARD

218

All unavoided is the doom of destiny.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

219

True, when avoided grace makes destiny.

220

My babes were destined to a fairer death

221

If grace had blessed thee with a fairer life.

RICHARD

222

You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

223

Cousins, indeed, and by their uncle cozened

224

Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.

225

Whose hand soever launched their tender hearts,

226

Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction.

227

No doubt the murd’rous knife was dull and blunt

228

Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,

229

To revel in the entrails of my lambs.

230

But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,

231

My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys

232

Till that my nails were anchored in thine eyes,

233

And I, in such a desp’rate bay of death,

234

Like a poor bark of sails and tackling reft,

235

Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

RICHARD

236

Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise

237

And dangerous success of bloody wars

238

As I intend more good to you and yours

239

Than ever you ⟨or⟩ yours by me were harmed!

QUEEN ELIZABETH

240

What good is covered with the face of heaven,

241

To be discovered, that can do me good?

RICHARD

242

Th’ advancement of your children, gentle lady.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

243

Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads.

RICHARD

244

Unto the dignity and height of fortune,

245

The high imperial type of this Earth’s glory.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

246

Flatter my sorrow with report of it.

247

Tell me what state, what dignity, what honor,

248

Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

RICHARD

249

Even all I have — ay, and myself and all —

250

Will I withal endow a child of thine;

251

So in the Lethe of thy angry soul

252

Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs

253

Which thou supposest I have done to thee.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

254

Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness

255

Last longer telling than thy kindness’ date.

RICHARD

256

Then know that from my soul I love thy daughter.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

257

My daughter’s mother thinks it with her soul.

RICHARD

258

What do you think?

QUEEN ELIZABETH

259

That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul.

260

So from thy soul’s love didst thou love her brothers,

261

And from my heart’s love I do thank thee for it.

RICHARD

262

Be not so hasty to confound my meaning.

263

I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter

264

And do intend to make her Queen of England.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

265

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

RICHARD

266

Even he that makes her queen. Who else should be?

QUEEN ELIZABETH

267

What, thou?

RICHARD

Even so. How think you of it?

QUEEN ELIZABETH

268

How canst thou woo her?

RICHARD

That ⟨would I⟩ learn of you,

269

As one being best acquainted with her humor.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

270

And wilt thou learn of me?

RICHARD

271

Madam, with all my heart.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

272

Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,

273

A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave

274

“Edward” and “York.” Then haply will she weep.

275

Therefore present to her — as sometime Margaret

276

Did to thy father, steeped in Rutland’s blood —

277

A handkerchief, which say to her did drain

278

The purple sap from her sweet brother’s body,

279

And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.

280

If this inducement move her not to love,

281

Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;

282

Tell her thou mad’st away her uncle Clarence,

283

Her uncle Rivers, ay, and for her sake

284

Mad’st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.

RICHARD

285

You mock me, madam. This ⟨is⟩ not the way

286

To win your daughter.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

There is no other way,

287

Unless thou couldst put on some other shape

288

And not be Richard, that hath done all this.

RICHARD

289

Say that I did all this for love of her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

290

Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,

291

Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

RICHARD

292

Look what is done cannot be now amended.

293

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,

294

Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.

295

If I did take the kingdom from your sons,

296

To make amends I’ll give it to your daughter.

297

If I have killed the issue of your womb,

298

To quicken your increase I will beget

299

Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.

300

A grandam’s name is little less in love

301

Than is the doting title of a mother.

302

They are as children but one step below,

303

Even of your metal, of your very blood,

304

Of all one pain, save for a night of groans

305

Endured of her for whom you bid like sorrow.

306

Your children were vexation to your youth,

307

But mine shall be a comfort to your age.

308

The loss you have is but a son being king,

309

And by that loss your daughter is made queen.

310

I cannot make you what amends I would;

311

Therefore accept such kindness as I can.

312

Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul

313

Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,

314

This fair alliance quickly shall call home

315

To high promotions and great dignity.

316

The king that calls your beauteous daughter wife

317

Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother.

318

Again shall you be mother to a king,

319

And all the ruins of distressful times

320

Repaired with double riches of content.

321

What, we have many goodly days to see!

322

The liquid drops of tears that you have shed

323

Shall come again, transformed to orient pearl,

324

Advantaging their love with interest

325

Of ten times double gain of happiness.

326

Go then, my mother; to thy daughter go.

327

Make bold her bashful years with your experience;

328

Prepare her ears to hear a wooer’s tale;

329

Put in her tender heart th’ aspiring flame

330

Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princess

331

With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys;

332

And when this arm of mine hath chastisèd

333

The petty rebel, dull-brained Buckingham,

334

Bound with triumphant garlands will I come

335

And lead thy daughter to a conqueror’s bed,

336

To whom I will retail my conquest won,

337

And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar’s Caesar.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

338

What were I best to say? Her father’s brother

339

Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle?

340

Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?

341

Under what title shall I woo for thee,

342

That God, the law, my honor, and her love

343

Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?

RICHARD

344

Infer fair England’s peace by this alliance.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

345

Which she shall purchase with still-lasting war.

RICHARD

346

Tell her the King, that may command, entreats —

QUEEN ELIZABETH

347

That, at her hands, which the King’s King forbids.

RICHARD

348

Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

349

To vail the title, as her mother doth.

RICHARD

350

Say I will love her everlastingly.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

351

But how long shall that title “ever” last?

RICHARD

352

Sweetly in force unto her fair life’s end.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

353

But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?

RICHARD

354

As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

355

As long as hell and Richard likes of it.

RICHARD

356

Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

357

But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.

RICHARD

358

Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

359

An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

RICHARD

360

Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

361

Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

RICHARD

362

Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

363

O no, my reasons are too deep and dead —

364

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

RICHARD

365

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

QUEEN ELIZABETH

366

Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break.

RICHARD⟩

367

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

QUEEN ELIZABETH

368

Profaned, dishonored, and the third usurped.

RICHARD

369

I swear —

QUEEN ELIZABETH

By nothing, for this is no oath.

370

Thy George, profaned, hath lost his lordly honor;

371

Thy Garter, blemished, pawned his knightly virtue;

372

Thy crown, usurped, disgraced his kingly glory.

373

If something thou wouldst swear to be believed,

374

Swear then by something that thou hast not wronged.

RICHARD

375

Then, by myself —

QUEEN ELIZABETH

Thyself is self-misused.

RICHARD

376

Now, by the world —

QUEEN ELIZABETH

’Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

RICHARD

377

My father’s death —

QUEEN ELIZABETH

Thy life hath it dishonored.

RICHARD

378

Why then, by ⟨God.⟩

QUEEN ELIZABETH

⟨God’s⟩ wrong is most of all.

379

If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him,

380

The unity the King my husband made

381

Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died.

382

If thou hadst feared to break an oath by Him,

383

Th’ imperial metal circling now thy head

384

Had graced the tender temples of my child,

385

And both the Princes had been breathing here,

386

Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust,

387

Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms.

388

What canst thou swear by now?

RICHARD

The time to come.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

389

That thou hast wrongèd in the time o’erpast;

390

For I myself have many tears to wash

391

Hereafter time, for time past wronged by thee.

392

The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughtered,

393

Ungoverned youth, to wail it ⟨in⟩ their age;

394

The parents live whose children thou hast butchered,

395

Old barren plants, to wail it with their age.

396

Swear not by time to come, for that thou hast

397

Misused ere used, by times ill-used ⟨o’erpast.⟩

RICHARD

398

As I intend to prosper and repent,

399

So thrive I in my dangerous affairs

400

Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound,

401

Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours,

402

Day, yield me not thy light, nor night thy rest,

403

Be opposite all planets of good luck

404

To my proceeding if, with dear heart’s love,

405

Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,

406

I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter.

407

In her consists my happiness and thine.

408

Without her follows to myself and thee,

409

Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul,

410

Death, desolation, ruin, and decay.

411

It cannot be avoided but by this;

412

It will not be avoided but by this.

413

Therefore, dear mother — I must call you so —

414

Be the attorney of my love to her;

415

Plead what I will be, not what I have been;

416

Not my deserts, but what I will deserve.

417

Urge the necessity and state of times,

418

And be not peevish found in great designs.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

419

Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

RICHARD

420

Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

421

Shall I forget myself to be myself?

RICHARD

422

Ay, if your self’s remembrance wrong yourself.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

423

Yet thou didst kill my children.

RICHARD

424

But in your daughter’s womb I bury them,

425

Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed

426

Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

427

Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

RICHARD

428

And be a happy mother by the deed.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

429

I go. Write to me very shortly,

430

And you shall understand from me her mind.

RICHARD

431

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

Queen exits.

432

Relenting fool and shallow, changing woman!

Enter Ratcliffe.

433

How now, what news?

RATCLIFFE

434

Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast

435

Rideth a puissant navy. To our shores

436

Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,

437

Unarmed and unresolved to beat them back.

438

’Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;

439

And there they hull, expecting but the aid

440

Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

RICHARD

441

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

442

Ratcliffe thyself, or Catesby. Where is he?

CATESBY

443

Here, my good lord.

RICHARD

Catesby, fly to the Duke.

CATESBY

444

I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.

RICHARD

445

⸢Ratcliffe,⸣ come hither. Post to Salisbury.

446

When thou com’st thither —

⸢To Catesby.⸣

Dull, unmindful villain,

447

Why stay’st thou here and go’st not to the Duke?

CATESBY

448

First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness’ pleasure,

449

What from your Grace I shall deliver to him.

RICHARD

450

O true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight

451

The greatest strength and power that he can make

452

And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.

CATESBY

453

I go.

He exits.

RATCLIFFE

454

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

RICHARD

455

Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?

RATCLIFFE

456

Your Highness told me I should post before.

RICHARD

457

My mind is changed.

Enter Lord Stanley.

Stanley, what news with you?

STANLEY

458

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

459

Nor none so bad but well may be reported.

RICHARD

460

Hoyday, a riddle! Neither good nor bad.

461

What need’st thou run so many miles about

462

When thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way?

463

Once more, what news?

STANLEY

Richmond is on the seas.

RICHARD

464

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

465

White-livered runagate, what doth he there?

STANLEY

466

I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

RICHARD

467

Well, as you guess?

STANLEY

468

Stirred up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,

469

He makes for England, here to claim the crown.

RICHARD

470

Is the chair empty? Is the sword unswayed?

471

Is the King dead, the empire unpossessed?

472

What heir of York is there alive but we?

473

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

474

Then tell me, what makes he upon the seas?

STANLEY

475

Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.

RICHARD

476

Unless for that he comes to be your liege,

477

You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.

478

Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.

STANLEY

479

No, my good lord. Therefore mistrust me not.

RICHARD

480

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

481

Where be thy tenants and thy followers?

482

Are they not now upon the western shore,

483

Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?

STANLEY

484

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

RICHARD

485

Cold friends to me. What do they in the north

486

When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

STANLEY

487

They have not been commanded, mighty king.

488

Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave,

489

I’ll muster up my friends and meet your Grace

490

Where and what time your Majesty shall please.

RICHARD

491

Ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond,

492

But I’ll not trust thee.

STANLEY

Most mighty sovereign,

493

You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful.

494

I never was nor never will be false.

RICHARD

495

Go then and muster men, but leave behind

496

Your son George Stanley. Look your heart be firm,

497

Or else his head’s assurance is but frail.

STANLEY

498

So deal with him as I prove true to you.

Stanley exits.

Enter a Messenger.

⸢FIRST⸣ MESSENGER

499

My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,

500

As I by friends am well advertisèd,

501

Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate,

502

Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,

503

With many more confederates are in arms.

Enter another Messenger.

⸢SECOND⸣ MESSENGER

504

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

505

And every hour more competitors

506

Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.

Enter another Messenger.

⸢THIRD⸣ MESSENGER

507

My lord, the army of great Buckingham —

RICHARD

508

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

He striketh him.

509

There, take thou that till thou bring better news.

⸢THIRD⸣ MESSENGER

510

The news I have to tell your Majesty

511

Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters

512

Buckingham’s army is dispersed and scattered,

513

And he himself wandered away alone,

514

No man knows whither.

RICHARD

I cry thee mercy.

515

There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.

⸢He gives money.⸣

516

Hath any well-advisèd friend proclaimed

517

Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

⸢THIRD⸣ MESSENGER

518

Such proclamation hath been made, my lord.

Enter another Messenger.

⸢FOURTH⸣ MESSENGER

519

Sir Thomas Lovell and Lord Marquess Dorset,

520

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

521

But this good comfort bring I to your Highness:

522

The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest.

523

Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat

524

Unto the shore to ask those on the banks

525

If they were his assistants, yea, or no —

526

Who answered him they came from Buckingham

527

Upon his party. He, mistrusting them,

528

Hoised sail and made his course again for Brittany.

RICHARD

529

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

530

If not to fight with foreign enemies,

531

Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.

Enter Catesby.

CATESBY

532

My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken.

533

That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond

534

Is with a mighty power landed at Milford

535

Is colder ⟨tidings,⟩ yet they must be told.

RICHARD

536

Away towards Salisbury! While we reason here,

537

A royal battle might be won and lost.

538

Someone take order Buckingham be brought

539

To Salisbury. The rest march on with me.

Flourish. They exit.

⸢Scene 5⸣

Enter ⸢Stanley, Earl of⸣ Derby, and Sir Christopher.

STANLEY

Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:

That in the sty of the most deadly boar

My son George Stanley is franked 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’rfordwest in Wales.

STANLEY

What men of name resort to him?

CHRISTOPHER

Sir Walter Herbert, a renownèd 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

⸢giving Sir Christopher a paper⸣

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

My letter will resolve him of my mind.

Farewell.

They exit.

ACT 5

Scene 1

Enter Buckingham, with ⸢Sheriff and⸣ Halberds, 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 miscarrièd

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.

BUCKINGHAM

Why, then, All Souls’ Day is my body’s doomsday.

This is the day which, in King Edward’s time,

I wished might fall on me when I was found

False to his children and his wife’s allies.

This is the day wherein I wished to fall

By the false faith of him whom most I trusted.

This, this All Souls’ Day to my fearful soul

Is the determined respite of my wrongs.

That high All-seer which I dallied with

Hath turned my feignèd prayer on my head

And given in earnest what I begged 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.

Buckingham exits with Officers.

Scene 2

Enter Richmond, Oxford, Blunt, Herbert, and others, with Drum and Colors.

RICHMOND

Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,

Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny,

Thus far into the bowels of the land

Have we marched on without impediment,

And here receive we from our father Stanley

Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.

The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,

That spoiled your summer fields and fruitful vines,

Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough

In your embowelled bosoms — this foul swine

Is 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.

OXFORD

Every man’s conscience is a thousand men

To fight against this guilty 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.

All exit.

⸢Scene 3⸣

Enter King Richard, in arms, with Norfolk, Ratcliffe, and the Earl of Surrey, ⸢with Soldiers.⸣

RICHARD

Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth field.

⸢Soldiers begin to pitch the tent.⸣

My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

SURREY

My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.

RICHARD

My lord of Norfolk —

NORFOLK

Here, most gracious liege.

RICHARD

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

NORFOLK

We must both give and take, my loving lord.

RICHARD

Up with my tent! — Here will I lie tonight.

But where tomorrow? Well, all’s one for that.

Who hath descried the number of the traitors?

NORFOLK

Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.

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, tomorrow is a busy day.

⸢The tent now in place,⸣ they exit.

Enter Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, Dorset, ⸢Herbert , Blunt, and others who set up Richmond’s tent.⸣

RICHMOND

The weary sun hath made a golden set,

And by the bright ⟨track⟩ of his fiery car

Gives token of a goodly day tomorrow. —

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 goodnight 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 quartered, do you know?

BLUNT

Unless I have mista’en his colors much,

Which well I am assured 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.

⸢He gives a paper.⸣

BLUNT

Upon my life, my lord, I’ll undertake it,

And so God give you quiet rest tonight.

RICHMOND

Good night, good Captain Blunt.

⸢Blunt exits.⸣

Come, gentlemen,

Let us consult upon tomorrow’s business.

Into my tent. The dew is raw and cold.

⸢Richmond , Brandon, Dorset, Herbert, and Oxford⸣ withdraw into the tent.

⸢The others exit.⸣

Enter ⸢to his tent⸣ Richard, Ratcliffe, Norfolk, and Catesby, ⸢with Soldiers.⸣

RICHARD

What is ’t o’clock?

CATESBY

It’s suppertime, my lord. It’s nine o’clock.

RICHARD

I will not sup tonight. Give me some ink and paper.

What, is my beaver easier than it was,

And all my armor laid into my tent?

CATESBY

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

RICHARD

Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge.

Use careful watch. Choose trusty [sentinels.]

NORFOLK

I go, my lord.

RICHARD

Stir with the lark tomorrow, gentle Norfolk.

NORFOLK

I warrant you, my lord.

[He exits.]

RICHARD

Catesby.

⸢CATESBY⸣

My lord.

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.

⸢Catesby exits.⸣

⸢To Soldiers.⸣

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

Saddle white Surrey for the field tomorrow.

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

Ratcliffe.

RATCLIFFE

My lord.

RICHARD

Sawst thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

RATCLIFFE

Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself,

Much about cockshut time, from troop to troop

Went through the army cheering up the soldiers.

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.

⸢Wine is brought.⸣

Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?

RATCLIFFE

It is, my lord.

RICHARD

Bid my guard watch. Leave me.

Ratcliffe, about the mid of night come to my tent

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

Ratcliffe exits.

⸢Richard sleeps in his tent, which is guarded by Soldiers.⸣

Enter ⸢Stanley , Earl of⸣ Derby to Richmond in his tent.

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 arbitrament

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

100

And ample interchange of sweet discourse,

101

Which so-long-sundered friends should dwell upon.

102

God give us leisure for these rites of love!

103

Once more, adieu. Be valiant and speed well.

RICHMOND

104

Good lords, conduct him to his regiment.

105

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

106

Lest leaden slumber peise me down tomorrow

107

When I should mount with wings of victory.

108

Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.

⸢All but Richmond leave his tent and⸣ exit.

⸢Richmond kneels.⸣

109

O Thou, whose captain I account myself,

110

Look on my forces with a gracious eye.

111

Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath,

112

That they may crush down with a heavy fall

113

The usurping helmets of our adversaries.

114

Make us Thy ministers of chastisement,

115

That we may praise Thee in the victory.

116

To Thee I do commend my watchful soul,

117

[Ere] I let fall the windows of mine eyes.

118

Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still!

[Sleeps.]

Enter the Ghost of young Prince Edward, son [to] Harry the Sixth.

GHOST ⸢OF EDWARD⸣

119

(to Richard)

Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow.

120

Think how thou ⸢stabbed’st⸣ me in my prime of youth

121

At Tewkesbury. Despair therefore, and die!

122

(To Richmond.)

Be cheerful, Richmond, for the wrongèd souls

123

Of butchered princes fight in thy behalf.

124

King Henry’s issue, Richmond, comforts thee.

⸢He exits.⸣

Enter the Ghost of Henry the Sixth.

GHOST ⸢OF HENRY⸣

125

(to Richard)

When I was mortal, my anointed body

126

By thee was punchèd full of deadly holes.

127

Think on the Tower and me. Despair and die!

128

Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die.

129

(To Richmond.)

Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror.

130

Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king,

131

Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish.

⸢He exits.⸣

Enter the Ghost of Clarence.

GHOST ⸢OF CLARENCE⸣

132

⸢(to Richard)⸣

Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow,

133

I, that was washed to death with fulsome wine,

134

Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death.

135

Tomorrow in the battle think on me,

136

And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die!

137

(To Richmond.)

Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster,

138

The wrongèd heirs of York do pray for thee.

139

Good angels guard thy battle. Live and flourish.

⸢He exits.⸣

Enter the Ghosts of Rivers, Grey, [and] Vaughan.

⸢GHOST OF RIVERS⸣

140

⸢(to Richard)⸣

Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow,

141

Rivers, that died at Pomfret. Despair and die!

⸢GHOST OF⸣ GREY

142

⸢(to Richard)⸣

Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair!

⸢GHOST OF⸣ VAUGHAN

143

⸢(to Richard)⸣

Think upon Vaughan, and with guilty fear

144

Let fall thy lance. Despair and die!

ALL

145

(to Richmond)

Awake, and think our wrongs in Richard’s bosom

146

[Will] conquer him. Awake, and win the day.

⸢They exit.⸣

Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes.

⸢GHOSTS OF PRINCES⸣

147

(to Richard)

Dream on thy cousins smothered in the Tower.

148

Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard,

149

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

150

Thy nephews’ souls bid thee despair and die.

151

(To Richmond.)

Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace and wake in joy.

152

Good angels guard thee from the boar’s annoy.

153

Live, and beget a happy race of kings.

154

Edward’s unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.

⸢They exit.⸣

Enter the Ghost of Hastings.

GHOST ⸢OF HASTINGS⸣

155

⸢(to Richard)⸣

Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake,

156

And in a bloody battle end thy days.

157

Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die!

158

(To Richmond.)

Quiet, untroubled soul, awake, awake.

159

Arm, fight, and conquer for fair England’s sake.

⸢He exits.⸣

Enter the Ghost of Lady Anne his wife.

⸢GHOST OF ANNE⸣

160

⸢(to Richard)⸣

Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife,

161

That never slept a quiet hour with thee,

162

Now fills thy sleep with perturbations.

163

Tomorrow, in the battle, think on me,

164

And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die!

165

(To Richmond.)

Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep.

166

Dream of success and happy victory.

167

Thy adversary’s wife doth pray for thee.

⸢She exits.⸣

Enter the Ghost of Buckingham.

⸢GHOST OF BUCKINGHAM⸣

168

⸢(to Richard)⸣

The first was I that helped thee to the crown;

169

The last was I that felt thy tyranny.

170

O, in the battle think on Buckingham,

171

And die in terror of thy guiltiness.

172

Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.

173

Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath.

174

(To Richmond.)

I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid,

175

But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismayed.

176

God and good angels fight on Richmond’s side,

177

And Richard [fall] in height of all his pride.

⸢He exits.⸣

Richard starteth up out of a dream.

RICHARD

178

Give me another horse! Bind up my wounds!

179

Have mercy, Jesu! — Soft, I did but dream.

180

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!

181

The lights burn blue; it is now dead midnight.

182

Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.

183

What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by.

184

Richard loves Richard, that is, I [am] I.

185

Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am.

186

Then fly! What, from myself? Great reason why:

187

Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself?

188

Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good

189

That I myself have done unto myself?

190

O, no. Alas, I rather hate myself

191

For hateful deeds committed by myself.

192

I am a villain. Yet I lie; I am not.

193

Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter.

194

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,

195

And every tongue brings in a several tale,

196

And every tale condemns me for a villain.

197

Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree;

198

Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree;

199

All several sins, all used in each degree,

200

Throng to the bar, crying all “Guilty, guilty!”

201

I shall despair. There is no creature loves me,

202

And if I die no soul will pity me.

203

And wherefore should they, since that I myself

204

Find in myself no pity to myself?

205

Methought the souls of all that I had murdered

206

Came to my tent, and every one did threat

207

Tomorrow’s vengeance on the head of Richard.

Enter Ratcliffe.

RATCLIFFE

208

My lord.

RICHARD

209

Zounds, who is there?

RATCLIFFE

210

Ratcliffe, my lord, ’tis I. The early village cock

211

Hath twice done salutation to the morn.

212

Your friends are up and buckle on their armor.

RICHARD

213

O Ratcliffe, I have dreamed a fearful dream!

214

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

RATCLIFFE

215

No doubt, my lord.

RICHARD

O Ratcliffe, I fear, I fear.

RATCLIFFE

216

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

RICHARD

217

By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight

218

Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard

219

Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers

220

Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond.

221

’Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me.

222

Under our tents I’ll play the eavesdropper

223

To see if any mean to shrink from me.

[Richard and Ratcliffe] exit.

Enter the Lords to Richmond, [in his tent.]

LORDS

224

Good morrow, Richmond.

RICHMOND

225

Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,

226

That you have ta’en a tardy sluggard here.

A LORD

227

How have you slept, my lord?

RICHMOND

228

The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams

229

That ever entered in a drowsy head

230

Have I since your departure had, my lords.

231

Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murdered

232

Came to my tent and cried on victory.

233

I promise you, my soul is very jocund

234

In the remembrance of so fair a dream.

235

How far into the morning is it, lords?

A LORD

236

Upon the stroke of four.

RICHMOND

237

⸢leaving the tent⸣

Why, then ’tis time to arm and give direction.

His oration to his soldiers.

238

More than I have said, loving countrymen,

239

The leisure and enforcement of the time

240

Forbids to dwell upon. Yet remember this:

241

God, and our good cause, fight upon our side.

242

The prayers of holy saints and wrongèd souls,

243

Like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our faces.

244

Richard except, those whom we fight against

245

Had rather have us win than him they follow.

246

For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen,

247

A bloody tyrant and a homicide;

248

One raised in blood, and one in blood established;

249

One that made means to come by what he hath,

250

And slaughtered those that were the means to help him;

251

A base foul stone, made precious by the foil

252

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

253

One that hath ever been God’s enemy.

254

Then if you fight against God’s enemy,

255

God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers.

256

If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,

257

You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain.

258

If you do fight against your country’s foes,

259

Your country’s fat shall pay your pains the hire.

260

If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,

261

Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors.

262

If you do free your children from the sword,

263

Your children’s children quits it in your age.

264

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

265

Advance your standards; draw your willing swords.

266

For me, the ransom of my bold attempt

267

Shall be this cold corpse on the Earth’s cold face,

268

But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt

269

The least of you shall share his part thereof.

270

Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully.

271

God, and Saint George, Richmond, and victory!

⸢They exit.⸣

Enter King Richard, Ratcliffe, ⸢and Soldiers.⸣

RICHARD

272

What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?

RATCLIFFE

273

That he was never trainèd up in arms.

RICHARD

274

He said the truth. And what said Surrey then?

RATCLIFFE

275

He smiled and said “The better for our purpose.”

RICHARD

276

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

The clock striketh.

277

Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar.

⸢He looks in an almanac.⸣

278

Who saw the sun today?

RATCLIFFE

Not I, my lord.

RICHARD

279

Then he disdains to shine, for by the book

280

He should have braved the east an hour ago.

281

A black day will it be to somebody.

282

Ratcliffe!

RATCLIFFE

283

My lord.

RICHARD

The sun will [not] be seen today.

284

The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.

285

I would these dewy tears were from the ground.

286

Not shine today? Why, what is that to me

287

More than to Richmond, for the selfsame heaven

288

That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.

Enter Norfolk.

NORFOLK

289

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

RICHARD

290

Come, bustle, bustle. Caparison my horse. —

291

Call up Lord Stanley; bid him bring his power. —

292

I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,

293

And thus my battle shall be orderèd:

294

My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,

295

Consisting equally of horse and foot;

296

Our archers shall be placèd in the midst.

297

John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,

298

Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.

299

They thus directed, we will follow

300

In the main battle, whose puissance on either side

301

Shall be well wingèd with our chiefest horse.

302

This, and Saint George to [boot]! — What think’st thou, Norfolk?

NORFOLK

303

A good direction, warlike sovereign.

He sheweth him a paper.

304

This found I on my tent this morning.

⸢RICHARD⸣

305

⸢reads⸣

Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold.

306

For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.

307

A thing devisèd by the enemy. —

308

Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge.

309

Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls.

310

Conscience is but a word that cowards use,

311

Devised at first to keep the strong in awe.

312

Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.

313

March on. Join bravely. Let us to it pell mell,

314

If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.

His oration to his army.

315

What shall I say more than I have inferred?

316

Remember whom you are to cope withal,

317

A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,

318

A scum of Bretons and base lackey peasants,

319

Whom their o’ercloyèd country vomits forth

320

To desperate adventures and assured destruction.

321

You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;

322

You having lands and blessed with beauteous wives,

323

They would restrain the one, distain the other.

324

And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,

325

Long kept in Brittany at our mother’s cost,

326

A milksop, one that never in his life

327

Felt so much cold as overshoes in snow?

328

Let’s whip these stragglers o’er the seas again,

329

Lash hence these overweening rags of France,

330

These famished beggars weary of their lives,

331

Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,

332

For want of means, poor rats, had hanged themselves.

333

If we be conquered, let men conquer us,

334

And not these bastard Bretons, whom our fathers

335

Have in their own land beaten, bobbed, and thumped,

336

And in record left them the heirs of shame.

337

Shall these enjoy our lands, lie with our wives,

338

Ravish our daughters?

[Drum afar off.]

Hark, I hear their drum.

339

Fight, gentlemen of England. — Fight, bold yeomen. —

340

Draw, archers; draw your arrows to the head. —

341

Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood.

342

Amaze the welkin with your broken staves. —

[Enter a Messenger.]

343

What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?

MESSENGER

344

My lord, he doth deny to come.

RICHARD

345

Off with his son George’s head!

NORFOLK

346

My lord, the enemy is past the marsh.

347

After the battle let George Stanley die.

RICHARD

348

A thousand hearts are great within my bosom.

349

Advance our standards. Set upon our foes.

350

Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,

351

Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons.

352

Upon them! Victory sits on our helms.

They exit.

⸢Scene 4⸣

Enter ⸢Norfolk, with Soldiers, and⸣ 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.

⸢Norfolk exits with Soldiers.⸣

[Alarums.] Enter Richard.

RICHARD

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

CATESBY

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

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 today instead of him.

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

⸢They exit.⸣

⸢Scene 5⸣

Alarum.

[Enter Richard and Richmond.

They fight. Richard is slain.

[Flourish.]

[Enter Richmond, ⸢Stanley, Earl of⸣ Derby, bearing the crown, with other Lords, ⸢and Soldiers.⸣

RICHMOND

God and your arms be praised, victorious friends!

The day is ours; the bloody dog is dead.

STANLEY

⸢offering him the crown⸣

Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee.

Lo, here this long-usurpèd royalty

From the dead temples of this bloody wretch

Have I plucked 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 frowned upon their enmity.

What traitor hears me and says not “Amen”?

England hath long been mad and scarred herself:

The brother blindly shed the brother’s blood;

The father rashly slaughtered his own son;

The son, compelled, 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-faced 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 stopped, peace lives again.

That she may long live here, God say amen.

[They exit.]