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Richard III

by William Shakespeare

Dramatis Personae

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?

George, Duke of Clarence:His Majesty, Tend’ring my person’s safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

Richard:Upon what cause?

George, Duke of 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?

George, Duke of 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.

George, Duke of 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.

Sir Robert 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?

Sir Robert 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, Were best to do it secretly, alone.

Sir Robert Brakenbury:I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

George, Duke of Clarence:We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

Richard:We are the Queen’s abjects and must obey.— Brother, farewell. I will unto the King, And whatsoe’er you will employ me in, Were it to call King Edward’s widow "sister," I will perform it to enfranchise you. Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

George, Duke of Clarence:I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

Richard:Well, your imprisonment shall not be long. I will deliver you or else lie for you. Meantime, have patience.

George, Duke of Clarence:I must, perforce. Farewell.

Exit Clarence, Brakenbury, and guard.

Richard:Go tread the path that thou shalt ne’er return. Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings?

Enter Lord Hastings.

William, Lord Hastings:Good time of day unto my gracious lord.

Richard:As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain. Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your Lordship brooked imprisonment?

William, Lord Hastings:With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must. But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment.

Richard:No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too, For they that were your enemies are his And have prevailed as much on him as you.

William, Lord Hastings:More pity that the eagles should be mewed, Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

Richard:What news abroad?

William, Lord Hastings:No news so bad abroad as this at home: The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily.

Richard:Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person. ’Tis very grievous to be thought upon. Where is he, in his bed?

William, Lord Hastings:He is.

Richard:Go you before, and I will follow you. [Exit Hastings.] He cannot live, I hope, and must not die Till George be packed with post-horse up to heaven. I’ll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence With lies well steeled with weighty arguments, And, if I fail not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live; Which done, God take King Edward to His mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in. For then I’ll marry Warwick’s youngest daughter. What though I killed her husband and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her husband and her father; The which will I, not all so much for love As for another secret close intent By marrying her which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market. Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns. 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.

Lady 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.

Lady 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.

Lady 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.

Lady 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.

Lady 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.

Lady 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.

Lady 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.

Lady 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.

Lady 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.

Lady Anne:Then say they were not slain. But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

Richard:I did not kill your husband.

Lady Anne:Why then, he is alive.

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

Lady 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, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

Lady Anne:Thou wast provokèd by thy bloody mind, That never dream’st on aught but butcheries. Didst thou not kill this king?

Richard:I grant you.

Lady Anne:Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damnèd for that wicked deed. O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

Richard:The better for the King of heaven that hath him.

Lady Anne:He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

Richard:Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither, For he was fitter for that place than Earth.

Lady Anne:And thou unfit for any place but hell.

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

Lady Anne:Some dungeon.

Richard:Your bedchamber.

Lady Anne:Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

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

Lady Anne:I hope so.

Richard:I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits And fall something into a slower method: Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner?

Lady Anne:Thou wast the cause and most accursed effect.

Richard:Your beauty was the cause of that effect— Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

Lady Anne:If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

Richard:These eyes could not endure that beauty’s wrack. You should not blemish it, if I stood by. As all the world is cheerèd by the sun, So I by that. It is my day, my life.

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

Richard:Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.

Lady Anne:I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

Richard:It is a quarrel most unnatural To be revenged on him that loveth thee.

Lady Anne:It is a quarrel just and reasonable To be revenged on him that killed my husband.

Richard:He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband Did it to help thee to a better husband.

Lady Anne:His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

Richard:He lives that loves thee better than he could.

Lady Anne:Name him.

Richard:Plantagenet.

Lady Anne:Why, that was he.

Richard:The selfsame name, but one of better nature.

Lady Anne:Where is he?

Richard:Here. [(She spits at him.)] Why dost thou spit at me?

Lady Anne:Would it were mortal poison for thy sake.

Richard:Never came poison from so sweet a place.

Lady Anne:Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.

Richard:Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

Lady Anne:Would they were basilisks’ to strike thee dead.

Richard:I would they were, that I might die at once, For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their aspects with store of childish drops. These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear— No, when my father York and Edward wept To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father’s death And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedashed with rain—in that sad time, My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word. But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue to speak. [She looks scornfully at him.] Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword, Which if thou please to hide in this true breast And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke And humbly beg the death upon my knee. [He kneels and lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword.] Nay, do not pause, for I did kill King Henry— But ’twas thy beauty that provokèd me. Nay, now dispatch; ’twas I that stabbed young Edward— But ’twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [She falls the sword.] Take up the sword again, or take up me.

Lady Anne:Arise, dissembler. Though I wish thy death, I will not be thy executioner.

Richard:[rising] Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

Lady Anne:I have already.

Richard:That was in thy rage. Speak it again and, even with the word, This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love, Shall for thy love kill a far truer love. To both their deaths shalt thou be accessory.

Lady Anne:I would I knew thy heart.

Richard:’Tis figured in my tongue.

Lady Anne:I fear me both are false.

Richard:Then never was man true.

Lady Anne:Well, well, put up your sword.

Richard:Say then my peace is made.

Lady Anne:That shalt thou know hereafter.

Richard:But shall I live in hope?

Lady Anne:All men I hope live so.

Richard:Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

Lady Anne:To take is not to give.

He places the ring on her hand.

Richard:Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger; Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart. Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted servant may But beg one favor at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness forever.

Lady Anne:What is it?

Richard:That it may please you leave these sad designs To him that hath most cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby House, Where, after I have solemnly interred At Chertsey monast’ry this noble king And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you. For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, Grant me this boon.

Lady Anne:With all my heart, and much it joys me too To see you are become so penitent.— Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.

Richard:Bid me farewell.

Lady Anne:’Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said "farewell" already.

Two exit with Anne. The bier is taken up.

Gentleman:Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

Richard:No, to Whitefriars. There attend my coming. [Halberds and gentlemen exit with corse.] Was ever woman in this humor wooed? Was ever woman in this humor won? I’ll have her, but I will not keep her long. What, I that killed her husband and his father, To take her in her heart’s extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of my hatred by, Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no friends to back my suit at all But the plain devil and dissembling looks? And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I some three months since Stabbed in my angry mood at Tewkesbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford. And will she yet abase her eyes on me, That cropped the golden prime of this sweet prince And made her widow to a woeful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward’s moiety? On me, that halts and am misshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while! Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marv’lous proper man. I’ll be at charges for a looking glass And entertain a score or two of tailors To study fashions to adorn my body. Since I am crept in favor with myself, I will maintain it with some little cost. But first I’ll turn yon fellow in his grave And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, 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.

Earl Rivers:Have patience, madam. There’s no doubt his Majesty Will soon recover his accustomed health.

Lord 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?

Lord Grey:No other harm but loss of such a lord.

Queen Elizabeth:The loss of such a lord includes all harms.

Lord 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.

Earl 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.

Lord Grey:Here comes the lord of Buckingham, and Derby.

Duke of Buckingham:[to Queen Elizabeth] Good time of day unto your royal Grace.

Lord 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.

Lord 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?

Lord Stanley:But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his Majesty.

Queen Elizabeth:What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

Duke of Buckingham:Madam, good hope. His Grace speaks cheerfully.

Queen Elizabeth:God grant him health. Did you confer with him?

Duke of 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?

Lord 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.

Earl 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—

Earl Rivers:What, marry, may she?

Richard:What, marry, may she? Marry with a king, A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too. Iwis, your grandam had a worser match.

Queen Elizabeth:My lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs. By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty Of those gross taunts that oft I have endured. I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen with this condition, To be so baited, scorned, and stormèd at. [Enter old Queen Margaret, apart from the others.] Small joy have I in being England’s queen.

Queen Margaret:[aside] And lessened be that small, God I beseech Him! Thy honor, state, and seat is due to me.

Richard:[to Queen Elizabeth] What, threat you me with telling of the King? Tell him and spare not. Look, what I have said, I will avouch ’t in presence of the King; I dare adventure to be sent to th’ Tower. ’Tis time to speak. My pains are quite forgot.

Queen Margaret:[aside] Out, devil! I do remember them too well: Thou killed’st my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewkesbury.

Richard:[to Queen Elizabeth] Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king, I was a packhorse in his great affairs, A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends. To royalize his blood, I spent mine own.

Queen Margaret:[aside] Ay, and much better blood than his or thine.

Richard:[to Queen Elizabeth] In all which time, you and your husband Grey Were factious for the House of Lancaster.— And, Rivers, so were you.—Was not your husband In Margaret’s battle at Saint Albans slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere this, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Queen Margaret:[aside] A murd’rous villain, and so still thou art.

Richard:[to Queen Elizabeth] Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick, Ay, and forswore himself—which Jesu pardon!—

Queen Margaret:[aside] Which God revenge!

Richard:To fight on Edward’s party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up. I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward’s, Or Edward’s soft and pitiful, like mine. I am too childish-foolish for this world.

Queen Margaret:[aside] Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this world, Thou cacodemon! There thy kingdom is.

Earl Rivers:My lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We followed then our lord, our sovereign king. So should we you, if you should be our king.

Richard:If I should be? I had rather be a peddler. Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof.

Queen Elizabeth:As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy were you this country’s king, As little joy you may suppose in me That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.

Queen Margaret:[aside] As little joy enjoys the queen thereof, For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. [She steps forward.] Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pilled from me! Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that I am queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels.— Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away.

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

Queen Margaret:But repetition of what thou hast marred. That will I make before I let thee go.

Richard:Wert thou not banishèd on pain of death?

Queen Margaret:I was, but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode. A husband and a son thou ow’st to me; [To Queen Elizabeth.] And thou a kingdom;—all of you, allegiance. This sorrow that I have by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.

Richard:The curse my noble father laid on thee When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper, And with thy scorns drew’st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gav’st the Duke a clout Steeped in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland— His curses then, from bitterness of soul Denounced against thee, are all fall’n upon thee, And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.

Queen Elizabeth:So just is God to right the innocent.

William, Lord Hastings:O, ’twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e’er was heard of!

Earl Rivers:Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

Marquess of Dorset:No man but prophesied revenge for it.

Duke of Buckingham:Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

Queen Margaret:What, were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York’s dread curse prevail so much with heaven That Henry’s death, my lovely Edward’s death, Their kingdom’s loss, my woeful banishment, Should all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder to make him a king. [To Queen Elizabeth.] Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales, For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence. Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self. Long mayst thou live to wail thy children’s death And see another, as I see thee now, Decked in thy rights, as thou art stalled in mine. Long die thy happy days before thy death, And, after many lengthened hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England’s queen.— Rivers and Dorset, you were standers-by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabbed with bloody daggers. God I pray Him That none of you may live his natural age, But by some unlooked accident cut off.

Richard:Have done thy charm, thou hateful, withered hag.

Queen Margaret:And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world’s peace. The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul. Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv’st, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends. No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be while some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils. Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog, Thou that wast sealed in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell, Thou slander of thy heavy mother’s womb, Thou loathèd issue of thy father’s loins, Thou rag of honor, thou detested—

Richard:Margaret.

Queen Margaret:Richard!

Richard:Ha?

Queen Margaret:I call thee not.

Richard:I cry thee mercy, then, for I did think That thou hadst called me all these bitter names.

Queen Margaret:Why, so I did, but looked for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse!

Richard:’Tis done by me and ends in "Margaret."

Queen Elizabeth:[to Queen Margaret] Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.

Queen Margaret:Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune, Why strew’st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool, thou whet’st a knife to kill thyself. The day will come that thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-backed toad.

William, Lord Hastings:False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.

Queen Margaret:Foul shame upon you, you have all moved mine.

Earl Rivers:Were you well served, you would be taught your duty.

Queen Margaret:To serve me well, you all should do me duty: Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects. O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!

Marquess of Dorset:[to Rivers] Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.

Queen Margaret:Peace, Master Marquess, you are malapert. Your fire-new stamp of honor is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What ’twere to lose it and be miserable! They that stand high have many blasts to shake them, And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

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

Marquess of Dorset:It touches you, my lord, as much as me.

Richard:Ay, and much more; but I was born so high. Our aerie buildeth in the cedar’s top, And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.

Queen Margaret:And turns the sun to shade. Alas, alas, Witness my son, now in the shade of death, Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aerie buildeth in our aerie’s nest. O God, that seest it, do not suffer it! As it is won with blood, lost be it so.

Duke of Buckingham:Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity.

Queen Margaret:Urge neither charity nor shame to me. [Addressing the others.] Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully my hopes by you are butchered. My charity is outrage, life my shame, And in that shame still live my sorrows’ rage.

Duke of Buckingham:Have done, have done.

Queen Margaret:O princely Buckingham, I’ll kiss thy hand In sign of league and amity with thee. Now fair befall thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

Duke of Buckingham:Nor no one here, for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

Queen Margaret:I will not think but they ascend the sky, And there awake God’s gentle sleeping peace. [Aside to Buckingham.] O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death. Have not to do with him. Beware of him. Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him.

Richard:What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?

Duke of Buckingham:Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

Queen Margaret:What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel, And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say poor Margaret was a prophetess.— Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God’s.

She exits.

Duke of Buckingham:My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses.

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

Richard:I cannot blame her. By God’s holy mother, She hath had too much wrong, and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her.

Queen Elizabeth:I never did her any, to my knowledge.

Richard:Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid; He is franked up to fatting for his pains. God pardon them that are the cause thereof.

Earl Rivers:A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion To pray for them that have done scathe to us.

Richard:So do I ever— [(speaks to himself)] being well advised, For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself.

Enter Catesby.

Sir William Catesby:Madam, his Majesty doth call for you,— And for your Grace,—and yours, my gracious lords.

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

Earl Rivers:We wait upon your Grace.

All but Richard, Duke of Gloucester exit.

Richard:I do the wrong and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls, Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham, And tell them ’tis the Queen and her allies That stir the King against the Duke my brother. Now they believe it and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Dorset, Grey; But then I sigh and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil; And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol’n forth of Holy Writ, And seem a saint when most I play the devil. [Enter two Murderers.] But soft, here come my executioners.— How now, my hardy, stout, resolvèd mates? Are you now going to dispatch this thing?

First Murderer:We are, my lord, and come to have the warrant That we may be admitted where he is.

Richard:Well thought upon. I have it here about me. [He gives a paper.] When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate; do not hear him plead, For Clarence is well-spoken and perhaps May move your hearts to pity if you mark him.

First Murderer:Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate. Talkers are no good doers. Be assured We go to use our hands and not our tongues.

Richard:Your eyes drop millstones when fools’ eyes fall tears. I like you lads. About your business straight. Go, go, dispatch.

First Murderer, Second Murderer:We will, my noble lord.

They exit.

Scene 4

Enter Clarence and Keeper.

Keeper:Why looks your Grace so heavily today?

George, Duke of 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.

George, Duke of 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?

George, Duke of 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?

George, Duke of 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.

George, Duke of 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.

Sir Robert 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?

Sir Robert Brakenbury:What wouldst thou, fellow? And how cam’st thou hither?

Second Murderer:I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.

Sir Robert Brakenbury:What, so brief?

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

Brakenbury reads the commission.

Sir Robert 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:You may, sir. ’Tis a point of wisdom. Fare you well.

Brakenbury and the Keeper exit.

Second Murderer:What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?

First Murderer:No. He’ll say ’twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

Second Murderer:Why, he shall never wake until the great Judgment Day.

First Murderer:Why, then he’ll say we stabbed him sleeping.

Second Murderer:The urging of that word "judgment" hath bred a kind of remorse in me.

First Murderer:What, art thou afraid?

Second Murderer:Not to kill him, having a warrant, but to be damned for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.

First Murderer:I thought thou hadst been resolute.

Second Murderer:So I am—to let him live.

First Murderer:I’ll back to the Duke of Gloucester and tell him so.

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

First Murderer:How dost thou feel thyself now?

Second Murderer:Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.

First Murderer:Remember our reward when the deed’s done.

Second Murderer:Zounds, he dies! I had forgot the reward.

First Murderer:Where’s thy conscience now?

Second Murderer:O, in the Duke of Gloucester’s purse.

First Murderer:When he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out.

Second Murderer:’Tis no matter. Let it go. There’s few or none will entertain it.

First Murderer:What if it come to thee again?

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

First Murderer:Zounds, ’tis even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the Duke.

Second Murderer:Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not. He would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh.

First Murderer:I am strong-framed. He cannot prevail with me.

Second Murderer:Spoke like a tall man that respects thy reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?

First Murderer:Take him on the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey butt in the next room.

Second Murderer:O, excellent device—and make a sop of him!

First Murderer:Soft, he wakes.

Second Murderer:Strike!

First Murderer:No, we’ll reason with him.

Clarence wakes.

George, Duke of Clarence:Where art thou, keeper? Give me a cup of wine.

Second Murderer:You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.

George, Duke of Clarence:In God’s name, what art thou?

First Murderer:A man, as you are.

George, Duke of Clarence:But not, as I am, royal.

First Murderer:Nor you, as we are, loyal.

George, Duke of Clarence:Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.

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

George, Duke of Clarence:How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?

Second Murderer:To, to, to—

George, Duke of Clarence:To murder me?

First Murderer, Second Murderer:Ay, ay.

George, Duke of Clarence:You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

First Murderer:Offended us you have not, but the King.

George, Duke of Clarence:I shall be reconciled to him again.

Second Murderer:Never, my lord. Therefore prepare to die.

George, Duke of Clarence:Are you drawn forth among a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offense? Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge? Or who pronounced The bitter sentence of poor Clarence’ death Before I be convict by course of law? To threaten me with death is most unlawful. I charge you, as you hope to have redemption, By Christ’s dear blood shed for our grievous sins, That you depart, and lay no hands on me. The deed you undertake is damnable.

First Murderer:What we will do, we do upon command.

Second Murderer:And he that hath commanded is our king.

George, Duke of Clarence:Erroneous vassals, the great King of kings Hath in the table of His law commanded That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then Spurn at His edict and fulfill a man’s? Take heed, for He holds vengeance in His hand To hurl upon their heads that break His law.

Second Murderer:And that same vengeance doth He hurl on thee For false forswearing and for murder too. Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight In quarrel of the House of Lancaster.

First Murderer:And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow, and with thy treacherous blade Unrippedst the bowels of thy sovereign’s son.

Second Murderer:Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend.

First Murderer:How canst thou urge God’s dreadful law to us When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?

George, Duke of Clarence:Alas! For whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake. He sends you not to murder me for this, For in that sin he is as deep as I. If God will be avengèd for the deed, O, know you yet He doth it publicly! Take not the quarrel from His powerful arm; He needs no indirect or lawless course To cut off those that have offended Him.

First Murderer:Who made thee then a bloody minister When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?

George, Duke of Clarence:My brother’s love, the devil, and my rage.

First Murderer:Thy brother’s love, our duty, and thy faults Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

George, Duke of Clarence:If you do love my brother, hate not me. I am his brother, and I love him well. If you are hired for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

Second Murderer:You are deceived. Your brother Gloucester hates you.

George, Duke of Clarence:O no, he loves me, and he holds me dear. Go you to him from me.

First Murderer:Ay, so we will.

George, Duke of Clarence:Tell him, when that our princely father York Blessed his three sons with his victorious arm, He little thought of this divided friendship. Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.

First Murderer:Ay, millstones, as he lessoned us to weep.

George, Duke of Clarence:O, do not slander him, for he is kind.

First Murderer:Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you deceive yourself. ’Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.

George, Duke of Clarence:It cannot be, for he bewept my fortune, And hugged me in his arms, and swore with sobs That he would labor my delivery.

First Murderer:Why, so he doth, when he delivers you From this Earth’s thralldom to the joys of heaven.

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

George, Duke of Clarence:Have you that holy feeling in your souls To counsel me to make my peace with God, And are you yet to your own souls so blind That you will war with God by murd’ring me? O sirs, consider: they that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed.

Second Murderer:[to First Murderer] What shall we do?

George, Duke of Clarence:Relent, and save your souls. Which of you—if you were a prince’s son Being pent from liberty, as I am now— If two such murderers as yourselves came to you, Would not entreat for life? Ay, you would beg, Were you in my distress.

First Murderer:Relent? No. ’Tis cowardly and womanish.

George, Duke of Clarence:Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. [To Second Murderer.] My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks. O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side and entreat for me. A begging prince what beggar pities not?

Second Murderer:Look behind you, my lord.

First Murderer:Take that, and that. [(Stabs him.)] If all this will not do, I’ll drown you in the malmsey butt within.

He exits with the body.

Second Murderer:A bloody deed, and desperately dispatched. How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous murder.

Enter First Murderer.

First Murderer:How now? What mean’st thou that thou help’st me not? By heavens, the Duke shall know how slack you have been.

Second Murderer:I would he knew that I had saved his brother. Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say, For I repent me that the Duke is slain.

He exits.

First Murderer:So do not I. Go, coward as thou art. Well, I’ll go hide the body in some hole Till that the Duke give order for his burial. And when I have my meed, I will away, 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 IV: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.

Earl Rivers:[taking Hastings’ hand] By heaven, my soul is purged from grudging hate, And with my hand I seal my true heart’s love.

William, Lord Hastings:So thrive I as I truly swear the like.

King Edward IV: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.

William, Lord Hastings:So prosper I as I swear perfect love.

Earl Rivers:And I as I love Hastings with my heart.

King Edward IV:[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 IV:Dorset, embrace him.—Hastings, love Lord Marquess.

Marquess of Dorset:This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be inviolable.

William, Lord Hastings:And so swear I.

They embrace.

King Edward IV:Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife’s allies And make me happy in your unity.

Duke of 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 IV: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.

Duke of 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 IV: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 IV:Who knows not he is dead! Who knows he is?

Queen Elizabeth:All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!

Duke of Buckingham:Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?

Marquess of Dorset:Ay, my good lord, and no man in the presence But his red color hath forsook his cheeks.

King Edward IV: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.

Lord Stanley:[kneeling] A boon, my sovereign, for my service done.

King Edward IV:I prithee, peace. My soul is full of sorrow.

Lord Stanley:I will not rise unless your Highness hear me.

King Edward IV:Then say at once what is it thou requests.

Lord Stanley:The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant’s life, Who slew today a riotous gentleman Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

King Edward IV:Have I a tongue to doom my brother’s death, And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? My brother killed no man; his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was bitter death. Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath, Kneeled at my feet, and bade me be advised? Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love? Who told me how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field at Tewkesbury, When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, And said "Dear brother, live, and be a king"? Who told me, when we both lay in the field Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his garments and did give himself, All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully plucked, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters or your waiting vassals Have done a drunken slaughter and defaced The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon, And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. [Stanley rises.] But for my brother, not a man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all Have been beholding to him in his life, Yet none of you would once beg for his life. O God, I fear Thy justice will take hold On me and you, and mine and yours for this!— Come, Hastings, help me to my closet.— Ah, poor Clarence.

Some exit with King and Queen.

Richard:This is the fruits of rashness. Marked you not How that the guilty kindred of the Queen Looked pale when they did hear of Clarence’ death? O, they did urge it still unto the King. God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go To comfort Edward with our company?

Duke of Buckingham:We wait upon your Grace.

They exit.

Scene 2

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

Clarence’s Boy:Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?

Duchess of York:No, boy.

Clarence’s Daughter:Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast, And cry "O Clarence, my unhappy son"?

Clarence’s 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 of York: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.

Clarence’s 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.

Clarence’s Daughter:And so will I.

Duchess of York:Peace, children, peace. The King doth love you well. Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father’s death.

Clarence’s 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 of York: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.

Clarence’s Boy:Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?

Duchess of York:Ay, boy.

Clarence’s 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 of York: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 of York: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!

Clarence’s Boy:[to Queen Elizabeth] Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father’s death. How can we aid you with our kindred tears?

Clarence’s 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!

Clarence’s Boy, Clarence’s Daughter:Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Clarence!

Duchess of York:Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!

Queen Elizabeth:What stay had I but Edward? And he’s gone.

Clarence’s Boy, Clarence’s Daughter:What stay had we but Clarence? And he’s gone.

Duchess of York:What stays had I but they? And they are gone.

Queen Elizabeth:Was never widow had so dear a loss.

Clarence’s Boy, Clarence’s Daughter:Were never orphans had so dear a loss.

Duchess of York: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.

Marquess of 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.

Earl 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 And plant your joys in living Edward’s throne.

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

Richard:[to Queen Elizabeth] Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star, But none can help our harms by wailing them.— Madam my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee I crave your blessing.

He kneels.

Duchess of York:God bless thee, and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty.

Richard:[standing] Amen. [Aside.] And make me die a good old man! That is the butt end of a mother’s blessing; I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.

Duke of Buckingham:You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers That bear this heavy mutual load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other’s love. Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancor of your high-swoll’n hates, But lately splintered, knit, and joined together, Must gently be preserved, cherished, and kept. Meseemeth good that with some little train Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet Hither to London, to be crowned our king.

Earl Rivers:Why "with some little train," my lord of Buckingham?

Duke of Buckingham:Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude The new-healed wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungoverned. Where every horse bears his commanding rein And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented.

Richard:I hope the King made peace with all of us; And the compact is firm and true in me.

Earl Rivers:And so in me, and so, I think, in all. Yet since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged. Therefore I say with noble Buckingham That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince.

William, Lord Hastings:And so say I.

Richard:Then be it so, and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.— Madam, and you, my sister, will you go To give your censures in this business?

All but Buckingham and Richard exit.

Duke of Buckingham:My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, For God’s sake let not us two stay at home. For by the way I’ll sort occasion, As index to the story we late talked of, To part the Queen’s proud kindred from the Prince.

Richard:My other self, my council’s consistory, My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin, I, as a child, will go by thy direction. 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 of York: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.

Richard, Duke of York:Ay, mother, but I would not have it so.

Duchess of York:Why, my good cousin? It is good to grow.

Richard, Duke of 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 of York: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.

Richard, Duke of York:And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam.

Duchess of York:I hope he is, but yet let mothers doubt.

Richard, Duke of 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 of York:How, my young York? I prithee let me hear it.

Richard, Duke of 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 of York:I prithee, pretty York, who told thee this?

Richard, Duke of York:Grandam, his nurse.

Duchess of York:His nurse? Why, she was dead ere thou wast born.

Richard, Duke of York:If ’twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.

Queen Elizabeth:A parlous boy! Go to, you are too shrewd.

Duchess of York: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 of York:What is thy news?

Messenger:Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to Pomfret, And, with them, Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.

Duchess of York: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 of York: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 of York: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.

Duke of 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 Edward: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 Edward: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.

Lord Mayor:God bless your Grace with health and happy days.

Prince Edward: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.

Duke of Buckingham:And in good time here comes the sweating lord.

Prince Edward:Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother come?

William, Lord 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.

Duke of 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.

Duke of 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?

William, Lord Hastings:I go, my lord.

Prince Edward: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 Edward:I do not like the Tower, of any place.— Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?

Duke of Buckingham:He did, my gracious lord, begin that place, Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.

Prince Edward:Is it upon record, or else reported Successively from age to age, he built it?

Duke of Buckingham:Upon record, my gracious lord.

Prince Edward: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 Edward: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 Edward: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—

Duke of Buckingham:What, my gracious lord?

Prince Edward: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.

Duke of Buckingham:Now in good time here comes the Duke of York.

Prince Edward:Richard of York, how fares our loving brother?

Richard, Duke of York:Well, my dread lord—so must I call you now.

Prince Edward:Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours. Too late he died that might have kept that title, Which by his death hath lost much majesty.

Richard:How fares our cousin, noble lord of York?

Richard, Duke of York:I thank you, gentle uncle. O my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth. The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far.

Richard:He hath, my lord.

Richard, Duke of York:And therefore is he idle?

Richard:O my fair cousin, I must not say so.

Richard, Duke of York:Then he is more beholding to you than I.

Richard:He may command me as my sovereign, But you have power in me as in a kinsman.

Richard, Duke of York:I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.

Richard:My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart.

Prince Edward:A beggar, brother?

Richard, Duke of York:Of my kind uncle, that I know will give, And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.

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

Richard, Duke of York:A greater gift? O, that’s the sword to it.

Richard:Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.

Richard, Duke of York:O, then I see you will part but with light gifts. In weightier things you’ll say a beggar nay.

Richard:It is too heavy for your Grace to wear.

Richard, Duke of York:I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.

Richard:What, would you have my weapon, little lord?

Richard, Duke of York:I would, that I might thank you as you call me.

Richard:How?

Richard, Duke of York:Little.

Prince Edward:My lord of York will still be cross in talk. Uncle, your Grace knows how to bear with him.

Richard, Duke of York:You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me.— Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me. Because that I am little, like an ape, He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.

Duke of Buckingham:[aside] With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons! To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, He prettily and aptly taunts himself. So cunning and so young is wonderful.

Richard:[to Prince] My lord, will ’t please you pass along? Myself and my good cousin Buckingham Will to your mother, to entreat of her To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.

Richard, Duke of York:[to Prince] What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?

Prince Edward:My Lord Protector needs will have it so.

Richard, Duke of York:I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.

Richard:Why, what should you fear?

Richard, Duke of York:Marry, my uncle Clarence’ angry ghost. My grandam told me he was murdered there.

Prince Edward:I fear no uncles dead.

Richard:Nor none that live, I hope.

Prince Edward:An if they live, I hope I need not fear. [To York.] But come, my lord. With a heavy heart, Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.

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

Duke of Buckingham:[to Richard] Think you, my lord, this little prating York Was not incensèd by his subtle mother To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?

Richard:No doubt, no doubt. O, ’tis a parlous boy, Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable. He is all the mother’s, from the top to toe.

Duke of Buckingham:Well, let them rest.—Come hither, Catesby. Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend As closely to conceal what we impart. Thou knowest our reasons, urged upon the way. What thinkest thou? Is it not an easy matter To make William Lord Hastings of our mind For the installment of this noble duke In the seat royal of this famous isle?

Sir William Catesby:He, for his father’s sake, so loves the Prince That he will not be won to aught against him.

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

Sir William Catesby:He will do all in all as Hastings doth.

Duke of Buckingham:Well then, no more but this: go, gentle Catesby, And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings How he doth stand affected to our purpose And summon him tomorrow to the Tower To sit about the coronation. If thou dost find him tractable to us, Encourage him and tell him all our reasons. If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, Be thou so too, and so break off the talk, And give us notice of his inclination; For we tomorrow hold divided councils, Wherein thyself shalt highly be employed.

Richard:Commend me to Lord William. Tell him, Catesby, His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries Tomorrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle, And bid my lord, for joy of this good news, Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.

Duke of Buckingham:Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly.

Sir William Catesby:My good lords both, with all the heed I can.

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

Sir William Catesby:You shall, my lord.

Richard:At Crosby House, there shall you find us both.

Catesby exits.

Duke of Buckingham:Now, my lord, what shall we do if we perceive Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?

Richard:Chop off his head. Something we will determine. And look when I am king, claim thou of me The earldom of Hereford, and all the movables Whereof the King my brother was possessed.

Duke of Buckingham:I’ll claim that promise at your Grace’s hand.

Richard:And look to have it yielded with all kindness. Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards 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.

William, Lord Hastings:[within] Who knocks?

Messenger:One from the Lord Stanley.

William, Lord Hastings:[within] What is ’t o’clock?

Messenger:Upon the stroke of four.

Enter Lord Hastings.

William, Lord 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.

William, Lord 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.

William, Lord 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.

Sir William Catesby:Many good morrows to my noble lord.

William, Lord Hastings:Good morrow, Catesby. You are early stirring. What news, what news in this our tott’ring state?

Sir William Catesby:It is a reeling world indeed, my lord, And I believe will never stand upright Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.

William, Lord Hastings:How "wear the garland"? Dost thou mean the crown?

Sir William Catesby:Ay, my good lord.

William, 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?

Sir William 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.

William, Lord 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.

Sir William Catesby:God keep your Lordship in that gracious mind.

William, Lord 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.

Sir William Catesby:’Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, When men are unprepared and look not for it.

William, Lord 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.

Sir William Catesby:The Princes both make high account of you— [Aside.] For they account his head upon the Bridge.

William, Lord 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?

Lord 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.

William, Lord 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?

Lord 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.

William, Lord Hastings:Come, come. Have with you. Wot you what, my lord? Today the lords you talked of are beheaded.

Lord 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.

William, Lord 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.

William, Lord 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 By the suggestion of the Queen’s allies. But now, I tell thee—keep it to thyself— This day those enemies are put to death, And I in better state than e’er I was.

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

William, Lord Hastings:Gramercy, fellow. There, drink that for me.

Throws him his purse.

Pursuivant:I thank your Honor.

Pursuivant exits.

Enter a Priest.

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

William, Lord Hastings:I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart. I am in your debt for your last exercise. Come the next sabbath, and I will content you.

Sir John:I’ll wait upon your Lordship.

Priest exits.

Enter Buckingham.

Duke of Buckingham:What, talking with a priest, Lord Chamberlain? Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest; Your Honor hath no shriving work in hand.

William, Lord Hastings:Good faith, and when I met this holy man, The men you talk of came into my mind. What, go you toward the Tower?

Duke of Buckingham:I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there. I shall return before your Lordship thence.

William, Lord Hastings:Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.

Duke of Buckingham:[aside] And supper too, although thou know’st it not.— Come, will you go?

William, Lord 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.

Earl Rivers:Sir Richard Ratcliffe, let me tell thee this: Today shalt thou behold a subject die For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.

Lord Grey:[to Ratcliffe] God bless the Prince from all the pack of you! A knot you are of damnèd bloodsuckers.

Sir Thomas Vaughan:[to Ratcliffe] You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter.

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:Dispatch. The limit of your lives is out.

Earl 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.

Lord 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.

Earl 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.

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:Make haste. The hour of death is expiate.

Earl 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.

William, Lord 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?

Duke of Buckingham:Is all things ready for the royal time?

Lord Stanley:It is, and wants but nomination.

John Morton, Bishop of Ely:Tomorrow, then, I judge a happy day.

Duke of Buckingham:Who knows the Lord Protector’s mind herein? Who is most inward with the noble duke?

John Morton, Bishop of Ely:Your Grace, we think, should soonest know his mind.

Duke of 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.

William, Lord 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.

John Morton, Bishop of 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.

Duke of 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.

John Morton, Bishop of 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.

Duke of Buckingham:Withdraw yourself awhile. I’ll go with you.

Richard and Buckingham exit.

Lord 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.

John Morton, Bishop of Ely:Where is my lord the Duke of Gloucester? I have sent for these strawberries.

William, Lord 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.

Lord Stanley:What of his heart perceive you in his face By any livelihood he showed today?

William, Lord 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?

William, Lord 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.

William, Lord 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.

William, Lord 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.

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:Come, come, dispatch. The Duke would be at dinner. Make a short shrift. He longs to see your head.

William, Lord 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 Into the fatal bowels of the deep.

Lord Lovell:Come, come, dispatch. ’Tis bootless to exclaim.

William, Lord Hastings:O bloody Richard! Miserable England, I prophesy the fearfull’st time to thee That ever wretched age hath looked upon.— Come, lead me to the block. Bear him my head. 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?

Duke of 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.

Duke of Buckingham:Lord Mayor—

Richard:Look to the drawbridge there!

Duke of Buckingham:Hark, a drum!

Richard:Catesby, o’erlook the walls.

Catesby exits.

Duke of Buckingham:Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent—

Richard:Look back! Defend thee! Here are enemies.

Duke of 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.

Lord 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.

Duke of 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?

Lord 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?

Lord 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.

Duke of 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.

Lord 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.

Duke of 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.

Duke of 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 With reverend fathers and well-learnèd bishops.

Duke of Buckingham:I go; and towards three or four o’clock Look for the news that the Guildhall affords.

Buckingham exits.

Richard:Go, Lovell, with all speed to Doctor Shaa. [To Ratcliffe.] Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both Meet me within this hour at Baynard’s Castle. [Ratcliffe and Lovell exit.] Now will I go to take some privy order To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight, And to give order that no manner person 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?

Duke of 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?

Duke of 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?

Duke of 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?

Duke of 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.

Duke of 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?

Sir William 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.

Duke of 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.

Sir William Catesby:I’ll signify so much unto him straight.

He exits.

Duke of 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.

Lord Mayor:Marry, God defend his Grace should say us nay.

Duke of Buckingham:I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again. [Enter Catesby.] Now, Catesby, what says his Grace?

Sir William 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.

Duke of 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.

Lord Mayor:See where his Grace stands, ’tween two clergymen.

Duke of 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, Lend favorable ear to our requests, And pardon us the interruption Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.

Richard:My lord, there needs no such apology. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, Who, earnest in the service of my God, Deferred the visitation of my friends. But, leaving this, what is your Grace’s pleasure?

Duke of Buckingham:Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above And all good men of this ungoverned isle.

Richard:I do suspect I have done some offense That seems disgracious in the city’s eye, And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.

Duke of Buckingham:You have, my lord. Would it might please your Grace, On our entreaties, to amend your fault.

Richard:Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?

Duke of Buckingham:Know, then, it is your fault that you resign The supreme seat, the throne majestical, The sceptered office of your ancestors, Your state of fortune, and your due of birth, The lineal glory of your royal house, To the corruption of a blemished stock, Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, Which here we waken to our country’s good, The noble isle doth want her proper limbs— Her face defaced with scars of infamy, Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, And almost shouldered in the swallowing gulf Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion; Which to recure, we heartily solicit Your gracious self to take on you the charge And kingly government of this your land, Not as Protector, steward, substitute, Or lowly factor for another’s gain, But as successively, from blood to blood, Your right of birth, your empery, your own. For this, consorted with the citizens, Your very worshipful and loving friends, And by their vehement instigation, In this just cause come I to move your Grace.

Richard:I cannot tell if to depart in silence Or bitterly to speak in your reproof Best fitteth my degree or your condition. If not to answer, you might haply think Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, Which fondly you would here impose on me. If to reprove you for this suit of yours, So seasoned with your faithful love to me, Then on the other side I checked my friends. Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first, And then, in speaking, not to incur the last, Definitively thus I answer you: Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert Unmeritable shuns your high request. First, if all obstacles were cut away And that my path were even to the crown As the ripe revenue and due of birth, Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, That I would rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid And in the vapor of my glory smothered. But, God be thanked, there is no need of me, And much I need to help you, were there need. The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, Which, mellowed by the stealing hours of time, Will well become the seat of majesty, And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. On him I lay that you would lay on me, The right and fortune of his happy stars, Which God defend that I should wring from him.

Duke of Buckingham:My lord, this argues conscience in your Grace, But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, All circumstances well considerèd. You say that Edward is your brother’s son; So say we too, but not by Edward’s wife. For first was he contract to Lady Lucy— Your mother lives a witness to his vow— And afterward by substitute betrothed To Bona, sister to the King of France. These both put off, a poor petitioner, A care-crazed mother to a many sons, A beauty-waning and distressèd widow, Even in the afternoon of her best days, Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, Seduced the pitch and height of his degree To base declension and loathed bigamy. By her in his unlawful bed he got This Edward, whom our manners call "the Prince." More bitterly could I expostulate, Save that, for reverence to some alive, I give a sparing limit to my tongue. Then, good my lord, take to your royal self This proffered benefit of dignity, If not to bless us and the land withal, Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry From the corruption of abusing times Unto a lineal, true-derivèd course.

Lord Mayor:Do, good my lord. Your citizens entreat you.

Duke of Buckingham:Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffered love.

Sir William Catesby:O, make them joyful. Grant their lawful suit.

Richard:Alas, why would you heap this care on me? I am unfit for state and majesty. I do beseech you, take it not amiss; I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you.

Duke of Buckingham:If you refuse it, as in love and zeal Loath to depose the child, your brother’s son— As well we know your tenderness of heart And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, Which we have noted in you to your kindred And equally indeed to all estates— Yet know, whe’er you accept our suit or no, Your brother’s son shall never reign our king, But we will plant some other in the throne, To the disgrace and downfall of your house. And in this resolution here we leave you.— Come, citizens. Zounds, I’ll entreat no more.

Richard:O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham!

Buckingham and some others exit.

Sir William Catesby:Call him again, sweet prince. Accept their suit. If you deny them, all the land will rue it.

Richard:Will you enforce me to a world of cares? Call them again. I am not made of stones, But penetrable to your kind entreaties, Albeit against my conscience and my soul. [Enter Buckingham and the rest.] Cousin of Buckingham and sage, grave men, Since you will buckle Fortune on my back, To bear her burden, whe’er I will or no, I must have patience to endure the load; But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach Attend the sequel of your imposition, Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me From all the impure blots and stains thereof, For God doth know, and you may partly see, How far I am from the desire of this.

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

Richard:In saying so, you shall but say the truth.

Duke of Buckingham:Then I salute you with this royal title: Long live Richard, England’s worthy king!

Lord Mayor, Citizens, First Citizen, Second Citizen, Third Citizen, Sir William Catesby:Amen.

Duke of Buckingham:Tomorrow may it please you to be crowned?

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

Duke of Buckingham:Tomorrow, then, we will attend your Grace, And so most joyfully we take our leave.

Richard:[to the Bishops] Come, let us to our holy work again.— 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 of York: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.

Lady Anne:God give your Graces both A happy and a joyful time of day.

Queen Elizabeth:As much to you, good sister. Whither away?

Lady 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?

Sir Robert 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?

Sir Robert 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 of York:I am their father’s mother. I will see them.

Lady 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.

Sir Robert 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.

Lord 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!

Lady Anne:Despiteful tidings! O, unpleasing news!

Marquess of 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.

Lord 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 of York: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.

Lord Stanley:[to Anne] Come, madam, come. I in all haste was sent.

Lady 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.

Lady 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.

Lady Anne:No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.

Marquess of Dorset:Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory.

Lady Anne:Adieu, poor soul that tak’st thy leave of it.

Duchess of York:[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— Rough cradle for such little pretty ones. Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow For tender princes, use my babies well. 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.

Duke of 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?

Duke of 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.

Duke of Buckingham:Say on, my loving lord.

Richard:Why, Buckingham, I say I would be king.

Duke of Buckingham:Why so you are, my thrice-renownèd lord.

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

Duke of 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.

Duke of 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?

Duke of Buckingham:Give me some little breath, some pause, dear lord, Before I positively speak in this. I will resolve you herein presently.

Buckingham exits.

Sir William 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?

Lord 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?

James Tyrrel:James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

Richard:Art thou indeed?

James Tyrrel:Prove me, my gracious lord.

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

James 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.

James 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.

James Tyrrel:I will dispatch it straight. [He exits.] [Enter Buckingham.]

Duke of 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.

Duke of Buckingham:I hear the news, my lord.

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

Duke of 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.

Duke of 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—

Duke of Buckingham:My lord—

Richard:How chance the prophet could not at that time Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

Duke of Buckingham:My lord, your promise for the earldom—

Richard:Richmond! When last I was at Exeter, The Mayor in courtesy showed me the castle And called it Rougemont, at which name I started, Because a bard of Ireland told me once I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

Duke of Buckingham:My lord—

Richard:Ay, what’s o’clock?

Duke of Buckingham:I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind Of what you promised me.

Richard:Well, but what’s o’clock?

Duke of Buckingham:Upon the stroke of ten.

Richard:Well, let it strike.

Duke of Buckingham:Why let it strike?

Richard:Because that, like a jack, thou keep’st the stroke Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. I am not in the giving vein today.

Duke of Buckingham:Why then, resolve me whether you will or no.

Richard:Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.

He exits, and is followed by all but Buckingham.

Duke of Buckingham:And is it thus? Repays he my deep service With such contempt? Made I him king for this? O, let me think on Hastings and be gone To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on!

He exits.

Scene 3

Enter Tyrrel.

James 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?

James 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?

James Tyrrel:I did, my lord.

Richard:And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

James 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.

James 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.

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:My lord.

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

Sir Richard 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 of York: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 of York:[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 of York: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 of York:[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; For one being sued to, one that humbly sues; For queen, a very caitiff crowned with care; For she that scorned at me, now scorned of me; For she being feared of all, now fearing one; For she commanding all, obeyed of none. Thus hath the course of justice whirled about And left thee but a very prey to time, Having no more but thought of what thou wast To torture thee the more, being what thou art. Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? Now thy proud neck bears half my burdened yoke, From which even here I slip my weary head And leave the burden of it all on thee. Farewell, York’s wife, and queen of sad mischance. These English woes shall make me smile in France.

She begins to exit.

Queen Elizabeth:O, thou well-skilled in curses, stay awhile, And teach me how to curse mine enemies.

Queen Margaret:Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were, And he that slew them fouler than he is. Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse. Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

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

Queen Margaret:Thy woes will make them sharp and pierce like mine.

Margaret exits.

Duchess of York:Why should calamity be full of words?

Queen Elizabeth:Windy attorneys to their clients’ woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries, Let them have scope; though what they will impart Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.

Duchess of York:If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let’s smother My damnèd son that thy two sweet sons smothered. [A trumpet sounds.] The trumpet sounds. Be copious in exclaims.

Enter King Richard and his train, including Catesby.

Richard:Who intercepts me in my expedition?

Duchess of York:O, she that might have intercepted thee, By strangling thee in her accursèd womb, From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done.

Queen Elizabeth:[to Richard] Hid’st thou that forehead with a golden crown Where should be branded, if that right were right, The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers? Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children?

Duchess of York:[to Richard] Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence, And little Ned Plantagenet his son?

Queen Elizabeth:[to Richard] Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

Duchess of York:[to Richard] Where is kind Hastings?

Richard:A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums! Let not the heavens hear these telltale women Rail on the Lord’s anointed. Strike, I say! [Flourish. Alarums.] Either be patient and entreat me fair, Or with the clamorous report of war Thus will I drown your exclamations.

Duchess of York:Art thou my son?

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

Duchess of York:Then patiently hear my impatience.

Richard:Madam, I have a touch of your condition, That cannot brook the accent of reproof.

Duchess of York:O, let me speak!

Richard:Do then, but I’ll not hear.

Duchess of York:I will be mild and gentle in my words.

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

Duchess of York:Art thou so hasty? I have stayed for thee, God knows, in torment and in agony.

Richard:And came I not at last to comfort you?

Duchess of York:No, by the Holy Rood, thou know’st it well. Thou cam’st on Earth to make the Earth my hell. A grievous burden was thy birth to me; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; Thy school days frightful, desp’rate, wild, and furious; Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous; Thy age confirmed, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred. What comfortable hour canst thou name, That ever graced me with thy company?

Richard:Faith, none but Humfrey Hower, that called your Grace To breakfast once, forth of my company. If I be so disgracious in your eye, Let me march on and not offend you, madam.— Strike up the drum.

Duchess of York:I prithee, hear me speak.

Richard:You speak too bitterly.

Duchess of York:Hear me a word, For I shall never speak to thee again.

Richard:So.

Duchess of York:Either thou wilt die by God’s just ordinance Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror, Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish And nevermore behold thy face again. Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse, Which in the day of battle tire thee more Than all the complete armor that thou wear’st. My prayers on the adverse party fight, And there the little souls of Edward’s children Whisper the spirits of thine enemies And promise them success and victory. Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end. Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.

She exits.

Queen Elizabeth:Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse Abides in me. I say amen to her.

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

Queen Elizabeth:I have no more sons of the royal blood For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard, They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens, And therefore level not to hit their lives.

Richard:You have a daughter called Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Queen Elizabeth:And must she die for this? O, let her live, And I’ll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty, Slander myself as false to Edward’s bed, Throw over her the veil of infamy. So she may live unscarred of bleeding slaughter, I will confess she was not Edward’s daughter.

Richard:Wrong not her birth. She is a royal princess.

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

Richard:Her life is safest only in her birth.

Queen Elizabeth:And only in that safety died her brothers.

Richard:Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite.

Queen Elizabeth:No, to their lives ill friends were contrary.

Richard:All unavoided is the doom of destiny.

Queen Elizabeth:True, when avoided grace makes destiny. My babes were destined to a fairer death If grace had blessed thee with a fairer life.

Richard:You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.

Queen Elizabeth:Cousins, indeed, and by their uncle cozened Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. Whose hand soever launched their tender hearts, Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction. No doubt the murd’rous knife was dull and blunt Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, To revel in the entrails of my lambs. But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys Till that my nails were anchored in thine eyes, And I, in such a desp’rate bay of death, Like a poor bark of sails and tackling reft, Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

Richard:Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise And dangerous success of bloody wars As I intend more good to you and yours Than ever you or yours by me were harmed!

Queen Elizabeth:What good is covered with the face of heaven, To be discovered, that can do me good?

Richard:Th’ advancement of your children, gentle lady.

Queen Elizabeth:Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads.

Richard:Unto the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this Earth’s glory.

Queen Elizabeth:Flatter my sorrow with report of it. Tell me what state, what dignity, what honor, Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

Richard:Even all I have—ay, and myself and all— Will I withal endow a child of thine; So in the Lethe of thy angry soul Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs Which thou supposest I have done to thee.

Queen Elizabeth:Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness Last longer telling than thy kindness’ date.

Richard:Then know that from my soul I love thy daughter.

Queen Elizabeth:My daughter’s mother thinks it with her soul.

Richard:What do you think?

Queen Elizabeth:That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul. So from thy soul’s love didst thou love her brothers, And from my heart’s love I do thank thee for it.

Richard:Be not so hasty to confound my meaning. I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter And do intend to make her Queen of England.

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

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

Queen Elizabeth:What, thou?

Richard:Even so. How think you of it?

Queen Elizabeth:How canst thou woo her?

Richard:That would I learn of you, As one being best acquainted with her humor.

Queen Elizabeth:And wilt thou learn of me?

Richard:Madam, with all my heart.

Queen Elizabeth:Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers, A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave "Edward" and "York." Then haply will she weep. Therefore present to her—as sometime Margaret Did to thy father, steeped in Rutland’s blood— A handkerchief, which say to her did drain The purple sap from her sweet brother’s body, And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. If this inducement move her not to love, Send her a letter of thy noble deeds; Tell her thou mad’st away her uncle Clarence, Her uncle Rivers, ay, and for her sake Mad’st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.

Richard:You mock me, madam. This is not the way To win your daughter.

Queen Elizabeth:There is no other way, Unless thou couldst put on some other shape And not be Richard, that hath done all this.

Richard:Say that I did all this for love of her.

Queen Elizabeth:Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee, Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

Richard:Look what is done cannot be now amended. Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after-hours gives leisure to repent. If I did take the kingdom from your sons, To make amends I’ll give it to your daughter. If I have killed the issue of your womb, To quicken your increase I will beget Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. A grandam’s name is little less in love Than is the doting title of a mother. They are as children but one step below, Even of your metal, of your very blood, Of all one pain, save for a night of groans Endured of her for whom you bid like sorrow. Your children were vexation to your youth, But mine shall be a comfort to your age. The loss you have is but a son being king, And by that loss your daughter is made queen. I cannot make you what amends I would; Therefore accept such kindness as I can. Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, This fair alliance quickly shall call home To high promotions and great dignity. The king that calls your beauteous daughter wife Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother. Again shall you be mother to a king, And all the ruins of distressful times Repaired with double riches of content. What, we have many goodly days to see! The liquid drops of tears that you have shed Shall come again, transformed to orient pearl, Advantaging their love with interest Of ten times double gain of happiness. Go then, my mother; to thy daughter go. Make bold her bashful years with your experience; Prepare her ears to hear a wooer’s tale; Put in her tender heart th’ aspiring flame Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princess With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys; And when this arm of mine hath chastisèd The petty rebel, dull-brained Buckingham, Bound with triumphant garlands will I come And lead thy daughter to a conqueror’s bed, To whom I will retail my conquest won, And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar’s Caesar.

Queen Elizabeth:What were I best to say? Her father’s brother Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle? Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles? Under what title shall I woo for thee, That God, the law, my honor, and her love Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?

Richard:Infer fair England’s peace by this alliance.

Queen Elizabeth:Which she shall purchase with still-lasting war.

Richard:Tell her the King, that may command, entreats—

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

Richard:Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.

Queen Elizabeth:To vail the title, as her mother doth.

Richard:Say I will love her everlastingly.

Queen Elizabeth:But how long shall that title "ever" last?

Richard:Sweetly in force unto her fair life’s end.

Queen Elizabeth:But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?

Richard:As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.

Queen Elizabeth:As long as hell and Richard likes of it.

Richard:Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low.

Queen Elizabeth:But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.

Richard:Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

Queen Elizabeth:An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

Richard:Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.

Queen Elizabeth:Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

Richard:Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

Queen Elizabeth:O no, my reasons are too deep and dead— Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.

Richard:Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.

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

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

Queen Elizabeth:Profaned, dishonored, and the third usurped.

Richard:I swear—

Queen Elizabeth:By nothing, for this is no oath. Thy George, profaned, hath lost his lordly honor; Thy Garter, blemished, pawned his knightly virtue; Thy crown, usurped, disgraced his kingly glory. If something thou wouldst swear to be believed, Swear then by something that thou hast not wronged.

Richard:Then, by myself—

Queen Elizabeth:Thyself is self-misused.

Richard:Now, by the world—

Queen Elizabeth:’Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

Richard:My father’s death—

Queen Elizabeth:Thy life hath it dishonored.

Richard:Why then, by God.

Queen Elizabeth:God’s wrong is most of all. If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him, The unity the King my husband made Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died. If thou hadst feared to break an oath by Him, Th’ imperial metal circling now thy head Had graced the tender temples of my child, And both the Princes had been breathing here, Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust, Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now?

Richard:The time to come.

Queen Elizabeth:That thou hast wrongèd in the time o’erpast; For I myself have many tears to wash Hereafter time, for time past wronged by thee. The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughtered, Ungoverned youth, to wail it in their age; The parents live whose children thou hast butchered, Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. Swear not by time to come, for that thou hast Misused ere used, by times ill-used o’erpast.

Richard:As I intend to prosper and repent, So thrive I in my dangerous affairs Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound, Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours, Day, yield me not thy light, nor night thy rest, Be opposite all planets of good luck To my proceeding if, with dear heart’s love, Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter. In her consists my happiness and thine. Without her follows to myself and thee, Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul, Death, desolation, ruin, and decay. It cannot be avoided but by this; It will not be avoided but by this. Therefore, dear mother—I must call you so— Be the attorney of my love to her; Plead what I will be, not what I have been; Not my deserts, but what I will deserve. Urge the necessity and state of times, And be not peevish found in great designs.

Queen Elizabeth:Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

Richard:Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.

Queen Elizabeth:Shall I forget myself to be myself?

Richard:Ay, if your self’s remembrance wrong yourself.

Queen Elizabeth:Yet thou didst kill my children.

Richard:But in your daughter’s womb I bury them, Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

Queen Elizabeth:Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

Richard:And be a happy mother by the deed.

Queen Elizabeth:I go. Write to me very shortly, And you shall understand from me her mind.

Richard:Bear her my true love’s kiss; and so, farewell. [Queen exits.] Relenting fool and shallow, changing woman! [Enter Ratcliffe.] How now, what news?

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast Rideth a puissant navy. To our shores Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, Unarmed and unresolved to beat them back. ’Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

Richard:Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk— Ratcliffe thyself, or Catesby. Where is he?

Sir William Catesby:Here, my good lord.

Richard:Catesby, fly to the Duke.

Sir William Catesby:I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.

Richard:Ratcliffe, come hither. Post to Salisbury.When thou com’st thither— [To Catesby.] Dull, unmindful villain, Why stay’st thou here and go’st not to the Duke?

Sir William Catesby:First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness’ pleasure, What from your Grace I shall deliver to him.

Richard:O true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight The greatest strength and power that he can make And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.

Sir William Catesby:I go.

He exits.

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?

Richard:Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:Your Highness told me I should post before.

Richard:My mind is changed. [Enter Lord Stanley.] Stanley, what news with you?

Lord Stanley:None good, my liege, to please you with the hearing, Nor none so bad but well may be reported.

Richard:Hoyday, a riddle! Neither good nor bad. What need’st thou run so many miles about When thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way? Once more, what news?

Lord Stanley:Richmond is on the seas.

Richard:There let him sink, and be the seas on him! White-livered runagate, what doth he there?

Lord Stanley:I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

Richard:Well, as you guess?

Lord Stanley:Stirred up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, He makes for England, here to claim the crown.

Richard:Is the chair empty? Is the sword unswayed? Is the King dead, the empire unpossessed? What heir of York is there alive but we? And who is England’s king but great York’s heir? Then tell me, what makes he upon the seas?

Lord Stanley:Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.

Richard:Unless for that he comes to be your liege, You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.

Lord Stanley:No, my good lord. Therefore mistrust me not.

Richard:Where is thy power, then, to beat him back? Where be thy tenants and thy followers? Are they not now upon the western shore, Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?

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

Richard:Cold friends to me. What do they in the north When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

Lord Stanley:They have not been commanded, mighty king. Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave, I’ll muster up my friends and meet your Grace Where and what time your Majesty shall please.

Richard:Ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond, But I’ll not trust thee.

Lord Stanley:Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful. I never was nor never will be false.

Richard:Go then and muster men, but leave behind Your son George Stanley. Look your heart be firm, Or else his head’s assurance is but frail.

Lord Stanley:So deal with him as I prove true to you.

Stanley exits.

Enter a Messenger.

First Messenger:My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, As I by friends am well advertisèd, Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate, Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, With many more confederates are in arms.

Enter another Messenger.

Second Messenger:In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in arms, And every hour more competitors Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.

Enter another Messenger.

Third Messenger:My lord, the army of great Buckingham—

Richard:Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of death. [He striketh him.] There, take thou that till thou bring better news.

Third Messenger:The news I have to tell your Majesty Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters Buckingham’s army is dispersed and scattered, And he himself wandered away alone, No man knows whither.

Richard:I cry thee mercy. There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. [He gives money.] Hath any well-advisèd friend proclaimed Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

Third Messenger:Such proclamation hath been made, my lord.

Enter another Messenger.

Fourth Messenger:Sir Thomas Lovell and Lord Marquess Dorset, ’Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. But this good comfort bring I to your Highness: The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest. Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat Unto the shore to ask those on the banks If they were his assistants, yea, or no— Who answered him they came from Buckingham Upon his party. He, mistrusting them, Hoised sail and made his course again for Brittany.

Richard:March on, march on, since we are up in arms, If not to fight with foreign enemies, Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.

Enter Catesby.

Sir William Catesby:My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken. That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond Is with a mighty power landed at Milford Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.

Richard:Away towards Salisbury! While we reason here, A royal battle might be won and lost. Someone take order Buckingham be brought To Salisbury. The rest march on with me.

Flourish. They exit.

Scene 5

Enter Stanley, Earl of Derby, and Sir Christopher.

Lord 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?

Sir Christopher:At Pembroke, or at Ha’rfordwest in Wales.

Lord Stanley:What men of name resort to him?

Sir 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.

Lord 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.

Duke of Buckingham:Will not King Richard let me speak with him?

Sheriff:No, my good lord. Therefore be patient.

Duke of 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.

Duke of 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.

Earl of 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.

Earl of Oxford:Every man’s conscience is a thousand men To fight against this guilty homicide.

Sir Walter Herbert:I doubt not but his friends will turn to us.

Sir James Blunt:He hath no friends but what are friends for fear, Which in his dearest need will fly from him.

Earl of 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?

Earl of Surrey:My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.

Richard:My lord of Norfolk—

Duke of Norfolk:Here, most gracious liege.

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

Duke of 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?

Duke of 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.

Earl of 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?

Sir James 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.

Earl of 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.

Sir James Blunt:Upon my life, my lord, I’ll undertake it, And so God give you quiet rest tonight.

Earl of 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?

Sir William 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?

Sir William 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.

Duke of Norfolk:I go, my lord.

Richard:Stir with the lark tomorrow, gentle Norfolk.

Duke of Norfolk:I warrant you, my lord.

He exits.

Richard:Catesby.

Sir William 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.

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:My lord.

Richard:Sawst thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

Sir Richard 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?

Sir Richard 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.

Lord Stanley:Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!

Earl of Richmond:All comfort that the dark night can afford Be to thy person, noble father-in-law. Tell me, how fares our loving mother?

Lord 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 And ample interchange of sweet discourse, Which so-long-sundered friends should dwell upon. God give us leisure for these rites of love! Once more, adieu. Be valiant and speed well.

Earl of Richmond:Good lords, conduct him to his regiment. I’ll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap, Lest leaden slumber peise me down tomorrow When I should mount with wings of victory. Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. [All but Richmond leave his tent and exit.] [Richmond kneels.] O Thou, whose captain I account myself, Look on my forces with a gracious eye. Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath, That they may crush down with a heavy fall The usurping helmets of our adversaries. Make us Thy ministers of chastisement, That we may praise Thee in the victory. To Thee I do commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes. Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still!

Sleeps.

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

Ghost Of Edward:[(to Richard)] Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow. Think how thou stabbed’st me in my prime of youth At Tewkesbury. Despair therefore, and die! [(To Richmond.)] Be cheerful, Richmond, for the wrongèd souls Of butchered princes fight in thy behalf. King Henry’s issue, Richmond, comforts thee.

He exits.

Enter the Ghost of Henry the Sixth.

Ghost Of Henry:[(to Richard)] When I was mortal, my anointed body By thee was punchèd full of deadly holes. Think on the Tower and me. Despair and die! Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die. [(To Richmond.)] Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror. Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king, Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish.

He exits.

Enter the Ghost of Clarence.

George, Duke of Clarence:[(to Richard)] Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow, I, that was washed to death with fulsome wine, Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death. Tomorrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die! [(To Richmond.)] Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, The wrongèd heirs of York do pray for thee. Good angels guard thy battle. Live and flourish.

He exits.

Enter the Ghosts of Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan.

Earl Rivers:[(to Richard)] Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow, Rivers, that died at Pomfret. Despair and die!

Lord Grey:[(to Richard)] Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair!

Sir Thomas Vaughan:[(to Richard)] Think upon Vaughan, and with guilty fear Let fall thy lance. Despair and die!

Earl Rivers, Lord Grey, Sir Thomas Vaughan:[(to Richmond)] Awake, and think our wrongs in Richard’s bosom Will conquer him. Awake, and win the day.

They exit.

Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes.

Prince Edward, Richard, Duke of York:[(to Richard)] Dream on thy cousins smothered in the Tower. Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death. Thy nephews’ souls bid thee despair and die. [(To Richmond.)] Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace and wake in joy. Good angels guard thee from the boar’s annoy. Live, and beget a happy race of kings. Edward’s unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.

They exit.

Enter the Ghost of Hastings.

William, Lord Hastings:[(to Richard)] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, And in a bloody battle end thy days. Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die! [(To Richmond.)] Quiet, untroubled soul, awake, awake. Arm, fight, and conquer for fair England’s sake.

He exits.

Enter the Ghost of Lady Anne his wife.

Lady Anne:[(to Richard)] Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife, That never slept a quiet hour with thee, Now fills thy sleep with perturbations. Tomorrow, in the battle, think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die! [(To Richmond.)] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep. Dream of success and happy victory. Thy adversary’s wife doth pray for thee.

She exits.

Enter the Ghost of Buckingham.

Duke of Buckingham:[(to Richard)] The first was I that helped thee to the crown; The last was I that felt thy tyranny. O, in the battle think on Buckingham, And die in terror of thy guiltiness. Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death. Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath. [(To Richmond.)] I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid, But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismayed. God and good angels fight on Richmond’s side, And Richard fall in height of all his pride.

He exits.

Richard starteth up out of a dream.

Richard:Give me another horse! Bind up my wounds! Have mercy, Jesu!—Soft, I did but dream. O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! The lights burn blue; it is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by. Richard loves Richard, that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am. Then fly! What, from myself? Great reason why: Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself? Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good That I myself have done unto myself? O, no. Alas, I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself. I am a villain. Yet I lie; I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter. My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree; Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree; All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all "Guilty, guilty!" I shall despair. There is no creature loves me, And if I die no soul will pity me. And wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself? Methought the souls of all that I had murdered Came to my tent, and every one did threat Tomorrow’s vengeance on the head of Richard.

Enter Ratcliffe.

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:My lord.

Richard:Zounds, who is there?

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:Ratcliffe, my lord, ’tis I. The early village cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn. Your friends are up and buckle on their armor.

Richard:O Ratcliffe, I have dreamed a fearful dream! What think’st thou, will our friends prove all true?

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:No doubt, my lord.

Richard:O Ratcliffe, I fear, I fear.

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.

Richard:By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond. ’Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me. Under our tents I’ll play the eavesdropper To see if any mean to shrink from me.

Richard and Ratcliffe exit.

Enter the Lords to Richmond, in his tent.

A Lord:Good morrow, Richmond.

Earl of Richmond:Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, That you have ta’en a tardy sluggard here.

A Lord:How have you slept, my lord?

Earl of Richmond:The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams That ever entered in a drowsy head Have I since your departure had, my lords. Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murdered Came to my tent and cried on victory. I promise you, my soul is very jocund In the remembrance of so fair a dream. How far into the morning is it, lords?

A Lord:Upon the stroke of four.

Earl of Richmond:[leaving the tent] Why, then ’tis time to arm and give direction. His oration to his soldiers. More than I have said, loving countrymen, The leisure and enforcement of the time Forbids to dwell upon. Yet remember this: God, and our good cause, fight upon our side. The prayers of holy saints and wrongèd souls, Like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our faces. Richard except, those whom we fight against Had rather have us win than him they follow. For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen, A bloody tyrant and a homicide; One raised in blood, and one in blood established; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughtered those that were the means to help him; A base foul stone, made precious by the foil Of England’s chair, where he is falsely set; One that hath ever been God’s enemy. Then if you fight against God’s enemy, God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers. If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain. If you do fight against your country’s foes, Your country’s fat shall pay your pains the hire. If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors. If you do free your children from the sword, Your children’s children quits it in your age. Then, in the name of God and all these rights, Advance your standards; draw your willing swords. For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Shall be this cold corpse on the Earth’s cold face, But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt The least of you shall share his part thereof. Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully. God, and Saint George, Richmond, and victory!

They exit.

Enter King Richard, Ratcliffe, and Soldiers.

Richard:What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:That he was never trainèd up in arms.

Richard:He said the truth. And what said Surrey then?

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:He smiled and said "The better for our purpose."

Richard:He was in the right, and so indeed it is. [The clock striketh.] Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar. [He looks in an almanac.] Who saw the sun today?

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:Not I, my lord.

Richard:Then he disdains to shine, for by the book He should have braved the east an hour ago. A black day will it be to somebody. Ratcliffe!

Sir Richard Ratcliffe:My lord.

Richard:The sun will not be seen today. The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. I would these dewy tears were from the ground. Not shine today? Why, what is that to me More than to Richmond, for the selfsame heaven That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.

Enter Norfolk.

Duke of Norfolk:Arm, arm, my lord. The foe vaunts in the field.

Richard:Come, bustle, bustle. Caparison my horse.— Call up Lord Stanley; bid him bring his power.— I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, And thus my battle shall be orderèd: My foreward shall be drawn out all in length, Consisting equally of horse and foot; Our archers shall be placèd in the midst. John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey, Shall have the leading of this foot and horse. They thus directed, we will follow In the main battle, whose puissance on either side Shall be well wingèd with our chiefest horse. This, and Saint George to boot!—What think’st thou, Norfolk?

Duke of Norfolk:A good direction, warlike sovereign. [He sheweth him a paper.] This found I on my tent this morning.

Richard:[reads] Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold. For Dickon thy master is bought and sold. A thing devisèd by the enemy.— Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge. Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls. Conscience is but a word that cowards use, Devised at first to keep the strong in awe. Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. March on. Join bravely. Let us to it pell mell, If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. His oration to his army. What shall I say more than I have inferred? Remember whom you are to cope withal, A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, A scum of Bretons and base lackey peasants, Whom their o’ercloyèd country vomits forth To desperate adventures and assured destruction. You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest; You having lands and blessed with beauteous wives, They would restrain the one, distain the other. And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow, Long kept in Brittany at our mother’s cost, A milksop, one that never in his life Felt so much cold as overshoes in snow? Let’s whip these stragglers o’er the seas again, Lash hence these overweening rags of France, These famished beggars weary of their lives, Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, For want of means, poor rats, had hanged themselves. If we be conquered, let men conquer us, And not these bastard Bretons, whom our fathers Have in their own land beaten, bobbed, and thumped, And in record left them the heirs of shame. Shall these enjoy our lands, lie with our wives, Ravish our daughters? [Drum afar off.] Hark, I hear their drum. Fight, gentlemen of England.—Fight, bold yeomen.— Draw, archers; draw your arrows to the head.— Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood. Amaze the welkin with your broken staves.— [Enter a Messenger.] What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?

Messenger:My lord, he doth deny to come.

Richard:Off with his son George’s head!

Duke of Norfolk:My lord, the enemy is past the marsh. After the battle let George Stanley die.

Richard:A thousand hearts are great within my bosom. Advance our standards. Set upon our foes. Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons. Upon them! Victory sits on our helms.

They exit.

Scene 4

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Norfolk, with Soldiers, and Catesby.

Sir William 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!

Sir William 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. Then retreat being sounded, Richmond exits, and Richard’s body is removed. Flourish. Enter Richmond, Stanley, Earl of Derby, bearing the crown, with other Lords, and Soldiers.

Earl of Richmond:God and your arms be praised, victorious friends! The day is ours; the bloody dog is dead.

Lord 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.

Earl of Richmond:Great God of heaven, say amen to all! But tell me, is young George Stanley living?

Lord Stanley:He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town, Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.

Earl of Richmond:What men of name are slain on either side?

Lord Stanley:John, Duke of Norfolk, Walter, Lord Ferrers, Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.

Earl of 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.