BUCKINGHAM

Good time of day unto your Royal Grace. Madam good hope, his Grace speaks cheerfully. I Madam, he desires to make atonement Between the Duke of Glouster, and your Brother's, And between them, and my Lord Chamberlain, And sent to warn them to his Royal presence. Peace, peace for shame: If not, for Charity. Have done, have done. Nor no one here: for Curses never pass The lips of those that breath them in the air. Nothing that I respect my gracious Lord. My hair does stand and end to hear her curses. When ever Buckingham does turn his hate Upon your Grace, but with all duteous love, Does cherish you, and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love, When I have most needs to employ a Friend, And most assured that he is a Friend, Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me: This do I beg of heaven, When I am cold in love, to you, or yours. And in good time, Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliffe, and the Duke. Look I so pale Lord Dorset, as the rest? We wait upon your Grace. You clowdy-Princes, & hart-sorowing-Peeres That bear this heavy mutual load of Moan, Now cheer each other, in each others Love: Though we have spent our Harvest of this King, We are to reap the Harvest of his Son. The broken rancour of your high-swollen hates, But lately splintered, knit, and joined together, Must gently be preserved, cherished, and kept: Me seems good, that with some little Train, Forthwith from Ludlow, the young Prince be set Hither to London, to be crowned our King. Marry my Lord, least by a multitude, The new-heal'd 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 Reine, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented. My Lord, who ever journeys to the Prince, For God 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 partly the Queens proud Kindred from the Prince. Welcome sweet Prince to London, To your Chamber. What, talking with a Priest, Lord Chamberlain? Your friends at Pomfret, they do needs the Priest, Your Honour hath no shriving work in hand. I do, my Lord, but long I cannot stay there: I shall return before your Lordship, thence. And Supper too, although thou knowest it not. Come, will you go? Give me some little breath, some pause, deer Lord, Before I positively speak in this: I will resolve you herein presently. Will not King Richard let me speak with him? Hastings, and Edwards children, Grey & Rivers, Holy King Henry, and thy fair Son Edward, Ʋ aughan, and all that have miscarried By underhand corrupted foul injustice, If that your moody discontented souls, Do through the clouds behold this present hour, Even for revenge mock my destruction. This is All-souls day (Fellow) is it not? Why then Al-soules day, is my bodies doomsday This is the day, which in King Edwards time I wished might fallen on me, when I was found False to his Children, and his Wives Allies. This is the day, wherein I wished to fallen 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 feigned Prayer on my head, And given in earnest, what I begged in jest. Thus does he force the swords of wicked men To turn their own points in their Master's bosoms. Thus Margarets 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 endue of blame. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. And in good time, here comes the sweating Lord. Fie, what and 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. 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 herd of Sanctuary men, But Sanctuary children, never till now. He did, my gracious Lord, begin that place, Which since, succeeding Ages have reedified. Upon record, my gracious Lord. What, my gracious Lord? Now in good time, here comes the Duke of York. 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. Think you, my Lord, this little prating York Was not incensed by his subtle Mother, To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously? 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 and easy matter, To make William Lord Hastings of our mind, For the installment of this Noble Duke In the Seat Royal of this famous I'll? What thinkest thou then of Stanley ? Will not he? Well then, no more but this: Go gentle Catesby, and as it were far off, Found thou Lord Hastings, How he does stand affected to our purpose, And summon him to morrow to the Tower, To fit about the Coronation. If thou dost find him tractable to us, Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons: If he be leaden, ycy, cold, unwilling, Be thou so too, and so break off the talk, And give us notice of his inclination: For we to morrow hold divided Counsels, Wherein thy self shalt highly be employed. Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly. Now, my Lord, What shall we do, if we perceive Lord Hastings will not yield to our Complots? I'll claim that promise at your Graces hand. Is all things ready for the Royal time? Who knows the Lord Protectors mind herein? Who is most inward with the Noble Duke? We know each others Faces: for our Hearts, He knows no more of mine, then I of yours, Or I of his, my Lord, then you of mine: Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. Had you not come upon your Oh my Lord, William, Lord Hastings, had pronounced your partly; I mean your Voice, for Crowning of the King. Withdraw your self a while, I'll go with you. 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 inforced Smiles; And both are ready in their Offices, At any time to grace my Stratagems. But what, is Catesby gone? Lord Mayor. Hark, a Drum. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent. God and our Innocence defend, and guard us. Well, well, he was the covertest sheltered Traitor That ever lived. Would you imagine, or almost believe, Wertenberg 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. 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 herd 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 Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death. 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. Doubt not, my Lord, I'll play the Orator, As if the Golden Fee, for which I plead, Were for my self: and so, my Lord, adue. I go, and towards three or four a Clock Look for the News that the Guildhall affords. Now by the holy Mother of our Lord, The Citizens are mum, say not a word. No, so God help me, they spoke 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 wilful 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 say 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 wisdom, and your love to Richard: And even here brake off, and came away. 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 Maids partly, still answer nay, and take it. Go, go up to the Leads, the Lord Mayor knocks. Welcome, my Lord, I dance attendance here, I think the Duke will not be spoke withal. Now Catesby, what says your Lord to my request? Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke, Tell him, my self, the Mayor and Aldermen, In deep designs, in matter of great moment, No less importing then our general good, Are come to have some conference with his Grace. Ah would, my Lord, this Prince is not and Edward, He is not lulling on a lewd Loue-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. I fear he will: here Catesby comes again. Now Catesby, what says his Grace? 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. When holy and devout Religious men Are at their Beads, it's much to draw them thence, So sweet is zealous Contemplation. Two Props of Virtue, for a Christian Prince, To stay him from the fallen of Vanity: And see a Book of Prayer in his hand, True Ornaments to know a holy man. Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince, Lend favourable ear to our requests, And pardon us the interruption Of thy Devotion, and right Christian Zeal. Even that (I hope) which pleases God above, And all good men, of this ungoverned I'll. You have, my Lord: Would it might please your Grace, On our entreaties, to amend your fault. Know then, it is your fault, that you resign The Supreme Seat, the Throne Majestical, The Sceptred Office of your Ancestors, Your State of Fortune, and your Dew of Birth, The Lineal Glory of your Royal House, To the corruption of a blemished Stock; While in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, Which here we waken to our Countries good, The Noble I'll does want his proper Limbs: His Face defaced with skarres of Infamy, His Royal Stock grafft 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 Empyrie, your own. For this, consorted with the Citizens, Your very Worshipful and loving friends, And by their vehement instigation, In this joust Cause come I to move your Grace. My Lord, this argues Conscience in your Grace, But the respects thereof are nice, and trivial, All circumstances well considered. You say, that Edward is your Brother's Son, So say we too, but not by Edwards Wife: For first was be contract to Lady Lucy, Your Mother lives a Witness to his Vow; And afterwards by substitute betrothed To Bona, Sister to the King of France. These both put off, a poor Petitioner, A Care-cras'd Mother to a many Sons, A Beautie-waining, and distressed 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 God 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 derived course. Refuse not, mighty Lord, this proffered love. Then I salute you with this Royal Title, Long live King Richard, England's worthy King. To morrow may it please you to be Crowned. To morrow then we will attend your Grace, And so most joyfully we take our leave. My gracious Sovereign. Still live they, and for ever let them last. Say on my loving Lord. Why so you are, my thrice-renowned Lord. Your Grace may do your pleasure. My Lord, I have considered in my mind, The late request that you did found me in. I hear the news, my Lord. My Lord, I claim the gift, my endue by promise, For which your Honour and your Faith is pawned, the Earldom of Hertford, and the moveables, Which you have promised I shall possess. What says your Highness to my joust request? May it please you to resolve me in my suit. And is it thus? repays he my deep service With such contempt? made I him King for this? Oh let me think on Hastings, and be gone To Brecnock, while my fearful Head is on. I did, with his Contract with Lady Lucy, And his Contract by Deputy in France, the unsatiate greediness of his desire, And his enforcement of the City Wives, His Tyranny for Trifles, his own Bastardy, As being God, 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 my Oratory drew towards end, I bid them that did love their Countries good, Cry, God save Richard, England's Royal King. 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, where 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, we will entreat no more. True, Noble Prince.