HASTINGS

Good time of day unto my gracious Lord. With patience (Noble Lord) as prisoners must: But I shall live (my Lord) to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment. More pity, that the Eagles should be mewed, While Kites and Buzzards play at liberty. No news so bade abroad, as this at home: The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy, And his Physicians fear him mightily. He is. Oh, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that Babe, And the most merciless, that ere was herd of. False boding Woman, end thy frantic Curse, Least to thy harm, thou move our patience. So thrive I, as I truly swear the Like. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love. And so swear I. And so say I. On what occasion God he knows, not I; The Queen your Mother, and your Brother York, Have taken Sanctuary: The tender Prince Would feign have come with me, to meet your Grace, But by his Mother was perforce withheld. I go, my Lord. What is't a Clock? What then? How wear the Garland? Dost thou mean the Crown? 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 does aim at it? 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. But I shall laugh at this a twelvemonth 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. Oh monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out With Rivers Ʋ aughan, Gray: and so it'll do With some men else, that think themselves as safe As thou and I, who (as thou knowest) are deer To Princely Richard, and to Buckingham. I know they do, and I have well deserved it. Come on, come on, where is your Boar-spear man? Fear you the Boar, and go so unprovided? My Lord, I hold my Life as deer as yours, And never in my days, I do protest, Was it so precious to me, as it's now: Think you, but that I know our state secure, I would be so triumphant as I am? Come, come, have with you: Wot you what, my Lord, To day the Lords you talk of, are beheaded. Go on before, I'll talk with this good fellow. How now, Sirrah? how goes the World with thee? I tell thee man, it's better with me now, Then when thou mettest me last, where now we meet: Then was I going Prisoner to the Tower, By the suggestion of the Queens Allies. But now I tell thee (keep it to thy self) This day those Enemies are put to death, And I in better state then ere I was. Gramercy fellow: there, drink that for me. Good faith, and when I met this holy man, The men you talk of, came into my mind. What, go you towards the Tower? Nay Like enough, for I stay Dinner there. I'll wait upon your Lordship. Now Noble Peers, the cause why we are met, Is to determine of the Coronation: In Gods Name speak, when is the Royal day? 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 Honourable Lords, may name the time, And in the Dukes behalf I'll give my Voice, Which I presume he'll take in gentle partly. Marry, that with no man here he is offended: For were he, he had shown it in his Looks. The tender love I bear your Grace, my Lord, Makes me most forward, in this Princely presence, To doom the Offenders, whosoever they be: I say, my Lord, they have deserved death. If they have done this deed, my Noble Lord. Woe, woe for England, not a whit for me, For I, too found, might have prevented this: Stanley did dream, the Boar did rouse our Helms, And I did scorn it, and disdain to fly: Three times to day my Foot-Cloth-Horse did stumble, And started, when he looked upon the Tower, As loath to bear me to the slaughterhouse. Oh now I needs the Priest, that spoke to me: I now repent I told the Pursuivant, As too triumphing, how mine Enemies To day at Pomfret bloodily were butchered, And I my self secure, in grace and favour. O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy Curse Is lighted on poor Hastings wretched Head. Oh momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for, then 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. Who knocks? Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious Nights? Go fellow, go, return unto thy Lord, Bid him not fear the separated Council: His Honour and my self are at the one, And at the other, is my good friend Catesby ; Where nothing can proceed, that touches 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 mockery 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. Good morrow Catesby, you are early stirring: What news, what news, in this our tottering State? 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. Oh bloody Richard: miserable England, I prophecy the fearefull'st time to thee, That ever wretched Age hath looked upon. Come, led me to the Block, bear him my Head, They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead. His Grace looks cheerfully & 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, then he, For by his Face straight shall you know his Heart.