RICHARD

Upon what cause? Alack my Lord, that fault is none of yours: He should for that commit your Godfathers. Oh belike, his Majesty hath some intent, That you should be new Christened in the Tower. But what's the matter Clarence, may I know? Why this it is, when men are ruled by Women: It's not the King that sends you to the Tower, My Lady Gray his Wife, Clarence it's she. That tempts him to this harsh Extremity. Was it not she, and that good man of Worship, Anthony Woodeulle 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. Humbly complaining to her Deity, God my Lord Chamberlain his liberty. I'll tell you what, I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the King, To be her men, and wear her Livery. The jealous overworn Widow, and her self, Since that our Brother dubbed them Gentlewomen, Are mighty Gossips in our Monarchy. Even so, and please your Worship Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing 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 Shores Wife hath a pretty Foot, A cherry Lip, a bonny Eye, a passing pleasing tongue: And that the Queens Kindred are made gentle Folks. How say you sir? can you deny all this? Nought to do with Mistress Shore ? I tell thee Fellow, he that does nought with her (Excepting one) were best to do it secretly alone. Her Husband Knave, wouldst thou betray me? We are the Queens abjects, and must obey. Brother farewell, I will unto the King, And whatsoever you will employ me in, Were it to call King Edwards Widow, Sister, I will perform it to infranchise you Mean time, this deep disgrace in Brotherhood. Touches me deeper then you can imagine. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long, I will deliver you, or else lie for you: Mean time, have patience. Go tread the path that thou shalt never 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 ? As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain: Well are you welcome to this open Air, How hath your Lordship brooked imprisonment? 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, What news abroad? Now by S. John, that News is bade indeed. Oh he hath kept and evil Diet long, And overmuch consumed his Royal Person: It's very grievous to be thought upon Where is he, in his bed? Go you before, and I will follow you. 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 b ssle 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. Stay you that bear the Coarse, & set it down. Villains set down the Coarse, or by S. Paul, I'll make a Coarse of him that disobeys. Unmannered Dog, Standest thou when I command: Advance thy Halbert higher then my breast, Or by S. Paul I'll strike thee to my Foot, And spurn upon thee Beggar for thy boldness. Sweet Saint, for Charity, be not so cursed. Lady, you know no Rules of Charity, Which renders good for bade, Blessings for Curses. But I know none, and therefore am no Beast. More wonderful, when Angels are so angry: Vouchsafe (divine perfection of a Woman) Of these supposed Crimes, to give me leave By circumstance, but to acquit my self. Fairer then tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse my self. By such despair, I should accuse my self. Say that I slew them not. I did not kill your Husband. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edwards hands. I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, That laid their gilded, upon my guiltless Shoulders. I grant you. The better for the King of heaven that hath him. Let him thank me, that help to send him Thy there: For he was fitter for that place then earth. Yes one place else, if you will hear me name it. Your Bedchamber. So will it Madam, till I lie with you. I know so. But gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fallen something into a slower method. Is not the causer of the timeless death's Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the Executioner. 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. These eyes could not endure y to beauty's wrack, You should not blemish it, if I stood by; As all the world is cheered by the Sun, So I by that: It is my day, my life. Curse not thy self fair Creature, Thou art both. It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loves thee. He that bereft the Lady of thy Husband, Did it to help thee to a better Husband. He lives, that loves thee better then he could. Plantagenet. The selfsame name, but one of better Nature. Here: Why dost thou spit at me. Never came poison from so sweet a place. Thine eyes (sweet Lady) have infected mine. 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 and 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. 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 adores thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee, Nay do not pause: For I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy Beauty that provoked me. Nay now dispatch: 'Twas I that stabbed young Edward, But 'twas thy Heavenly face that set me on. Take up the Sword again, or take up me. Then bid me kill my self, and I will do it. 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 death's shalt thou be accessary. It's figured in my tongue. Then never Man was true. Say then my Peace is made. But shall I live in hope. 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 favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. 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 Monastery this Noble King, And wet his Grave with my Repentant Tears) I will with all expedient duty see you, For diverse unknown Reasons, I beseech you, Grant me this Boon. Bid me farewell. No: to White Friars, there attend my coming Was ever woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman in this humour 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 hearts 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 withal, But the plain Devil, and dissembling looks? And yet to win her? All the world to nothing. Hah! Hath she forgotten already that brave Prince, Edward, her Lord, whom I (some three months since) Stabbed in my angry mood, at Tewksbury? 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 Edwards Moiety? On me, that halts, and am mishapen thus? My Dukedom, to a Beggarly denier! I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life she finds (although I cannot) My self to be a marvellous proper man. I'll be at Charges for a Lookingglass, And entertain a score or two of Tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favour with my self, I will maintain it with some little cost. But first I'll turn you 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. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it, Who is it that complains unto the King, Thar I (forsooth) am stern, and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly, That fill his ears with such dissentious Rumours. 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? 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 then you would wish) Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. I cannot tell, the world is grown so bade, That Wrens make prey, where Eagles dare not perch. Since every Jack became a Gentleman, There's many a gentle person made a Jack. Mean time, God grants that I have needs of you. Our Brother is imprisoned by your means, My self 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. She may Lord Rivers, why who knows not so? She may do more sir then denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those Honours on your high desert. What may she not, she may, I marry may she. What? threat you me with telling of the King? I will avouched in presence of the King: I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. It's time to speak, My pains are quite forgotten. Ere you were Queen, I, 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. In all which time, you and your Husband Gray Were factious, for the House of Lancaster ; And Rivers, so were you: Was not your Husband, In Margarets Battle, at Saint Albons, 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. Poor Clarence did forsake his Father Warwick, I, and forswore himself (which Jesu pardon.) To fight on Edwards party, for the Crown, And for his meed, poor Lord, he is mewed up: I would to God my heart were Flint, Like Edwards, Or Edwards soft and pitiful, Like mine; I am too childish foolish for this World. If I should be? I had rather be a Pedlar: Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof. Foul wrinkled Witch, what makest thou in my sighed? Wertenberg thou not banished, on pain of death? The Curse my Noble Father laid on thee, When thou didst Crown his Warlike Brows with Paper, And with thy scorns drewest Rivers from his eyes, And then to dry them, gan'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 fallen upon thee: And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. Have done thy Charm, y u hateful withered Hag. Margaret. Would. I cry thee mercy then: for I did think, That thou hadst called me all these bitter names. It's done by me, and ends in Margaret. Good counsel marry, learn it, learn it Mar quesse. I, and much more: but I, was born so high: Our airy builds in the Cedars top, And dallies with the wind, and scorns the Sun. What does she say, my Lord of Buckingham. I cannot blame her, by Gods holy mother, She hath had too much wrong, and I repent My partly thereof, that I have done to her. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong: I was too hight, 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. So do I ever, being well advised. For had I cursed now, I had cursed my self. 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 Gulles, Namely to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham, And tell them it's 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, Gray. But then I sighs, and with a piece of Scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I cloth my naked Villainy With odd old ends, stolen forth of holy Writ, And seem a Saint, when most I play the devil. But soft, here come my Executioners, How now my hardy stout resolved Mates, Are you now going to dispatch this thing? Your eyes drop Millstones, when Fools eyes fallen Tears: I Like you Lads, about your business straight. Go, go, dispatch. Good morrow to my Sovereign King & Queen And Princely Peers, a happy time of day. A blessed labour my most Sovereign Lord: Among this Princely heap, if any here By false intelligence, or wrong surmise Hold me a Foe: If I unwillingly, or in my rage, Have ought committed that is hardly born, To any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his Friendly peace: It's 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 Wooduill, 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 then the Infant that is born to night: I thank my God for my Humility. 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? You do him injury to scorn his Coarse. But he (poor man) by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear: Some tardy Cripple bore the Countermand, That came too lag to see him buried. God grant, that some less Noble, and less Loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood, Deserve not worse then wretched Clarence did, And yet go currant from Suspicion. 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. Oh! they did urge it still unto the King, God will revenge it. Come Lords will you go, To comfort Edward with our company. 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. Amen, 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. I hope the King made peace with all of us, And the compact is firm, and true in me. Then be it so, and go we to determine Who they shall be that strait shall post to London. Madam, and you my Sister, will you go To give your censures in this business. My other self, my Counsels Consistory, My Oracle, My Prophet, my deer Cousin, I, as a child, will go by thy direction, Towards London then, for we'll not stay behind. Welcome deer Cousin, my thoughts Sovereign The weary way hath made you Melancholy. Sweet Prince, the untainted virtue of your years Hath not yet dived into the World's deceit: No more can you distinguish of a man, Then 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. My Lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet you. Commend me to Lord William: tell him Catesby, His ancient Knot of dangerous Adversaries To morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle, And bid my Lord, for joy of this good news, Give Mistress Shore one gentle Kiss the more. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep? At Crosby House, there shall you find us both. 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 moveables Whereof the King, my Brother, was possessed. And look to have it yielded with all kindness Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards We may digest our complots in some form. My Noble Lords, and Cousin's all, good morrow: I have been long a sleeper: but I trust, My absence does neglect no great design, Which by my presence might have been concluded. Then 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 Holborne, I saw good Strawberries in your Garden there, I do beseech you, send for some of them. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, And finds the testy Gentleman so hight, That he will loose his Head, ere give consent His Master's Child, as worshipfully he terms it, Shall loose the Royalty of England's Throne. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve, That do conspire my death with devilish Plots Of damned Witchcraft, and that have prevailed Upon my Body with their Hellish Charms. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil. Look how I am bewitched: behold, mine Arm Is Like a blasted Sapling, withered up: And this is Edwards Wife, that monstrous Witch, Consorted with that Harlot, Strumpet Shore, That by their Witchcraft thus have marked me. If? thou Protector of this damned Strumpet, Talkest 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. Lovel and Ratcliffe, look that it be done: The rest that love me, rise, and follow me. He is, and see he brings the Mayor along. Look to the Drawbridge there. Catesby, overlook the Walls. Look back, defend thee, here are Enemies. Be patient, they are friends: Ratcliffe, and Lovel. So deer 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 Gilded omitted, I mean, his Conversation with Shores Wife, He lived from all attainder of suspects. What? think you we are Turks, or Infidels? Or that we would, against the form of Law, Proceed thus rashly in the Villains death, But that the extreme peril of the case, The Peace of England, and our Persons safety, Enforced us to this Execution. And to that end we wished your Lordship here, to avoid the Censures of the carping World. 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 Edwards 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 termed 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 needs, 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 begotten: Which well appeared 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. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynar's Castle, Where you shall find me well accompanied With reverend Father's, and well-learned Bishops. Go Lovel with all speed to Doctor Shaw, Go thou to Fryer Peuker, bid them both Meet me within this hour at Baynar's Castle. Now will I go to take some privy order, To draw the Brats of Clarence out of sighed, And to give order, that no manner person Have any time recourse unto the Princes. How now, how now, what say the Citizens? Touched you the Bastardy of Edwards Children? And did they so? What tongueless Blocks were they, Would they not speak? Will not the Mayor then, and his Brothers, come? I go: and if you plead as well for them, As I can say nay to thee for my self, No doubt we bring it to a happy issue. 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 Graces pleasure? I do suspect I have done some offence, That seems disgracious in the Cities eye, And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian Land. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence, Or bitterly to speak in your reproof, Best fits 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 Meritable, 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 endue 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; Then in my Greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my Glory smothered. But God be thanked, there is no needs of me, And much I needs to help you, were there needs: 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. 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. 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. Cousin of Buckingham, and sage graven men, Since you will buckle fortune on my back, To bear her burden, where 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 does know, and you may partly see, How far I am from the desire of this. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. Even when you please, for you will have it so. Come, let us to our holy Work again. Farewell my Cousin's, farewell gentle friends. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham. Give me thy hand. 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? Ah Buckingham, now do I play the Touch, To try if thou be currant Gold indeed: Young Edward lives, think now what I would speak. Why Buckingham, I say I would be King. Would? am I King? it's so: but Edward lives. Oh 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 sayest thou now? speak suddenly, be brief. Tut, tut, thou art all Ice, thy kindness freezes: Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die? 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. Knowest thou not any, whom corrupting Gold Will tempt unto a close exploit of Death? What is his Name? I partly know the man: go call him hither, Boy. The deep revolving witty Buckingham, No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels. Hath he so long held out with me, untired, And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so. How now, Lord Stanley, what's the news? 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 dreamest: 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 Hope's, whose growth may damage me. I must be married to my Brother's Daughter, Or else my Kingdom stands on brittle Glass: Murder her Brother's, and then marry her, Uncertain way of gain. But I am in So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin, Teare-falling Pity dwells not in this Eye. Is thy Name Tyrrel ? Art thou indeed? Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine? Why then thou hast it: two deep enemies. Foes to my Rest, and my sweet sleeps disturbers, Are they that I would have thee deal upon: Tyrrel, I mean those Bastards in the Tower. Thou singest sweet Music: Hark, come hither Tyrrel, Go by this token: rise, and lend thine Ear, There is no more but so: say it is done, And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. Well, let that rest: Dorset is fled to Richmond. Stanley, he is your Wives Son: well, look unto it. Stanley look to your Wife: if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. I do remember me, Henry the Sixth Did prophecy, that Richmond should be King, When Richmond was a little peevish Boy. A King perhaps. Thou troublest me, I am not in the vain. But didst thou see them dead. And buried gentle Tirrell. Come to me Tirrel soon, and after Supper, When thou shalt tell the process of their death. Mean time, but think how I may do the good, And be inheritor of thy desire. Farewell till then. The Son of Clarence have I penned up close, His daughter meanly have I matched in marriage, The Sons of Edward sleep in Abrahams bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night, Now for I know the Britain 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. Good or bade news, that thou comest in so bluntly? Ely with Richmond troubles me more near, Then Buckingham and his rash levied Strength. Come, I have learned, that fearful commenting Is leaden servitor to dull delay. Delay leds 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. Who intercepts me in my Expedition? A flourish Trumpets, strike Alarm Drums: Let not the Heavens hear these Telltale women Rail on the Lords Anointed. Strike I say. Either be patient, and entreat me fair, Or with the clamorous report of War, Thus will I drown your exclamations. I, I thank God, my Father, and your self. Madam, I have a touch of your condition, That cannot brook the accent of reproof. Do then, but I'll not hear. And brief (good Mother) for I am in hast. And came I not at last to comfort you? Faith none, but Humfrey Hour, 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. You speak too bitterly. So. Stay Madam, I must talk a word with you. You have a daughter called Elizabeth, Virtuous and Fair, Royal and Gracious? Wrong not her Birth, she is a Royal Princess. Her life is safest only in her birth. Lo at their Birth, good stars were opposite. All unavoided is the doom of Destiny. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise And dangerous success of bloody wars, As I intend more good to you and yours, Then ever you and yours by me were harmed. the advancement of your children, gentle Lady Unto the dignity and height of Fortune, The high Imperial Type of this earth's glory. Even all I have; I, and my self 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. Then know, That from my Soul, I love thy Daughter. What do you think? 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. Even he that makes her Queen: Who else should be? Even so: How think you of it? That I would learn of you, As one being best acquainted with her humour. Madam, with all my heart. You mock me Madam, this not the way To win your daughter. Look what is done, cannot be now amended: Men shall deal unadvisedly sometime, Which after-houres 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 Grandams name is little less in love, Then is the doting Title of a Mother; They are as Children but one step below, Even of your mettle, of your very blood: Of all one pain, save for a night of groans 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 lose you have, is but a Son being King, And by that lose, 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 Oftentimes 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 Woers Tale. Put in her tender heart, the aspiring Flame Of Golden Sovereignty: Acquaint the Princess With the sweet silent hours of Marriage joys: And when this Arm of mine hath chastised The petty Rebel, dull-brained Buckingham, Bound with Triumphant Garlands will I come, And lead thy daughter to a Conquerors bed: To whom I will retail my Conquest won, And she shall be sole Victoress, Caesars Caesar. Infer fair England's peace by this Alliance. Tell her, the King that may command, intreats. Say she shall be a High and Mighty Queen. Say I will love her everlastingly. Sweetly in force, unto her fair lives end. As long as Heaven and Nature lengthens it. Say, I her Sovereign, am her Subject low. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. Then plainly to her, tell my loving tale. Your Reasons are too shallow, and to quick. Harp not on that string Madam, that is passed. Now by my George, my Garter, and my Crown. I swear. Then by my Self. Now by the World. My Father's death. Why then, by Heaven. The time to come. As I intend to prosper, and repent: So thrive I in my dangerous Affairs Of hostile Arms: My self, my self 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 deer hearts love, Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, I tender not thy beauteous Princely daughter. In her, consists my Happiness, and thine: Without her, follows to my self, and thee; Her self, 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 deer 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. I, if the Devil tempt you to do good. I, if your selves remembrance wrong your self. But in your daughters womb I bury them. Where in that Nest of Spicery they will breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. And be a happy Mother by the deed. Bear her my true loves kiss, and so farewell. Relenting Fool, and shallow-changing Woman. How now, what news? Some lightfoot friend post to y e Duke of Norfolk: Ratcliffe thy self, or Catesby, where is he? Catesby, fly to the Duke. Catesby come hither, post to Salisbury: When thou comest thither: Dull unmindful Villain, Why stayest thou here, and goest not to the Duke? Oh true, good Catesby, bid him levy straight The greatest strength and power that he can make, And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. Why, what wouldst thou do there, before I go? My mind is changed: Stanley, what news with you? Heyday, a Riddle, neither good nor bade: What needest thou run so many miles about, When thou mayest tell thy Tale the nearest way? Once more, what news? There let him sink, and be the Seas on him, White-livered Runagate, what does he there? Well, as you guess. 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 Yorks Heir? Then tell me, what makes he upon the Seas? 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. Where is thy Power then, to Beatrice him back? Where be thy Tenants, and thy followers? Are they not now upon the Western Shore, Safe-conducting the Rebels from their Ships? Cold friends to me: what do they in the North, When they should serve their Sovereign in the West? I, thou wouldst be gone, to join with Richmond: But I'll not trust thee. Go then, and muster men: but leave behind Your Son George Stanley: look your heart be firm, Or else his Heads assurance is but frail. Out on you, Owls, nothing but Songs of Death, There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. I cry thee mercy: There is my Purse, to cure that Blow of thine. Hath any well-advised friend proclaimed Reward to him that brings the Traitor in? March on, march on, since we are up in Arms, If not to fight with foreign Enemies, Yet to Beatrice down these Rebels here at home. Away towards Salsbury, while we reason here, A Royal battle might be won and lost: Some one take order Buckingham be brought To Salsbury, the rest march on with me. Here pitch our Tent, even here in Bosworth field, My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? My Lord of Norfolk. Norfolk, we must have knocks: Would, must we not? Up with my Tent, here will I lie to night, But where to morrow? Well, all's one for that Who hath descried the number of the Traitors? Why our Battalions trebles that account: Beside, the Kings 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 found direction: Let's lack no Discipline, make no delay, For Lords, to morrow is a busy day. What is't a Clock? Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge, Use careful Watch, choose trusty Centinels, S ir with the Lark to morrow, gentle Norfolk. Ratcliffe. Send out a Pursuivant at Arms To Stanleys Regiment: bid him bring his power Before Sunrising, least his Son George fallen Into the blind Cave of eternal night. Fill me a Bowl of Wine: Give me a Watch, Saddle white Surrey for the Field to morrow: Look that my Staves be found, & not too heavy. Sawest the melancholy Lord Northumberland? 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. All comfort that the dark night can afford, Be to thy Person, Noble Father in Law. Tell me, how fares our Noble Mother? Give me another Horse, bind up my Wounds: Have mercy Jesu. Soft, I did but dream. Oh coward Conscience! how dost thou afflict me? The Lights burn blue. It is not dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What? do I fear my Self? 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 my Self? Great reason: why? Lest I Revenge. What? my Self upon my Self? Alack, I love my Self. Wherefore? For any good That I my Self, have done unto my Self? Oh no. Alas, I rather hate my Self, For hateful Deeds committed by my Self. I am a Villain: yet I Lie, I am not. Fool, of thy Self 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, in the highest Degree, Murder, stern murder, in the dyr'st degree, All several sins, all us worser in each degree, Throng all to 'th Bar, crying all, Guilty, Guilty. I shall despair, there is no Creature loves me; And if I die, no soul shall pity me. Nay, wherefore should they? Since that I my Self, Find in my Self, no pity to my Self. Me thought, the Souls of all that I had murdered Came to my Tent, and every one did threat To morrows vengeance on the head of Richard. Cry mercy Lords and watchful Gentlemen, That you have taken a tardy sluggard here? The sweetest sleep, And fairest boding Dreams, That ever entered in a drowsy head, Have I since your departure had my Lords. Me thought their Souls, whose bodies Rich. murdered, Came to my Tent, and cried on Victory: I promise you my Heart is very jocund, In the remembrance of so fair a dream, How far into the Morning is it Lords? Why then it's time to Arm, and give direction. More then 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 wronged souls, Like high reared Bulwarks, stand before our Faces, ( Richard except) those whom we fight against, Had rather have us win, then 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 soil Of England's Chair, where he is fall ely set: One that hath ever been Gods Enemy. Then if you fight against Gods Enemy, God will in justice ward you as his Soldiers. If you do swear to put a Tyrant down, You sleep in peace, the Tyrant being slain: If you do fight against your Countries Foes, Your Countries 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 Corpses on the earth's cold face. But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt, The least of you shall share his partly thereof. Found Drums and Trumpets boldly, and cheerfully, God, and Saint George, Richmond, and Victory. A Horse, a Horse, my Kingdom for a Horse. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the Die: I think there be six Richmond's in the field, Five have I slain to day, in stead of him. A Horse, a Horse, my Kingdom for a Horse. You may deny that you were not the mean Of my Lord Hastings late imprisonment. What marry may she? Marry with a King, A Bachelor, and a handsome stripling too, I wis your Grandam had a worse match. Well thought upon, I have it hear about me: 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. Kind Tirrell, am I happy in thy News. Say that I did all this for love of her. Were you well served, you would be taught your duty. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart, Come Cousin, Canst thou quake, and change thy colour, Murder thy breath in middle of a word, And then again begin, and stop again, As if thou were distracted, and mad with terror? You speak as if that I had slain my Cousin's? Where it thinkest 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. So wise, so young, they say do never live long. I say, without Characters, Fame lives long. Thus, Like the formal Vice, Iniquity, I morallize two meanings in one word. Short Summer's lightly have a forward Spring. How fares our Cousin, Noble Lord of York? He hath, my Lord. O my fair Cousin, I must not say so. He may command me as my Sovereign, But you have power in me, as in a Kinsman. My Dagger, little Cousin? with all my heart. A greater gift then that, I'll give my Cousin. I, gentle Cousin, were it light enough. It is too weighty for your Grace to wear. What, would you have my Weapon, little Lord? How? My Lord, wilt please you pass along? My self, and my good Cousin Buckingham, Will to your Mother, to entreat of her To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. Why, what should you fear? Nor none that live, I hope. No doubt, no doubt: O it's a perilous Boy, Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable: He is all the Mother's, from the top to toe. I will not sup to night, Give me some Ink and Paper: What, is my Beaver easier then it was? And all my Armour laid into my Tent? 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. Set it down. Is Ink and Paper ready? Who's there? Oh Ratcliffe, I fear, I fear. By the Apostle Paul, shadows to night Have stroke more terror to the soul of Richard, Then can the substance of ten thousand Soldiers Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond It's not yet near day. Come go with me, Under our Tents I'll play the Ease-dropper, To hear if any mean to shrink from me. He said the truth: and what said Surrey then? He was in the right, and so indeed it is. Tell the clock there. Give me a Calendar: Who saw the Sun to day? Then he disdains to shine: for by the Book He should have braved the East and hour ago, A black day will it be to somebody. Ratcliffe. The Sun will not be seen to day, The sky does frown, and lower upon our Army. I would these dewy tears were from the ground. Not shine to day? Why, what is that to me More then to Richmond? For the selfsame Heaven That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. 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 ordered. My Forward shall be drawn in length, Consisting equally of Horse and Foot: Our Archers shall be placed in the midst; John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey, Shall have the leading of the Foot and Horse. They thus directed, we will fllow In the main Battle, whose puissance on either side Shall be well-winged with our chiefest Horse: This, and Saint George to boot. What thinkest thou Norfolk. A thing devised by the Enemy. Go Gentlemen, every man to his Charge, Let not our babbling Dreams affright our souls: For Conscience is 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 too't pell mell, If not to heaven, then hand in hand to Hell. What shall I say more then I have inferred? Remember whom you are to cope withal, A sort of Vagabonds, Rascals, and Runaways, A scum of Britons, and base Lackey Peasants, Whom their o're-cloyed Country vomits forth To desperate Adventures, and assured Destruction. You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest: You having Lands, and blessed with beauteous wives, They would restrain the one, distain the other, And who does lead them, but a pa try Fellow? Long kept in Britain at our Mother's cost, A Milksop, one that never in his life Felt so much cold, as over shoes in Snow: Let's whip these stragglers over the Seas again, Lash hence these overweening Rags of France, These famished Beggars, weary of their lives, Who (but for dreaming on this found exploit) For want of means (poor Rats) had hanged themselves. If we be conquered, let men conquer us, And not these bastard Britain's, whom our Father's Have in their own Land beaten, bobbed, and thumped, And on Record, left them the heirs of shame. Shall these enjoy our Lands? lie with our Wives? Ravish our daughters? Hark, I hear their Drum, Right Gentlemen of England, fight boldly yeomen, Draw Archers draw your Arrows to the head, Spur your proud Horses hard, and idem in blood, Amaze the welkin with your broken staves. What says Lord Stanley, will he bring his power? Off with his son Georges head. A thousand hearts are great within my bosom. Advance our Standards, set upon our Foes, Our Ancient word of Courage, fair S. George Inspire us with the spleen of fiery Dragons: Upon them, Victory sits on our helps. What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?