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, & makes his trough In your emboweled bosoms: This foul Swine Is now even in the Centry of this Isle, Never to the Town of Leicester, as we learn: From Tamworth thither, is but one days march. In Gods name cheerly on, courageous Friends, To reap the Harvest of perpetual peace, By this one bloody trial of sharp War. All for our vantage, then in Gods name march, True Hope is swift, and flies with Swallows wings, Kings it makes Gods, and meaner creatures Kings. The weary Sun, hath made a Golden set, And by the bright Tract of his fiery Car, Gives token of a goodly day to morrow. 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 partly in joust proportion our small Power. My Lord of Oxford, you Sir William Brandon, And your 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? 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. Good night good Captain Blunt : Come Gentlemen, Let us consult upon to morrows Business; Into my Tent, the Due is raw and cold. Good Lords conduct him to his Regiment: I'll strive with troubled noise, to take a Nap, Lest leaden slumber peize me down to morrow, When I should mount with wings of Victory: Once more, good night kind Lords and Gentlemen. Oh thou, whose Captain I account my self, 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 fallen, the usurping Helmets of our Adversaries: Make us thy ministers of Chastisement, That we may praise thee in thy victory: To thee I do commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fallen the windows of mine eves: Sleeping, and waking, o defend me still. Good morrow Richmond. God, and your Arms Be praised Victorious Friends; The day is ours, the bloody Dog is dead. Great God of Heaven, say Amen to all. But tell me, is young George Stanley living? What men of name are slain on either side? Inter their Bodies, as become their Births, Proclaim a pardon to the Soldiers fled, That in submission will return to us, And then as we have taken the Sacrament, We will unite the White Rose, and the Read. 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 her self; 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. Oh now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, The true Succeeders of each Royal House, By Gods fair ordinance, conjoin together: And let thy 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 Lands increase, That would with Treason, wound this fair Lands peace. Now Civil wounds are stopped, Peace lives again; That she may long live here, God say, Amen.