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Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

K. Rich. Then in plain terms tell her my loving tale.

Q. Eliz. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

Q. Eliz. O no, my reasons are too deep and dead:

Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam: that is past.

Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast Misused ere used, by times ill-used o'erpast.

K. Rich. As I intend to prosper and repent: So thrive I in my dangerous attempt 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 pure 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,

Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings Herself, the land, and many a christian soul,

break.

K. Rich. Now by my George, my garter, and my crown,—

Q. Eliz. Profaned, dishonoured, and the third usurped.

K. Rich. I swear,

Q. Eliz. By nothing: for this is no oath. Thy George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour; 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.

K. Rich. Now by the world,-
Q. Eliz.

'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

K. Rich. My father's death,-
Q. Eliz.

Thy life hath that dishonoured.
K. Rich. Then by myself,—
Q. Eliz.

Thyself is self-misused.
K. Rich. Why then, by God,-

Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all.
If thou hadst feared to break an oath by Him,
The unity the king thy brother made
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain.
If thou hadst feared to break an oath by Him,
The 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 a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now?

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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.

Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.
Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself to be myself?
K. Rich. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong
yourself.

Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children.
K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury

them;

Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy

will?

K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. Q. Eliz. I go.-Write to me very shortly, And you shall understand from me her mind. K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so farewell.

[Kissing her.-Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH. Relenting fool, and shallow changing woman! How now what news?

Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following. Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western

coast

Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore
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.

K. Rich. Some lightfoot friend post to the
Duke of Norfolk:

Ratcliff, thyself,—or Catesby; where is he?
Cate. Here, my good lord.

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Cute. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.

K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither: post to Salisbury:

When thou com'st thither,-Dull unmindful villain, [To CATESBY.

Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke? Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' pleasure,

What from your grace I shall deliver to him. K. Rich. O true, good Catesby:-bid him levy straight

The greatest strength and power he can make, And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.

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Stan.

Richmond is on the seas.

K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on him!

White-livered runagate, what doth he there? Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

K. Rich. Well, as you guess?

Stan. Stirred up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,

He makes for England, here to claim the crown. K. Rich. 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?

Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. K. Rich. 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,

Stan. No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust

me not.

K. Rich. 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?
Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the
north.

K. Rich. Cold friends to me! What do they in the north,

When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty king:

Pleaseth your majesty to give me loave,
I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace
Where and what time your majesty shall please.
K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to
join with Richmond:

I will not trust you, sir. Stan.

Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful:

I never was nor never will be false.

K. Rich. Well, go muster men. But hear you, leave behind

Your son, George Stanley: look your heart be firm,

Or else his head's assurance is but frail. Stan. So deal with him as I prove true to you. [Exit STANLEY.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devorshire,

As I by friends am well advertised,
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,
With many more confederates, are in arms.

Enter another Messenger.

2nd Mess. 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.

3rd Mess. My lord, the army of great Buckingham,K. Rich. Out on ye, owls!

of death?

nothing but songs [He strikes him. There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 3rd Mess. The news I have to tell your ma

jesty

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.

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
Lies now even in the centre 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.

Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand

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Enter KING RICHARD and Forces; the DUKE OF NORFOLK, EARL OF SURREY, and others.

K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.

My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?
Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my
looks.

K. Rich. My lord of Norfolk,-
Nor. Here, most gracious liege.

K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks: ha! must we not?

Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord.

K. Rich. Up with my tent: here will I lie tonight :

[Soldiers begin to set up the KING'S Tent. But where to-morrow?-Well, all's one for that.Who hath descried the number of the traitors? Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost

power.

K. Rich. 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.

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Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden sct, And by the bright track 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 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 good night 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? Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours

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.

Richm. 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. Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake

it:

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SCENE I.-Salisbury. An open Place. Enter the Sheriff and Guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution.

Buck. Will not King Richard let me speak with him?

Sher. No, my good lord: therefore be patient. Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey,

Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
Vaughan, 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, fellows, is it not?

Sher. It is, my lord.

Buck. 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 or 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,

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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
Lies now even in the centre 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.

Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand
swords,

To fight against that bloody homicide.

Herb. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us. Blunt. He hath no friends but who are friends for fear;

Which in his dearest need will fly from him. Richm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's

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Enter KING RICHARD and Forces; the DUKE OF NORFOLK, EARL OF SURREY, and others.

K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.

My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?
Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my
looks.

K. Rich. My lord of Norfolk,-
Nor.

Here, most gracious liege.

K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks: ha! must we not?

Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord.

K. Rich. Up with my tent: here will I lie tonight

[Soldiers begin to set up the KING's Tent. But where to-morrow?-Well, all's one for that.Who hath descried the number of the traitors? Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost

power.

K. Rich. 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 want no discipline, make no delay;
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt.
Enter, on the other side of the field, RICHMOND,
SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, and other
Lords. Some of the Soldiers pitch RICHMOND'S

Tent.

Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set, And by the bright track 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 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 good night 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? Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours

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.

Richm. 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. Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake

it:

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