ACT 1
Scene 1
Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester, alone.
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York,
And all the clouds that loured upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruisèd arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbèd steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking glass;
I, that am rudely stamped and want love’s majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them—
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determinèd to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the King
In deadly hate, the one against the other;
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mewed up
About a prophecy which says that “G”
Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.

Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury.
Brother, good day. What means this armèd guard
That waits upon your Grace?

...to the Tower.
Upon what cause?

...is George.
Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours.
He should, for that, commit your godfathers.
O, belike his Majesty hath some intent
That you should be new christened in the Tower.
But what’s the matter, Clarence? May I know?

...commit me now.
Why, this it is when men are ruled by women.
’Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower.
My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, ’tis she
That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she and that good man of worship,
Anthony Woodeville, 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.

...for his delivery?
Humbly complaining to her Deity
Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.
I’ll tell you what: I think it is our way,
If we will keep in favor with the King,
To be her men and wear her livery.
The jealous o’erworn widow and herself,
Since that our brother dubbed them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.

...with your brother.
Even so. An please your Worship, Brakenbury,
You may partake of anything 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 Shore’s wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue,
And that the Queen’s kindred are made gentlefolks.
How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?

...naught to do.
Naught to do with Mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow,
He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best to do it secretly, alone.

...and will obey.
We are the Queen’s abjects and must obey.—
Brother, farewell. I will unto the King,
And whatsoe’er you will employ me in,
Were it to call King Edward’s widow “sister,”
I will perform it to enfranchise you.
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

...of us well.
Well, your imprisonment shall not be long.
I will deliver you or else lie for you.
Meantime, have patience.

...must, perforce. Farewell.
Go tread the path that thou shalt ne’er 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?

...my gracious lord.
As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain.
Well are you welcome to the open air.
How hath your Lordship brooked imprisonment?

...of my 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.

...prey at liberty.
What news abroad?

...fear him mightily.
Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And overmuch consumed his royal person.
’Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
Where is he, in his bed?

... He is.
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 bustle 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.
He exits.

Scene 2

...King Henry’s corse.
Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester.
Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

...devoted charitable deeds?
Villains, set down the corse or, by Saint Paul,
I’ll make a corse of him that disobeys.

...the coffin pass.
Unmannered dog, stand thou when I command!—
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,
Or by Saint Paul I’ll strike thee to my foot
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

...have. Therefore begone.
Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

...arm hath butcherèd.
Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

...touch of pity.
But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

...tell the truth!
More wonderful, when angels are so angry.
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposèd crimes to give me leave
By circumstance but to acquit myself.

...thy cursèd self.
Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have
Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

...to hang thyself.
By such despair I should accuse myself.

...slaughter upon others.
Say that I slew them not.

...slave, by thee.
I did not kill your husband.

...he is alive.
Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward’s hands.

...aside the point.
I was provokèd by her sland’rous tongue,
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

...kill this king?
I grant you.

...mild, and virtuous.
The better for the King of heaven that hath him.

...shalt never come.
Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither,
For he was fitter for that place than Earth.

...place but hell.
Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

... Some dungeon.
Your bedchamber.

...where thou liest!
So will it, madam, till I lie with you.

...I hope so.
I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our wits
And fall something into a slower method:
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner?

...most accursed effect.
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.

...my cheeks.
These eyes could not endure that beauty’s wrack.
You should not blemish it, if I stood by.
As all the world is cheerèd by the sun,
So I by that. It is my day, my life.

...death thy life.
Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.

...revenged on thee.
It is a quarrel most unnatural
To be revenged on him that loveth thee.

...killed my husband.
He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband
Did it to help thee to a better husband.

...upon the earth.
He lives that loves thee better than he could.

... Name him.
Plantagenet.

...that was he.
The selfsame name, but one of better nature.

...Where is he?
Here. (She spits at him.)
Why dost thou spit at me?

...for thy sake.
Never came poison from so sweet a place.

...infect mine eyes.
Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

...strike thee dead.
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 an 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.

She looks scornfully at him.
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 adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke
And humbly beg the death upon my knee. He kneels and lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword.
Nay, do not pause, for I did kill King Henry—
But ’twas thy beauty that provokèd me.
Nay, now dispatch; ’twas I that stabbed young Edward—
But ’twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

She falls the sword.
Take up the sword again, or take up me.

...be thy executioner.
rising
Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

...I have already.
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 deaths shalt thou be accessory.

...knew thy heart.
’Tis figured in my tongue.

...both are false.
Then never was man true.

...up your sword.
Say then my peace is made.

...thou know hereafter.
But shall I live in hope?

...hope live so.
Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

...not to give.
He places the ring on her hand.
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 favor at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness forever.

...What is it?
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 monast’ry this noble king
And wet his grave with my repentant tears,
I will with all expedient duty see you.
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,
Grant me this boon.

...along with me.
Bid me farewell.

...Chertsey, noble lord?
No, to Whitefriars. There attend my coming.
Was ever woman in this humor wooed?
Was ever woman in this humor 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 heart’s 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 at all
But the plain devil and dissembling looks?
And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!
Ha!
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I some three months since
Stabbed in my angry mood at Tewkesbury?
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 Edward’s moiety?
On me, that halts and am misshapen thus?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I do mistake my person all this while!
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marv’lous proper man.
I’ll be at charges for a looking glass
And entertain a score or two of tailors
To study fashions to adorn my body.
Since I am crept in favor with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
But first I’ll turn yon 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.
He exits.

Scene 3

...at the height.
Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester, and Hastings.
They do me wrong, and I will not endure it!
Who is it that complains unto the King
That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not?
By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly
That fill his ears with such dissentious rumors.
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?

...speaks your Grace?
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 than you would wish,
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing while
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

...learn the ground.
I cannot tell. The world is grown so bad
That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
Since every Jack became a gentleman,
There’s many a gentle person made a Jack.

...need of you.
Meantime God grants that we have need of you.
Our brother is imprisoned by your means,
Myself 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.

...these vile suspects.
You may deny that you were not the mean
Of my Lord Hastings’ late imprisonment.

...my lord, for—
She may, Lord Rivers. Why, who knows not so?
She may do more, sir, than denying that.
She may help you to many fair preferments
And then deny her aiding hand therein,
And lay those honors on your high desert.
What may she not? She may, ay, marry, may she—

...marry, may she?
What, marry, may she? Marry with a king,
A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too.
Iwis, your grandam had a worser match.

...due to me.
to Queen Elizabeth
What, threat you me with telling of the King?
Tell him and spare not. Look, what I have said,
I will avouch ’t in presence of the King;
I dare adventure to be sent to th’ Tower.
’Tis time to speak. My pains are quite forgot.

...son, at Tewkesbury.
to Queen Elizabeth
Ere you were queen, ay, 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.

...his or thine.
to Queen Elizabeth
In all which time, you and your husband Grey
Were factious for the House of Lancaster.—
And, Rivers, so were you.—Was not your husband
In Margaret’s battle at Saint Albans 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.

...still thou art.
to Queen Elizabeth
Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick,
Ay, and forswore himself—which Jesu pardon!—

...Which God revenge!
To fight on Edward’s party for the crown;
And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up.
I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward’s,
Or Edward’s soft and pitiful, like mine.
I am too childish-foolish for this world.

...be our king.
If I should be? I had rather be a peddler.
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof.

...not turn away.
Foul, wrinkled witch, what mak’st thou in my sight?

...let thee go.
Wert thou not banishèd on pain of death?

...usurp are mine.
The curse my noble father laid on thee
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,
And with thy scorns drew’st rivers from his eyes,
And then, to dry them, gav’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 fall’n upon thee,
And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.

...accident cut off.
Have done thy charm, thou hateful, withered hag.

...honor, thou detested—
Margaret.

... Richard!
Ha?

...call thee not.
I cry thee mercy, then, for I did think
That thou hadst called me all these bitter names.

...to my curse!
’Tis done by me and ends in “Margaret.”

...themselves to pieces.
Good counsel, marry.—Learn it, learn it, marquess.

...much as me.
Ay, and much more; but I was born so high.
Our aerie buildeth in the cedar’s top,
And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.

...attend on him.
What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?

...she’s at liberty.
I cannot blame her. By God’s holy mother,
She hath had too much wrong, and I repent
My part thereof that I have done to her.

...to my knowledge.
Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.
I was too hot 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.

...scathe to us.
So do I ever—(speaks to himself)
being well advised,
For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself.

...upon your Grace.
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 gulls,
Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham,
And tell them ’tis 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, Grey;
But then I sigh and, with a piece of scripture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil;
And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With odd old ends stol’n forth of Holy Writ,
And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

Enter two Murderers.
But soft, here come my executioners.—
How now, my hardy, stout, resolvèd mates?
Are you now going to dispatch this thing?

...where he is.
Well thought upon. I have it here about me. He gives a paper.
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.

...not our tongues.
Your eyes drop millstones when fools’ eyes fall tears.
I like you lads. About your business straight.
Go, go, dispatch.

...my noble lord.
They exit.

ACT 2
Scene 1

...and the Duke.
Enter Ratcliffe, and Richard, Duke of Gloucester.
Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen,
And, princely peers, a happy time of day.

...swelling, wrong-incensèd peers.
A blessèd labor, my most sovereign lord.
Among this princely heap, if any here
By false intelligence or wrong surmise
Hold me a foe,
If I unwittingly, or in my rage,
Have aught committed that is hardly borne
By any in this presence, I desire
To reconcile me to his friendly peace.
’Tis 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 Woodeville 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 than the infant that is born tonight.
I thank my God for my humility.

...to your grace.
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?

They all start.
You do him injury to scorn his corse.

...order was reversed.
But he, poor man, by your first order died,
And that a wingèd Mercury did bear.
Some tardy cripple bare the countermand,
That came too lag to see him burièd.
God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,
Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood,
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
And yet go current from suspicion.

...Ah, poor Clarence.
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?
O, they did urge it still unto the King.
God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go
To comfort Edward with our company?

...upon your Grace.
They exit.

Scene 2

...living Edward’s throne.
Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester, Buckingham, Lord Stanley, Earl of Derby, Hastings, and Ratcliffe.
to Queen Elizabeth
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.
He kneels.

...and true duty.
standing
Amen. Aside.
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.

...to be prevented.
I hope the King made peace with all of us;
And the compact is firm and true in me.

...so say I.
Then be it so, and go we to determine
Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.—
Madam, and you, my sister, will you go
To give your censures in this business?

...from the Prince.
My other self, my council’s consistory,
My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin,
I, as a child, will go by thy direction.
Toward Ludlow then, for we’ll not stay behind.
They exit.

ACT 3
Scene 1

...to the sanctuary.
The trumpets sound. Enter young Prince Edward, Richard Duke of Gloucester, Buckingham, the Cardinal, Catesby, and others.

...to your chamber.
to Prince
Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts’ sovereign.
The weary way hath made you melancholy.

...to welcome me.
Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years
Hath not yet dived into the world’s deceit;
Nor more can you distinguish of a man
Than 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.

...they were none.
My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet you.

...till our coronation?
Where it seems 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.

...general all-ending day.
aside
So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

...say you, uncle?
I say, without characters fame lives long.
Aside.
Thus, like the formal Vice, Iniquity,
I moralize two meanings in one word.

...lived a king.
aside
Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

...lost much majesty.
How fares our cousin, noble lord of York?

...outgrown me far.
He hath, my lord.

...is he idle?
O my fair cousin, I must not say so.

...you than I.
He may command me as my sovereign,
But you have power in me as in a kinsman.

...me this dagger.
My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart.

...grief to give.
A greater gift than that I’ll give my cousin.

...sword to it.
Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.

...a beggar nay.
It is too heavy for your Grace to wear.

...were it heavier.
What, would you have my weapon, little lord?

...you call me.
How?

...young is wonderful.
to Prince
My lord, will ’t please you pass along?
Myself and my good cousin Buckingham
Will to your mother, to entreat of her
To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.

...at the Tower.
Why, what should you fear?

...no uncles dead.
Nor none that live, I hope.

...you thus opprobriously?
No doubt, no doubt. O, ’tis a parlous boy,
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable.
He is all the mother’s, from the top to toe.

...highly be employed.
Commend me to Lord William. Tell him, Catesby,
His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries
Tomorrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle,
And bid my lord, for joy of this good news,
Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.

...heed I can.
Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?

...shall, my lord.
At Crosby House, there shall you find us both.

...to our complots?
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 movables
Whereof the King my brother was possessed.

...your Grace’s hand.
And look to have it yielded with all kindness.
Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards
We may digest our complots in some form.
They exit.

Scene 4

...in gentle part.
Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester.

...the Duke himself.
My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow.
I have been long a sleeper; but I trust
My absence doth neglect no great design
Which by my presence might have been concluded.

...of the King.
Than 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 Holborn
I saw good strawberries in your garden there;
I do beseech you, send for some of them.

...all my heart.
Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. They move aside.
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business
And finds the testy gentleman so hot
That he will lose his head ere give consent
His master’s child, as worshipfully he terms it,
Shall lose the royalty of England’s throne.

...go with you.
Richard and Buckingham exit.

...in his looks.
Enter Richard and Buckingham.
I pray you all, tell me what they deserve
That do conspire my death with devilish plots
Of damnèd witchcraft, and that have prevailed
Upon my body with their hellish charms?

...have deservèd death.
Then be your eyes the witness of their evil. He shows his arm.
Look how I am bewitched! Behold mine arm
Is like a blasted sapling withered up;
And this is Edward’s wife, that monstrous witch,
Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore,
That by their witchcraft thus have markèd me.

...my noble lord—
If? Thou protector of this damnèd strumpet,
Talk’st 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.—
Lovell and Ratcliffe, look that it be done.—
The rest that love me, rise and follow me.
They exit. Lovell and Ratcliffe remain, with the Lord Hastings.

Scene 5

...shall be dead.
Enter Richard and Buckingham, in rotten armor, marvelous ill-favored.
Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change thy color,
Murder thy breath in middle of a word,
And then again begin, and stop again,
As if thou were distraught and mad with terror?

...is Catesby gone?
He is; and see he brings the Mayor along.

... Lord Mayor—
Look to the drawbridge there!

...Hark, a drum!
Catesby, o’erlook the walls.

...we have sent—
Look back! Defend thee! Here are enemies.

...with Hastings’ head.
Be patient. They are friends, Ratcliffe and Lovell.

...and unsuspected Hastings.
So dear 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 guilt omitted—
I mean his conversation with Shore’s wife—
He lived from all attainder of suspects.

...he done so?
What, think you we are Turks or infidels?
Or that we would, against the form of law,
Proceed thus rashly in the villain’s death,
But that the extreme peril of the case,
The peace of England, and our persons’ safety
Enforced us to this execution?

...in this case.
And to that end we wished your Lordship here,
T’ avoid the censures of the carping world.

...we bid farewell.
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 Edward’s 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 termèd 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 need, 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 begot,
Which well appearèd 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.

...my lord, adieu.
If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard’s Castle,
Where you shall find me well accompanied
With reverend fathers and well-learnèd bishops.

...the Guildhall affords.
Go, Lovell, with all speed to Doctor Shaa.
To Ratcliffe.
Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both
Meet me within this hour at Baynard’s Castle.
Now will I go to take some privy order
To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight,
And to give order that no manner person
Have any time recourse unto the Princes.
He exits.

Scene 7

...seen in thought.
Enter Richard and Buckingham at several doors.
How now, how now? What say the citizens?

...not a word.
Touched you the bastardy of Edward’s children?

...England’s royal king!”
And did they so?

...and came away.
What tongueless blocks were they! Would they not speak?
Will not the Mayor then and his brethren come?

...and take it.
I go. An if you plead as well for them
As I can say “nay” to thee for myself,
No doubt we bring it to a happy issue.

...Lord Mayor knocks.
Richard exits.

...is zealous contemplation.
Enter Richard aloft, between two Bishops.

...right Christian zeal.
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 Grace’s pleasure?

...this ungoverned isle.
I do suspect I have done some offense
That seems disgracious in the city’s eye,
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.

...amend your fault.
Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?

...move your Grace.
I cannot tell if to depart in silence
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof
Best fitteth 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
Unmeritable 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 due 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,
Than in my greatness covet to be hid
And in the vapor of my glory smothered.
But, God be thanked, there is no need of me,
And much I need to help you, were there need.
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.

...their lawful suit.
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.

...entreat no more.
O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham!

...will rue it.
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.

Enter Buckingham and the rest.
Cousin of Buckingham and sage, grave men,
Since you will buckle Fortune on my back,
To bear her burden, whe’er 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 doth know, and you may partly see,
How far I am from the desire of this.

...will say it.
In saying so, you shall but say the truth.

...to be crowned?
Even when you please, for you will have it so.

...take our leave.
to the Bishops
Come, let us to our holy work again.—
Farewell, my cousin. Farewell, gentle friends.
They exit.

ACT 4
Scene 2

...your stones farewell.
Sound a sennet. Enter Richard in pomp; Buckingham, Catesby, Ratcliffe, Lovell, and others, including a Page.
Stand all apart.—Cousin of Buckingham.

...My gracious sovereign.
Give me thy hand. Here he ascendeth the throne. Sound trumpets.
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?

...let them last.
Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
To try if thou be current gold indeed:
Young Edward lives; think now what I would speak.

...my loving lord.
Why, Buckingham, I say I would be king.

...my thrice-renownèd lord.
Ha! Am I king? ’Tis so—but Edward lives.

...True, noble prince.
O 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 sayst thou now? Speak suddenly. Be brief.

...do your pleasure.
Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness freezes.
Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?

...gnaws his lip.
aside
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!

...coming forwardMy lord?
Know’st thou not any whom corrupting gold
Will tempt unto a close exploit of death?

...him to anything.
What is his name?

...lord, is Tyrrel.
I partly know the man. Go, call him hither, boy.
Aside.
The deep-revolving witty Buckingham
No more shall be the neighbor to my counsels.
Hath he so long held out with me, untired,
And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.

Enter Stanley.
How now, Lord Stanley, what’s the news?

...He walks aside.
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 dream’st! 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 hopes whose growth may damage me.
Aside.
I must be married to my brother’s daughter,
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
Murder her brothers, and then marry her—
Uncertain way of gain. But I am in
So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin.
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

Enter Tyrrel.
Is thy name Tyrrel?

...most obedient subject.
Art thou indeed?

...my gracious lord.
Dar’st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

...kill two enemies.
Why then, thou hast it. Two deep enemies,
Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep’s disturbers,
Are they that I would have thee deal upon.
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

...fear of them.
Thou sing’st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel.

Tyrrel approaches Richard and kneels.
Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear. Tyrrel rises, and Richard whispers to him. Then Tyrrel steps back.
There is no more but so. Say it is done,
And I will love thee and prefer thee for it.

...sound me in.
Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to Richmond.

...news, my lord.
Stanley, he is your wife’s son. Well, look unto it.

...I shall possess.
Stanley, look to your wife. If she convey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

...my just request?
I do remember me, Henry the Sixth
Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
A king perhaps—

... My lord—
How chance the prophet could not at that time
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

...for the earldom—
Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,
The Mayor in courtesy showed me the castle
And called it Rougemont, at which name I started,
Because a bard of Ireland told me once
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

... My lord—
Ay, what’s o’clock?

...you promised me.
Well, but what’s o’clock?

...stroke of ten.
Well, let it strike.

...let it strike?
Because that, like a jack, thou keep’st the stroke
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I am not in the giving vein today.

...will or no.
Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.
He exits, and is followed by all but Buckingham.

Scene 3

...the bloody king.
Enter Richard.

...my sovereign lord.
Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?

...it is done.
But did’st thou see them dead?

...did, my lord.
And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

...do not know.
Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after-supper,
When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell till then.

...take my leave.
The son of Clarence have I pent up close,
His daughter meanly have I matched in marriage,
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom,
And Anne my wife hath bid this world goodnight.
Now, for I know the Breton 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.

... My lord.
Good or bad news, that thou com’st in so bluntly?

...his power increaseth.
Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
Come, I have learned that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
Delay leads 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.
They exit.

Scene 4

...copious in exclaims.
Enter King Richard and his train, including Catesby.
Who intercepts me in my expedition?

...is kind Hastings?
A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums!
Let not the heavens hear these telltale women
Rail on the Lord’s anointed. Strike, I say!

Flourish. Alarums.
Either be patient and entreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.

...thou my son?
Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.

...hear my impatience.
Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
That cannot brook the accent of reproof.

...let me speak!
Do then, but I’ll not hear.

...in my words.
And brief, good mother, for I am in haste.

...and in agony.
And came I not at last to comfort you?

...with thy company?
Faith, none but Humfrey Hower, 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.

...hear me speak.
You speak too bitterly.

...to thee again.
So.

...amen to her.
Stay, madam. I must talk a word with you.

...hit their lives.
You have a daughter called Elizabeth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

...not Edward’s daughter.
Wrong not her birth. She is a royal princess.

...is not so.
Her life is safest only in her birth.

...died her brothers.
Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite.

...friends were contrary.
All unavoided is the doom of destiny.

...a fairer life.
You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.

...thy rocky bosom.
Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise
And dangerous success of bloody wars
As I intend more good to you and yours
Than ever you or yours by me were harmed!

...do me good?
Th’ advancement of your children, gentle lady.

...lose their heads.
Unto the dignity and height of fortune,
The high imperial type of this Earth’s glory.

...child of mine?
Even all I have—ay, and myself 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.

...thy kindness’ date.
Then know that from my soul I love thy daughter.

...with her soul.
What do you think?

...thee for it.
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.

...be her king?
Even he that makes her queen. Who else should be?

... What, thou?
Even so. How think you of it?

...thou woo her?
That would I learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humor.

...learn of me?
Madam, with all my heart.

...good aunt Anne.
You mock me, madam. This is not the way
To win your daughter.

...done all this.
Say that I did all this for love of her.

...a bloody spoil.
Look what is done cannot be now amended.
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours 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 grandam’s name is little less in love
Than is the doting title of a mother.
They are as children but one step below,
Even of your metal, 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 loss you have is but a son being king,
And by that loss 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
Of ten times 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 wooer’s tale;
Put in her tender heart th’ aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys;
And when this arm of mine hath chastisèd
The petty rebel, dull-brained Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror’s bed,
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar’s Caesar.

...her tender years?
Infer fair England’s peace by this alliance.

...with still-lasting war.
Tell her the King, that may command, entreats—

...King’s King forbids.
Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.

...her mother doth.
Say I will love her everlastingly.

...title “ever” last?
Sweetly in force unto her fair life’s end.

...sweet life last?
As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.

...likes of it.
Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low.

...loathes such sovereignty.
Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

...being plainly told.
Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.

...harsh a style.
Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

...in their graves.
Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.

...till heart-strings break.
Now by my George, my Garter, and my crown—

...the third usurped.
I swear—

...not wronged.
Then, by myself—

...Thyself is self-misused.
Now, by the world—

...thy foul wrongs.
My father’s death—

...hath it dishonored.
Why then, by God.

...swear by now?
The time to come.

...times ill-used o’erpast.
As I intend to prosper and repent,
So thrive I in my dangerous affairs
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 dear 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,
Herself, 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, 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.

...the devil thus?
Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.

...to be myself?
Ay, if your self’s remembrance wrong yourself.

...kill my children.
But in your daughter’s womb I bury them,
Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed
Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

...to thy will?
And be a happy mother by the deed.

...me her mind.
Bear her my true love’s kiss; and so, farewell.
Relenting fool and shallow, changing woman!

Enter Ratcliffe.
How now, what news?

...welcome them ashore.
Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk—
Ratcliffe thyself, or Catesby. Where is he?

...my good lord.
Catesby, fly to the Duke.

...all convenient haste.
Ratcliffe, come hither. Post to Salisbury.
When thou com’st thither—To Catesby.
Dull, unmindful villain,
Why stay’st thou here and go’st not to the Duke?

...deliver to him.
O true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight
The greatest strength and power that he can make
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.

...do at Salisbury?
Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?

...should post before.
My mind is changed.

Enter Lord Stanley.
Stanley, what news with you?

...may be reported.
Hoyday, a riddle! Neither good nor bad.
What need’st thou run so many miles about
When thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way?
Once more, what news?

...on the seas.
There let him sink, and be the seas on him!
White-livered runagate, what doth he there?

...but by guess.
Well, as you guess?

...claim the crown.
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?

...I cannot guess.
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.

...mistrust me not.
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?

...in the north.
Cold friends to me. What do they in the north
When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

...Majesty shall please.
Ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond,
But I’ll not trust thee.

...will be false.
Go then and muster men, but leave behind
Your son George Stanley. Look your heart be firm,
Or else his head’s assurance is but frail.

...of great Buckingham—
Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of death. He striketh him.
There, take thou that till thou bring better news.

...man knows whither.
I cry thee mercy.
There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. He gives money.
Hath any well-advisèd friend proclaimed
Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

...again for Brittany.
March on, march on, since we are up in arms,
If not to fight with foreign enemies,
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.

...must be told.
Away towards Salisbury! While we reason here,
A royal battle might be won and lost.
Someone take order Buckingham be brought
To Salisbury. The rest march on with me.
Flourish. They exit.

ACT 5
Scene 3

...meaner creatures kings.
Enter King Richard, in arms, with Norfolk, Ratcliffe, and the Earl of Surrey, with Soldiers.
Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth field.

Soldiers begin to pitch the tent.
My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

...than my looks.
My lord of Norfolk—

...most gracious liege.
Norfolk, we must have knocks, ha, must we not?

...my loving lord.
Up with my tent!—Here will I lie tonight.
But where tomorrow? Well, all’s one for that.
Who hath descried the number of the traitors?

...their utmost power.
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 lack no discipline, make no delay,
For, lords, tomorrow is a busy day.
The tent now in place, they exit.

...raw and cold.
Enter to his tent Richard, Ratcliffe, Norfolk, and Catesby, with Soldiers.
What is ’t o’clock?

...It’s nine o’clock.
I will not sup tonight. Give me some ink and paper.
What, is my beaver easier than it was,
And all my armor laid into my tent?

...are in readiness.
Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge.
Use careful watch. Choose trusty sentinels.

...go, my lord.
Stir with the lark tomorrow, gentle Norfolk.

...you, my lord.
Catesby.

... My lord.
Send out a pursuivant-at-arms
To Stanley’s regiment. Bid him bring his power
Before sunrising, lest his son George fall
Into the blind cave of eternal night.
To Soldiers.
Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.
Saddle white Surrey for the field tomorrow.
Look that my staves be sound and not too heavy.—
Ratcliffe.

... My lord.
Sawst thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

...up the soldiers.
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.

Wine is brought.
Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?

...is, my lord.
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.
Richard sleeps in his tent, which is guarded by Soldiers.

...all his pride.
Richard starteth up out of a dream.
Give me another horse! Bind up my wounds!
Have mercy, Jesu!—Soft, I did but dream.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
The lights burn blue; it is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? Myself? 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 myself? Great reason why:
Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself?
Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
O, no. Alas, I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain. Yet I lie; I am not.
Fool, of thyself 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, perjury, in the highest degree;
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree;
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all “Guilty, guilty!”
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me,
And if I die no soul will pity me.
And wherefore should they, since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself?
Methought the souls of all that I had murdered
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
Tomorrow’s vengeance on the head of Richard.

... My lord.
Zounds, who is there?

...on their armor.
O Ratcliffe, I have dreamed a fearful dream!
What think’st thou, will our friends prove all true?

...doubt, my lord.
O Ratcliffe, I fear, I fear.

...afraid of shadows.
By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond.
’Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me.
Under our tents I’ll play the eavesdropper
To see if any mean to shrink from me.
Richard and Ratcliffe exit.

...Richmond, and victory!
Enter King Richard, Ratcliffe, and Soldiers.
What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?

...up in arms.
He said the truth. And what said Surrey then?

...for our purpose.”
He was in the right, and so indeed it is.

The clock striketh.
Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar. He looks in an almanac.
Who saw the sun today?

...I, my lord.
Then he disdains to shine, for by the book
He should have braved the east an hour ago.
A black day will it be to somebody.
Ratcliffe!

... My lord.
The sun will not be seen today.
The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.
I would these dewy tears were from the ground.
Not shine today? Why, what is that to me
More than to Richmond, for the selfsame heaven
That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.

...in the field.
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 orderèd:
My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,
Consisting equally of horse and foot;
Our archers shall be placèd in the midst.
John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.
They thus directed, we will follow
In the main battle, whose puissance on either side
Shall be well wingèd with our chiefest horse.
This, and Saint George to boot!—What think’st thou, Norfolk?

...direction, warlike sovereign.
He sheweth him a paper.

...tent this morning.
reads
Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold.
For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.
A thing devisèd by the enemy.—
Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge.
Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls.
Conscience is but 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 to it pell mell,
If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. His oration to his army.
What shall I say more than I have inferred?
Remember whom you are to cope withal,
A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,
A scum of Bretons and base lackey peasants,
Whom their o’ercloyèd country vomits forth
To desperate adventures and assured destruction.
You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;
You having lands and blessed with beauteous wives,
They would restrain the one, distain the other.
And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,
Long kept in Brittany at our mother’s cost,
A milksop, one that never in his life
Felt so much cold as overshoes in snow?
Let’s whip these stragglers o’er the seas again,
Lash hence these overweening rags of France,
These famished beggars weary of their lives,
Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
For want of means, poor rats, had hanged themselves.
If we be conquered, let men conquer us,
And not these bastard Bretons, whom our fathers
Have in their own land beaten, bobbed, and thumped,
And in record left them the heirs of shame.
Shall these enjoy our lands, lie with our wives,
Ravish our daughters?

Drum afar off.
Hark, I hear their drum.
Fight, gentlemen of England.—Fight, bold yeomen.—
Draw, archers; draw your arrows to the head.—
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood.
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves.—

Enter a Messenger.
What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?

...deny to come.
Off with his son George’s head!

...George Stanley die.
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom.
Advance our standards. Set upon our foes.
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons.
Upon them! Victory sits on our helms.
They exit.

Scene 4

...day is lost.
Alarums. Enter Richard.
A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!

...to 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 Richmonds in the field;
Five have I slain today instead of him.
A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!
They exit.

Scene 5
Alarum. Enter Richard and Richmond. They fight. Richard is slain. Then retreat being sounded, Richmond exits, and Richard’s body is removed. Flourish. Enter Richmond, Stanley, Earl of Derby, bearing the crown, with other Lords, and Soldiers.