The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare

Duch. Where is kind Hastings ?

K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets !-strike alarum, drums!

Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale 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.
Duch. Art thou my son ?

K. Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and yourself.

Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condition,

That cannot brook the accent of reproof.
Duch. O let me speak.

K. Rich. Do, then; but I'll not hear.
Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words.
K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am
in haste.

Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee,

God knows, in torment and in agony.

K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?

Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well,

Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.

A grievous burden was thy birth to me:
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy.
Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and
furious;

Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and
turous;

ven. Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,

More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred :

What comfortable hour caust thou name,
That ever grac'd me in thy company?

K. Rich. 'Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd your grace

To breakfast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,

Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.-
Strike up the drum.

Duch. I pr'ythee, hear me speak.
K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.
Duch. Hear me a word;

For I shall never speak to thee again.

K. Rich. So.

Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just or-
dinance,

Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror ;
Or I with grief and extreine age shall perish,
And never look upon thy face again.
Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more,
Then all the complete armour that thou wear'st ! |
My prayers on the adverse party fight;
And there the little souls of Edward's children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies,
And promise them success and victory.
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end ;

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K. Rich. All amavoided • is the doom of destiny.

Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny:

My babes were destin'd to a fairer death,
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.

K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my cousins.

Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd

Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts, Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction :

No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt,

Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use of grief makes wild grief
tame,

My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys,

Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize,

And dangerous success of bloody wars,
As I intend more good to you and your's,
Then ever you or your's by me were harm'd !
Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face
of heaven,

To be discover'd that can do me good?

K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle lady.

Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?

K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune,

The high imperial type of this earth's glory. Į Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it;

Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise ý to any child of mine?

K. Rich. 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

Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death at-Thou drown the sad remembrance of those tend.

[Exit.

Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse

[Going.

Abides in me; I say Amen to her. K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with you.

Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood,

For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;

And therefore level not to hit their lives.

K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd-Eliza. beth,

Virtuous aud fair, royal and gracious.

wrongs,

Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee. Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness

Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. K. Rich. Then know, that, from my soul, I love thy daughter.

Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with

her soul.

K. Rich. What do you think?

Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from thy soul :

So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love ber brothers ;

572

KING RICHARD III.

And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for

it.

K. Rich. 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.
Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall
be her king?

K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen :
Who else should be ?

Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl;
Advantaging their loan, with interest
Of ten-times-double gain of happiness.
Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
Make bold her bashful years with your expe-
rience;

Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's 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

Rich. Even so: What think you of it, The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
madam?

Eliz. How canst thou woo her?

K. Rich. That I would learn of you,

As one being best acquainted with her humour.
Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?
K. Rich. Madam, with all my heart.

Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew
her brothers,

A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave,
Edward and York then, haply, will she weep:
Therefore present to her, -as sometime Mar-
garet

Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,-
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
from her sweet brother's
The purple sap

body,

And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;

Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Cla-
rence,

Her uncle Rivers; ay, and, for her sake,
Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt
Anne.

K. Rich. You mock me, madam; this is not
the way

To win your daughter.

Q. Eliz. There is no other way;
Unless thou could'st put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.

K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of

her.

Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose
but have thee,

Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now

amended:

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends, I'll give it to your daugh-

ter.

If I have kill'd 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 mettle, of your very blood;
Of all one pain,-save for a night of groans
Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sor-

row.

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
Repair'd with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see:
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed,

• Perhaps,

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 victress, Cæsar's Cæsar.
Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's
brother

Would be her lord? Or shall I say, her uncle?
Or, he that slew her brothers, and her UB-
cles?

Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honour, and her love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this
alliance.

Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still
lasting war.

K. Rich. Tell her the king, that may com-
mand, entreats.

Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's
King forbids..

K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty
queen.

Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth.

K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly. Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last ?

K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's

end.

Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?

K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature lengthens it.

Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it.

K. Rich. Say, I her sovereign, am her subject low.

Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loaths such
sov'reignty.

K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
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

Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

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 dishonour'd.

K. Rich. Then, by myself,

Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-misus'd.

K. Rich. Why then, by God,

Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all.

If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him,
The unity the king thy brother made

Had not been broken, nor my brother slain :
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him,
The imperial metal circling now thy head,
Had grac'd the tender temples of my child;
And both the princes had been breathing
here,

Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust,
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now?

K. Rich. By the time to come.

Q. Eliz. That thou hast wrong'd in the time o'erpast;

For I myself have many years to wash
Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee.
The children live, whose parents thou hast
slaughter'd,

Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age :
The parents live, whose children thou hast
butcher'd,

Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast

Misus'd ere used, by times ill-us'd o'erpast.
K. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and re-
pent!

So thrive 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,
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, (1 inust 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.

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

them:

Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
Unarm'd and unresolv'd 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 light-foot friend post to the
duke of Norfolk :-

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

K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke.

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

K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither; Post to Salisbury;

When thou com'st thither,-Dull, unmindful villain,

K. Rich. Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway'd!

Is the king dead? The empire unpossess'd?
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,
[comes.
You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.

Stan. No, mighty liege; therefore distrust ine 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 cónducting the rebels from their ships?
Stan. No, my good lord, my good 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 commauded, mighty king:

Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave,

I'll muster up my friends; and ineet 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 Devonshire,

As I by friends am well advértised,

Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate, bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, With many more confederates, are in arms.

Enter another MESSENGER.

2 Mess. In Kent, any liege, the Guildfords are in arms;

And every hour more competitors ⚫

SCENE V.-A Room in Lord STANLEY'S
House.

Enter STANLEY and Sir CHRISTOPHER
URSWICK..

Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richxiond this
from me :-

That, in the sty of this most bloody boar,
My son George Stanley is frank'd + up in hold;
If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
The fear of that withholds my present aid.
But tell me where is princely Richmond now!
Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west in
Wales.

Stan. What men of name resort to him?
Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned sol-

dier;

Sir Gilbert Talbert, Sir William Stanley;
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;
And many other of great fame and worth:
And towards London do they bend their course,
If by the way they be not fought withal.
Stan. Well hie thee to thy lord; commend
me to him;

Tell him, the queen hath beartily consented
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.

Flock to the rebels, and their power grows These letters will resolve him of my mind.

3 Mess. The news I have to tell your mia. jesty,

Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd ;
And he himself wander'd away alone,
No man knows whither.

K. Rich. Oh! I cry you mercy : There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd Reward to him that brings the traitor in? 3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.

Enter another MESSENGER.

4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord marquis Dorset,

'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. But this good comfort bring 1 to your high

Farewell. [Gives papers to Sir CHRISTOPHER. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE 1.-Salisbury.-An open place. Enter the SHERIFF, and Guard, with Buck. INGHAM, led to execution.

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

Sher. No, my good lord; therefore be pa tient.

Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey,

Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
By underland corrupted foul injustice;
If that your moody discontented souls

Do through the clouds behold this present bour,

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 wish'd might fall on me, when I was found
False to his children, or bis wife's allies:
This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall
By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;
This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul,
Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs.
That high All-seer which I dallied with,
Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head,
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
Thus doth be force the swords of wicked men
To turn theis own points on their masters'
bosoms:
Margaret's
neck,-

Thus

curse falls heavy on my

When he, quoth she, shall split thy heart with | Enter, on the other side of the field, RICH

sorrow,

Remember Margaret was a prophetess.-
Come, Sirs, convey me to the block of

sbame;

Wrong bath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

[Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, &C. SCENE II.-Plain near Tamworth. Enter, with drum and colours, RICHMOND, OXFORD, Sir JAMES BLUNT, Sir WALTER HERBERT, and others, with forces, marching.

NOND, 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 stan-
dard.

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 Bran-
don,-

Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving And you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me:

friends,

Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny,
Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we march'd on without impediment;
And here receive we from our father Stanley
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,
That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful
vines,

Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes

his trough

The earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment ;--
Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to

bim,

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 quarter'd, do you know?
Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours

much,

(which well I am assur'd 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 good some means to speak
with him,

And give him from me this most needful note.
Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake

it ;

And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!
Richm. Good night, good

Come, gentlemen,

captain Blunt.

In to my tent, the air is raw and cold.
Let us consult upon to-morrow's business;

[They withdraw into the Tent.

Enter, to his Tent, King RICHARD, NOR-
FOLK, RATCLIFF, and CATESBY.

K. Rich. What is't o'clock !
Cate. It's supper time, my lord:
It's nine o'clock.

K. Rich. I will not sup to-night.
Give me some ink and paper.
What, is my beaver easier than it was?
And all my armour laid into my tent ?.

Cate. It is, my liege; and all things are in
readiness.

K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy
charge;

Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.
Nor. I go, my lord.

K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle

Norfolk.

Nor. I warrant you, my lord.

K. Rich. Ratcliff,

Rat. My lord?

power

[Exit.

Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his
K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms
Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall
Into the blind cave of eternal night.-
Fill me a bowl of wine.-Give me a watch; ‡-
[To CATESBY.
Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.
Look that my staves be sound, and not too
heavy.

[Exeunt. A watch-light. Wood of the lances. ↑ Twilight,

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The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare, Volume 9