Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.


This dead king to the living king Ill bear


Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.


Flourish. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, DUKE OF YORK, with other Lords, and Attendants


Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear


Is that the rebels have consumed with fire


Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire;


But whether they be taen or slain we hear not.


First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.


The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent:


We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;


And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.


My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London


The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely,


That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.


Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;


Enter HENRY PERCY, and the BISHOP OF CARLISLE


The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,


With clog of conscience and sour melancholy


Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.


Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,


More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;


So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife:


For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,


High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.


Enter EXTON, with persons bearing a coffin


Great king, within this coffin I present


Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies


Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.


Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought


From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.


They love not poison that do poison need,


Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead,


The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,


But neither my good word nor princely favour:


With Cain go wander through shades of night,


And never show thy head by day nor light.


Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe,


That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow:


Come, mourn with me for that I do lament,


To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:


March sadly after; grace my mournings here;


Made glorious summer by this sun of York;


And all the clouds that lourd upon our house


Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;


Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,


Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.


Grim-visaged war hath smoothd his wrinkled front;


And now, instead of mounting barded steeds


To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,


But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,


Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;


I, that am rudely stampd, and want loves majesty


I, that am curtaild of this fair proportion,


Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,


Deformed, unfinishd, sent before my time


Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,


Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,


And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,


To entertain these fair well-spoken days,


And hate the idle pleasures of these days.


Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,


By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,


In deadly hate the one against the other:


This day should Clarence closely be mewd up,


Brother, good day; what means this armed guard


Tendering my persons safety, hath appointed


Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;


He should, for that, commit your godfathers:


That you shall be new-christend in the Tower.


But whats the matter, Clarence?  may I know?


Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest


He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;


And from the cross-row plucks the letter G.


And, for my name of George begins with G,


These, as I learn, and such like toys as these


Have moved his highness to 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


Was it not she and that good man of worship,


That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,


From whence this present day he is deliverd?


We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.


By heaven, I think theres no man is secure


But the queens kindred and night-walking heralds


That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore.


Lord hastings was to her for his delivery?


Ill tell you what; I think it is our way,


If we will keep in favour with the king,


Since that our brother dubbd them gentlewomen.


I beseech your graces both to pardon me;


His majesty hath straitly given in charge


That no man shall have private conference,


Of what degree soever, with his brother.


Even so; ant please your worship, Brakenbury,


We speak no treason, man: we say the king


Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen


Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;


We say that Shores wife hath a pretty foot,


A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;


And that the queens kindred are made gentle-folks:


With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.


Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,


He that doth naught with her, excepting one,


Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me?


I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal


Forbear your conference with the noble duke.


We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.


We are the queens abjects, and must obey.


Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;


Were it to call King Edwards widow sister,


Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood


Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;


Go, tread the path that thou shalt neer 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-deliverd Hastings?


How hath your lordship brookd imprisonment?


With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:


But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks


No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;


For they that were your enemies are his,


And have prevaild as much on him as you.


More pity that the eagle should be mewd,


While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.


The King is sickly, weak and melancholy,


Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.


He cannot live, I hope; and must not die


Till George be packd with post-horse up to heaven.


Ill in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,


With lies well steeld with weighty arguments;


Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,


And leave the world for me to bustle in!


For then Ill marry Warwicks youngest daughter.


What though I killd 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


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.


Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner


Set down, set down your honourable load,


The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.


Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!


Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughterd son,


Stabbd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds!


Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,


I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.


Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!


Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!


Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!


More direful hap betide that hated wretch,


That makes us wretched by the death of thee,


Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,


Or any creeping venomd thing that lives!


Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,


May fright the hopeful mother at the view;


Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,


And still, as you are weary of the weight,


Rest you, whiles I lament King Henrys corse.


Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.


What black magician conjures up this fiend,


Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,


My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.


Unmannerd dog! stand thou, when I command:


Advance thy halbert higher than my breast,


Or, by Saint Paul, Ill strike thee to my foot,


And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.


What, do you tremble? are you all afraid?


Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal,


And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.


Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,


His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.


Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.


Foul devil, for Gods sake, hence, and trouble us not;


For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,


Filld it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.


If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,


O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henrys wounds


Open their congeald mouths and bleed afresh!


Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity;


For tis thy presence that exhales this blood


From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells;


O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death!


O earth, which this blood drinkst revenge his death!


Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,


As thou dost swallow up this good kings blood


Which his hell-governd arm hath butchered!


Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.


Villain, thou knowst no law of God nor man:


No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.


But I know none, and therefore am no beast.


O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!


More wonderful, when angels are so angry.


Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,


Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave,


For these known evils, but to give me leave,


By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.


Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have


Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make


By such despair, I should accuse myself.


And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused;


Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.


But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee.


Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edwards hand.


In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw


Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood;


The which thou once didst bend against her breast,


But that thy brothers beat aside the point.


I was provoked by her slanderous tongue,


which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.


Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries:


Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too


Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!


The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.


He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.


Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither;


For he was fitter for that place than earth.


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


Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!


To leave this keen encounter of our wits,


Is not the causer of the timeless deaths


Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,


Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect.


Your beauty was the cause of that effect;


Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep


To undertake the death of all the world,


So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.


If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,


These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.


These eyes could never endure sweet beautys wreck;


You should not blemish it, if I stood by:


Black night oershade thy day, and death thy life!


Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both.


To be revenged on him that slew my husband.


He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,


Did it to help thee to a better husband.


His better doth not breathe upon the earth.


He lives that loves thee better than he could.


The selfsame name, but one of better nature.


Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!


Never came poison from so sweet a place.


Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes.


Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.


Would they were basilisks, to 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 aspect with store of childish drops:


These eyes that 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,


And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,


That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks


Like trees bedashd with rain: in that sad time


And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,


Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.


My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word;


My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.


Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made


For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.


Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;


Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom.


And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,


He lays his breast open: she offers at it with his sword


Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry,


Nay, now dispatch; twas I that stabbd young Edward,


But twas thy heavenly face that set me on.


Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death,


Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.


Speak it again, and, even with the word,


That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love,


Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love;


To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary.


Look, how this ring encompasseth finger.


Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;


Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.


But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,


Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.


That it would please thee leave these sad designs


To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,


And wet his grave with my repentant tears,


For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you,


With all my heart; and much it joys me too,


But since you teach me how to flatter you,


No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining.


Ill have her; but I will not keep her long.


What! I, that killd her husband and his father,


To take her in her hearts extremest hate,


With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,


Having God, her conscience, and these bars


But the plain devil and dissembling looks,


And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!


Hath she forgot already that brave prince,


Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,


Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,


That croppd the golden prime of this sweet prince,


On me, whose all not equals Edwards moiety?


Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,


And entertain some score or two of tailors,


But first Ill turn yon fellow in his grave;


Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,


Have patience, madam: theres no doubt his majesty


In that you brook it in, it makes him worse:


Therefore, for Gods sake, entertain good comfort,


And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.


If he were dead, what would betide of me?


The loss of such a lord includes all harm.


The heavens have blessd you with a goodly son,


Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,


A man that loves not me, nor none of you.


Is it concluded that he shall be protector?


But so it must be, if the king miscarry.


Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby.


God make your majesty joyful as you have been!


The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby.


To your good prayers will scarcely say amen.


Yet, Derby, notwithstanding shes your wife,


And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured


The envious slanders of her false accusers;


Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds


From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice.


Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby?


What likelihood of his amendment, lords?


Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully.


God grant him health! Did you confer with him?


Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement


Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,


And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain;


And sent to warn them to his royal presence.


Would all were well! but that will never be


They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:


Who are they that complain 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 rumours.


Because I cannot flatter and speak fair,


Smile in mens faces, smooth, deceive and cog,


Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,


Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,


But thus his simple truth must be abused


To whom in all this presence 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 person,--


Whom God preserve better than you would wish!--


Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,


But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.


Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter.


Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,


Which in your outward actions shows itself


Against my kindred, brothers, and myself,


Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather


The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it.


I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad,


That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch:


Theres many a gentle person made a Jack.


Come, come, we know your meaning, brother


God grant we never may have need of you!


Meantime, God grants that we have need of you:


Your brother is imprisond by your means,


Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions


That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.


By Him that raised me to this careful height


Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been


Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.


You may deny that you were not the cause


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 lay those honours on your high deserts.


What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she--


What, marry, may she! marry with a king,


My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne


Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs:


With those gross taunts I often have endured.


Than a great queen, with this condition,


To be thus taunted, scornd, and baited at:


Small joy have I in being Englands queen.


And lessend be that small, God, I beseech thee!


Thy honour, state and seat is due to me.


What! threat you me with telling of the king?


Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said


I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.


Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot.


Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower,


Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king,


I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;


Yea, and much better blood than his or thine.


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 Margarets battle at Saint Albans slain?


Let me put in your minds, if you forget,


What you have been ere now, and what you are;


Withal, what I have been, and what I am.


A murderous villain, and so still thou art.


Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick;


Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!--


To fight on Edwards party for the crown;


And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewd up.


I would to God my heart were flint, like Edwards;


I am too childish-foolish for this world.


Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world,


My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days


Which here you urge to prove us enemies,


We followd then our lord, our lawful king:


So should we you, if you should be our king.


If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar:


Far be it from my heart, the thought of it!


You should enjoy, were you this countrys king,


Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out


In sharing that which you have pilld from me!


Which of you trembles not that looks on me?


If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects,


Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels?


Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight?


Wert thou not banished on pain of death?


I was; but I do find more pain in banishment


Than death can yield me here by my abode.


And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance:


The sorrow that I have, by right is yours,


And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.


When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper


And with thy scorns drewst rivers from his eyes,


And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout


Steepd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland--


His curses, then from bitterness of soul


Denounced against thee, are all falln upon thee;


And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.


O, twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,


And the most merciless that eer was heard of!


Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.


Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.


What were you snarling all before I came,


Ready to catch each other by the throat,


Did Yorks dread curse prevail so much with heaven?


That Henrys death, my lovely Edwards death,


Their kingdoms loss, my woful banishment,


Could all but answer for that peevish brat?


Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?


Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!


If not by war, by surfeit die your king,


Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales,


For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales,


Die in his youth by like untimely violence!


Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,


Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!


Long mayst thou live to wail thy childrens loss;


Deckd in thy rights, as thou art stalld in mine!


Long die thy happy days before thy death;


And, after many lengthend hours of grief,


Die neither mother, wife, nor Englands queen!


Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,


And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son


Was stabbd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him,


That none of you may live your natural age,


Have done thy charm, thou hateful witherd hag!


And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.


If heaven have any grievous plague in store


Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,


O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,


On thee, the troubler of the poor worlds peace!


The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul!


Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest,


And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!


No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,


Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream


Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!


Thou elvish-markd, abortive, rooting hog!


The slave of nature and the son of hell!


Thou loathed issue of thy fathers loins!


I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought


That thou hadst calld me all these bitter names.


Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.


Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune!


Why strewst thou sugar on that bottled spider,


Fool, fool! thou whetst a knife to kill thyself.


The time will come when thou shalt wish for me


To help thee curse that poisonous bunchbackd toad.


False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,


Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.


Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine.


Were you well served, you would be taught your duty.


To serve me well, you all should do me duty,


Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects:


O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!


Peace, master marquess, you are malapert:


Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.


What twere to lose it, and be miserable!


They that stand high have many blasts to shake them;


And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.


Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess.


It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me.


Yea, and much more: but I was born so high,


And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.


Witness my son, now in the shade of death;


Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath


As it was won with blood, lost be it so!


Have done! for shame, if not for charity.


And shamefully by you my hopes are butcherd.


And in that shame still live my sorrows rage.


O princely Buckingham Ill kiss thy hand,


Now fair befal thee and thy noble house!


Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,


Nor thou within the compass of my curse.


The lips of those that breathe them in the air.


Ill not believe but they ascend the sky,


And there awake Gods gentle-sleeping peace.


Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,


His venom tooth will rankle to the death:


Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him,


What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?


Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.


What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel?


And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?


When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,


Live each of you the subjects to his hate,


And he to yours, and all of you to Gods!


My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.


And so doth mine: I muse why shes at liberty.


I cannot blame her: by Gods holy mother,


She hath had too much wrong; and I repent


My part thereof that I have done to her.


But you have all the vantage of her wrong.


Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid,


He is frankd up to fatting for his pains


God pardon them that are the cause of it!


A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,


To pray for them that have done scathe to us.


For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself.


And for your grace; and you, my noble lords.


Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us?


I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.


I lay unto the grievous charge of others.


Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness,


That stir the king against the duke my brother.


Now, they believe it; and withal whet me


To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey:


But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture,


Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:


With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ;


And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.


How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates!


Are you now going to dispatch this deed?


We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant


Well thought upon; I have it here about me.


When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.


For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps


May move your hearts to pity if you mark him.


Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate;


We come to use our hands and not our tongues.


Your eyes drop millstones, when fools eyes drop tears:


I like you, lads; about your business straight;


So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams,


Though twere to buy a world of happy days,


What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it.


Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower,


And, in my company, my brother Gloucester;


Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England,


Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling,


Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard,


Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!


What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!


What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!


Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;


Ten thousand men that fishes gnawd upon;


Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,


Some lay in dead mens skulls; and, in those holes


Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,


As twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,


Which wood the slimy bottom of the deep,


And mockd the dead bones that lay scatterd by.


Had you such leisure in the time of death


To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood


Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth


To seek the empty, vast and wandering air;


Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.


O, no, my dream was lengthend after life;


Who passd, methought, the melancholy flood,


With that grim ferryman which poets write of,


The first that there did greet my stranger soul,


Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;


Who cried aloud, What scourge for perjury


Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?


And so he vanishd: then came wandering by


A shadow like an angel, with bright hair


Dabbled in blood; and he squeakd out aloud,


Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,


That stabbd me in the field by Tewksbury;


Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!


With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends


Environd me about, and howled in mine ears


Such hideous cries, that with the very noise


I trembling waked, and for a season after


Could not believe but that I was in hell,


Such terrible impression made the dream.


No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you;


I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it.


Which now bear evidence against my soul,


For Edwards sake; and see how he requites me!


O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,


But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,


O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!


My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.


I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest!


Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,


Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.


Princes have but their tides for their glories,


They often feel a world of restless cares:


So that, betwixt their tides and low names,


Theres nothing differs but the outward fame.


In Gods name what are you, and how came you hither?


I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.


O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show


The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands:


Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.


Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep:


That thus I have resignd my charge to you.


Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well.


No; then he will say twas done cowardly, when he wakes.


When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till


Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping.


The urging of that word judgment hath bred a kind


Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be


damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us.


Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so.


I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour


will change; twas wont to hold me but while one


Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet


Remember our reward, when the deed is done.


Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward.


So when he opens his purse to give us our reward,


Let it go; theres few or none will entertain it.


Ill not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it


makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it


accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him;


he cannot lie with his neighbours wife, but it


detects him: tis a blushing shamefast spirit that


mutinies in a mans bosom; it fills one full of


obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold


that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it


is turned out of all towns and cities for a


dangerous thing; and every man that means to live


well endeavours to trust to himself and to live


Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me


Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he


would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh.


Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me,


Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his


reputation. Come, shall we to this gear?


Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy


sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt


Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine.


You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.


Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.


My voice is now the kings, my looks mine own.


How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!


Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale?


Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?


You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,


And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.


Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?


Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.


Are you calld forth from out a world of men


To slay the innocent? What is my offence?


Where are the evidence that do accuse me?


What lawful quest have given their verdict up


Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced


The bitter sentence of poor Clarence death?


To threaten me with death is most unlawful.


I charge you, as you hope to have redemption


By Christs dear blood shed for our grievous sins,


Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings


That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then,


Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands,


To hurl upon their heads that break his law.


And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee,


For false forswearing and for murder too:


To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster.


Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade


Unripdst the bowels of thy sovereigns son.


Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend.


How canst thou urge Gods dreadful law to us,


When thou hast broke it in so dear degree?


Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?


For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs,


Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm;


To cut off those that have offended him.


When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,


That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?


My brothers love, the devil, and my rage.


Thy brothers love, our duty, and thy fault,


Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.


Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me;


If you be hired for meed, go back again,


And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,


Than Edward will for tidings of my death.


You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you.


O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear:


Tell him, when that our princely father York


Blessd his three sons with his victorious arm,


And charged us from his soul to love each other,


He little thought of this divided friendship:


Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.


Ay, millstones; as be lessond us to weep.


As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself:


Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee.


It cannot be; for when I parted with him,


He huggd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs,


From this worlds thraldom to the joys of heaven.


Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.


Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul,


To counsel me to make my peace with God,


And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind,


That thou wilt war with God by murdering me?


To do this deed will hate you for the deed.


Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.


Which of you, if you were a princes son,


if two such murderers as yourselves came to you,


My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks:


Come thou on my side, and entreat for me,


As you would beg, were you in my distress


A begging prince what beggar pities not?


Take that, and that: if all this will not do,


Ill drown you in the malmsey-butt within.


A bloody deed, and desperately dispatchd!


How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands


Of this most grievous guilty murder done!


How now! what meanst thou, that thou helpst me not?


By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art!


I would he knew that I had saved his brother!


Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;


Until the duke take order for his burial:


For this will out, and here I must not stay.


Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD IV sick, QUEEN  ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS, BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others


Why, so: now have I done a good days work:


And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven,


Since I have set my friends at peace on earth.


Rivers and Hastings, take each others hand;


Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.


By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate:


And with my hand I seal my true hearts love.


Take heed you dally not before your king;


Lest he that is the supreme King of kings


Confound your hidden falsehood, and award


And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!


Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you;


You have been factious one against the other,


Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;


Here, Hastings; I will never more remember


Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!


Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess.


This interchange of love, I here protest,


Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league


With thy embracements to my wifes allies,


Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me


With hate in those where I expect most love!


When I have most need to employ a friend,


Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,


A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,


There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here,


To make the perfect period of this peace.


And, in good time, here comes the noble duke.


Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen:


And, princely peers, a happy time of day!


Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.


Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.


A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege:


Amongst this princely heap, if any here,


By false intelligence, or wrong surmise,


Have aught committed that is hardly borne


I hate it, and desire all good mens love.


First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,


Which I will purchase with my duteous service;


If ever any grudge were lodged between us;


Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you;


Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all.


More than the infant that is born to-night


A holy day shall this be kept hereafter:


I would to God all strifes were well compounded.


My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty


To take our brother Clarence to your grace.


Who knows not that the noble duke is dead?


Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is?


All seeing heaven, what a world is this!


Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?


Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence


But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.


Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed.


But he, poor soul, by your first order died,


Some tardy cripple bore the countermand,


God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,


Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood,


Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,


A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!


I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow.


I will not rise, unless your highness grant.


Then speak at once what is it thou demandst.


The forfeit, sovereign, of my servants life;


Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.


Have a tongue to doom my brothers death,


And shall the same give pardon to a slave?


My brother slew no man; his fault was thought,


Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage,


Kneeld at my feet, and bade me be advised


Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love?


Who told me how the poor soul did forsake


The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?


And said, Dear brother, live, and be a king?


Who told me, when we both lay in the field


Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me


Even in his own garments, and gave himself,


All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?


All this from my remembrance brutish wrath


But when your carters or your waiting-vassals


Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced


The precious image of our dear Redeemer,


You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;


But for my brother not a man would speak,


For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all


Yet none of you would once plead for his life.


O God, I fear thy justice will take hold


On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this!


Exeunt some with KING EDWARD IV and QUEEN MARGARET


This is the fruit of rashness! Markd you not


How that the guilty kindred of the queen


Lookd pale when they did hear of Clarence death?


O, they did urge it still unto the king!


God will revenge it. But come, let us in,


Enter the DUCHESS OF YORK, with the two children of CLARENCE


Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead?


Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast,


Why do you look on us, and shake your head,


And call us wretches, orphans, castaways


As loath to lose him, not your fathers death;


It were lost sorrow to wail one thats lost.


Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.


God will revenge it; whom I will importune


Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well:


You cannot guess who caused your fathers death.


Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester


Told me, the king, provoked by the queen,


And huggd me in his arm, and kindly kissd my cheek;


And he would love me dearly as his child.


Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes,


And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile!


He is my son; yea, and therein my shame;


Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.


Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?


I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?


Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her ears; RIVERS, and DORSET after her


Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep,


To chide my fortune, and torment myself?


Ill join with black despair against my soul,


What means this scene of rude impatience?


Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead.


Why grow the branches now the root is witherd?


Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone?


If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,


That our swift-winged souls may catch the kings;


Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow


But now two mirrors of his princely semblance


Are crackd in pieces by malignant death,


And I for comfort have but one false glass,


Which grieves me when I see my shame in him.


Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother,


And hast the comfort of thy children left thee:


But death hath snatchd my husband from mine arms,


And pluckd two crutches from my feeble limbs,


Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I,


To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries!


Good aunt, you wept not for our fathers death;


How can we aid you with our kindred tears?


Our fatherless distress was left unmoand;


I am not barren to bring forth complaints


All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes,


That I, being governd by the watery moon,


May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!


Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward!


Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence!


Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!


What stay had I but Edward? and hes gone.


What stay had we but Clarence? and hes gone.


What stays had I but they? and they are gone.


Their woes are parcelld, mine are general.


These babes for Clarence weep and so do I;


Alas, you three, on me, threefold distressd,


Pour all your tears! I am your sorrows nurse,


Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased


That you take with unthankfulness, his doing:


In common worldly things, tis calld ungrateful,


Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;


Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,


For it requires the royal debt it lent you.


Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,


Of the young prince your son: send straight for him


Let him be crownd; in him your comfort lives:


Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edwards grave,


And plant your joys in living Edwards throne.


Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF


Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause


To wail the dimming of our shining star;


But none can cure their harms by wailing them.


I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee


God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind,


Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!


[Aside]  Amen; and make me die a good old man!


That is the butt-end of a mothers blessing:


I marvel why her grace did leave it out.


You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers,


That bear this mutual heavy load of moan,


Now cheer each other in each others love


Though we have spent our harvest of this king,


The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts,


But lately splinterd, knit, and joind together,


Must gently be preserved, cherishd, and kept:


Me seemeth good, that, with some little train,


Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetchd


Hither to London, to be crownd our king.


Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham?


The new-heald wound of malice should break out,


Which would be so much the more dangerous


By how much the estate is green and yet ungovernd:


Where every horse bears his commanding rein,


And may direct his course as please himself,


As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent,


I hope the king made peace with all of us


Yet, since it is but green, it should be put


Which haply by much company might be urged:


That it is meet so few should fetch the prince.


Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.


To give your censures in this weighty business?


Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER


My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,


For Gods sake, let not us two be behind;


To part the queens proud kindred from the king.


I, like a child, will go by thy direction.


Towards Ludlow then, for well not stay behind.


Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast?


Bad news, byr lady; seldom comes the better:


I fear, I fear twill prove a troublous world.


Doth this news hold of good King Edwards death?


Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!


Then, masters, look to see a troublous world.


No, no; by Gods good grace his son shall reign.


Woe to the land thats governd by a child!


And in his full and ripend years himself,


No doubt, shall then and till then govern well.


Was crownd in Paris but at nine months old.


Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot;


With politic grave counsel; then the king


Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace.


Why, so hath this, both by the father and mother.


Better it were they all came by the father,


Or by the father there were none at all;


For emulation now, who shall be nearest,


Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.


O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!


And the queens sons and brothers haught and proud:


And were they to be ruled, and not to rule,


This sickly land might solace as before.


Come, come, we fear the worst; all shall be well.


When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks;


When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand;


When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?


Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.


All may be well; but, if God sort it so,


Truly, the souls of men are full of dread:


That looks not heavily and full of fear.


Before the times of change, still is it so:


By a divine instinct mens minds mistrust


The waters swell before a boisterous storm.


Marry, we were sent for to the justices.


Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, young YORK, QUEEN ELIZABETH, and the DUCHESS OF YORK


Last night, I hear, they lay at Northampton;


At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night:


To-morrow, or next day, they will be here.


I long with all my heart to see the prince:


I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.


Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow.


Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper,


More than my brother: Ay, quoth my uncle


Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:


And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,


Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.


Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold


In him that did object the same to thee;


He was the wretchedst thing when he was young,


That, if this rule were true, he should be gracious.


I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.


Now, by my troth, if I had been rememberd,


I could have given my uncles grace a flout,


To touch his growth nearer than he touchd mine.


How, my pretty York? I pray thee, let me hear it.


That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old


Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.


Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.


I pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this?


His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wert born.


If twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.


A parlous boy: go to, you are too shrewd.


Good madam, be not angry with the child.


Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold.


Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to Pomfret,


With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.


Why or for what these nobles were committed


The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind;


Welcome, destruction, death, and massacre!


My husband lost his life to get the crown;


And often up and down my sons were tossd,


For me to joy and weep their gain and loss:


Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors.


Make war upon themselves; blood against blood,


And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen;


Or let me die, to look on death no more!


Come, come, my boy; we will to sanctuary.


And thither bear your treasure and your goods.


The trumpets sound. Enter the young PRINCE EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, CARDINAL, CATESBY, and others


Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber.


Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts sovereign


Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy


Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years


Hath not yet dived into the worlds deceit


Than of his outward show; which, God he knows,


Those uncles which you want were dangerous;


Your grace attended to their sugard words,


But lookd not on the poison of their hearts :


God keep you from them, and from such false friends!


God keep me from false friends! but they were none.


My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you.


God bless your grace with health and happy days!


I thank you, good my lord; and thank you all.


I thought my mother, and my brother York,


Would long ere this have met us on the way


Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not


To tell us whether they will come or no!


And, in good time, here comes the sweating lord.


Welcome, my lord: what, will our mother come?


The queen your mother, and your brother York,


Would fain have come with me to meet your grace,


But by his mother was perforce withheld.


Fie, what an indirect and peevish course


Is this of hers! Lord cardinal, will your grace


Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York


If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him,


And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.


My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory


Can from his mother win the Duke of York,


Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate


To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid


Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land


You are too senseless--obstinate, my lord,


Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,


To those whose dealings have deserved the place,


And those who have the wit to claim the place:


This prince hath neither claimd it nor deserved it;


And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it:


Then, taking him from thence that is not there,


You break no privilege nor charter there.


My lord, you shall oer-rule my mind for once.


Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?


Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.


Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,


Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?


Where it seems best unto your royal self.


Your highness shall repose you at the Tower:


Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit


Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?


He did, my gracious lord, begin that place;


Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.


Successively from age to age, he built it?


But say, my lord, it were not registerd,


Methinks the truth should live from age to age,


[Aside]  So wise so young, they say, do never


I say, without characters, fame lives long.


With what his valour did enrich his wit,


His wit set down to make his valour live


Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;


For now he lives in fame, though not in life.


Ill tell you what, my cousin Buckingham,--


Ill win our ancient right in France again,


[Aside]  Short summers lightly have a forward spring.


Enter young YORK, HASTINGS, and the CARDINAL


Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York.


Richard of York! how fares our loving brother?


Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now.


Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours:


Too late he died that might have kept that title,


Which by his death hath lost much majesty.


How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?


You said that idle weeds are fast in growth


The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.


Then is he more beholding to you than I.


But you have power in me as in a kinsman.


My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart.


Of my kind uncle, that I know will give;


And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.


A greater gift than that Ill give my cousin.


A greater gift! O, thats the sword to it.


O, then, I see, you will part but with light gifts;


In weightier things youll say a beggar nay.


What, would you have my weapon, little lord?


I would, that I might thank you as you call me.


My Lord of York will still be cross in talk:


Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.


You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me:


Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;


He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.


With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!


To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,


To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.


What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?


My lord protector needs will have it so.


I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.


My grandam told me he was murdered there.


An if they live, I hope I need not fear.


But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,


A Sennet. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM and CATESBY


Think you, my lord, this little prating York


To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?


No doubt, no doubt; O, tis a parlous boy;


Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable


He is all the mothers, from the top to toe.


Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby.


Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend


Thou knowst our reasons urged upon the way;


What thinkst thou? is it not an easy matter


To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,


He for his fathers sake so loves the prince,


That he will not be won to aught against him.


What thinkst thou, then, of Stanley? what will he?


Well, then, no more but this: go, gentle Catesby,


And, as it were far off sound thou Lord Hastings,


How doth he stand affected to our purpose;


Encourage him, and show him all our reasons:


Be thou so too; and so break off your talk,


Wherein thyself shalt highly be employd.


Commend me to Lord William: tell him, Catesby,


His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries


To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle;


And bid my friend, for joy of this good news,


Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.


Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly.


My good lords both, with all the heed I may.


Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?


At Crosby Place, there shall you find us both.


Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive


Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?


Chop off his head, man; somewhat we will do:


And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me


The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables


Whereof the king my brother stood possessd.


Ill claim that promise at your graces hands.


And look to have it yielded with all willingness.


Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards


We may digest our complots in some form.


Cannot thy master sleep these tedious nights?


So it should seem by that I have to say.


First, he commends him to your noble lordship.


He dreamt to-night the boar had razed his helm:


Besides, he says there are two councils held;


which may make you and him to rue at the other.


Therefore he sends to know your lordships pleasure,


If presently you will take horse with him,


And with all speed post with him toward the north,


To shun the danger that his soul divines.


Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us


Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting instance:


And for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond


To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers


To fly the boar before the boar pursues,


And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.


Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.


My gracious lord, Ill tell him what you say.


Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring


What news, what news, in this our tottering state?


Tim Richard wear the garland of the realm.


How! wear the garland! dost thou mean the crown?


Ill have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders


Ere I will see the crown so foul misplaced.


But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?


Ay, on my life; and hopes to find forward


And thereupon he sends you this good news,


The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret.


Because they have been still mine enemies:


But, that Ill give my voice on Richards side,


To bar my masters heirs in true descent,


God knows I will not do it, to the death.


God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!


But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence,


That they who brought me in my masters hate


Ill send some packing that yet think not on it.


Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,


When men are unprepared and look not for it.


O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out


With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so twill do


With some men else, who think themselves as safe


As thou and I; who, as thou knowst, are dear


The princes both make high account of you;


For they account his head upon the bridge.


I know they do; and I have well deserved it.


Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?


Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?


My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby:


I do not like these several councils, I.


Was it more precious to me than tis now:


Think you, but that I know our state secure,


The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London,


Were jocund, and supposed their state was sure,


And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;


But yet, you see how soon the day oercast.


Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward!


What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent.


Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my lord?


To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded.


They, for their truth, might better wear their heads


Than some that have accused them wear their hats.


Go on before; Ill talk with this good fellow.


How now, sirrah! how goes the world with thee?


The better that your lordship please to ask.


I tell thee, man, tis better with me now


Than when I met thee last where now we meet:


But now, I tell thee--keep it to thyself--


This day those enemies are put to death,


God hold it, to your honours good content!


Gramercy, fellow: there, drink that for me.


Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.


I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.


I am in your debt for your last exercise;


Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.


What, talking with a priest, lord chamberlain?


Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest;


Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.


Good faith, and when I met this holy man,


Those men you talk of came into my mind.


I do, my lord; but long I shall not stay


I shall return before your lordship thence.


Tis like enough, for I stay dinner there.


[Aside]  And supper too, although thou knowst it not.


Enter RATCLIFF, with halberds, carrying RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN to death


Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this:


God keep the prince from all the pack of you!


You live that shall cry woe for this after.


Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.


O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,


Richard the second here was hackd to death;


And, for more slander to thy dismal seat,


We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink.


Now Margarets curse is falln upon our heads,


For standing by when Richard stabbd her son.


Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed she Buckingham,


Then cursed she Richard. O, remember, God


To hear her prayers for them, as now for us


And for my sister and her princely sons,


Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,


Which, as thou knowst, unjustly must be spilt.


Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.


Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us all embrace:


And take our leave, until we meet in heaven.


Enter BUCKINGHAM, DERBY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP OF  ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL, with others, and take their seats at a table


My lords, at once: the cause why we are met


In Gods name, speak: when is the royal day?


Are all things fitting for that royal time?


Who knows the lord protectors mind herein?


Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind.


Who, I, my lord I we know each others faces,


But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine,


Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.


I thank his grace, I know he loves me well;


But you, my noble lords, may name the time;


And in the dukes behalf Ill give my voice,


Which, I presume, hell take in gentle part.


Now in good time, here comes the duke himself.


My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow.


I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope,


My absence doth neglect no great designs,


Which by my presence might have been concluded.


William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part,--


I mean, your voice,--for crowning of the king.


Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder;


His lordship knows me well, and loves me well.


I saw good strawberries in your garden there


Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart.


Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business,


As he will lose his head ere give consent


His masters son, as worshipful as he terms it,


Shall lose the royalty of Englands throne.


Withdraw you hence, my lord, Ill follow you.


We have not yet set down this day of triumph.


To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden;


As else I would be, were the day prolongd.


Where is my lord protector? I have sent for these


His grace looks cheerfully and smooth to-day;


Theres some conceit or other likes him well,


When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit.


I think theres never a man in Christendom


That can less hide his love or hate than he;


For by his face straight shall you know his heart.


What of his heart perceive you in his face


Marry, that with no man here he is offended;


For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.


I pray you all, tell me what they deserve


That do conspire my death with devilish plots


Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevaild


The tender love I bear your grace, my lord,


Makes me most forward in this noble presence


To doom the offenders, whatsoever they be


I say, my lord, they have deserved death.


Then be your eyes the witness of this ill:


And this is Edwards wife, that monstrous witch,


Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore,


That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.


If they have done this thing, my gracious lord--


If I thou protector of this damned strumpet--


Tellest thou me of ifs?  Thou art a traitor:


Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear,


Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done:


The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.


Exeunt all but HASTINGS, RATCLIFF, and LOVEL


Woe, woe for England! not a whit for me;


For I, too fond, might have prevented this.


Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm;


But I disdaind it, and did scorn to fly:


Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,


And startled, when he lookd upon the Tower,


As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.


O, now I want the priest that spake to me:


How they at Pomfret bloodily were butcherd,


And I myself secure in grace and favour.


O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse


Is lighted on poor Hastings wretched head!


Dispatch, my lord; the duke would be at dinner:


Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.


Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!


Who builds his hopes in air of your good looks,


Come, come, dispatch; tis bootless to exclaim.


Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head.


They smile at me that shortly shall be dead.


Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, in rotten armour, marvellous ill-favoured


Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change thy colour,


Murder thy breath in the middle of a word,


As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror?


Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;


Speak and look back, and pry on every side,


Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,


Are at my service, like enforced smiles;


He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.


Look back, defend thee, here are enemies.


God and our innocency defend and guard us!


Be patient, they are friends, Ratcliff and Lovel.


Enter LOVEL and RATCLIFF, with HASTINGS head


Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,


So dear I loved the man, that I must weep.


I took him for the plainest harmless creature


That breathed upon this earth a Christian;


Made him my book wherein my soul recorded


So smooth he daubd his vice with show of virtue,


I mean, his conversation with Shores wife,


Well, well, he was the covertst shelterd traitor


We live to tell it you, the subtle traitor


This day had plotted, in the council-house


To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester?


What, think You we are Turks or infidels?


Or that we would, against the form of law,


Proceed thus rashly to the villains death,


The peace of England and our persons safety,


Now, fair befall you! he deserved his death;


And you my good lords, both have well proceeded,


To warn false traitors from the like attempts.


After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.


Yet had not we determined he should die,


Until your lordship came to see his death;


Which now the loving haste of these our friends,


Somewhat against our meaning, have prevented:


Because, my lord, we would have had you heard


The traitor speak, and timorously confess


The manner and the purpose of his treason;


That you might well have signified the same


Misconstrue us in him and wail his death.


But, my good lord, your graces word shall serve,


As well as I had seen and heard him speak


And doubt you not, right noble princes both,


With all your just proceedings in this cause.


And to that end we wishd your lord-ship here,


To avoid the carping censures of the world.


But since you come too late of our intents,


Yet witness what you hear we did intend:


And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell.


The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post:


There, at your meetst advantage of the time,


Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen,


Heir to the crown; meaning indeed his house,


Which, by the sign thereof was termed so.


Which stretched to their servants, daughters, wives,


Even where his lustful eye or savage heart,


Without control, listed to make his prey.


Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:


Tell them, when that my mother went with child


My princely father then had wars in France


Being nothing like the noble duke my father:


But touch this sparingly, as twere far off,


Because you know, my lord, my mother lives.


Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu.


If you thrive well, bring them to Baynards Castle;


Where you shall find me well accompanied


With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops.


Look for the news that the Guildhall affords.


Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw;


Meet me within this hour at Baynards Castle.


Now will I in, to take some privy order,


To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight;


And to give notice, that no manner of person


At any time have recourse unto the princes.


Enter a Scrivener, with a paper in his hand


This is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;


That it may be this day read over in Pauls.


And mark how well the sequel hangs together:


For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me;


And yet within these five hours lived Lord Hastings,


Heres a good world the while! Why whos so gross,


Yet whos so blind, but says he sees it not?


Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,


When such bad dealings must be seen in thought.


Enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM, at several doors


How now, my lord, what say the citizens?


The citizens are mum and speak not a word.


Touchd you the bastardy of Edwards children?


I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,


The insatiate greediness of his desires,


His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,


As being got, your father then in France,


His resemblance, being not like the duke;


Both in your form and nobleness of mind;


Laid open all your victories in Scotland,


Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose


Untouchd, or slightly handled, in discourse


I bid them that did love their countrys good


Cry God save Richard, Englands royal king!


No, so God help me, they spake not a word;


But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,


Gazed each on other, and lookd deadly pale.


And askd the mayor what meant this wilful silence:


His answer was, the people were not wont


Then he was urged to tell my tale again,


Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferrd;


But nothing spake in warrant from himself.


When he had done, some followers of mine own,


At the lower end of the hall, hurld up their caps,


And some ten voices cried God save King Richard!


And thus I took the vantage of those few,


Thanks, gentle citizens and friends, quoth I;


Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard:


What tongueless blocks were they! would not they speak?


Will not the mayor then and his brethren come?


The mayor is here at hand: intend some fear;


Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit:


And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,


And stand betwixt two churchmen, good my lord;


For on that ground Ill build a holy descant:


Play the maids part, still answer nay, and take it.


No doubt well bring it to a happy issue.


Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor knocks.


Welcome my lord; I dance attendance here;


I think the duke will not be spoke withal.


Here comes his servant: how now, Catesby,


He is within, with two right reverend fathers,


Return, good Catesby, to thy lord again;


Tell him, myself, the mayor and citizens,


In deep designs and matters of great moment,


No less importing than our general good,


Are come to have some conference with his grace.


Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!


Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,


But praying, to enrich his watchful soul:


Happy were England, would this gracious prince


Take on himself the sovereignty thereof:


But, sure, I fear, we shall neer win him to it.


Marry, God forbid his grace should say us nay!


He wonders to what end you have assembled


Such troops of citizens to speak with him,


His grace not being warnd thereof before:


My lord, he fears you mean no good to him.


By heaven, I come in perfect love to him;


And so once more return and tell his grace.


Are at their beads, tis hard to draw them thence,


Enter GLOUCESTER aloft, between two Bishops. CATESBY returns


See, where he stands between two clergymen!


Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,


Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince,


Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.


But, leaving this, what is your graces pleasure?


Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,


And all good men of this ungovernd isle.


That seems disgracious in the citys eyes,


And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.


You have, my lord: would it might please your grace,


Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?


Then know, it is your fault that you resign


The supreme seat, the throne majestical,


Your state of fortune and your due of birth,


Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,


Which here we waken to our countrys good,


This noble isle doth want her proper limbs;


Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,


And almost shoulderd in the swallowing gulf


Of blind forgetfulness and dark oblivion.


Your gracious self to take on you the charge


And kingly government of this your land,


But as successively from blood to blood,


Your right of birth, your empery, your own.


Your very worshipful and loving friends,


In this just suit come I to move your grace.


I know not whether to depart in silence,


Best fitteth my degree or your condition


Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded


Which fondly you would here impose on me;


If to reprove you for this suit of yours,


So seasond with your faithful love to me.


Then, on the other side, I chequed my friends.


Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first,


And then, in speaking, not to incur the last,


Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert


And that my path were even to the crown,


As I had rather hide me from my greatness,


But, God be thankd, theres no need of me,


And much I need to help you, if need were;


The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,


Which, mellowd by the stealing hours of time,


And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.


The right and fortune of his happy stars;


Which God defend that I should wring from him!


My lord, this argues conscience in your grace;


But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,


You say that Edward is your brothers son:


For first he was contract to Lady Lucy--


Your mother lives a witness to that vow--


A care-crazed mother of a many children,


Made prize and purchase of his lustful eye,


Seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts


This Edward, whom our manners term the prince.


Then, good my lord, take to your royal self


Do, good my lord, your citizens entreat you.


Refuse not, mighty lord, this profferd love.


O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!


Alas, why would you heap these cares on me?


If you refuse it,--as, in love and zeal,


Loath to depose the child, Your brothers son;


As well we know your tenderness of heart


Your brothers son shall never reign our king;


But we will plant some other in the throne,


To the disgrace and downfall of your house:


And in this resolution here we leave you.--


Come, citizens: zounds! Ill entreat no more.


Call them again, my lord, and accept their suit.


Do, good my lord, lest all the land do rue it.


Would you enforce me to a world of care?


Well, call them again. I am not made of stone,


Albeit against my conscience and my soul.


Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men,


Since you will buckle fortune on my back,


To bear her burthen, whether I will or no,


I must have patience to endure the load:


But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach


Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me


From all the impure blots and stains thereof;


For God he knows, and you may partly see,


God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it.


In saying so, you shall but say the truth.


Then I salute you with this kingly title:


To-morrow will it please you to be crownd?


Even when you please, since you will have it so.


To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace:


Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends.


Enter, on one side, QUEEN ELIZABETH, DUCHESS OF  YORK, and DORSET; on the other, ANNE, Duchess of  Gloucester, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet, CLARENCEs young Daughter


Who m eets us here?  my niece Plantagenet


Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?


Now, for my life, shes wandering to the Tower,


On pure hearts love to greet the tender princes.


As much to you, good sister! Whither away?


No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,


Kind sister, thanks: well enter all together.


And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.


Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,


How doth the prince, and my young son of York?


Right well, dear madam. By your patience,


The king hath straitly charged the contrary.


I cry you mercy: I mean the lord protector.


The Lord protect him from that kingly title!


Hath he set bounds betwixt their love and me?


I am their mother; who should keep me from them?


I am their fathers mother; I will see them.


Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:


Then bring me to their sights; Ill bear thy blame


And take thy office from thee, on my peril.


I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.


Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,


And Ill salute your grace of York as mother,


And reverend looker on, of two fair queens.


Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,


There to be crowned Richards royal queen.


O, cut my lace in sunder, that my pent heart


May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon


Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your grace?


O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee hence!


Death and destruction dog thee at the heels;


Thy mothers name is ominous to children.


If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,


And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell


Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,


Lest thou increase the number of the dead;


And make me die the thrall of Margarets curse,


Nor mother, wife, nor Englands counted queen.


Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.


Take all the swift advantage of the hours;


You shall have letters from me to my son


To meet you on the way, and welcome you.


A cockatrice hast thou hatchd to the world,


Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.


Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain!


And die, ere men can say, God save the queen!


To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.


No! why?  When he that is my husband now


When scarce the blood was well washd from his hands


Which issued from my other angel husband


And that dead saint which then I weeping followd;


O, when, I say, I lookd on Richards face,


This was my wish: Be thou, quoth I,  accursed,


For making me, so young, so old a widow!


And, when thou wedst, let sorrow haunt thy bed;


As thou hast made me by my dear lords death!


Even in so short a space, my womans heart


And proved the subject of my own souls curse,


Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest;


But have been waked by his timorous dreams.


Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;


And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.


Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.


No more than from my soul I mourn for yours.


Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave of it!


Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!


Go thou to Richard, and good angels guard thee!


Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee!


I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!


And each hours joy wrecked with a week of teen.


Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower.


Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes


Whom envy hath immured within your walls!


Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!


Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow


So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.


Sennet. Enter KING RICHARD III, in pomp, crowned; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, a page, and others


And thy assistance, is King Richard seated;


But shall we wear these honours for a day?


Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?


Still live they and for ever may they last!


Young Edward lives: think now what I would say.


Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king,


Why, so you are, my thrice renowned liege.


Ha! am I king? tis so: but Edward lives.


That Edward still should live! True, noble prince!


Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull:


Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead;


What sayest thou? speak suddenly; be brief.


Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezeth:


Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?


Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord


The king is angry: see, he bites the lip.


That look into me with considerate eyes:


High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.


Knowst thou not any whom corrupting gold


Would tempt unto a close exploit of death?


My lord, I know a discontented gentleman,


Whose humble means match not his haughty mind:


And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.


I partly know the man: go, call him hither.


No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel:


Hath he so long held out with me untired,


My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorsets fled


To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea


That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die:


I will take order for her keeping close.


Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman,


Whom I will marry straight to Clarence daughter:


Look, how thou dreamst! I say again, give out


That Anne my wife is sick and like to die:


To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.


I must be married to my brothers daughter,


Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.


Murder her brothers, and then marry her!


So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin:


Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.


James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.


Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?


Why, there thou hast it: two deep enemies,


Foes to my rest and my sweet sleeps disturbers


Are they that I would have thee deal upon:


Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.


And soon Ill rid you from the fear of them.


Thou singst sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel


Go, by this token: rise, and lend thine ear:


There is no more but so: say it is done,


And I will love thee, and prefer thee too.


Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep?


The late demand that you did sound me in.


Well, let that pass. Dorset is fled to Richmond.


Stanley, he is your wifes son well, look to it.


My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise,


For which your honour and your faith is pawnd;


The earldom of Hereford and the moveables


The which you promised I should possess.


Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey


Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.


What says your highness to my just demand?


Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,


How chance the prophet could not at that time


Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?


My lord, your promise for the earldom,--


The mayor in courtesy showd me the castle,


And calld it Rougemont: at which name I started,


I should not live long after I saw Richmond.


I am thus bold to put your grace in mind


Because that, like a Jack, thou keepst the stroke


Why, then resolve me whether you will or no.


Is it even so? rewards he my true service


With such deep contempt made I him king for this?


O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone


To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on!


Although they were fleshd villains, bloody dogs,


Melting with tenderness and kind compassion


Wept like two children in their deaths sad stories.


Lo, thus quoth Dighton, lay those tender babes:


Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another


Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,


Which in their summer beauty kissd each other.


Which once, quoth Forrest, almost changed my mind;


But O! the devil--there the villain stoppd


Whilst Dighton thus told on: We smothered


The most replenished sweet work of nature,


That from the prime creation eer she framed.


Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse;


They could not speak; and so I left them both,


To bring this tidings to the bloody king.


If to have done the thing you gave in charge


The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;


Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,


And thou shalt tell the process of their death.


Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,


The son of Clarence have I pent up close;


His daughter meanly have I matchd in marriage;


The sons of Edward sleep in Abrahams bosom,


And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.


Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims


At young Elizabeth, my brothers daughter,


And, by that knot, looks proudly oer the crown,


Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly?


Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Richmond;


And Buckingham, backd with the hardy Welshmen,


Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.


Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army.


Come, I have heard that fearful commenting


Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary


Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield;


We must be brief when traitors brave the field.


And drop into the rotten mouth of death.


Here in these confines slily have I lurkd,


To watch the waning of mine adversaries.


And will to France, hoping the consequence


Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.


Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here?


Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK


Ah, my young princes! ah, my tender babes!


My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!


Hover about her; say, that right for right


Hath dimmd your infant morn to aged night.


That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb,


Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,


And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?


When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?


Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal living ghost,


Woes scene, worlds shame, graves due by life usurpd,


Brief abstract and record of tedious days,


Rest thy unrest on Englands lawful earth,


Unlawfully made drunk with innocents blood!


O, that thou wouldst as well afford a grave


Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.


And let my woes frown on the upper hand.


Tell oer your woes again by viewing mine:


I had an Edward, till a Richard killd him;


I had a Harry, till a Richard killd him:


Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard killd him;


Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him;


I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;


I had a Rutland too, thou holpst to kill him.


Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard killd him.


From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept


A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death:


That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,


To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,


That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,


That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,


Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.


O upright, just, and true-disposing God,


How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur


And makes her pew-fellow with others moan!


God witness with me, I have wept for thine.


Thy Edward he is dead, that stabbd my Edward:


Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;


Young York he is but boot, because both they


Match not the high perfection of my loss:


Thy Clarence he is dead that killd my Edward;


The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,


Untimely smotherd in their dusky graves.


Richard yet lives, hells black intelligencer,


Only reserved their factor, to buy souls


And send them thither: but at hand, at hand,


Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray.


Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I prey,


That I may live to say, The dog is dead!


O, thou didst prophesy the time would come


That I should wish for thee to help me curse


That bottled spider, that foul bunch-backd toad!


I calld thee then vain flourish of my fortune;


I calld thee then poor shadow, painted queen;


The flattering index of a direful pageant;


One heaved a-high, to be hurld down below;


A mother only mockd with two sweet babes;


A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble,


A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.


Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?


Where are thy children? wherein dost thou, joy?


Who sues to thee and cries God save the queen?


Where be the bending peers that flatterd thee?


Where be the thronging troops that followd thee?


Decline all this, and see what now thou art:


For happy wife, a most distressed widow;


For joyful mother, one that wails the name;


For queen, a very caitiff crownd with care;


For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;


For one that scornd at me, now scornd of me;


For one being feard of all, now fearing one;


Thus hath the course of justice wheeld about,


Having no more but thought of what thou wert,


To torture thee the more, being what thou art.


Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not


Now thy proud neck bears half my burthend yoke;


From which even here I slip my weary neck,


And leave the burthen of it all on thee.


Farewell, Yorks wife, and queen of sad mischance:


These English woes will make me smile in France.


O thou well skilld in curses, stay awhile,


Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days;


Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,


And he that slew them fouler than he is:


Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse:


Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.


My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine!


Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.


Let them have scope: though what they do impart


Help not all, yet do they ease the heart.


If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me.


And in the breath of bitter words lets smother


My damned son, which thy two sweet sons smotherd.


I hear his drum: be copious in exclaims.


Enter KING RICHARD III, marching, with drums and trumpets


O, she that might have intercepted thee,


From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!


Hidest thou that forehead with a golden crown,


Where should be graven, if that right were right,


The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown,


And the dire death of my two sons and brothers?


Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?


Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence?


Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?


A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, drums!


Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women


Rail on the Lords enointed: strike, I say!


Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.


Madam, I have a touch of your condition,


Which cannot brook the accent of reproof.


And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.


Art thou so hasty? I have stayd for thee,


No, by the holy rood, thou knowst it well,


Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell.


Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious,


Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous,


Thy age confirmd, proud, subdued, bloody,


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


Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that calld


Let me march on, and not offend your grace.


Either thou wilt die, by Gods just ordinance,


Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror,


Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish


Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse;


Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more


Than all the complete armour that thou wearst!


And there the little souls of Edwards children


Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end;


Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.


Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse


Stay, madam; I must speak a word with you.


For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,


They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;


And therefore level not to hit their lives.


And must she die for this? O, let her live,


And Ill corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;


So she may live unscarrd of bleeding slaughter,


I will confess she was not Edwards daughter.


Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.


To save her life, Ill say she is not so.


And only in that safety died her brothers.


Lo, at their births good stars were opposite.


No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.


My babes were destined to a fairer death,


If grace had blessd thee with a fairer life.


You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.


Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozend


Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.


Whose hand soever lanced 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,


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 anchord in thine eyes;


And I, in such a desperate bay of death,


Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,


Than ever you or yours were by me wrongd!


What good is coverd with the face of heaven,


The advancement of your children, gentle lady.


Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?


The high imperial type of this earths glory.


Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,


Even all I have; yea, and myself and all,


Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs


Which thou supposest I have done to thee.


Be brief, lest that be process of thy kindness


Last longer telling than thy kindness date.


Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter.


My daughters mother thinks it with her soul.


That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul:


So from thy souls love didst thou love her brothers;


And from my hearts love I do thank thee for it.


I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,


Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?


Even he that makes her queen who should be else?


As one that are best acquainted with her humour.


Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,


A pair of bleeding-hearts; thereon engrave


Edward and York; then haply she will weep:


Therefore present to her--as sometime Margaret


Did to thy father, steepd in Rutlands blood,--


A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain


The purple sap from her sweet brothers body


And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith.


If this inducement force her not to love,


Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence,


Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake,


Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.


Come, come, you mock me; this is not the way


Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,


And not be Richard that hath done all this.


Say that I did all this for love of her.


Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,


Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.


Look, what is done cannot be now amended:


Which after hours give leisure to repent.


If I did take the kingdom from your sons,


To make amends, Ill give it to your daughter.


Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter


They are as children but one step below,


Even of your mettle, of your very blood;


Of an 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.


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


The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife.


Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;


The liquid drops of tears that you have shed


Shall come again, transformd to orient pearl,


Make bold her bashful years with your experience;


Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame


Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess


With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys


And when this arm of mine hath chastised


The petty rebel, dull-braind Buckingham,


Bound with triumphant garlands will I come


And lead thy daughter to a conquerors bed;


And she shall be sole victress, Caesars Caesar.


What were I best to say? her fathers brother


Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle?


Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles?


That God, the law, my honour and her love,


Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?


Infer fair Englands peace by this alliance.


Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.


Say that the king, which may command, entreats.


That at her hands which the kings King forbids.


Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.


But how long shall that title ever last?


Sweetly in force unto her fair lifes end.


But how long fairly shall her sweet lie last?


So long as heaven and nature lengthens it.


So long as hell and Richard likes of it.


Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject love.


But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.


An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.


Then in plain terms tell her my loving tale.


Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.


Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.


Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave.


Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.


Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break.


Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,--


Profaned, dishonourd, and the third usurpd.


The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour;


The garter, blemishd, pawnd his knightly virtue;


The crown, usurpd, disgraced his kingly glory.


if something thou wilt swear to be believed,


Swear then by something that thou hast not wrongd.


If thou hadst feard to break an oath by Him,


Had not been broken, nor my brother slain:


The imperial metal, circling now thy brow,


Had graced the tender temples of my child,


And both the princes had been breathing here,


Which now, two tender playfellows to dust,


Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.


That thou hast wronged in the time oerpast;


Hereafter time, for time past wrongd by thee.


The children live, whose parents thou hast


Ungovernd youth, to wail it in their age;


The parents live, whose children thou hast butcherd,


Old witherd plants, to wail it with their age.


Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast


Misused ere used, by time misused oerpast.


Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!


Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!


To my proceedings, if, with pure hearts love,


I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter!


Without her, follows to this land and me,


To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul,


Therefore, good mother,--I must can you so--


Plead what I will be, not what I have been;


Not my deserts, but what I will deserve:


And be not peevish-fond in great designs.


Ay, if yourselfs remembrance wrong yourself.


Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed


Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.


And you shall understand from me her mind.


Bear her my true loves kiss; and so, farewell.


Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!


My gracious sovereign, on the western coast


Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,


Unarmd, and unresolved to beat them back:


Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;


And there they hull, expecting but the aid


Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk:


Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he?


Why standst thou still, and gost not to the duke?


First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind,


What from your grace I shall deliver to him.


O, true, good Catesby: bid him levy straight


The greatest strength and power he can make,


What ist your highness pleasure I shall do at


Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?


Your highness told me I should post before.


My mind is changed, sir, my mind is changed.


None good, my lord, to please you with the hearing;


Nor none so bad, but it may well be told.


When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way?


There let him sink, and be the seas on him!


White-liverd runagate, what doth he there?


I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.


Stirrd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely,


He makes for England, there to claim the crown.


Is the chair empty? is the sword unswayd?


Is the king dead? the empire unpossessd?


What heir of York is there alive but we?


And who is Englands king but great Yorks heir?


Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea?


Unless for that, my liege, 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.


No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not.


Where is thy power, then, to beat him back?


Where are thy tenants and thy followers?


Are they not now upon the western shore.


Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships!


No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.


Cold friends to Richard: what do they in the north,


When they should serve their sovereign in the west?


They have not been commanded, mighty sovereign:


Please it your majesty to give me leave,


Ill muster up my friends, and meet your grace


Where and what time your majesty shall please.


Ay, ay. thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond:


You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful:


Go muster men; but, hear you, leave behind