Enter KING RICHARD, and his Train, marching.
K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition?
Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her accursed womb,
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done.
Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden
crown,

Where should be branded, if that right were right,
The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown,
And the dire death of my poor sons, and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children?
Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy bro-
ther Clarence?

And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?

you.

Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood,
For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard, -
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;

Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, And therefore level not to hit their lives.
Grey?

Duch. Where is kind Hastings?

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

Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord's anointed: Strike, I say.

[Flourish. Alarums.

Either be patient, and entreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
Duch. Art thou my son?

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

Duck. Then patiently hear my impatience.
K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
That cannot brook the accent of reproof.

Duch. O, let me speak.

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

Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee,
God knows, in torment and in agony.

K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?
Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well,
Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.
A grievous burden was thy birth to me;
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and
furious;

Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous,
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:
What comfortable hour canst thou name,
That ever grac'd me in thy company?

K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd-Elizabeth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? O, let her live,
And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;
Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed;
Throw over her the veil of infamy:

So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal
blood.

Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say

she is not so.

trary.

K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny:
My babes were destin'd to a fairer death,
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.

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

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

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

No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys,
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
And I, in such a desperate bay of death,

K. Rich. 'Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,

call'd your grace

To breakfast once, forth of my company.

If I be so disgracious in your sight,

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

Duch.

I pr'ythee, hear me speak.
K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.
Duch.

Hear me a word,
For I shall never speak to thee again.

K. Rich. So.

Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize,
And dangerous success of bloody wars,
As I intend more good to you and yours,
Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd!

Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of
heaven,

To be discover'd, that can do me good?

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

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

heads?

K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it; Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all,

Will I withal endow a child of thine;
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs,
Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee.

Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy
kindness

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

Q. Elix. My daughter's mother thinks it with her
soul.

K. Rich. What do you think?

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

So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers;
And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it.
K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning;
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And do intend to make her queen of England.
Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be
her king?

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

Q. Eliz. What thou?
K. Rich.

of it, madam?

Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her?
K. Rich.
That I would learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humour.
Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?

K. Rich.

Your children were vexation to your youth,
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
The loss, you have, is but—a son being king,
And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul,
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity:
The king, that calls your beauteous daughter,➡
wife,

Familiarly shall call thy Dorset-brother;
Again shall you be mother to a king,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repair'd with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see:
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed,
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl;
Advantaging their loan, with interest
Of ten-times double gain of happiness.
Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;

Even so: What think you Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
Of golden sov'reignty; acquaint the princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys:
And when this arm of mine hath chastised
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed ;
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victress, Cæsar's Cæsar.

Madam, with all my heart.

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

A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave,
Edward, and York; then, haply, will she weep:
Therefore present to her, as sometime Margaret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, -
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;
Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and, for her sake,
Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
K. Rich. You mock me, madam; this is not the
way

To win your daughter.

Q. Eliz.
There is no other way;
Unless thou could'st put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.
K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her?
Q. Elix. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but
have thee,

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

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter.
If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,
To quicken your increase, I will beget
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.
A grandam's name is little less in love,
Than is the doating title of a mother;
They are as children, but one step below,
Even of your mettle, of your very blood;
Of all one pain, save for a night of groans
Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow,

Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's

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

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

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

Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
Even for revenge mock my destruction!
This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not?
Sher. It is, my lord.

Buck. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's
doomsday.

This is the day, which, in king Edward's time,
I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found
False to his children, or his wife's allies:
This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall
By the false faith of him whom most I trusted:
This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul,
Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs.
That high All-seer which I dallied with,
Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head,
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men
To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms:
Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck,
When he, quoth she, shall split thy heart with sorrow,
Remember Margaret was a prophetess.
Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame;
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
[Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, &c.

Enter, with drum and colours, RICHMOND, Oxford, Sir JAMES BLUNT, Sir WALTER HERBERT, and others, with Forces, marching.

Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends for fear;

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

name, march:

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings,
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
[Exeunt.

Here, most gracious liege. K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks; Ha! must we not?

Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord. K. Rich. Up with my tent: Here will I lie tonight;

[Soldiers begin to set up the KING's tent. But where, to-morrow? Well, all's one for that.Who hath descried the number of the traitors?

Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.
K. Rich. Why, our battalia trebles that account:
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength,
Which they upon the adverse faction want.
Up with the tent. Come, noble gentlemen,
Let us survey the vantage of the ground; -
Call for some men of sound direction :
Let's want no discipline, make no delay;
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day.
Enter, on the other side of the field, RICHMOND,
Sir WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, and other
Lords. Some of the Soldiers pitch RICHMOND's

tent.

[Exeunt.

Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set,
And, by the bright track of his fiery car,
Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. —

Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.—

friends,

Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny,

Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we march'd on without impediment;
And here receive we from our father Stanley
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,
That spoil'd your summer fields, and fruitful vines,
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his
trough

In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine
Lies now even in the center of this isle,
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn:
From Tamworth thither is but one day's march
In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends,
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

Orf. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords,
To fight against that bloody homicide.

Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us.

Give me some ink and paper in my tent;
I'll draw the form and model of our battle,
Limit each leader to his several charge,
And part in just proportion our small power.
My lord of Oxford, - you, sir William Brandon,-
And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me:
The earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment;
Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to him,
And by the second hour in the morning
Desire the earl to see me in my tent:

Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me;
Where is lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know?

Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours much,
(Which, well I am assur'd, I have not done,)
His regiment lies half a mile at least
South from the mighty power of the king.

Richm. If without peril it be possible,

Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with

him,

And give him from me this most needful note,