Enter a Messenger.

Mef. My gracious fovereign, now in Devonshire,
As I by friends am well advértifed,

Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate,
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,

With many more confederates, are in arms.

Enter another Messenger.

2 Mef. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in arms; And every hour more competitors

Flock to the rebels, and their power grows ftrong.

Enter another Messenger.

3 Mef. My lord, the army of great BuckinghamK. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but fongs of death? [He frikes him. There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 3 Mef. The news I have to tell your majesty, Is,-that, by fudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham's army is difpers'd and scatter'd; And he himself wander'd away alone,

No man knows whither.

K. Rich.

O, I cry you mercy :

There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine.
Hath
any well-advised friend proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the traitor in ?

3 Mef. Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.

Enter another Messenger.

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

'Tis faid, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
But this good comfort bring I to your highness,-
The Bretagne navy is difpers'd by tempeft:
Richmond, in Derfetshire, fent out a boat
Unto the fhore, to ask those on the banks,
If they were his affiftants, yea, or no;

Who anfwer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,

Hois'd fail, and made his course again for Bretagne.
K. Rich. March on, march on, fince we are up in arms;
If not to fight with foreign enemies,

Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.

Enter CATESBY.

Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken, That is the best news; That the earl of Richmond Is with a mighty power landed at Milford,

Is colder news, but yet they must be told.

K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury; while we reafon here, A royal battle might be won and lost :

Some one take order, Buckingham be brought

To Salisbury ;-the rest march on with me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Room in Lord Stanley's Houfe.

Enter STANLEY and Sir CHRISTOPHER URSWICK.

Stan. Sir Chriftopher, tell Richmond this from me :That, in the fty of this moft bloody boar,

My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold;

If I revolt, off goes young George's head;

The

The fear of that withholds my prefent aid.

But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?
Chrif. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in Wales.
Stan. What men of name refort to him?
Chrif. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned foldier;
Sir Gilbert Talbot, fir William Stanley;
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, fir James Blunt,
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;
And many other of great fame and worth:
And towards London do they bend their course,
If by the way they be not fought withal.

Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; commend me to him; Tell him, the queen hath heartily confented

He fhall efpoufe Elizabeth her daughter.
These letters will refolve him of my mind.
Farewell. [Gives papers to Sir CHRISTOPHER.

Exeunt.

ACT

ACT V. SCENE I.

Salisbury. An open Place.

Enter the Sheriff, and Guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution.

Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with him? Sher. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.

Buck. Haftings, and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey, Holy king Henry, and thy fair fon Edward, Vaughan, and all that have miscarried By underhand corrupted foul injustice; If that your moody difcontented fouls

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 doomfday. This is the day, which, in king Edward's time,

I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found

Falfe to his children, or his wife's allies:

This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall
By the falfe 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-feer which I dally'd with,
Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head,
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
Thus doth he force the fwords of wicked men
To turn their own points on their masters' bofoms:
Thus Margaret's curfe falls heavy on my neck,—

When

When be, quoth fhe, fball fplit thy heart with forrow,
Remember Margaret was a prophetess.—

Come, firs, convey me to the block of shame ;
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

[Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, &c.

SCENE II.

Plain near Tamworth.

Enter, with drum and colours, RICHMOND, OXFORD, Sir JAMES BLUNT, Sir WALTER HERBERT, and Others, with forces, marching.

Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving 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 ufurping boar,

That spoil'd your fummer fields, and fruitful vines,
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough
In your embowell'd bofoms,-this foul fwine

Lies now even in the centre of this isle,

Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn :

From Tamworth thither, is but one day's march.
In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends,
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace

By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

Oxf. Every man's confcience is a thousand fwords,

To fight against that bloody homicide.

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

Blunt.