Have mercy, Jefu-Soft, I did but dream.

O coward Confcience! how doft thou afflict me?
The lights burn blue is it not dead midnight?
Cold fearful drops ftand on my trembling flesh'.
What do I fear myfelf? there's none else by;
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.

Is there a murth'rer here? No. Yes, I am.
My confcience hath a thousand fev'ral tongues,
And ev'ry tongue brings in a fev'ral tale,
And ev'ry tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury in high'ft degree,

Murther, ftern murther in the dir'ft degree,
All feveral fins, all us'd in each degree,
Throng to the bar, all crying, Guilty, guilty!
I fhall defpair: there is no creature loves me:
And if I die, no foul fhall pity me. †

Methought the fouls of all that I had murther'd
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard..
Enter Ratcliff..

Rat. My Lord,

K. Rich. Who's there??

Rat. Ratcliff, my Lord.

The early village-cock]

Hath twice done falutation to the morn;

Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour;

K. Rich. Ratcliff, I fear, I fear

Rat. Nay, good my Lord, be not afraid of fhadows. K. Rich. By the Apostle Paul, fhadows to night

no; yes, I am.

Then fly-What, from myfelf? Great reafon; Why?
Left I revenge, What myself on myself?

I love myself. Wherefore? for any good
That I myfelf have done unto myself?
O, no. Alas, I rather hate myself;
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain; yet I lye, I am not.

Fool, of thyself fpeak well-Fool, do not flatter.
My confcience hath, &c.

+ -no foul shall pity me.

Nay, wherefore should they? fince that I myself
Find in myfelf no pity to myself.

Methought the fouls, &c.

Have ftruck more terror to the foul of Richard,
Than can the fubftance of ten thousand foldiers
Armed in proof, and led by fhallow Richmond.
It is not yet near day. Come, go with me;
Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
To hear if any mean to fhrink from me.

[Exeunt K. Richard and Ratcliff.

Enter the Lords to Richmond fitting in his tent.

Lords. Good morrow, Richmond.

Rich. Cry mercy, Lords and watchful Gentlemen, That you have ta'en a tardy fluggard here.

Lords. How have you flept my Lord?

Rich. The fweetelt fleep, and faireft-boding dreams, That ever enter'd in a drowly head,

Have I fince your departure had, my Lords.
Methought their fouls whofe bodies Richard murther'd,
Came to my tert, and cried, On! Victory!

I promise you my heart is very jocund,
In the remembrance of fo fair a dream.

How far into the morning is it, Lords?
Lords. Upon the ftroke of four.

Rich Why then 'tis time to arm, and give direction.
More than I have said, loving countrymen,
The leifure and inforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell on; yet remember this,
God and our good caufe fight upon our fide:
The pray'rs of holy faints, and wronged fouls,
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces,
Richard except, those whom we fight against,
Had rather have us win, than him they follow.
For what is he they follow? truly, Gentlemen,
A bloody tyrant, and a homicide;

One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
One that made means to come by what he hath,
And flaughter'd thofe that were the means to help him.
A bafe foul ftone, made, precious by the foil
Of England's chair, where he is faifely fet;
One that hath ever been God's enemy':
Then if you fight against God's enemy,

God will in juftice ward you as his foldiers.
If you do fweat to put a tyrant down,
You'll fleep in peace, the tyrant being flain :
If you do fight against your country's foes,
Your country's fat fhall pay your pains the hire:
If you do fight in fafeguard of your wives,
Your wives thall welcome home the conquerors:
If you do free your children from the fword,
Your childrens' children quit it in your age.
Then, in the name of God, and all these rights,
Advance your standards, draw your willing fwords.
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt,

Shall be this cold corpfe on the earth's cold face :
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
The least of you fhall fhare his part thereof.
Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly, chearfully;
God, and Saint George! Richmond, and Victory!

SCENE VII.

Enter King Richard, Ratcliff, and Catesby. K. Rich. What faid Northumberland as touching Richmond?

Rat. That he was never trained up in arms.

K. Rich. He said the truth; and what faid Surrey then?

Rat. He fmil'd, and faid, The better for our purpose. K. Rich. He was i' th' right; and fo indeed it is. Tell the clock there-give me a kalendar.

Who faw the fun to-day?

Rat. Not I, my Lord.

[Clock ftrikes.

K. Rich. Then he disdains to shine: for, by the book, He should have brav'd the east an hour ago

A black day it will be to fome body. Ratcliff !
Rat. My Lord?

K. Rich. The fun will not be seen to day;
The fky doth frown and lowre upon our army.
I would there dewy tears were froin the ground-
Not fhine to-day? why, what is that to me
More than to Richmond? for the felf-fame heav'n
That frowns on me, looks fadly upon him.

Enter Norfolk.

Nor. Arm, arm, my Lord; the foe vaunts in the field.
K. Rich, Come, buftle, buitle-caparison my horse.
Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power;
I will lead forth my foldiers to the plain,
And thus my battle fhall be ordered.

My forward fhall be drawn out all in length,
Confifting equally of horfe and foot:

Our archers fhall be placed in the midft;
John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of the foot and horfe.
They thus directed, we ourself will follow
In the main battle, which on either fide
Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse:

This and St George to boot-What think'st thou,
Norfolk!

Nor. A good direction, warlike Sovereign.
This paper found I on my tent this morning.

[Giving a ferowl.

[Reads.

Jocky of Norfolk, be not fo bold,
For Dickon thy mafter is bought and fold.
K. Rich. A thing devised by the enemy.
Go, Gentlemen; go, each man to his charge.
Let not our babling dreams affright our fouls
Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
Devis'd at first to keep the ftrong in awe :
Our strong arms be our confcience, fwords our law.
March on, join bravely, let us to't pell mell,
If not to heav'n, then hand in hand to hell.
What fhall I fay more than I have inferr'd?
Remember whom you are to cope withal;
A fort of vagabonds, of rafcals, runaways,
A fcum of Britons, and bafe lackey-peasants,
Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth
To defperate adventures and deftruction.
You fleeping fafe, they bring you to unreft:
You having lands, and blefs'd with beauteous wives,
They would diftrain the one, distain the other.
And who doth lead them, but a paltry fellow,
Long kept in Bretagne at his mother's colt?
A milk-fop, one that never in his lite

1

Felt fo much cold, as over fhoes in fnow.
Let's whip thefe ftragglers o'er the feas again,
Lafh hence these over-weening rags of France,
These famifh'd beggars, weary of their lives;
Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,

For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves. If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us,

And not thofe baftard Britons whom our fathers

Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd,
And on record left them the heirs of thame.

Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives?
Ravish our daughters?

Hark, I hear their drum.
[Drum afar off.
Fight, Gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen!
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head;
Spur your proud horfes hard, and ride in blood;
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
Enter a Messenger.

What fays Lord Stanley? will he bring his power?
Meff. My Lord, he doth deny to come.

K. Rich. Off inftantly with his fon George's head. Nor My Lord, the enemy is pafs'd the marfh; After the battle let George Stanley die.

K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within my bofom: Advance our standards, fet upon our foes;

Our ancient word of courage, fair St George,
Infpire us with the fpleen of fiery dragons.
Upon them! Victory fits on our helms.

[Exeunt.

Enter Catesby.

Catef. Refcue, my Lord of Norfolk, refcue, refcue : The King enacts more wonders than a man,

A daring oppofite to every danger!

His horfe is flain, and all on foot he fights,
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
Refcue, fair Lord, or elfe the day is loft.

Alarum. Enter King Richard.

K. Rich. A horfe! a horse! my kingdom for a horse'