Sivut kuvina
PDF
ePub

A CT V.

SCENE I.

Enter the Sheriff, and Buckingham with Halberds led to

Execution,

?

mock my

Buck. W Ser

ILL not King Richard let me speak with him?

Sher. No, good my Lord, therefore be patient. Buck. Hastings, and Edward's Children, Gray and Rivers, Holy King Henry, and thy fair Son Edward, Vaughan, and all that have miscarried By under-hand corrupted foul Injustice, If that your moody discontented Souls, Do through the Clouds behold this present hour, Even for revenge mock Destruction. This is All-Souls Day, Fellow, is it not?

Sher. It is. Buck. Why then All-Souls Day is my Body's Doomsday, This is the Day, which in King Edward's time I wishe might fall on me, when I was found False to his Children, and his Wife's Allies. This is the Day wherein, I wilht 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-feer, which I dallied 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 Swords of wicked Men To turn their own points in their Masters Bosoms. Thus Margaret's Curse falls heavy on my Neck: When he, quoth she, will split thy Heart with Sorrow, Remember Margaret was a Prophetess: Come lead me, Officers, to the Block of Shame, Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

[Exeunt Buckingham witb Officers.

[blocks in formation]

To

SCENE II.
Enter Richmond, Oxford, Blunt, Herbert, and others,

with Drum and Colours.
Richm. Fellows in Arms, and my most loving Friends,
Bruis'd underneath the Yoak of Tyranny,
Thus far into the Bowels of the Land,
Have we marcht on without Impediment;
And here receive we from our Father Stanley
Lines of fair Comfort and Encouragement:
The wretched, bloody and usurping Boar,
That spoild your Summer-Fields, and fruitful Vines,
Swills your warm Blood like Wanh, and makes his Trough
In your embowellid Boloms; This foul Swine
Is now even in the Center of this Ine,
Near to the Town of Leicester, as we learn:
From Tamworth thither, is but one Day's march.
In God's Name cheerly on, couragious Friends,

reap the Harvest of perpetual Peace, By this one bloody trial of sharp War.

Oxf. Every Man's Conscience is a thousand Men, To fight against this guilty Homicide.

Herb. I doubt not but his Friends will turn to us.

Blunt. He hath no Friends, but what are Friends for fear, Which in his dearest need will fly from him.

Richm. All for our vantage, then in God's Name march, True hope is swift, and flies with Swallow's Wings, Kings it makes Gods, and meaner Creatures Kings.

(Exeunt, Enter King Richard in Arms, with Norfolk, Ratcliff, and

the Earl of Surrey. K. Rich. Here pitch our Tent, even here in Bosworth-field. My Lord of Surrey, why look you so fad?

Sur. My Heart is ten times lighter than my Looks.
K. Rich. My Lord of Norfolk.
Nor. Here, most gracious Liege.

K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks:
HL, muft we not?
Nor. We must both give and take, my loving Lord.

K. Rich.

K. Rich. Up with my Tent, here will I lye to Night,
But where to Morrow? -well all's one for that.
Who hath descry'd the number of the Traitors?

Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmoft Power.

K. Rich. Why our Battalia trebbles 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 fome Men of found Direction :
Let's lack no Discipline, make no delay,
For, Lords, to Morrow is a busie Day.

[Exeunt, Enter Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and

Dorset.
Richm. The weary Sun hath made a Golden set,
And by the bright Tract of his fiery Car,
Gives token of a goodly Day to Morrow.
Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my Standard:
Give me some Ink and Paper in my Tent;
I'll draw the Form and Model of our Battel,
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 William Herbert stay with me:
The Earl of Pembrook keeps his Regiment;
Good Captain Blunt, bear my good Night to him,
And by the fecond hour in the Morning,
Defire 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 afsur'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.

Blunt. Upon my self, my Lord, I'll undertake it,
And so God give you quiet rest to Night.
Richm. Good Night,

good Captain Blunt.
Come, Gentlemen,

Let

[ocr errors]

The Life and Death Let us consult upon to Morrow's Business ; Into my Tent, the Dew is raw and cold.

[They withdraw into the Tent.
Enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Norfolk and Catesby.
K. Rich. What is't a Clock?
Cates. It's Supper time, my Lord, it's nine a Clock,

K. Rich. I will not Sup to Night,
Give me some Ink and Paper:
What, is my Beaver easier than it was?
And all my Armor laid into my Tents

Cates. It is, my Liege; and all things are in readiness.

K. Rich. Good Norfolk hye thee to thy Charge,
Use careful Watch, chuse trusty Centinels.

Nor. I go, my Lord.
K. Rich. Stir with the Lark to Morrow, gentle Norfolk.
Nor. I warrant you, my Lord.

[Exit. K. Rich. Ratcliff Rat. My Lord.

K. Rich. Send out a Pursuivant at Arms
To Stanley's Regiment; bid him bring his Power
Before Sun-rising, left his Son George fall
Into the blind Cave of eternal Night.
Fill me a Bowl of Wine; give me a Watch:
Saddle white Surrey for the Field to Morrow:
Look that my Staves be found, and not too heavy. Ratcliff.

Rat. My Lord.
K. Rich. Saw'st the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

Rat. Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself,
Much about Cock-shut time, from Troop to Troop
Went through the Army, cheering up the Soldiers.

K. Rich. So, I am satisfied; give me a Bowl of Wine, I have not that alacrity of Spirit, Nor cheer of Mind that I was wont to have. Set it down. Is Ink and Paper ready?

Rat. It is, my Lord.

K Rich. Bid my Guard watch. Leave me. Ratcliff, about the mid of Night come to my Tent, And help to Arm. Leave me, I say. Exit Ratcliff.

Enter Derby to Richmond in his Tent. Derby. Fortune and Victory sit on thy Helm. Richm. All comfort that the dark Night can afford,

Be

Be to thy Person, noble, Father-in-Law,
Tell me, how fares our noble Mother?

Derby. I, by Attorney, bless thee from thy Mother,
Who prays continually for Richmond's good;
So much for that. The filent Hours steal on,
And Aaky Darkness breaks within the East.
In brief, for so the Season bids us be,
Prepare thy Battel early in the Morning,
And put thy Fortune to th’ Arbitrement
Of bloody Stroaks, and mortal staring War:
I, as I may, (that which I would, I cannot)
With best advantage will deceive the time,
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of Arms.
But on thy side I may not be too forward,
Left being seen, thy Brother, tender George,
Be executed in his Father's fight.
Farewel; the leisure, and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious Vows of Love,
And ample enterchange of sweet Discourse,
Which so long sundred Friends should dwell upon:
God give us leisure for these rites of Love.
Once more Adieu, be valiant, and speed well.

Richm. Good Lords, 'condu&t him to his Regiment:
I'll strive, with troubled Noise, to take a Nap,
Left leaden slumber poize me down to morrow,
When I should mount with Wings of Vi&ory:
Once more, good Night, kind Lords and Gentlemen.

[Exeunt. Manet Richmond.
O thou, whose Captain I account my self,
Look on my Forces with a gracious Eye:
Put in their Hands thy bruling Irons of wrath,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall,
Th’usurping Helmets of our Adverfaries.
Make us thy Ministers of Chastisement,
That we may praise thee in thy Victory:
To thee I do commend my watchful Soul,
E’er I let fall the Windows of mine Eves:
Sleeping, and waking, oh defend me still. [Sleeps.
Enter the Ghost of Prince Edward, Son to Henry the Sixth.
Ghost. Let me lit heavy on thy Soul to morrow:

[To K, Rich;

« EdellinenJatka »