SCENE II. Enter Richmond, Oxford, Blunt, Herbert, and others, with Drum and Colours. Richm. Fellows in Arms, and my moft 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 The wretched, bloody and ufurping Boar, That spoil'd your Summer-Fields, and fruitful Vines, Is now even in the Center of this Ifle, Near to the Town of Leicester, as we learn: Oxf. Every Man's Confcience 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 Bofworth-field. My Lord of Surrey, why look you so fad? Sur. My Heart is ten times lighter than my Looks. Nor. Here, moft gracious Liege. K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks: Hi, muft we not? Nor. We muft both give and take, my loving Lord. K. Rich. K. Rich. Up with my Tent, here will I lye to Night, Nor. Six or feven thousand is their utmoft Power. Exeunt Enter Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and Dorfet. Richm. The weary Sun hath made a Golden fet, Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me: Blunt. Unless I have mifta'en his Colours much, Sweet Blunt, make fome good means to speak with him, A Blunt. Upon my felf, my Lord, I'll undertake it, And fo God give you quiet reft to Night. Richm. Good Night, good Captain Blunt. Come, Gentlemen, Let us confult upon to Morrow's Business ; [They withdraw into the Tent. Enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Norfolk and Catesby. K. Rich. What is't a Clock? Catef. It's Supper time, my Lord, it's nine a Clock, Give me fome Ink and Paper: What, is my Beaver easier than it was? And all my Armor laid into my Tent? Catef. It is, my Liege; and all things are in readiness. Nor. I go, my Lord. K. Rich. Stir with the Lark to Morrow, gentle Norfolk. Nor. I warrant you, my Lord. K. Rich. Ratcliff. Rat. My Lord. K. Rich. Send out a Purfuivant at Arms To Stanley's Regiment; bid him bring his Power Into the blind Cave of eternal Night. Fill me a Bowl of Wine; give me a Watch: [Exit. Look that my Staves be found, and not too heavy. Ratcliff K. Rich. Saw'ft the melancholy Lord Northumberland? Much about Cock-fhut time, from Troop to Troop K. Rich. So, I am fatisfied; 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, [Exit Ratcliff. Enter Derby to Richmond in his Tent. Derby. Fortune and Victory fit on thy Helm. Richm. All comfort that the dark Night can afford, Be Be to thy Perfon, noble, Father-in-Law, Tell me, how fares our noble Mother? Derby. I, by Attorney, bless thee from thy Mother, Farewel; the leifure, and the fearful time O thou, whofe Captain I account my felf, [Sleeps. [To K. Rich. Think how thou ftabb'dft me in the prime of Youth At Tewksbury; defpair therefore, and die. For the wronged Souls Of butcher'd Princes fight in thy behalf: King Henry's Issue, Richmond, comforts thee. [To Richm Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed Body, [To K. Rich. [To Richm. By thee was punched full of holes; I that was wafh'd to death in Fulfom Wine, And fall thy edglefs Sword, defpair and die. [To K. Rich. Thou Off-fpring of the Houfe of Lancaster, [To Richm. Enter the Ghosts of Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan. [To K. Rich. Rivers, that dy'd at Pomfret: Despair, and die. [To K. Rich, Vaugh. Think upon Vaughan, and with guilty fear [To K. Rich Let fall thy Launce, defpair and die. All. Awake. [To Richm And think our wrongs in Richard's Bofom Enter the Ghost of Lord Haftings. Ghoft. Bloody and guilty; guilty awake, [To K. Rich And in a bloody Battel end thy Days, Think on Lord Haftings; defpair and die. |