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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
Lines of fair Comfort and Encouragement:

The wretched, bloody and ufurping Boar,

That spoil'd your Summer-Fields, and fruitful Vines,
Swills your warm Blood like Wafh, and makes his Trough
In your embowell'd Bofoms; This foul Swine

Is now even in the Center of this Ifle,

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

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.
K. Rich. My Lord of Norfolk

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,
But where to Morrow?. well all's one for that."
Who hath defcry'd the number of the Traitors?

Nor. Six or feven thousand is their utmoft Power.
K. Rich. Why our Battalia trebbles that account:
Befides, 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 furvey the vantage of the Ground.
Call for fome Men of found Direction:
Let's lack no Difcipline, make no delay,
For, Lords, to Morrow is a bufie Day.

Exeunt

Enter Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and

Dorfet.

Richm. The weary Sun hath made a Golden fet,
And by the bright Tract of his fiery Car,
Gives token of a goodly Day to Morrow.
Sir William Brandon, you fhall bear my Standard:
Give me fome Ink and Paper in my Tent;
I'll draw the Form and Model of our Battel,
Limit each Leader to his feveral Charge,
And part in juft proportion our fmall Power.
My Lord of Oxford, you Sir William Brandon,
And you Sir William Herbert ftay 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 fee 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 mifta'en his Colours much,
(Which well I am affur'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 poffible,

Sweet Blunt, make fome good means to speak with him,
And give him from me this moft needful Note.

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,

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Let us confult 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?

Catef. It's Supper time, my Lord, it's nine a Clock,
K. Rich. I will not Sup to Night,

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.
K. Rich. Good Norfolk hye thee to thy Charge,
Ufe careful Watch, chufe trufty Centinels,

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
Before Sun-rifing, 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:

[Exit.

Look that my Staves be found, and not too heavy. Ratcliff
Rat. My Lord.

K. Rich. Saw'ft the melancholy Lord Northumberland?
Rat. Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself,

Much about Cock-fhut time, from Troop to Troop
Went through the Army, cheering up the Soldiers.

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,
And help to Arm. Leave me, I fay.

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[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,
Who prays continually for Richmond's good;
So much for that The filent Hours teal on,
And flaky Darkness breaks within the Eaft.
In brief, for fo the Seafon bids us be,
Prepare thy Battel early in the Morning,
And put thy Fortune to th' Arbitrement
Of bloody Stroaks, and mortal ftaring War:
I, as I may, (that which I would, I cannot)
With beft advantage will deceive the time,
And aid thee in this doubtful fhock of Arms.
But on thy fide I may not be too forward,
Left being feen, thy Brother, tender George,
Be executed in his Father's fight.

Farewel; the leifure, and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious Vows of Love,
And ample enterchange of fweet Discourse,
Which fo long fundred Friends fhould dwell upon:
God give us leifure for thefe rites of Love.
Once more Adieu, be valiant, and speed well.
Richm. Good Lords, 'conduct him to his Regiment:
I'll ftrive, with troubled Noife, to take a Nap,
Left leaden lumber poize me down to morrow,
When I should mount with Wings of Victory:
Once more, good Night, kind Lords and Gentlemen.
[Exeunt. Manet Richmond.

O thou, whofe Captain I account my felf,
Look on my Forces with a gracious Eye:
Put in their Hands thy brufing Irons of wrath,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall,
Th' ufurping Helmets of our Adverfaries.
Make us thy Minifters of Chaftifement,
That we may praife 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.
Enter the Ghost of Prince Edward, Son to Henry the Sixth.
Ghoft. Let me fit heavy on thy Soul to morrow:

[Sleeps.

[To K. Rich.

Think how thou ftabb'dft me in the prime of Youth

At Tewksbury; defpair therefore, and die.
Be cheerful, Richmond,

For the wronged Souls

Of butcher'd Princes fight in thy behalf:

King Henry's Issue, Richmond, comforts thee.
Enter the Ghoft of Henry the Sixth.

[To Richm

Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed Body,

[To K. Rich.

[To Richm.

By thee was punched full of holes;
Think on the Tower, and me: Despair and die.
Henry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die.
Virtuous and holy, be thou Conqueror.
Harry, that prophefied thou should'st be King,
Doth comfort thee in fleep; live, and flourish.
Enter the Ghost of Clarence.
Ghoft. Let me fit heavy on thy Soul to morrow;

I that was wafh'd to death in Fulfom Wine,
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death:
To morrow in the Battel think on me,

And fall thy edglefs Sword, defpair and die.

[To K. Rich.

Thou Off-fpring of the Houfe of Lancaster, [To Richm.
The wronged Heirs of York do pray for thee,
Good Angels guard thy Battel, live and flourish.

Enter the Ghosts of Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan.
Riv. Let me fit heavy on thy Soul to morrow,

[To K. Rich.

Rivers, that dy'd at Pomfret: Despair, and die.
Gray. Think upon Gray, and let thy Soul defpair.

[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
Will conquer. Awake, and win the Day.

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.

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