Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while,

And teach me how to curse mine enemies.

K. Rich. "Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd your grace

To breakfast once, forth of my company.

Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the If I be so disgracious in your sight,

day:

Compare dead happiness with living woe;

Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
And he, that slew them, fouler than he is:
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse;
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them
with thine!

Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and
pierce like mine. [Exit Q. Margaret.
Duch. Why should calamity be full of words?
Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries!
Let them have scope: though what they do impart
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.
Duch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd: go with
me,

And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd.
[Drum, within.
I hear his drum,-be copious in exclaims.
Enter King Richard, and his Train, marching,
K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition ?
Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her accursed womb,
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast
done.

Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden

crown,

Where should be branded, if that right were right,
The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown,
And the dire death of my poor sons, and brothers ?
Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my chil
dren ?

Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.-
Strike up the drum.
I pr'ythee, hear me speak.
K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.
Duch.
Hear me a word,

Duch.

For I shall never speak to thee again.
K. Rich. So.

Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just or
dinance,

Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish,
And never look upon thy face again.
Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more,
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
My prayers on the adverse party fight:
And there the little souls of Edward's children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies,
And promise them success and victory.
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end;
Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend.
[Exit.

Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less
spirit to curse
Abides in me; I say amen to her.
[Going.
K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with

you.

Q. Elis. I have no more sons of the royal blood, For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,-They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; And therefore level not to hit their lives.

K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd-Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Q. Eliz. And must she die for this ? O, let her live, And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty; Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy bro-Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed; ther Clarence ?

And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?

Throw over her the veil of infamy:

So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,

Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. Grey?

Duch. Where is kind Hastings?

K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets!-strike alarum,!
drums!

Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord's anointed: Strike, I say.-
[Flourish. Alarums.
Either be patient, and entreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
Duch. Art thou my son ?

K. Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and
yourself.

Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience.
K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condi-
tion,

That cannot brook the accent of reproof.
Duch. O, let me speak.

K. Rich.

Do, then; but I'll not hear.
Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words.
K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in
haste.

Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee,
God knows, in torment and in agony.

K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?
Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it
well,

Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.
A grievous burden was thy birth to me;
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and
furious;

Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and ventur

K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal

blood.

Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life a
Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys,
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom..

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize,
And dangerous success of bloody wars,
As I intend more good to you and yours,
Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd!
Q. Elix. What good is cover'd with the face of
heaven,
To be discover'd, that can do me good?

K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gen-Your children were vexation to your youth, tle lady.

Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads ?

K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it;
Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all,
Will I withal endow a child of thine;
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul

Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs,
Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee.
Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy
kindness

Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.
K. Rich. Then know, that, from my soul, I love
thy daughter.

Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her
soul.

K. Rich. What do you think?

Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from

thy soul:

But mine shall be a comfort to your age..
The loss, you have, is but-a son being king,
And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul,
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity:
The king, that calls your beauteous daughter,-
wife,

Familiarly shall call thy Dorset-brother;
Again shall you be mother to a king,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repair'd with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see :
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed,
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl ;
Advantaging their loan, with interest
Of ten-times double gain of happiness.
Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;

So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her bro-Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame

thers;

And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it.
K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my mean-
ing;

I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And do intend to make her queen of England.
Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be
her king?

K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen; Who
else should be?

Q. Eliz. What, thou ?
K. Rich.

Of golden sov'reignty; acquaint the princess.
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys:
And when this arm of mine hath chastised
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victress, Cæsar's Cæsar.

Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's
brother

Would be her lord? Or shall I say, her uncle ?
Even so: What think you Or, he that slew her brothers, and her uncles P

of it, madam ?
Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her?
K. Rich.
That I would learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humour.
Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?

K. Rich.

Madam, with all my heart.

Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her

brothers,

A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave,
Edward, and York; then, haply, will she weep:
Therefore present to her, as sometime Margaret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,-
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brothers' body,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;
Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and, for her sake,

Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
K. Rich. You mock me, madam; this is not the
way

To win your daughter.

Q. Eliz.
There is no other way;
Unless thou could'st put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.

K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her?
Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but
have thee,

Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now
amended;

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter,
If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,
To quicken your increase, I will beget
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.
A grandam's name is little less in love,
Than is the doating title of a mother;
They are as children, but one step below,
Even of your mettle, of your very blood;
Of all one pain,-save for a night of groans
Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.

1

1

Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honour, and her love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this
alliance.

Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still
lasting war.

K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command,

entreats.

Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's
King forbids.

K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty

queen.

Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth.
K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly.
Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last?
K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.
Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life
last ?

K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature, length-
ens it.

Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it. K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low.

Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loaths such sov'reignty.

K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told.

K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving tale.

Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style. K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

Q. Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and

K. Rich. Then, by myself,-
Q. Eliz.

Thyself is self-mis-us'd.

K. Rich. Why then, by God,
Q. Eliz.
God's wrong is most of all.
If thou had'st fear'd to break an oath by him,
The unity, the king thy brother made,
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain.
If thou had'st fear'd to break an oath by him,
The imperial metal, circling now thy head,
Had grac'd the tender temples of my child;
And both the princes had been breathing here,
Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust,
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now?

K. Rich.
By the time to come.
Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time
o'erpast;

For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee.
The children live, whose parents thou hast slaugh-

ter'd,

Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age:

The parents live, whose children thou hast but

cher'd,

Old barren plants, to wail it with their age.
Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
Mis-us'd ere used, by times ill-us'd o'er-past.

K. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent!
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!
Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours!
Day, yield me not thy light: nor, night, thy rest!
Be opposite all planets of good luck
To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love,
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,

I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter!
In her consists my happiness, and thine;
Without her, follows to myself, and thee,
Herself, the land, and many a christian soul,
Death, desolation, ruin, and decay:
It cannot be avoided, but by this;
It will not be avoided, but by this.
Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you so,)
Be the attorney of my love to her.
Plead what I will be, not what I have been;
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve:
Urge the necessity and state of times,
And be not peevish found in great designs.

Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus ?
K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.
Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself, to be myself?
K. Rich. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong
yourself.

Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children.
K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury
them :

Where in that nest of spicery, they shall breed
Selves of themselves to your recomforture.

Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?
K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed.
Q. Eliz. I go.-Write to me very shortly,
And you shall understand from me her mind.
K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and sol
farewell.

[Kissing her. Exit Q. Elizabeth. Relenting fool, and shallow, changing-woman! How now? what news?

Enter Ratcliff; Catesby following.

Ratcliff, thyself,-or Catesby; where is he?
Cate. Here, my good lord.
K. Rich.
Catesby, fly to the duke.
Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste
K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither: Post to Salis-
bury;

When thou com'st thither,-Dull unmindful vil-
lain,
[To Catesby.
Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke?
Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness'
pleasure,

What from your grace I shall deliver to him.
K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby;-Bid him levy
straight

The greatest strength and power he can make,
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.
Cate. I go.

[Exit.

Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury ?

K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do there, be

fore I go?

Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before.

Enter Stanley.

K. Rich. My mind is chang'd.-Stanley, what news with you?

Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with
the hearing;

Nor none so bad, but well may be reported.
K. Rich. Heyday, a riddle! neither good nor
bad!

What need'st thou run so many miles about,
When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest way?
Once more, what news?
Richmond is on the seas.

Stan.

Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd?
What heir of York is there alive, but we?
And who is England's king, but great York's heir?
Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas?
Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.
K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your

K. Rich. Where is thy power then, to beat him
back?

Where be thy tenants, and thy followers?
Are they not now upon the western shore,
Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?
Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the
north.

K. Rich. Cold friends to me: What do they in
the north,

When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty king:

Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, I'll muster up my friends; and meet your grace, Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast Where, and what time, your majesty shall please.

K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join That, in the sty of this most bloody boar, with Richmond:

Send out a pursuivant at arms Nor-Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall 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 :[To Catesby. Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. Ratcliff,

Stan. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother,
Who prays continually for Richmond's good:
So much for that.-The silent hours steal on,
And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
In brief, for so the season bids us be,
Prepare thy battle early in the morning;
And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
Of bloody strokes, 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,
Lest, being seen, thy brother tender George
Be executed in his father's sight.

Farewell: The leisure and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love,
And ample interchange of sweet discourse,
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon;
God give us leisure for these rites of love
Once more, adieu-Be valiant, and speed well!
Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment :
I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap;
Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow
When I should mount with wings of victory:
Once more, good night, kind fords and gentlemen.
Exeunt Lords, &e with Stanley