Thus will I drown your exclanations. Duch. Art thou my son?

K. Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and yourself. Duch. Then patiently bear my impatience. K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condition, 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 once stay'd 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 venturous:
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:
What comfortable hour canst thou name,
That ever grac'd me with thy company?

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

To break fast once forth of my company.

If I be so disgracious in your eye,

Let me march on, and not offend you, madam,—
Strike up the drum!

Duch.

I pr'ythee, hear me speak.
K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.
Duch.

Hear me a word;
For I shall never speak to thee again.
K. Rich. So.

Duch. Either thou wilt die by God's just ordinance, 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 grievous 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

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. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of heaven, To be discover'd, that can do me good?

K. Rich. Th' advancement of your children, gentle lady.

Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads? K. Rich. Unto the dignity and height of honour. The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrow 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.

So, from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers; And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it.

K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning. 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 ber queen who else should be?

Q. Eliz. What! thou?

K. Rich. Even so: how think you of it? 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 engraven
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 couldst 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
hate 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 doting 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.
Your children were vexation to your youth;
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
Treads 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;
Put in her tender heart th' aspiring flame
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?
Or he that slew her brothers, and her uncles?
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

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, lengthen it. Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, like of it. K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low. Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loaths such sovereignty. K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told. K. Rich. Then, plainly to her tell 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 dead;Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.

K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past. Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings break. K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my

K. Rich. Why then, by God,

Q. Eliz.

God's wrong is most of all. If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath with him, The unity, the king my husband made, Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died. If thou hadst 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 the prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now?

K. Rich.

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 fathers thou hast slaughter'd,
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it with their age:
The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd,
Old barren plants, to wail it with their age.
Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
Misus'd ere us'd, 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 of state and times,
And be not peevish fond 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 your-
self.

Q. Eliz. Yet thou didst kill my children.

K. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I'll bury
them :

Where, in that nest of spicery, they will 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, Richard, very shortly, And you shall understand from me her mind. K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so farewell. [Kissing her. Exit Q. ELIZABETH. Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!How now! what news?

Enter RATCLIFF in haste; CATESBY following. Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast Rideth a puissant navy: to our shores Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back. 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on him, White-liver'd runagate! what doth he there?

Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. K. Rich. Well, as you guess?

Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, He makes for England, here, to claim the crown.

K. Rich. Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway'd? 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 liege,
You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.

Stan. No, my good lord; therefore, mistrust me not.
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,
Where, and what time, your majesty, shall please.
K. Rich. Ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with

Richmond:

But I'll not trust thee.

Stan. Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful. I never was, nor never will be false.

K. Rich. Go, then, and muster men: but leave behind

Or else his head's assurance is but frail.
Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you.

[Exit STANLEY.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
As I by friends am well advertised,
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate,
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,
With many more confederates, are in arms.
Enter another Messenger.

2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in

arms;

Cate. I go.

Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.
Enter a third Messenger.

3 Mess. My lord, the army of great BuckinghamK. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of death? [He strikes him. There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty [Kneeling.

Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd ;
And he himself wander'd away alone,
No man knows whither.

K. Rich.
I cry thee mercy:
There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine. [Rising.
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my lord. Enter a fourth Messenger.

4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord Marquess Dorset,

"Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms;
But this good comfort bring I to your highness,-
The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempest.
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks,
If they were his assistants, yea, or no;
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,

Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne.
K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up in

SCENE V.-A Room in Lord STANLEY'S House. Enter STANLEY and Sir CHRISTOPHER URSWICK. Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me :— That, in the sty of the most bloody boar, My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold: If I revolt, off goes young George's head : The fear of that holds off my present aid. So, get thee gone: commend me to thy lord. Withal, say that the queen hath heartily consented, He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter. But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now? Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in Wales. Stan. What men of name and mark resort to him? Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier; Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley; Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt, And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew, And many other of great name and worth; And towards London do they bend their power, If by the way they be not fought withal.

Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand : My letter will resolve him of my mind. Farewell. [Giving Papers to Sir CHRISTOPHER. Exeunt.

Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
By underhand corrupted foul injustice,
If that your moody discontented souls

Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
Even for revenge mock my 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 wish'd might fall on me, when I was found
False to his children, or his wife's allies:
This is the day, wherein I wish'd 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-Seer, 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, "shall split thy heart with

Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny,
Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we march'd on without impediment;
And here receive we from our father Stanley

[Showing a Paper.

Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
The reckless, bloody, and usurping boar,
That spoil'd your summer fields, and fruitful vines,
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough
In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine

Is now even in the centre of this isle,

Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn:
From Tamworth thither, is but one day's march.
In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends,
To 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,