1

K. Rich. But in your Daughter's Womb I bury them;
Where in that Neft of Spicery they will breed
Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

Queen. Shall I go win my Daughter to thy Will?
K. Rich. And be a happy Mother by the Dead.
Queen. I go, write to me very fhortly,

And you shall understand from me her mind. [Exit Queen.
K. Rich. Bear her my true Love's kifs, and fo farewel
Relenting Fool, and fhallow-changing Woman.
How now, what News?

Enter Ratcliff.

Rat. Moft mighty Sovereign, on the Western Coast
Rides a puiffant Navy To our Shores
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted Friends,
Unarm'd, and unrefolv'd to beat them back.
'Tis thought, that Richmoud is their Admiral:
And there they hull, expecting but the aid
Of Buckingham, to welcome them afhore.

K. Rich. Some light-foot Friend poft to the Duke of Nor-
Ratcliff, thy felf, or Catesby, where is he?
Catef. Here, my good Lord.

K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the Duke.

(folk?

Catef. I will, my Lord, with all convenient hafte.
K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither, post to Salisbury.
When thou comeft thither-Dull unmindful Villain,

[To Catesby.
Why ftay'st thou here, and go'ft not to the Duke?
Cates. First, mighty Liege, tell me your Highness pleasure,
What from your Grace I fhall deliver to him.

K. Rich. O true, good Catesbybid him levy ftraight The greatest Strength and Power that he can make, And meet me fuddenly at Salisbury.

Catef. I go.

[Exit.

Rat. What, may it pleafe you, fall I do at Salisbury?
K. Rich. Why, what would'ft thou do there before I go?
Rat. Your Highnefs told me I fhould poft before.

K. Rich. My mind is chang'd

Enter Lord Stanley,

Stanley, what News with you?

Stan. None good, my Liege, to please you with the hearNor none fo bad, but well may be reported.

M 2

(ing. K. Rich.

K. Rich. Hoyday, a Riddle, neither good nor bad: What need'ft thou run fo many Miles about,

When thou may'ft tell thy Tale the nearest way?
Once more, what News?

Stan. Richmond is on the Seas.

K. Rich. There let him fink, and be the Seas on him, White-liver'd Run-a-gate, what doth he there?

Stan. I know not, mighty Sovereign, but by guefs.
K. Rich. Well, as you guess.

Stan. Stir'd up by Dorfet, Buckingham, and Morton, He makes for England, here to claim the Crown.

K. Rich. Is the Chair empty? is the Sword unfway'd?
Is the King dead? the Empire unpoffefs'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. Unlefs for that, my Liege, I cannot guefs.
K. Rich. Unlefs for that he comes to be your Liege,
You cannot guefs, wherefore the Welch-man comes.
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.

Stan. No, my good Lord, therefore miftruft 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 ferve their Sovereign in the Weft?
Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty King;
Pleaseth your Majefty to give me leave,

I'll mufter up my Friends, and meet your Grace,
Where, and what time your Majefty fhall pleafe.

K. Rich. Ay, thou would't be gone, to join with Rich But I'll not truft thee.

Stan. Moft mighty Sovereign,

You have no caufe to hold my Friendship doubtful,

I never was, nor never will be falle.

(mond:

K. Rich. Go then, and mufter Men; but leave behind Your Son George Stanley: Look your Heart be firm, Or else his Head's affurance is but frail.

Stan

Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you,"

Enter a Messenger.

[Exit Stanley.

Mef. 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 Meffenger.

Mef. In Kent, my Liege, the Guilfords are in Arms,
And every hour Competitors

Flock to the Rebels, and their Power grows ftrong.

Enter another Messenger.

Mef. My Lord, the Army of great Buckingham K. Rich. Out on ye, Owls, nothing but Songs of Death. [He ftrikes him. There, take thou that, 'till thou bring better News. Mef. The News I have to tell your Majefty, Is, that by fudden Flood, and fall of Waters, Buckingham's Army is difpers'd and scatter'd, And he himfelf wandred away alone, No Man knows whither.

K. Rich. I cry thee Mercy;

There is my Purfe, to cure that Blow of thine.
Hath any well advised Friend proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the Traitor in?

Mef. Such Proclamation hath been made, my Lord.
Enter another Meffenger.

Mef. Sir Thomas Lovel, and Lord Marquels Dorset,
'Tis faid, my Liege, in Yorkshire are in Arms:
But this good comfort bring I to your Highness,
The Britain Navy is difpers'd by Tempeft.
Richmond in Dorfet fbire fent out a Boat
Unto the Shore, to ask thofe on the Banks,
If they were his Affiftants, yea, or no?
Who anfwer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his Party; he miftrufting them,

Hois'd Sail, and made his Course again for Britain.

K. Rich. March on, march on, fince we are up in Arms, If not to fight with Foreign Enemies,

Yet to beat down thefe Rebels here at Home.

Enter Catesby.

Catef. My Liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken,
That is the beft News; that the Earl of Richmond
Is with a mighty Power landed at Milford,

Is colder News, but yet it must be told.

K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury; while we reafon here, A Royal Battel might be won and loft:

Some one take order that Buckingham be brought

To Salisbury, the reft march on with me.

SCENE IV.

Enter Derby, and Sir Chriftopher.

Derby. Sir Chriftopher, tell Richmond this from me,
That in the Sty of the most deadly Boar,
My Son George Stanley is frankt up in hold:
If I revolt, off goes young George's Head,
The fear of that holds off my prefent Aid.
So get thee gone; commend me to thy Lord.
Withal fay, that the Queen hath heartily confented
He should efpouse Elizabeth her Daughter.
But tell me, where is Princely Richmond now?
Chrif. At Pembrook, or at Hertford Weft in Wales,
Derby. What Men of Name refort to him?
Chrif. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned Soldier,
Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,
Oxford, redoubted Pembrook, 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,

[Exeunt.

If by the way they be not fought withal.

Derby. Well, hye thee to thy Lord: I kifs his Hand, My Letter will refolve him of my Mind.

Farewel.

[Exeunt,

АСТ

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ACT V. SCENE I.

Enter the Sheriff, and Buckingham with Halberds led to
Execution.

Buck. WILL not King Richard let me speak with him?
Sher. No, good my Lord, therefore be patient.
Buck. Haftings, and Edward's Children, Gray and Rivers,
Holy King Henry, and thy fair Son Edward,

Vaughan, and all that have mifcarried

By under-hand corrupted foul Injuftice,
If that your moody difcontented Souls,

Do through the Clouds behold this prefent hour,
Even for revenge mock my Deftruction.

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 wisht might fall on me, when I was found Falfe to his Children, and his Wife's Allies. This is the Day wherein, I wifht to fall By the falle Faith of him whom moft I trufted. This, this All-Souls Day to my fearful Soul, Is the determin'd refpite of my Wrongs: That high All-feer, which I dallied with, Hath turn'd my feigned Prayer on my Head, And given in earneft, what I begg'd in jeft. Thus doth he force the Swords of wicked Men To turn their own points in their Masters Bofoms. Thus Margaret's Curfe falls heavy on my Neck: When he, quoth fhe, will fplit thy Heart with Sorrow, Remember Margaret was a Prophetefs:

Come lead me, Officers, to the Block of Shame, Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. [Exeunt Buckingham with Officers.