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Had grac'd the tender Temples of my Child,
And both the Princes had been breathing here,
Which now two tender Bed-fellows for duft,
Thy broken Faith hath made the prey

for Worms. What canst thou swear by now?

K. Rich. The Time to come.

Queen. That thou hast wronged in the time o'er-paft:
For I my self have many Tears to wath
Hereafier Time, for time.past, wrong'd by thee.
The Children live, whose Fathers thou haft flaughter'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 haft
Misus’d e'er us'd, by times ill-us'd o'erpaft.

K. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent;
So thrive I in my dangerous Affairs
Of hoftile Arms; My felf, my self 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 dear Hearts Love,
Immaculate Devotion, holy Thoughts,
I tend not thy beauteous Princely Daughter.
In her consists my Happiness and thine;
Without her, follows to my self and thee,
Her self, 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 Desires, but what I will deserve:
Urge the necessity and fate of Times ;
And be not peevith found in great Designs.

Queen. Shall I be tempted of the Devil thus?
K. Rich. Ay, if the Devil tempt you to do good.
Queen. Shall I forget my self to be my self?
K. Rich. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong your felf.
Queen. Yet thou did it kill

my
Children.

K. Rich

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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 Deed.

Queen. I go, write to me very shortly,
And you shall understand from me her mind. [Exit Queen.

K. Rich. Bear her my true Love's kiss, and so farewel
Relenting Fool, and thallow-changing Woman.
How now, what News

Enter Ratcliff.
Rat. Most mighty Soveraign, on the Western Coast
Rides 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. Some light-foot Friend post to the Duke of Nor-
Ratcliff, thy self, or Catesby, where is he?

(folk?
Cates. Here, my good Lord.
K. Rich. Catesby, fy to the Duke.
Cates. I will, my Lord, with all convenient haste.
K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither, post to Salisbury.
When thou comelt thicher-Dull unmindful Villain,

[To Catesby. Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the Duke?

Cates. First, mighty Liege, tell me your Highness pleasure,
What from your Grace I shall deliver to him.

K. Rich. O true, good Catesbyobid him levy straight
The greatest Strength and Power that he can make,
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.
Cates. I go.

[Exit.
Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?
K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do there before I go ?
Rat. Your highness told me I should post before.
K. Rich. My mind is chang'd-

Enter Lord Stanley.
Stanley, what News with you?

Star. None good, my Liege, to please you with the hear-
Nor Aone so bad, but well may be reported.

(ing. K. Rich.

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K. Rich. H wyday, · Riddle, neither good nor bad:

at need it enou run fo many Milis about, Wh.nhu may'lt tell thy Tile the nearest way? O c. moe, what News?

Stan. Richmond is on the Seas.

K Rech. Trier let him fiok, and be the Seas on him,
Whirt-liver'd Run-a-gate, what doth he cherc?

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

Stan. Su'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,
Hi makes for England, hire to claim the Crown.

K. Rich. Is the Chair empty? is the Sword unsway'd ?
1 he King dead ? the Empire unpoffels'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

Sian. Unless for that, my Liege, I cannot guess.

K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your Liege,
Y u cannot guess, wherefore the Welch-man comes.
I hou 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 got now upon the Western Shore,
Saf. conduding the Rebels from their Ships?

Stan No, iry good Lord, my Friends are in the North,

K. Rich, Cold Friends to me: what do they in the North, When they shouid serve their Sovereign in the West?

Stan, ?h y have not been commanded, mighty King; 1 latcth your Majesty to give me leave, I'll mister up my Friends, and meet your Grace, Were a id what time your Majesty shall please.

K. Rich. Ay, thou would'st be gone, to join with Rich. Bu Il not trust thee.

(mond : Stan M It mighty Sovereign, Yuha e no caule to h ld my Friendship doubtful, 1 13.ver was, noi a ver will be false.

K. Rich. Gothen, and muster Men; but leave behind
YS George Stanley: Look your Heart be firm,
Or else his Head's aflurance is but frail.

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

[Exis Stanley,
Enter a Messenger.
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 Messenger.
Mes. In Kent, my Liege, the Guilfords are in Arms;
And
every

hour Competitors
Flock to the Rebels, and their Power grows strong.

Enter another Mellenger.
Mef. My Lord, the Ar ny of great Buckingham-
K. Riche Out on ye, Owls, nothing but Songs of Death.

[He strikes him. There cake thou that, 'till thou bring better News.

Mer. The News I have to tell your Majesty,
Is, that by sudden Flood, and fall of Waters,
Buckingham's Army is dispers’d and scatter'd,
And he himself wandred away alone,
No Man knows whither.

K. Rich. I cry thee Mercy;
There is my Purse, to cure that Blow of thine.
Hath any well advised Friend proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the Traitor in ?
Mes. Such Proclamation bath been made, my Lord.

Enter another Messenger.
Mes. Sir Thomas Lovel, and Lord Marque's Dorfet,
'Tis said, my Liege, in Yorkshire are in Arms:
Bue this good comfort bring 1 to your Highness,
The Britain Nay is dispers’d by Tempeft.
Richmond in Dorset shire 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 miktrusting them,
Hois'd Siil, and made his Cours again for Britain,

K. Rich. March on, march on, fince we are up in Arms,
I not to fight with Foreign E emies,

Yet

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Yet to beat down there Rebels here at Home.

Enter Catesby.
Cares. My Liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken,
That is the belt 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 reason here,
A Royal Barcel might be won and lost :
Some one take order that Buckingham be brought
To Salisbury, the rest march on with me, [Exeunt.

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Derby. Sir Christopher, 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 present Aid.
So get thee gone ; commend me to thy Lord.
Withal say, that the Queen hath heartily consented
Hshould espouse Elizabeth her Daughter.
But tell mo, where is Princely Richmond now?

Chris. At Pembrook, or at Hertford West in Wales.
Derby. What Men of Name resort to him?

Chris. 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,
If by the way they be not fought withal.

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

[Exeunt.

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