RICHARD III

by Shakespeare · Cluster: Wars of the Roses

Abstract

History/tragedy charting the deformed Machiavel Richard of Gloucester’s murderous rise to the throne and his fall at Bosworth. Central themes: ambition, power and corruption, conscience and guilt, the providential end of the Wars of the Roses.

Capitoli / Chapters

Connections

Topoi: Fortune’s Wheel, Theatrum Mundi Archetypes: Villain, Tyrant, Usurper, Ghost Motifs: Crown, Dreams, Ghosts, Blood Themes & Concepts: Ambition, Power and Corruption, Kingship and Legitimacy, Guilt, Conscience, Deception, Providence, Fate and Free Will Forms & Genres: History Play, Tragedy, Blank Verse Historical References: Wars of the Roses, Medieval England Characters: Richard III, Buckingham, Queen Margaret, Lady Anne, Clarence, Queen Elizabeth, Earl of Richmond, Hastings

Testo integrale / Full text

RICHARD III IN narrative sequence, Richard III follows directly after Richard Duke of York, and that play’s closing scenes, in which Richard of Gloucester expresses his ambitions for the crown, suggest that Shakespeare had a sequel in mind. But he seems to have gone back to tell the beginning of the story of Henry VI’s reign before covering the events from Henry VI’s death (in 1471) to the Battle of Bosworth (1485). We have no record of the first performance of Richard III (probably in late 1592 or early 1593, outside London); it was printed in 1597, with five reprints before its inclusion in the 1623 Folio. The principal source of information about Richard III available to Shakespeare was Sir Thomas More’s History of King Richard III as incorporated in chronicle histories by Edward Hall (1542) and Raphael Holinshed (1577, revised in 1587), both of which Shakespeare seems to have used. His artistic influences include the tragedies of the Roman dramatist Seneca (who was born about 4 BC and died in AD 65), with their ghosts, their rhetorical style, their prominent choruses, and their indirect, highly formal presentation of violent events. (Except for the stabbing of Clarence (1.4) there is no on-stage violence in Richard III until the final battle scenes.) In this play, Shakespeare demonstrates a more complete artistic control of his historical material than in its predecessors: Richard himself is a more dominating central figure than is to be found in any of the earlier plays, historical events are freely manipulated in the interests of an overriding design, and the play’s language is more highly patterned and rhetorically unified. That part of the play which shows Richard’s bloody progress to the throne is based on the events of some twelve years; the remainder covers the two years of his reign. Shakespeare omits some important events, but invents Richard’s wooing of Lady Anne over her father-in-law’s coffin, and causes Queen Margaret, who had returned to France in 1476 and who died before Richard became king, to remain in England as a choric figure of grief and retribution. The characterization of Richard as a self-delighting ironist builds upon More. The episodes in which the older women of the play—the Duchess of York, Queen Elizabeth, and Queen Margaret—bemoan their losses, and the climactic procession of ghosts before the final confrontation of Richard with the idealized figure of Richmond, the future Henry VII, help to make Richard III the culmination of a tetralogy as well as a masterly poetic drama in its own right. The final speech, in which Richmond, heir to the house of Lancaster and grandfather of Queen Elizabeth I, proclaims the union of ‘the white rose and the red’ in his marriage to Elizabeth of York, provides a patriotic climax which must have been immensely stirring to the play’s early audiences. Colley Cibber’s adaptation (1700) of Richard III, incorporating the death of Henry VI, shortening and adapting the play, and making the central role (played by Cibber) even more dominant than it had originally been, held the stage with great success until the late nineteenth century. Since then, Shakespeare’s text has been restored (though usually abbreviated—next to Hamlet, this is Shakespeare’s longest play), and the role of Richard has continued to present a rewarding challenge to leading actors.

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY

The Tragedy of King Richard the Third

Atto 1, Scena 1

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York; And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front, And now—instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries— He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass, I that am rudely stamped and want love’s majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph, I that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up— And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them— Why, I in this weak piping time of peace Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity. And therefore since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams To set my brother Clarence and the King In deadly hate the one against the other. And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle false and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mewed up About a prophecy which says that ‘G’ Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be.
(didascalia)	Enter George Duke of Clarence, guarded, and Sir Robert Brackenbury
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes. Brother, good day. What means this armèd guard That waits upon your grace?
CLARENCE	His majesty, Tend’ring my person’s safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Upon what cause?
CLARENCE	Because my name is George.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours. He should for that commit your godfathers. Belike his majesty hath some intent That you should be new-christened in the Tower. But what’s the matter, Clarence? May I know?
CLARENCE	Yea, Richard, when I know—for I protest As yet I do not. But as I can learn He hearkens after prophecies and dreams, And from the cross-row plucks the letter ‘G’ And says a wizard told him that by ‘G’ His issue disinherited should be. And for my name of George begins with ‘G’, It follows in his thought that I am he. These, as I learn, and suchlike toys as these, Hath moved his highness to commit me now.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Why, this it is when men are ruled by women. ‘Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower; My Lady Gray, his wife—Clarence, ’tis she That tempts him to this harsh extremity. Was it not she, and that good man of worship Anthony Woodeville her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is delivered? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.
CLARENCE	By heaven, I think there is no man secure But the Queen’s kindred, and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the King and Mrs Shore. Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings was for his delivery?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Humbly complaining to her deity Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty. I’ll tell you what: I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the King, To be her men and wear her livery. The jealous, o’erworn widow and herself, Since that our brother dubbed them gentlewomen, Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.
BRACKENBURY	I beseech your graces both to pardon me. His majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with your brother.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Even so. An’t please your worship, Brackenbury, You may partake of anything we say. We speak no treason, man. We say the King Is wise and virtuous, and his noble Queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous. We say that Shore’s wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue, And that the Queen’s kin are made gentlefolks. How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?
BRACKENBURY	With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Naught to do with Mrs Shore? I tell thee, fellow: He that doth naught with her—excepting one— Were best to do it secretly alone.
BRACKENBURY	What one, my lord?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Her husband, knave. Wouldst thou betray me?
BRACKENBURY	I beseech your grace to pardon me, and do withal Forbear your conference with the noble Duke.
CLARENCE	We know thy charge, Brackenbury, and will obey.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	We are the Queen’s abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell. I will unto the King, And whatsoe‘er you will employ me in— Were it to call King Edward’s widow ‘sister’— I will perform it to enfranchise you. Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me dearer than you can imagine.
CLARENCE	I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Well, your imprisonment shall not be long. I will deliver you or lie for you. Meantime, have patience.
CLARENCE	I must perforce. Farewell.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Clarence, Brackenbury, and guard, to the Tower
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Go tread the path that thou shalt ne’er return. Simple plain Clarence, I do love thee so That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings?
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Hastings from the Tower
LORD HASTINGS	Good time of day unto my gracious lord.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain. Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brooked imprisonment?
LORD HASTINGS	With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must. But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	No doubt, no doubt—and so shall Clarence too, For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevailed as much on him as you.
LORD HASTINGS	More pity that the eagles should be mewed While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	What news abroad? 135
LORD HASTINGS	No news so bad abroad as this at home: The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Now by Saint Paul, that news is bad indeed. O he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person. ’Tis very grievous to be thought upon. Where is he ? In his bed ?
LORD HASTINGS	He is.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Go you before and I will follow you. Exit Hastings He cannot live, I hope, and must not die Till George be packed with post-haste up to heaven. I’ll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steeled with weighty arguments. And if I fail not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live— Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy And leave the world for me to bustle in. For then I’ll marry Warwick’s youngest daughter. What though I killed her husband and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her husband and her father, The which will I: not all so much for love, As for another secret close intent, By marrying her, which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market. Clarence still breathes, Edward still lives and reigns; When they are gone, then must I count my gains.
(didascalia)	Exit

Atto 1, Scena 2

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter gentlemen, bearing the corpse of King Henry the Sixth in an open coffin, with halberdiers to guard it, Lady Anne being the mourner
LADY ANNE	Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I a while obsequiously lament Th’untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. They set the coffin down Poor key-cold figure of a holy king, Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster, Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood: Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son, Stabbed by the selfsame hand that made these wounds. Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. O cursed be the hand that made these holes, Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence, Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it. More direful hap betide that hated wretch That makes us wretched by the death of thee Than I can wish to wolves, to spiders, toads, Or any creeping venomed thing that lives. If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view, And that be heir to his unhappiness. If ever he have wife, let her be made More miserable by the death of him Than I am made by my young lord and thee.— Come now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul’s to be interred there,
(didascalia)	The gentlemen lift the coffin
LADY ANNE	And still as you are weary of this weight Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry’s corpse.
(didascalia)	Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(to the gentlemen) Stay, you that bear the corpse, and set it down.
LADY ANNE	What black magician conjures up this fiend To stop devoted charitable deeds?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(to the gentlemen) Villains, set down the corpse, or by Saint Paul I’ll make a corpse of him that disobeys.
(didascalia)	HALBERDIER
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	My lord, stand back and let the coffin pass.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Unmannered dog, stand thou when I command. Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, Or by Saint Paul I’ll strike thee to my foot And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. They set the coffin down
LADY ANNE	(to gentlemen and halberdiers) What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.— Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell. Thou hadst but power over his mortal body; His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Sweet saint, for charity be not so cursed.
LADY ANNE	Foul devil, for God’s sake hence and trouble us not, For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Filled it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.— O gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry’s wounds Ope their congealed mouths and bleed afresh.— Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, For ‘tis thy presence that ex-hales this blood From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells. Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge supernatural. O God, which this blood mad’st, revenge his death. O earth, which this blood drink‘st, revenge his death. Either heav’n with lightning strike the murd’rer dead, Or earth gape open wide and eat him quick As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood, Which his hell-governed arm hath butchered.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.
LADY ANNE	Villain, thou know’st no law of God nor man. No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
LADY ANNE	O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	More wonderful, when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed crimes to give me leave By circumstance but to acquit myself.
LADY ANNE	Vouchsafe, diffused infection of a man, Of these known evils but to give me leave By circumstance t’accuse thy cursèd self.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself.
LADY ANNE	Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current but to hang thyself.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	By such despair I should accuse myself. 85
LADY ANNE	And by despairing shalt thou stand excused, For doing worthy vengeance on thyself That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Say that I slew them not.
LADY ANNE	Then say they were not slain. But dead they are—and, devilish slave, by thee.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I did not kill your husband.
LADY ANNE	Why, then he is alive.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward’s hand.
LADY ANNE	In thy foul throat thou liest. Queen Margaret saw Thy murd’rous falchion smoking in his blood, The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I was provoked by her sland’rous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.
LADY ANNE	Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, That never dream’st on aught but butcheries. Didst thou not kill this king?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I grant ye.
LADY ANNE	Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then God grant me, too, Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed. O he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	The better for the King of Heaven that hath him.
LADY ANNE	He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Let him thank me that holp to send him thither, For he was fitter for that place than earth.
LADY ANNE	And thou unfit for any place but hell.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.
LADY ANNE	Some dungeon.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Your bedchamber.
III	rest betide the chamber where thou liest.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
LADY ANNE	I hope so.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I know so. But gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits And fall something into a slower method, Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner?
LADY ANNE	Thou wast the cause of that accursed effect.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Your beauty was the cause of that effect— Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.
LADY ANNE	If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	These eyes could not endure sweet beauty’s wreck. You should not blemish it if I stood by. As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that: it is my day, my life.
LADY ANNE	Black night o’ershade thy day, and death thy life.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Curse not thyself, fair creature: thou art both.
LADY ANNE	I would I were, to be revenged on thee.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth you.
LADY ANNE	It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that killed my husband.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband.
LADY ANNE	His better doth not breathe upon the earth.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	He lives that loves thee better than he could.
LADY ANNE	Name him.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Plantagenet.
LADY ANNE	Why, that was he.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	The selfsame name, but one of better nature.
LADY ANNE	Where is he?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Here. She spits at him Why dost thou spit at me?
LADY ANNE	Would it were mortal poison for thy sake.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Never came poison from so sweet a place.
LADY ANNE	Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.
LADY ANNE	Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I would they were, that I might die at once, For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their aspects with store of childish drops. I never sued to friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue to speak. She looks scornfully at him Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
(didascalia)	He
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	kneels and offers her his
(didascalia)	sword
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword, Which if thou please to hide in this true breast And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke And humbly beg the death upon my knee. He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword Nay, do not pause, for I did kill King Henry; But ‘twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch: ’twas I that stabbed young Edward; But ’was thy heavenly face that set me on. She drops the sword Take up the sword again, or take up me.
LADY ANNE	Arise, dissembler.
(didascalia)	He rises
LADY ANNE	Though I wish thy death, I will not be thy executioner.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
LADY ANNE	I have already.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	That was in thy rage. Speak it again, and even with the word This hand—which for thy love did kill thy love— Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love. To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
LADY ANNE	I would I knew thy heart.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	’Tis figured in my tongue.
LADY ANNE	I fear me both are false.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Then never man was true.
LADY ANNE	Well, well, put up your sword.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Say then my peace is made. 185
LADY ANNE	That shalt thou know hereafter.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	But shall I live in hope?
LADY ANNE	All men, I hope, live so.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
LADY ANNE	To take is not to give.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger; Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart. Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted servant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.
LADY ANNE	What is it?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	That it may please you leave these sad designs To him that hath most cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby House, Where—after I have solemnly interred At Chertsey monast’ry this noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears— I will with all expedient duty see you. For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you Grant me this boon.
LADY ANNE	With all my heart—and much it joys me, too, To see you are become so penitent. Tressell and Berkeley, go along with me.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Bid me farewell.
LADY ANNE	’Tis more than you deserve. But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already.
(didascalia)	Exeunt two with
LADY ANNE	Anne
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Sirs, take up the corpse.
GENTLEMAN	Towards Chertsey, noble lord?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER.	No, to Blackfriars; there attend my coming.
(didascalia)	Exeunt with corpse all but Gloucester
RICHARD GLOUCESTER.	Was ever woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman in this humour won? I’ll have her, but I will not keep her long. What, I that killed her husband and his father, To take her in her heart’s extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of my hatred by, Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no friends to back my suit withal But the plain devil and dissembling looks— And yet to win her, all the world to nothing? Ha ! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward her lord, whom I some three months since Stabbed in my angry mood at Tewkesbury ? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and no doubt right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford— And will she yet abase her eyes on me, That cropped the golden prime of this sweet prince And made her widow to a woeful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward’s moiety? On me, that halts and am misshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while. Upon my life she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marv’lous proper man. I’ll be at charges for a looking-glass And entertain a score or two of tailors To study fashions to adorn my body. Since I am crept in favour with myself, I will maintain it with some little cost. But first I’ll turn yon fellow in his grave, And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit

Atto 1, Scena 3

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, Marquis Dorset, and Lord Gray
RIVERS	(to Elizabeth) Have patience, madam. There’s no doubt his majesty Will soon recover his accustomed health.
GRAY	(to Elizabeth) In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse. Therefore, for God’s sake entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry eyes.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	If he were dead, what would betide on me?
(didascalia)	RIVERS
QUEEN ELIZABETH	No other harm but loss of such a lord.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	The loss of such a lord includes all harms.
GRAY	The heavens have blessed you with a goodly son To be your comforter when he is gone.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ah, he is young, and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me—nor none of you.
RIVERS	Is it concluded he shall be Protector?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	It is determined, not concluded yet; But so it must be, if the King miscarry.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Stanley
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Earl of Derby
GRAY	Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby.
BUCKINGHAM	(to Elizabeth) Good time of day unto your royal grace.
STANLEY	(to Elizabeth) God make your majesty joyful, as you have been.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	The Countess Richmond, good my lord of Derby, To your good prayer will scarcely say ‘Amen’. Yet, Derby—notwithstanding she’s your wife, And loves not me—be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance.
STANLEY	I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers Or, if she be accused on true report, Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice.
(didascalia)	RIVERS
STANLEY	Saw you the King today, my lord of Derby?
STANLEY	But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	With likelihood of his amendment, lords?
BUCKINGHAM	Madam, good hope: his grace speaks cheerfully.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	God grant him health. Did you confer with him?
BUCKINGHAM	Ay, madam. He desires to make atonement Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And between them and my Lord Chamberlain, And sent to warn them to his royal presence.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Would all were well! But that will never be. I fear our happiness is at the height.
(didascalia)	Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester and Lord Hastings
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	They do me wrong, and I will not endure it. Who are they that complain unto the King That I forsooth am stern and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter and look fair, Smile in men’s faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abused With silken, sly, insinuating jacks?
(didascalia)	RIVERS
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	To whom in all this presence speaks your grace ?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. When have I injured thee ? When done thee wrong? Or thee? Or thee? Or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal grace— Whom God preserve better than you would wish— Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing while But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter. The King—on his own royal disposition, And not provoked by any suitor else— Aiming belike at your interior hatred, That in your outward action shows itself Against my children, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send, that he may learn the ground Of your ill will, and thereby to remove it.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I cannot tell. The world is grown so bad That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. Since every jack became a gentleman, There’s many a gentle person made a jack.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester. You envy my advancement, and my friends’. God grant we never may have need of you.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Meantime, God grants that I have need of you. Our brother is imprisoned by your means, Myself disgraced, and the nobility Held in contempt, while great promotions Are daily given to ennoble those That scarce some two days since were worth a noble.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	By him that raised me to this care-full height From that contented hap which I enjoyed, I never did incense his majesty Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been An earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	You may deny that you were not the mean Of my Lord Hastings’ late imprisonment.
RIVERS	She may, my lord, for—
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	She may, Lord Rivers; why, who knows not so? She may do more, sir, than denying that. She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high desert. What may she not? She may—ay, marry, may she.
RIVERS	What ‘marry, may she’?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	What marry, may she? Marry with a king: A bachelor, and a handsome stripling, too. Iwis your grandam had a worser match.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	My lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs. By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty Of those gross taunts that oft I have endured. I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen, with this condition: To be so baited, scorned, and stormed at.
(didascalia)	Enter old Queen Margaret, unseen behind them
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Small joy have I in being England’s queen.
QUEEN MARGARET	(aside) And lessened be that small, God I beseech him. Thy honour, state, and seat is due to me.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(to Elizabeth) What? Threat you me with telling of the King? Tell him, and spare not. Look what I have said, I will avouch’t in presence of the King. I dare adventure to be sent to th’ Tower. ‘Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot.
QUEEN MARGARET	(aside) Out, devil! I remember them too well. Thou killed’st my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewkesbury.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(to Elizabeth) Ere you were queen—ay, or your husband king— I was a packhorse in his great affairs, A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends. To royalize his blood, I spent mine own.
QUEEN MARGARET	(aside) Ay, and much better blood than his or thine.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(to Elizabeth) In all which time you and your husband Gray Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And Rivers, so were you.—Was not your husband In Margaret’s battle at Saint Albans slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere this, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am.
QUEEN MARGARET	(aside) A murd’rous villain, and so still thou art.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick— Ay, and forswore himself, which Jesu pardon—
QUEEN MARGARET	(aside) Which God revenge!
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	To fight on Edward’s party for the crown, And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up. I would to God my heart were flint like Edward’s, Or Edward’s soft and pitiful like mine. I am too childish-foolish for this world.
QUEEN MARGARET	(aside) Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this world, Thou cacodemon; there thy kingdom is.
RIVERS	My lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We followed then our lord, our sovereign king. So should we you, if you should be our king.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	If I should be? I had rather be a pedlar. Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country’s king, As little joy may you suppose in me, That I enjoy being the queen thereof.
QUEEN MARGARET	(aside) Ah, little joy enjoys the queen thereof, For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. She comes forward Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pilled from me. Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not that I am Queen, you bow like subjects; Yet that by you deposed, you quake like rebels. (To Richard) Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Foul wrinkled witch, what mak’st thou in my sight?
QUEEN MARGARET	But repetition of what thou hast marred: That will I make before I let thee go. A husband and a son thou ow’st to me, (To Elizabeth) And thou a kingdom; (to the rest) all of you allegiance. This sorrow that I have by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	The curse my noble father laid on thee— When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper, And with thy scorns drew‘st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gav’st the duke a clout Steeped in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland— His curses then, from bitterness of soul Denounced against thee, are all fall’n upon thee, And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	(to Margaret) So just is God to right the innocent.
LORD HASTINGS	(to Margaret) O ‘twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e’er was heard of.
RIVERS	(to Margaret) Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.
DORSET	(to Margaret) No man but prophesied revenge for it.
BUCKINGHAM	(to Margaret) Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.
QUEEN MARGARET	What? Were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York’s dread curse prevail so much with heaven That Henry’s death, my lovely Edward’s death, Their kingdom’s loss, my woeful banishment, Should all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder to make him a king. (To Elizabeth) Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales, For Edward my son, that was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence. Thyself, a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory like my wretched self. Long mayst thou live—to wail thy children’s death, And see another, as I see thee now, Decked in thy rights, as thou art ’stalled in mine. Long die thy happy days before thy death, And after many lengthened hours of grief Die, neither mother, wife, nor England’s queen.— Rivers and Dorset, you were standers-by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabbed with bloody daggers. God I pray him, That none of you may live his natural age, But by some unlooked accident cut off.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Have done thy charm, thou hateful, withered hag.
QUEEN MARGARET	And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world’s peace. The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul. Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv’st, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends. No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be while some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils. Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog, Thou that wast sealed in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell, Thou slander of thy heavy mother’s womb, Thou loathed issue of thy father’s loins, Thou rag of honour, thou detested—
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Margaret.
QUEEN MARGARET	Richard.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Ha?
QUEEN MARGARET	I call thee not.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I cry thee mercy then, for I did think That thou hadst called me all these bitter names.
QUEEN MARGARET	Why so I did, but looked for no reply. O let me make the period to my curse.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	‘Tis done by me, and ends in ‘Margaret’.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	(to Margaret) Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.
QUEEN MARGARET	Poor painted Queen, vain flourish of my fortune, Why strew‘st thou sugar on that bottled spider Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool, thou whet’st a knife to kill thyself. The day will come that thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-backed toad.
LORD HASTINGS	False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.
QUEEN MARGARET	Foul shame upon you, you have all moved mine.
RIVERS	Were you well served, you would be taught your duty.
QUEEN MARGARET	To serve me well you all should do me duty. Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty.
DORSET	Dispute not with her: she is lunatic.
QUEEN MARGARET	Peace, master Marquis, you are malapert. Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O that your young nobility could judge What ‘twere to lose it and be miserable. They that stand high have many blasts to shake them, And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Good counsel, marry!—Learn it, learn it, Marquis.
DORSET	It touches you, my lord, as much as me.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Ay, and much more; but I was born so high. Our eyrie buildeth in the cedar’s top, And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.
QUEEN MARGARET	And turns the sun to shade. Alas, alas! Witness my son, now in the shade of death, Whose bright outshining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your eyrie buildeth in our eyrie’s nest.— O God that seest it, do not suffer it; As it was won with blood, lost be it so.
(didascalia)	RICHARD GLOUCESTER
QUEEN MARGARET	Peace, peace! For shame, if not for charity.
QUEEN MARGARET	Urge neither charity nor shame to me. Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully my hopes by you are butchered. My charity is outrage; life, my shame; And in that shame still live my sorrow’s rage.
BUCKINGHAM	Have done, have done.
QUEEN MARGARET	O princely Buckingham, I’ll kiss thy hand In sign of league and amity with thee. Now fair befall thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse.
BUCKINGHAM	Nor no one here, for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air.
QUEEN MARGARET	I will not think but they ascend the sky And there awake God’s gentle sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog. She points at Richard Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death. Have naught to do with him; beware of him; Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?
BUCKINGHAM	Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.
QUEEN MARGARET	What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel, And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? O but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say, ‘Poor Margaret was a prophetess’.— Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God’s. Exit
(didascalia)	LORD HASTINGS
QUEEN MARGARET	My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.
RIVERS	And so doth mine. I muse why she’s at liberty.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I cannot blame her, by God’s holy mother. She hath had too much wrong, and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	I never did her any, to my knowledge.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid: He is franked up to fatting for his pains. God pardon them that are the cause thereof.
RIVERS	A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	So do I ever—(speaks to himself) being well advised: For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself.
(didascalia)	Enter Sir William Catesby
CATESBY	Madam, his majesty doth call for you, And for your grace, and you my gracious lords.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Catesby, I come.—Lords, will you go with me?
RIVERS	We wait upon your grace. Exeunt all but Richard
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, whom I indeed have cast in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls— Namely to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham— And tell them, “Tis the Queen and her allies That stir the King against the Duke my brother’. Now they believe it, and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Dorset, Gray; But then I sigh, and with a piece of scripture Tell them that God bids us do good for evil; And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends, stol’n forth of Holy Writ, And seem a saint when most I play the devil.
(didascalia)	Enter two Murderers
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	But soft, here come my executioners.— How now, my hardy, stout, resolvèd mates! Are you now going to dispatch this thing? A MURDERER We are, my lord, and come to have the warrant, That we may be admitted where he is.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Well thought upon; I have it here about me. He gives them the warrant When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate; do not hear him plead, For Clarence is well spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. A MURDERER Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate. Talkers are no good doers. Be assured, We go to use our hands, and not our tongues.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Your eyes drop millstones when fools’ eyes fall tears. I like you, lads. About your business straight. Go, go, dispatch.
(didascalia)	MURDERERS We will, my noble lord.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Richard at one door, the Murderers at another

Atto 1, Scena 4

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter George Duke of Clarence and Sir Robert Brackenbury
(didascalia)	BRACKENBURY
(didascalia)	Why looks your grace so heavily today?
CLARENCE	O I have passed a miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, That as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night Though ‘twere to buy a world of happy days, So full of dismal terror was the time.
(didascalia)	BRACKENBURY
CLARENCE	What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me.
CLARENCE	Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower, And was embarked to cross to Burgundy, And in my company my brother Gloucester, Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches; there we looked toward England, And cited up a thousand heavy times During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall’n us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling Struck me—that sought to stay him—overboard Into the tumbling billows of the main. O Lord! Methought what pain it was to drown, What dreadful noise of waters in my ears, What sights of ugly death within my eyes. Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks, Ten thousand men that fishes gnawed upon, Wedges of gold, great ouches, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scattered in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men’s skulls; and in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept— As ‘twere in scorn of eyes—reflecting gems, Which wooed the slimy bottom of the deep And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.
(didascalia)	BRACKENBURY
CLARENCE	Had you such leisure in the time of death, To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?
CLARENCE	Methought I had, and often did I strive To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood Stopped-in my soul and would not let it forth To find the empty, vast, and wand’ring air, But smothered it within my panting bulk, Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.
(didascalia)	BRACKENBURY
CLARENCE	Awaked you not in this sore agony?
CLARENCE	No, no, my dream was lengthened after life. O then began the tempest to my soul! I passed, methought, the melancholy flood, With that sour ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, Who cried aloud, ‘What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?’ And so he vanished. Then came wand‘ring by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair, Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud, ‘Clarence is come: false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabbed me in the field by Tewkesbury. Seize on him, furies! Take him unto torment!’ With that, methoughts a legion of foul fiends Environed me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries that with the very noise I trembling waked, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made my dream.
(didascalia)	BRACKENBURY
CLARENCE	No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
CLARENCE	Ah, Brackenbury, I have done these things, That now give evidence against my soul, For Edward’s sake; and see how he requites me. Keeper, I pray thee, sit by me awhile. My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
(didascalia)	BRACKENBURY
CLARENCE	I will, my lord. God give your grace good rest. Clarence sleeps Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning and the noontide night. Princes have but their titles for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil, And for unfelt imaginations They often feel a world of restless cares; So that, between their titles and low name, There’s nothing differs but the outward fame.
(didascalia)	Enter two Murderers
FIRST MURDERER	Ho, who’s here?
BRACKENBURY	What wouldst thou, fellow? And how cam’st thou hither?
SECOND MURDERER	I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.
BRACKENBURY	What, so brief?
FIRST MURDERER	‘Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. (To Second Murderer) Let him see our commission, and talk no more. Brackenbury reads
BRACKENBURY	I am in this commanded to deliver The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands. I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. There lies the Duke asleep, and there the keys.
(didascalia)	He throws down the keys
BRACKENBURY	I’ll to the King and signify to him That thus I have resigned to you my charge.
FIRST MURDERER	You may, sir; ‘tis a point of wisdom. Fare you well. Exit Brackenbury
SECOND MURDERER	What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?
FIRST MURDERER	No. He’ll say ‘twas done cowardly, when he wakes.
SECOND MURDERER	Why, he shall never wake until the great judgement day.
FIRST MURDERER	Why, then he’ll say we stabbed him sleeping.
SECOND MURDERER	The urging of that word ‘judgement’ hath bred a kind of remorse in me.
FIRST MURDERER	What, art thou afraid?
SECOND MURDERER	Not to kill him, having a warrant, but to be damned for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.
FIRST MURDERER	I thought thou hadst been resolute. SECOND MURDERER So I am—to let him live.
FIRST MURDERER	I’ll back to the Duke of Gloucester and tell him so.
SECOND MURDERER	Nay, I pray thee. Stay a little. I hope this passionate humour of mine will change. It was wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.
(didascalia)	He counts to twenty
FIRST MURDERER	How dost thou feel thyself now? SECOND MURDERER Some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.
FIRST MURDERER	Remember our reward, when the deed’s done.
SECOND MURDERER	‘Swounds, he dies. I had forgot the reward.
FIRST MURDERER	Where’s thy conscience now?
SECOND MURDERER’	O, in the Duke of Gloucester’s purse. FIRST MURDERER When he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out.
SECOND MURDERER	‘Tis no matter. Let it go. There’s few or none will entertain it.
FIRST MURDERER	What if it come to thee again?
SECOND MURDERER	I’ll not meddle with it. It makes a man a coward. A man cannot steal but it accuseth him. A man cannot swear but it checks him. A man cannot lie with his neighbour’s wife but it detects him. ‘Tis a blushing, shamefaced spirit, that mutinies in a man’s bosom. It fills a man full of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it. It is turned out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing, and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and live without it.
FIRST MURDERER	‘Swounds, ’tis even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the Duke.
SECOND MURDERER	Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not: he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh.
FIRST MURDERER	I am strong framed; he cannot prevail with me.
SECOND MURDERER	Spoke like a tall man that respects thy reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?
FIRST MURDERER	Take him on the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey butt in the next room.
SECOND MURDERER	O excellent device!—and make a sop of him.
FIRST MURDERER	Soft, he wakes.
SECOND MURDERER	Strike!
FIRST MURDERER	No, we’ll reason with him.
CLARENCE	Where art thou, keeper? Give me a cup of wine.
SECOND MURDERER	You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.
CLARENCE	In God’s name, what art thou?
FIRST MURDERER	A man, as you are.
CLARENCE	But not as I am, royal.
FIRST MURDERER	Nor you as we are, loyal.
CLARENCE	Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.
FIRST MURDERER	My voice is now the King’s; my looks, mine own.
CLARENCE	How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak. Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?
SECOND MURDERER	To, to, to—
CLARENCE	To murder me.
BOTH MURDERERS	Ay, ay.
CLARENCE	You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?
FIRST MURDERER	Offended us you have not, but the King.
CLARENCE	I shall be reconciled to him again.
SECOND MURDERER	Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.
CLARENCE	Are you drawn forth among a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge, or who pronounced The bitter sentence of poor Clarence’ death? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful. I charge you, as you hope to have redemption By Christ’s dear blood, shed for our grievous sins, That you depart and lay no hands on me. The deed you undertake is damnable.
FIRST MURDERER	What we will do, we do upon command.
SECOND MURDERER	And he that hath commanded is our king.
CLARENCE	Erroneous vassals, the great King of Kings Hath in the table of his law commanded That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man’s? Take heed, for he holds vengeance in his hand To hurl upon their heads that break his law.
SECOND MURDERER	And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee, For false forswearing, and for murder too. Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.
FIRST MURDERER	And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow, and with thy treacherous blade Unripped‘st the bowels of thy sov’reign’s son.
SECOND MURDERER	Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend.
FIRST MURDERER	How canst thou urge God’s dreadful law to us, When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?
CLARENCE	Alas, for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake. He sends ye not to murder me for this, For in that sin he is as deep as I. If God will be avenged for the deed, O know you yet, he doth it publicly. Take not the quarrel from his pow’rful arm; He needs no indirect or lawless course To cut off those that have offended him.
FIRST MURDERER	Who made thee then a bloody minister When gallant springing brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?
CLARENCE	My brother’s love, the devil, and my rage.
FIRST MURDERER	Thy brother’s love, our duty, and thy faults Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.
CLARENCE	If you do love my brother, hate not me. I am his brother, and I love him well. If you are hired for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death.
SECOND MURDERER	You are deceived. Your brother Gloucester hates you.
CLARENCE	O no, he loves me, and he holds me dear. Go you to him from me.
FIRST MURDERER	Ay, so we will.
CLARENCE	Tell him, when that our princely father York Blessed his three sons with his victorious arm, And charged us from his soul to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship. Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.
FIRST MURDERER	Ay, millstones, as he lessoned us to weep.
CLARENCE	O do not slander him, for he is kind.
FIRST MURDERER	As snow in harvest. Come, you deceive yourself. ‘Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.
CLARENCE	It cannot be, for he bewept my fortune, And hugged me in his arms, and swore with sobs That he would labour my delivery.
FIRST MURDERER	Why, so he doth, when he delivers you From this earth’s thraldom to the joys of heaven.
SECOND MURDERER	Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.
CLARENCE	Have you that holy feeling in your souls To counsel me to make my peace with God, And are you yet to your own souls so blind That you will war with God by murd’ring me? O sirs, consider: they that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed.
SECOND MURDERER	(to First) What shall we do?
CLARENCE	Relent, and save your souls.
FIRST MURDERER	Relent? No. ’Tis cowardly and womanish.
CLARENCE	Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.— My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks. O if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me. A begging prince, what beggar pities not? Which of you, if you were a prince’s son, Being pent from liberty as I am now, If two such murderers as yourselves came to you, Would not entreat for life? As you would beg Were you in my distress—
SECOND MURDERER	Look behind you, my lord!
FIRST MURDERER	(stabbing Clarence) Take that, and that! If all this will not serve, I’ll drown you in the malmsey butt within.
(didascalia)	Exit with Clarence’s body
SECOND MURDERER	A bloody deed, and desperately dispatched! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous, guilty murder done.
(didascalia)	Enter First Murderer
FIRST MURDERER	How now? What mean‘st thou, that thou help’st me not? By heaven, the Duke shall know how slack you have been.
SECOND MURDERER	I would he knew that I had saved his brother. Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say, For I repent me that the Duke is slain. Exit
FIRST MURDERER	So do not I. Go, coward as thou art.— Well, I’ll go hide the body in some hole Till that the Duke give order for his burial. And, when I have my meed, I will away, For this will out, and then I must not stay. Exit

Atto 2, Scena 1

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Flourish. Enter King Edward, sick, Queen Elizabeth, Lord Marquis Dorset, Lord Rivers, Lord Hastings, Sir William Catesby, the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Gray
KING EDWARD	Why, so! Now have I done a good day’s work. You peers, continue this united league. I every day expect an embassage From my redeemer to redeem me hence, And more in peace my soul shall part to heaven Since I have made my friends at peace on earth. Hastings and Rivers, take each other’s hand. Dissemble not your hatred; swear your love.
RIVERS	By heaven, my soul is purged from grudging hate, And with my hand I seal my true heart’s love.
(didascalia)	He takes Hastings’ hand
LORD HASTINGS	So thrive I, as I truly swear the like.
KING EDWARD	Take heed you dally not before your king, Lest he that is the supreme King of Kings Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other’s end.
LORD HASTINGS	So prosper I, as I swear perfect love.
RIVERS	And I, as I love Hastings with my heart.
KING EDWARD	(to Elizabeth) Madam, yourself is not exempt from this, Nor your son Dorset;—Buckingham, nor you. You have been factious one against the other. Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand— And what you do, do it unfeignedly.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	(giving Hastings her hand to kiss) There, Hastings. I will never more remember Our former hatred: so thrive I, and mine.
KING EDWARD	Dorset, embrace him. Hastings, love Lord Marquis.
DORSET	This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be inviolable.
LORD HASTINGS	And so swear I. They embrace
KING EDWARD	Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife’s allies, And make me happy in your unity.
BUCKINGHAM	(to Elizabeth) Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate Upon your grace, but with all duteous love Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love. When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend, Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile Be he unto me. This do I beg of heaven, When I am cold in love to you or yours. They embrace
KING EDWARD	A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here, To make the blessèd period of this peace.
(didascalia)	Enter Sir Richard Ratcliffe and Richard Duke of
KING EDWARD	Gloucester
BUCKINGHAM	And in good time, Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliffe and the Duke.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Good morrow to my sovereign King and Queen.— And princely peers, a happy time of day.
KING EDWARD	Happy indeed, as we have spent the day. Brother, we have done deeds of charity, Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord. Among this princely heap if any here, By false intelligence or wrong surmise, Hold me a foe, If I unwittingly or in my rage Have aught committed that is hardly borne By any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace. ‘Tis death to me to be at enmity. I hate it, and desire all good men’s love.— First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service.— Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, If ever any grudge were lodged between us.— Of you, Lord Rivers, and Lord Gray of you, That all without desert have frowned on me.— Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen, indeed of all! I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds More than the infant that is born tonight. I thank my God for my humility.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	A holy day shall this be kept hereafter. I would to God all strifes were well compounded.— My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness To take our brother Clarence to your grace.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Why, madam, have I offered love for this, To be so flouted in this royal presence? Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead? The others all start You do him injury to scorn his corpse.
(didascalia)	RIVERS
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Who knows not he is dead? Who knows he is?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	All-seeing heaven, what a world is this?
BUCKINGHAM	Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?
DORSET	Ay, my good lord, and no one in the presence But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.
KING EDWARD	Is Clarence dead? The order was reversed.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	But he, poor man, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear; Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried. God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Stanley Earl of Derby
STANLEY	(kneeling) A boon, my sovereign, for my service done.
KING EDWARD	I pray thee, peace! My soul is full of sorrow.
STANLEY	I will not rise, unless your highness hear me.
KING EDWARD	Then say at once, what is it thou requests?
STANLEY	The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant’s life, Who slew today a riotous gentleman, Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.
KING EDWARD	Have I a tongue to doom my brother’s death, And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? My brother slew no man; his fault was thought; And yet his punishment was bitter death. Who sued to me for him? Who in my wrath Kneeled at my feet, and bid me be advised? Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love? Who told me how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field at Tewkesbury, When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, And said, ‘Dear brother, live, and be a king’? Who told me, when we both lay in the field, Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his garments, and did give himself All thin and naked to the numb-cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully plucked, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters or your waiting vassals Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced The precious image of our dear redeemer, You straight are on your knees for ‘Pardon, pardon!’— And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. But, for my brother, not a man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all Have been beholden to him in his life, Yet none of you would once beg for his life. O God, I fear thy justice will take hold On me—and you, and mine, and yours, for this.— Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence!
(didascalia)	Exeunt some with King and Queen
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	This is the fruits of rashness. Marked you not How that the guilty kindred of the Queen Looked pale, when they did hear of Clarence’ death? O, they did urge it still unto the King. God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go To comfort Edward with our company?
BUCKINGHAM	We wait upon your grace. Exeunt

Atto 2, Scena 2

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter the old Duchess of York with the two children of Clarence
BOY	Good grannam, tell us, is our father dead?
DUCHESS OF YORK	No, boy.
GIRL	Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast, And cry, ‛O Clarence, my unhappy son’?
BOY	Why do you look on us and shake your head, And call us orphans, wretches, castaways, If that our noble father were alive?
DUCHESS OF YORK	My pretty cousins, you mistake me both. I do lament the sickness of the King, As loath to lose him, not your father’s death. It were lost sorrow to wail one that’s lost.
BOY	Then you conclude, my grannam, he is dead. The King mine uncle is to blame for this. God will revenge it—whom I will importune With earnest prayers, all to that effect.
GIRL	And so will I.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Peace, children, peace! The King doth love you well. Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father’s death.
BOY	Grannam, we can. For my good uncle Gloucester Told me the King, provoked to it by the Queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him, And when my uncle told me so he wept, And pitied me, and kindly kissed my cheek, Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice! He is my son, ay, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.
BOY	Think you my uncle did dissemble, grannam?
DUCHESS OF YORK	Ay, boy.
BOY	I cannot think it. Hark, what noise is this?
(didascalia)	Enter Queen Elizabeth with her hair about her ears
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and weep? To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I’ll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy.
DUCHESS OF YORK	What means this scene of rude impatience?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	To mark an act of tragic violence. Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches when the root is gone? Why wither not the leaves that want their sap? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the King‘s, Or like obedient subjects follow him To his new kingdom of ne’er-changing night.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband. I have bewept a worthy husband’s death, And lived with looking on his images. But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are cracked in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, That grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left. But death hath snatched my husband from mine arms And plucked two crutches from my feeble hands, Clarence and Edward. O what cause have I, Thine being but a moiety of my moan, To overgo thy woes, and drown thy cries?
BOY	(to Elizabeth) Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father’s death. How can we aid you with our kindred tears?
DAUGHTER	(to Elizabeth) Our fatherless distress was left unmoaned; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Give me no help in lamentation. I am not barren to bring forth complaints. All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being governed by the wat’ry moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world. Ah, for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward!
CHILDREN	Ah, for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence!
DUCHESS OF YORK	Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!
QUEEN ELIZABETH	What stay had I but Edward, and he’s gone?
CHILDREN	What stay had we but Clarence, and he’s gone?
DUCHESS OF YORK	What stays had I but they, and they are gone?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Was never widow had so dear a loss!
CHILDREN	Were never orphans had so dear a loss!
DUCHESS OF YORK	Was never mother had so dear a loss! Alas, I am the mother of these griefs. Their woes are parcelled; mine is general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she. These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I; I for an Edward weep, so do not they. Alas, you three on me, threefold distressed, Pour all your tears. I am your sorrow’s nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentation.
(didascalia)	Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester, the Duke of
DUCHESS OF YORK	Buckingham, Lord Stanley Earl of Derby, Lord Hastings, and Sir Richard Ratcliffe
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(to Elizabeth) Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star, But none can help our harms by wailing them.— Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy. I did not see your grace. Humbly on my knee I crave your blessing.
DUCHESS OF YORK	God bless thee, and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Amen. (Aside) ‘And make me die a good old man.’ That is the butt-end of a mother’s blessing; I marvel that her grace did leave it out.
BUCKINGHAM	You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers That bear this heavy mutual load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other’s love. Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high-swoll’n hearts But lately splinted, knit, and joined together, Must gently be preserved, cherished, and kept. Meseemeth good that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young Prince be fet Hither to London to be crowned our king.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Then be it so, and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.— Madam, and you my sister, will you go To give your censures in this weighty business?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	and DUCHESS OF YORK With all our hearts.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Richard and Buckingham
BUCKINGHAM	My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, For God’s sake let not us two stay at home, For by the way I’ll sort occasion, As index to the story we late talked of, To part the Queen’s proud kindred from the Prince.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	My other self, my counsel’s consistory, My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin! I, as a child, will go by thy direction. Towards Ludlow then, for we’ll not stay behind.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 2, Scena 3

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter one Citizen at one door and another at the other
FIRST CITIZEN	Good morrow, neighbour. Whither away so fast?
SECOND CITIZEN	I promise you, I scarcely know myself. Hear you the news abroad?
FIRST CITIZEN	Yes, that the King is dead.
SECOND CITIZEN	Ill news, by‘r Lady; seldom comes the better. I fear, I fear, ’twill prove a giddy world.
(didascalia)	Enter another Citizen
THIRD CITIZEN	Neighbours, God speed.
FIRST CITIZEN	Give you good morrow, sir.
THIRD CITIZEN	Doth the news hold of good King Edward’s death?
SECOND CITIZEN	Ay, sir, it is too true. God help the while.
THIRD CITIZEN	Then, masters, look to see a troublous world.
FIRST CITIZEN	No, no, by God’s good grace his son shall reign.
THIRD CITIZEN	Woe to that land that’s governed by a child.
SECOND CITIZEN	In him there is a hope of government, Which in his nonage council under him, And in his full and ripened years himself, No doubt shall then, and till then, govern well.
FIRST CITIZEN	So stood the state when Henry the Sixth Was crowned in Paris but at nine months old.
THIRD CITIZEN	Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot. For then this land was famously enriched With politic, grave counsel; then the King Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace.
FIRST CITIZEN	Why, so hath this, both by his father and mother.
THIRD CITIZEN	Better it were they all came by his father, Or by his father there were none at all. For emulation who shall now be near’st Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. O full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester, And the Queen’s sons and brothers haught and proud. And were they to be ruled, and not to rule, This sickly land might solace as before.
FIRST CITIZEN	Come, come, we fear the worst. All will be well.
THIRD CITIZEN	When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks; When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand; When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? Untimely storms make men expect a dearth. All may be well, but if God sort it so ’Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.
SECOND CITIZEN	Truly the hearts of men are full of fear. You cannot reason almost with a man That looks not heavily and full of dread.
THIRD CITIZEN	Before the days of change still is it so. By a divine instinct men’s minds mistrust Ensuing danger, as by proof we see The water swell before a boist’rous storm. But leave it all to God. Whither away?
SECOND CITIZEN	Marry, we were sent for to the justices.
THIRD CITIZEN	And so was I. I’ll bear you company. Exeunt

Atto 2, Scena 4

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Cardinal, young Duke of York, Queen Elizabeth, and the old Duchess of York
(didascalia)	CARDINAL
(didascalia)	Last night, I hear, they lay them at Northampton. At Stony Stratford they do rest tonight. Tomorrow, or next day, they will be here.
DUCHESS OF YORK	I long with all my heart to see the Prince. I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	But I hear, no. They say my son of York Has almost overta’en him in his growth.
YORK	Ay, mother, but I would not have it so.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow.
YORK	Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper, My uncle Rivers talked how I did grow More than my brother. ‘Ay’, quoth my nuncle Gloucester, ‘Small herbs have grace; gross weeds do grow apace’. And since, methinks I would not grow so fast, Because sweet flow’rs are slow, and weeds make haste.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold In him that did object the same to thee. He was the wretched’st thing when he was young, So long a-growing, and so leisurely, That if his rule were true he should be gracious.
(didascalia)	CARDINAL
DUCHESS OF YORK	Why, so no doubt he is, my gracious madam.
DUCHESS OF YORK	I hope he is, but yet let mothers doubt.
YORK	Now, by my troth, if I had been remembered, I could have given my uncle’s grace a flout To touch his growth, nearer than he touched mine.
DUCHESS OF YORK	How, my young York? I pray thee, let me hear it.
YORK	Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old. ’Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. Grannam, this would have been a biting jest.
DUCHESS OF YORK	I pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this?
YORK	Grannam, his nurse.
DUCHESS OF YORK	His nurse? Why, she was dead ere thou wast born.
YORK	If ’twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	A parlous boy! Go to, you are too shrewd.
(didascalia)	CARDINAL
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Good madam, be not angry with the child.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Pitchers have ears.
(didascalia)	Enter Marquis Dorset
(didascalia)	CARDINAL
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Here comes your son, Lord Dorset. What news, Lord Marquis?
(didascalia)	DORSET Such news, my lord,
QUEEN ELIZABETH	As grieves me to report.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	How doth the Prince?
(didascalia)	DORSET
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Well, madam, and in health.
DUCHESS OF YORK	What is thy news then?
(didascalia)	DORSET
DUCHESS OF YORK	Lord Rivers and Lord Gray are sent to Pomfret, And with them Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Who hath committed them?
(didascalia)	DORSET
DUCHESS OF YORK	The mighty dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham.
(didascalia)	CARDINAL
DUCHESS OF YORK	For what offence?
(didascalia)	DORSET
DUCHESS OF YORK	The sum of all I can, I have disclosed. Why or for what the nobles were committed Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ay me! I see the ruin of our house. The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind. Insulting tyranny begins to jet Upon the innocent and aweless throne. Welcome destruction, blood, and massacre! I see, as in a map, the end of all.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Accursed and unquiet wrangling days, How many of you have mine eyes beheld? My husband lost his life to get the crown, And often up and down my sons were tossed, For me to joy and weep their gain and loss. And being seated, and domestic broils Clean overblown, themselves the conquerors Make war upon themselves, brother to brother, Blood to blood, self against self. O preposterous And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen, Or let me die, to look on death no more.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	(to York) Come, come, my boy, we will to sanctuary.— Madam, farewell.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Stay, I will go with you.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	You have no cause.
(didascalia)	CARDINAL (to Elizabeth) My gracious lady, go,
QUEEN ELIZABETH	And thither bear your treasure and your goods. For my part, I’ll resign unto your grace The seal I keep, and so betide to me As well I tender you and all of yours. Go, I’ll conduct you to the sanctuary. Exeunt

Atto 3, Scena 1

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The Trumpets sound. Enter young Prince Edward, the Dukes of Gloucester and Buckingham, Lord Cardinal, with others, including Lord Stanley Earl of Derby and Sir William Catesby
BUCKINGHAM	Welcome, sweet Prince, to London, to your chamber.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(to Prince Edward) Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts’ sovereign. The weary way hath made you melancholy.
PRINCE EDWARD	No, uncle, but our crosses on the way Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy. I want more uncles here to welcome me.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Sweet Prince, the untainted virtue of your years Hath not yet dived into the world’s deceit, Nor more can you distinguish of a man Than of his outward show, which God he knows Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart. Those uncles which you want were dangerous. Your grace attended to their sugared words, But looked not on the poison of their hearts. God keep you from them, and from such false friends.
PRINCE EDWARD	God keep me from false friends; but they were none.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Mayor and his train
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet you.
MAYOR	(kneeling to Prince Edward) God bless your grace with health and happy days.
PRINCE EDWARD	I thank you, good my lord, and thank you all.— I thought my mother and my brother York Would long ere this have met us on the way. Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he hastes not To tell us whether they will come or no.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Hastings
BUCKINGHAM	In happy time here comes the sweating lord.
PRINCE EDWARD	(to Hastings) Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother come?
LORD HASTINGS	On what occasion God he knows, not I, The Queen your mother, and your brother York, Have taken sanctuary. The tender Prince Would fain have come with me to meet your grace, But by his mother was perforce withheld.
BUCKINGHAM	Fie, what an indirect and peevish course Is this of hers !—Lord Cardinal, will your grace Persuade the Queen to send the Duke of York Unto his princely brother presently?— If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him, And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.
CARDINAL	My lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory Can from his mother win the Duke of York, Anon expect him. But if she’ be obdurate To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid We should infringe the sacred privilege Of blessed sanctuary. Not for all this land Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.
BUCKINGHAM	You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord, Too ceremonious and traditional. Weigh it not with the grossness of this age. You break not sanctuary in seizing him. The benefit thereof is always granted To those whose dealings have deserved the place, And those who have the wit to claim the place. This prince hath neither claimed it nor deserved it, And therefore, in my mind, he cannot have it. Then taking him from thence that ‘longs not there, You break thereby no privilege nor charter. Oft have I heard of ‘sanctuary men‘, But ‘sanctuary children’ ne’er till now.
CARDINAL	My lord, you shall o’errule my mind for once.— Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?
LORD HASTINGS	I come, my lord.
PRINCE EDWARD	Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.—
(didascalia)	Exeunt Cardinal and Hastings
PRINCE EDWARD	Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come, Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Where it seems best unto your royal self. If I may counsel you, some day or two Your highness shall repose you at the Tower, Then where you please and shall be thought most fit For your best health and recreation.
PRINCE EDWARD	I do not like the Tower of any place.— Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?
BUCKINGHAM	He did, my gracious lord, begin that place, Which since succeeding ages have re-edified.
PRINCE EDWARD	Is it upon record, or else reported Successively from age to age, he built it?
BUCKINGHAM	Upon record, my gracious liege.
PRINCE EDWARD	But say, my lord, it were not registered, Methinks the truth should live from age to age, As ‘twere retailed to all posterity Even to the general all-ending day.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(aside) So wise so young, they say, do never live long.
PRINCE EDWARD	What say you, uncle?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I say, ‘Without characters fame lives long’. (Aside) Thus like the formal Vice, Iniquity, I moralize two meanings in one word.
PRINCE EDWARD	That Julius Caesar was a famous man: With what his valour did t’enrich his wit, His wit set down to make his valour live. Death made no conquest of this conqueror, For yet he lives in fame though not in life. I’ll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham.
BUCKINGHAM	What, my good lord?
PRINCE EDWARD	An if I live until I be a man, I’ll win our ancient right in France again, Or die a soldier, as I lived a king.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(aside) Short summers lightly have a forward spring.
(didascalia)	Enter young Duke of York, Lord Hastings, and Lord Cardinal
BUCKINGHAM	Now in good time, here comes the Duke of York.
PRINCE EDWARD	Richard of York, how fares our loving brother?
YORK	Well, my dread lord—so must I call you now.
PRINCE EDWARD	Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours. Too late he died that might have kept that title, Which by his death hath lost much majesty.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	How fares our noble cousin, Lord of York?
YORK	I thank you, gentle uncle, well. O, my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth; The Prince, my brother, hath outgrown me far.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	He hath, my lord.
YORK	And therefore is he idle?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	O my fair cousin, I must not say so.
YORK	He is more beholden to you then than I.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	He may command me as my sovereign, But you have power in me as a kinsman.
YORK	I pray you, uncle, render me this dagger.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart.
PRINCE EDWARD	A beggar, brother?
YORK	Of my kind uncle that I know will give, It being but a toy which is no grief to give.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	A greater gift than that I’ll give my cousin.
YORK	A greater gift? O, that’s the sword to it.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.
YORK	O, then I see you will part but with light gifts. In weightier things you’ll say a beggar nay.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	It is too heavy for your grace to wear.
YORK	I’d weigh it lightly, were it heavier.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	What, would you have my weapon, little lord?
YORK	I would, that I might thank you as you call me.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	HOW?
YORK	Little.
PRINCE EDWARD	My lord of York will still be cross in talk.— Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.
YORK	You mean to bear me, not to bear with me.— Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me. Because that I am little like an ape, He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.
BUCKINGHAM	With what a sharp, prodigal wit he reasons. To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, He prettily and aptly taunts himself. So cunning and so young is wonderful.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(to Prince Edward) My lord, will’t please you pass along? Myself and my good cousin Buckingham Will to your mother to entreat of her To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.
YORK	(to Prince Edward) What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?
PRINCE EDWARD	My Lord Protector needs will have it so.
YORK	I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Why, what should you fear there?
YORK	Marry, my uncle Clarence’ angry ghost. My grannam told me he was murdered there.
PRINCE EDWARD	I fear no uncles dead.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Nor none that live, I hope.
PRINCE EDWARD	An if they live, I hope I need not fear. (To York) But come, my lord, and with a heavy heart, Thinking on them, go we unto the Tower. A Sennet. Exeunt all but Richard, Buckingham, and Catesby
BUCKINGHAM	(to Richard) Think you, my lord, this little prating York Was not incensed by his subtle mother To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	No doubt, no doubt. O, ‘tis a parlous boy, Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable. He is all the mother’s, from the top to toe.
BUCKINGHAM	Well, let them rest.—Come hither, Catesby. Thou art sworn As deeply to effect what we intend As closely to conceal what we impart. Thou know‘st our reasons, urged upon the way. What think’st thou? Is it not an easy matter To make Lord William Hastings of our mind, For the instalment of this noble duke In the seat royal of this famous isle?
CATESBY	He for his father’s sake so loves the Prince That he will not be won to aught against him.
BUCKINGHAM	What think’st thou then of Stanley? Will not he?
CATESBY	He will do all-in-all as Hastings doth.
BUCKINGHAM	Well then, no more but this. Go, gentle Catesby, And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings How he doth stand affected to our purpose. If thou dost find him tractable to us, Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons. If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, Be thou so too, and so break off your talk, And give us notice of his inclination, For we tomorrow hold divided counsels, Wherein thyself shalt highly be employed.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Commend me to Lord William. Tell him, Catesby, His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries Tomorrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle, And bid my lord, for joy of this good news, Give Mrs Shore one gentle kiss the more.
BUCKINGHAM	Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly.
CATESBY	My good lords both, with all the heed I can.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?
CATESBY	You shall, my lord.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	At Crosby House, there shall you find us both.
(didascalia)	Exit Catesby
BUCKINGHAM	My lord, what shall we do if we perceive Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Chop off his head. Something we will determine. And look when I am king, claim thou of me The earldom of Hereford, and all the movables Whereof the King my brother was possessed.
BUCKINGHAM	I’ll claim that promise at your grace’s hand.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	And look to have it yielded with all kindness. Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards We may digest our complots in some form. Exeunt

Atto 3, Scena 2

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter a Messenger to the door of Lord Hastings MESSENGER (knocking)
(didascalia)	My lord, my lord!
(didascalia)	LORD HASTINGS within Who knocks?
MESSENGER	One from Lord Stanley.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Hastings
LORD HASTINGS	What is’t o’clock?
MESSENGER	Upon the stroke of four.
LORD HASTINGS	Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious nights?
MESSENGER	So it appears by that I have to say. First he commends him to your noble self.
LORD HASTINGS	What then?
MESSENGER	Then certifies your lordship that this night He dreamt the boar had razed off his helm. Besides, he says there are two councils kept, And that may be determined at the one Which may make you and him to rue at th’other. Therefore he sends to know your lordship’s pleasure, If you will presently take horse with him, And with all speed post with him toward the north To shun the danger that his soul divines.
LORD HASTINGS	Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord. Bid him not fear the separated councils. His honour and myself are at the one, And at the other is my good friend Catesby, Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us Whereof I shall not have intelligence. Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance. And for his dreams, I wonder he’s so simple, To trust the mock’ry of unquiet slumbers. To fly the boar before the boar pursues Were to incense the boar to follow us, And make pursuit where he did mean no chase. Go, bid thy master rise, and come to me, And we will both together to the Tower, Where he shall see the boar will use us kindly.
MESSENGER	I’ll go, my lord, and tell him what you say. Exit
(didascalia)	Enter Catesby
CATESBY	Many good morrows to my noble lord.
LORD HASTINGS	Good morrow, Catesby. You are early stirring. What news, what news, in this our tott’ring state?
CATESBY	It is a reeling world indeed, my lord, And I believe will never stand upright Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.
LORD HASTINGS	How? ‘Wear the garland’? Dost thou mean the crown?
CATESBY	Ay, my good lord.
LORD HASTINGS	I’ll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders Before I’ll see the crown so foul misplaced. But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?
CATESBY	Ay, on my life, and hopes to find you forward Upon his party for the gain thereof— And thereupon he sends you this good news: That this same very day your enemies, The kindred of the Queen, must die at Pomfret.
LORD HASTINGS	Indeed I am no mourner for that news, Because they have been still my adversaries. But that I’ll give my voice on Richard’s side To bar my master’s heirs in true descent, God knows I will not do it, to the death.
CATESBY	God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!
LORD HASTINGS	But I shall laugh at this a twelvemonth hence: That they which brought me in my master’s hate, I live to look upon their tragedy. Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, I’ll send some packing that yet think not on’t.
CATESBY	‘Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, When men are unprepared, and look not for it.
LORD HASTINGS	O monstrous, monstrous! And so falls it out With Rivers, Vaughan, Gray—and so ‘twill do With some men else, that think themselves as safe As thou and I, who as thou know’st are dear To princely Richard and to Buckingham.
CATESBY	The Princes both make high account of you— (Aside) For they account his head upon the bridge.
LORD HASTINGS	I know they do, and I have well deserved it.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Stanley
LORD HASTINGS	Come on, come on, where is your boar-spear, man? Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?
STANLEY	My lord, good morrow.—Good morrow, Catesby.— You may jest on, but by the Holy Rood I do not like these several councils, I.
LORD HASTINGS	My lord, I hold my life as dear as you do yours, And never in my days, I do protest, Was it so precious to me as ‘tis now. Think you, but that I know our state secure, I would be so triumphant as I am?
STANLEY	The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London, Were jocund, and supposed their states were sure, And they indeed had no cause to mistrust; But yet you see how soon the day o’ercast. This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt. Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward. What, shall we toward the Tower? The day is spent.
LORD HASTINGS	Come, come, have with you! Wot you what, my lord? Today the lords you talked of are beheaded.
STANLEY	They for their truth might better wear their heads Than some that have accused them wear their hats. But come, my lord, let us away.
(didascalia)	Enter a Pursuivant named hastings
LORD HASTINGS	Go on before; I’ll follow presently.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Stanley and Catesby
LORD HASTINGS	Well met, Hastings. How goes the world with thee?
PURSUIVANT	The better that your lordship please to ask.
LORD HASTINGS	I tell thee, man, ‘tis better with me now Than when I met thee last, where now we meet. Then was I going prisoner to the Tower, By the suggestion of the Queen’s allies; But now, I tell thee—keep it to thyself— This day those enemies are put to death, And I in better state than e’er I was.
PURSUIVANT	God hold it to your honour’s good content.
LORD HASTINGS	Gramercy, Hastings. There, drink that for me. He throws him his purse
PURSUIVANT	God save your lordship.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter a Priest
PRIEST	Well met, my lord. I am glad to see your honour.
LORD HASTINGS	I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart. I am in your debt for your last exercise. Come the next sabbath, and I will content you.
(didascalia)	He whispers in his ear.
(didascalia)	Enter Buckingham
BUCKINGHAM	What, talking with a priest, Lord Chamberlain? Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest; Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.
LORD HASTINGS	Good faith, and when I met this holy man The men you talk of came into my mind. What, go you toward the Tower?
BUCKINGHAM	I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there; I shall return before your lordship thence.
LORD HASTINGS	Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.
BUCKINGHAM	(aside) And supper too, although thou know’st it not. Come, will you go?
LORD HASTINGS	I’ll wait upon your lordship.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 3, Scena 3

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter Sir Richard Ratcliffe with Halberdiers taking Lord Rivers, Lord Gray, and Sir Thomas Vaughan to death at Pomfret
RIVERS	Sir Richard Ratcliffe, let me tell thee this: Today shalt thou behold a subject die For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.
GRAY	(to Ratcliffe) God bless the Prince from all the pack of you! A knot you are of damned bloodsuckers.
VAUGHAN	(to Ratcliffe) You live, that shall cry woe for this hereafter.
RATCLIFFE	Dispatch. The limit of your lives is out.
RIVERS	O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison, Fatal and ominous to noble peers!
(didascalia)	Within the guilty closure of thy walls,
RIVERS	Richard the Second here was hacked to death, And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, We give to thee our guiltless blood to drink.
GRAY	Now Margaret’s curse is fall’n upon our heads, For standing by when Richard stabbed her son.
RIVERS	Then cursed she Hastings; then cursed she Buckingham; Then cursed she Richard. O remember, God, To hear her prayer for them as now for us. And for my sister and her princely sons, Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, Which, as thou know’st, unjustly must be spilt.
RATCLIFFE	Make haste: the hour of death is expiate.
RIVERS	Come, Gray; come, Vaughan; let us here embrace. Farewell, until we meet again in heaven.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 3, Scena 4

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Buckingham, Lord Stanley Earl of Derby, Lord Hastings, Bishop of Ely, the Duke of Norfolk, Sir William Catesby, with others at a table
LORD HASTINGS	Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met Is to determine of the coronation. In God’s name, speak: when is the royal day?
BUCKINGHAM	Is all things ready for that solemn time?
STANLEY	It is, and wants but nomination.
BISHOP OF ELY	Tomorrow, then, I judge a happy day.
BUCKINGHAM	Who knows the Lord Protector’s mind herein? Who is most inward with the noble Duke?
BISHOP OF ELY	Your grace, methinks, should soonest know his mind.
BUCKINGHAM	We know each other’s faces. For our hearts, He knows no more of mine than I of yours, Or I of his, my lord, than you of mine.— Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.
LORD HASTINGS	I thank his grace; I know he loves me well. But for his purpose in the coronation, I have not sounded him, nor he delivered His gracious pleasure any way therein. But you, my honourable lords, may name the time, And in the Duke’s behalf I’ll give my voice, Which I presume he’ll take in gentle part.
(didascalia)	Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester
BISHOP OF ELY	In happy time, here comes the Duke himself.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	My noble lords, and cousins all, good morrow. I have been long a sleeper, but I trust My absence doth neglect no great design Which by my presence might have been concluded.
BUCKINGHAM	Had not you come upon your cue, my lord, William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part— I mean, your voice, for crowning of the King.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder. His lordship knows me well, and loves me well.— My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn I saw good strawberries in your garden there. I do beseech you send for some of them.
BISHOP OF ELY	Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. Exit
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. (Aside) Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, And finds the testy gentleman so hot That he will lose his head ere give consent His ‘master’s child’—as worshipful he terms it— Shall lose the royalty of England’s throne.
BUCKINGHAM	Withdraw yourself a while; I’ll go with you.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Richard and Buckingham
STANLEY	We have not yet set down this day of triumph. Tomorrow, in my judgement, is too sudden, For I myself am not so well provided As else I would be, were the day prolonged.
(didascalia)	Enter Bishop of Ely
BISHOP OF ELY	Where is my lord, the Duke of Gloucester? I have sent for these strawberries.
LORD HASTINGS	His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this morning. There’s some conceit or other likes him well, When that he bids good morrow with such spirit. I think there’s never a man in Christendom Can lesser hide his love or hate than he, For by his face straight shall you know his heart.
STANLEY	What of his heart perceive you in his face By any likelihood he showed today?
LORD HASTINGS	Marry, that with no man here he is offended— For were he, he had shown it in his looks.
STANLEY	I pray God he be not.
(didascalia)	Enter Richard and Buckingham
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I pray you all, tell me what they deserve That do conspire my death with devilish plots Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevailed Upon my body with their hellish charms?
LORD HASTINGS	The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, Makes me most forward in this princely presence To doom th’offenders, whatsoe’er they be. I say, my lord, they have deserved death.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Then be your eyes the witness of their evil: See how I am bewitched. Behold, mine arm Is like a blasted sapling withered up. And this is Edward’s wife, that monstrous witch, Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore, That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.
LORD HASTINGS	If they have done this deed, my noble lord—
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	‛If’? Thou protector of this damned strumpet, Talk’st thou to me of ‛ifs’ ? Thou art a traitor.— Off with his head. Now, by Saint Paul I swear, I will not dine until I see the same. Some see it done. The rest that love me, rise and follow me.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Catesby and Hastings
LORD HASTINGS	Woe, woe for England! Not a whit for me, For I, too fond, might have prevented this. Stanley did dream the boar did raze our helms, But I did scorn it and disdain to fly. Three times today my footcloth horse did stumble, And started when he looked upon the Tower, As loath to bear me to the slaughterhouse. O now I need the priest that spake to me. I now repent I told the pursuivant, As too triumphing, how mine enemies Today at Pomfret bloodily were butchered, And I myself secure in grace and favour. O Margaret, Margaret! Now thy heavy curse Is lighted on poor Hastings’ wretched head.
(didascalia)	CATESBY
LORD HASTINGS	Come, come, dispatch: the Duke would be at dinner. Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.
LORD HASTINGS	O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God. Who builds his hope in th’air of your good looks Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, Ready with every nod to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
(didascalia)	CATESBY
LORD HASTINGS	Come, come, dispatch. ‘Tis bootless to exclaim.
LORD HASTINGS	O bloody Richard! Miserable England! I prophesy the fearful’st time to thee That ever wretched age hath looked upon.— Come lead me to the block; bear him my head. They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead. Exeunt 3.5Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester and the Duke of Buckingham in rotten armour, marvellous ill-favoured
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change thy colour? Murder thy breath in middle of a word? And then again begin, and stop again, As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror?
BUCKINGHAM	Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian, Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, Speak, and look back, and pry on every side, Intending deep suspicion; ghastly looks Are at my service, like enforced smiles, And both are ready in their offices At any time to grace my stratagems.
(didascalia)	Enter the Lord Mayor
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(aside to Buckingham) Here comes the Mayor.
BUCKINGHAM	(aside to Richard) Let me alone to entertain him.—Lord Mayor—
(didascalia)	RICHARD GLOUCESTER calling as to one within
BUCKINGHAM	Look to the drawbridge there!
BUCKINGHAM	Hark, a drum!
(didascalia)	RICHARD GLOUCESTER calling as to one within
BUCKINGHAM	Catesby, o’erlook the walls!
BUCKINGHAM	Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent—
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Look back, defend thee! Here are enemies.
BUCKINGHAM	God and our innocence defend and guard us.
(didascalia)	Enter Sir William Catesby with Hastings’ head
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	O, O, be quiet! It is Catesby.
CATESBY	Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	So dear I loved the man that I must weep. I took him for the plainest harmless creature That breathed upon the earth, a Christian, Made him my book wherein my soul recorded The history of all her secret thoughts. So smooth he daubed his vice with show of virtue That, his apparent open guilt omitted— I mean, his conversation with Shore’s wife— He lived from all attainture of suspect.
BUCKINGHAM	The covert’st sheltered traitor that ever lived. (To the Mayor) Would you imagine, or almost believe— Were’t not that, by great preservation, We live to tell it—that the subtle traitor This day had plotted in the Council house To murder me and my good lord of Gloucester?
MAYOR	Had he done so?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	What, think you we are Turks or infidels, Or that we would against the form of law Proceed thus rashly in the villain’s death But that the extreme peril of the case, The peace of England, and our persons’ safety, Enforced us to this execution?
MAYOR	Now fair befall you, he deserved his death, And your good graces both have well proceeded, To warn false traitors from the like attempts. I never looked for better at his hands After he once fell in with Mrs Shore.
(didascalia)	RICHARD GLOUCESTER
MAYOR	Yet had not we determined he should die, Until your lordship came to see his end, Which now the loving haste of these our friends— Something against our meanings—have prevented; Because, my lord, we would have had you hear The traitor speak, and timorously confess The manner and the purpose of his treason, That you might well have signified the same Unto the citizens, who haply may Misconster us in him, and wail his death.
MAYOR	But, my good lord, your graces’ word shall serve As well as I had seen and heard him speak. And do not doubt, right noble princes both, But I’ll acquaint our duteous citizens With all your just proceedings in this cause.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	And to that end we wished your lordship here, T’avoid the censures of the carping world.
BUCKINGHAM	Which, since you come too late of our intent, Yet witness what you hear we did intend, And so, my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell.
(didascalia)	Exit Mayor
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Go after; after, cousin Buckingham! The Mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post; There, at your meetest vantage of the time, Infer the bastardy of Edward’s children. Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen Only for saying he would make his son ‘Heir to the Crown’—meaning indeed, his house, Which by the sign thereof was termed so. Moreover, urge his hateful luxury And bestial appetite in change of lust, Which stretched unto their servants, daughters, wives, Even where his raging eye, or savage heart, Without control, listed to make a prey. Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person: Tell them, when that my mother went with child Of that insatiate Edward, noble York, My princely father, then had wars in France, And by true computation of the time Found that the issue was not his begot— Which well appeared in his lineaments, Being nothing like the noble Duke my father. Yet touch this sparingly, as ’twere far off, Because, my lord, you know my mother lives.
BUCKINGHAM	Doubt not, my lord, I’ll play the orator As if the golden fee for which I plead Were for myself. And so, my lord, adieu. He starts to go
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard’s Castle, Where you shall find me well accompanied With reverend fathers and well-learnèd bishops.
BUCKINGHAM	I go, and towards three or four o’clock Look for the news that the Guildhall affords.
(didascalia)	Exit
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Now will I in, to take some privy order To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight, And to give notice that no manner person Have any time recourse unto the Princes.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 3, Scena 6

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter a Scrivener with a paper in his hand
SCRIVENER	Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings, Which in a set hand fairly is engrossed, That it may be today read o’er in Paul’s— And mark how well the sequel hangs together: Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me; The precedent was full as long a-doing; And yet, within these five hours, Hastings lived, Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty. Here’s a good world the while! Who is so gross That cannot see this palpable device? Yet who so bold but says he sees it not? Bad is the world, and all will come to naught, When such ill dealing must be seen in thought.
(didascalia)	Exit

Atto 3, Scena 7

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester at one door and the Duke of Buckingham at another
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	How now, how now! What say the citizens?
BUCKINGHAM	Now, by the holy mother of our Lord, The citizens are mum, say not a word.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Touched you the bastardy of Edward’s children?
BUCKINGHAM	I did, with his contract with Lady Lucy, And his contract by deputy in France, Th‘insatiate greediness of his desire, And his enforcement of the city wives, His tyranny for trifles, his own bastardy— As being got your father then in France, And his resemblance, being not like the Duke. Withal, I did infer your lineaments— Being the right idea of your father Both in your face and nobleness of mind; Laid open all your victories in Scotland, Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, Your bounty, virtue, fair humility— Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose Untouched or slightly handled in discourse. And when mine oratory grew toward end, I bid them that did love their country’s good Cry ‘God save Richard, England’s royal king!’
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	And did they SO?
BUCKINGHAM	No, so God help me. They spake not a word, But, like dumb statuas or breathing stones, Stared each on other and looked deadly pale— Which, when I saw, I reprehended them, And asked the Mayor, what meant this wilful silence? His answer was, the people were not used To be spoke to but by the Recorder. Then he was urged to tell my tale again: ‘Thus saith the Duke… thus hath the Duke inferred’— But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. When he had done, some followers of mine own, At lower end of the Hall, hurled up their caps, And some ten voices cried ‘God save King Richard!’ And thus I took the vantage of those few: ‘Thanks, gentle citizens and friends’, quoth I; ‘This general applause and cheerful shout Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard’— And even here brake off and came away.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	What tongueless blocks were they! Would they not speak?
(didascalia)	BUCKINGHAM No, by my troth, my lord.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Will not the Mayor then, and his brethren, come?
BUCKINGHAM	The Mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear; Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit; And look you get a prayer book in your hand, And stand between two churchmen, good my lord, For on that ground I’ll build a holy descant. And be not easily won to our request. Play the maid’s part: still answer ‘nay’—and take it.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I go. An if you plead as well for them As I can say nay to thee for myself, No doubt we’ll bring it to a happy issue. One knocks within
BUCKINGHAM	Go, go, up to the leads! The Lord Mayor knocks.—
(didascalia)	Exit Richard
(didascalia)	Enter the Lord Mayor, aldermen, and citizens
BUCKINGHAM	Welcome, my lord. I dance attendance here. I think the Duke will not be spoke withal.
(didascalia)	Enter Catesby
BUCKINGHAM	Now Catesby, what says your lord to my request?
CATESBY	He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord, To visit him tomorrow, or next day. He is within with two right reverend fathers, Divinely bent to meditation, And in no worldly suits would he be moved, To draw him from his holy exercise.
BUCKINGHAM	Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke. Tell him myself, the Mayor, and aldermen, In deep designs, in matter of great moment, No less importing than our general good, Are come to have some conference with his grace.
CATESBY	I’ll signify so much unto him straight. Exit
BUCKINGHAM	Ah ha! My lord, this prince is not an Edward. He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, But on his knees at meditation; Not dallying with a brace of courtesans, But meditating with two deep divines; Not sleeping to engross his idle body, But praying to enrich his watchful soul. Happy were England would this virtuous prince Take on his grace the sovereignty thereof. But, sure I fear, we shall not win him to it.
MAYOR	Marry, God defend his grace should say us nay.
BUCKINGHAM	I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again.
(didascalia)	Enter Catesby
BUCKINGHAM	Now Catesby, what says his grace?
CATESBY	He wonders to what end you have assembled Such troops of citizens to come to him, His grace not being warned thereof before. He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.
BUCKINGHAM	Sorry I am my noble cousin should Suspect me that I mean no good to him. By heaven, we come to him in perfect love, And so once more return and tell his grace.
(didascalia)	Exit Catesby
BUCKINGHAM	When holy and devout religious men Are at their beads, ‘tis much to draw them thence. So sweet is zealous contemplation.
(didascalia)	Enter Richard aloft, between two bishops. Enter
(didascalia)	Catesby below
MAYOR	See where his grace stands ’tween two clergymen.
BUCKINGHAM	Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, To stay him from the fall of vanity; And see, a book of prayer in his hand— True ornaments to know a holy man.— Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, Lend favourable ear to our request, And pardon us the interruption Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	My lord, there needs no such apology. I do beseech your grace to pardon me, Who, earnest in the service of my God, Deferred the visitation of my friends. But leaving this, what is your grace’s pleasure?
BUCKINGHAM	Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above, And all good men of this ungoverned isle.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I do suspect I have done some offence That seems disgracious in the city’s eye, And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.
BUCKINGHAM	You have, my lord. Would it might please your grace On our entreaties to amend your fault.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?
BUCKINGHAM	Know then, it is your fault that you resign The supreme seat, the throne majestical, The sceptred office of your ancestors, Your state of fortune and your due of birth, The lineal glory of your royal house, To the corruption of a blemished stock, Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts— Which here we waken to our country’s good— The noble isle doth want her proper limbs: Her face defaced with scars of infamy, Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants And almost shouldered in the swallowing gulf Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion, Which to recure we heartily solicit Your gracious self to take on you the charge And kingly government of this your land— Not as Protector, steward, substitute, Or lowly factor for another’s gain, But as successively, from blood to blood, Your right of birth, your empery, your own. For this, consorted with the citizens, Your very worshipful and loving friends, And by their vehement instigation, In this just cause come I to move your grace.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I cannot tell if to depart in silence Or bitterly to speak in your reproof Best fitteth my degree or your condition. Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert, Unmeritable, shuns your high request. First, if all obstacles were cut away And that my path were even to the crown, As the ripe revenue and due of birth, Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, That I would rather hide me from my greatness— Being a barque to brook no mighty sea— Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smothered. But God be thanked, there is no need of me, And much I need to help you, were there need. The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, Which, mellowed by the stealing hours of time, Will well become the seat of majesty And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. On him I lay that you would lay on me, The right and fortune of his happy stars, Which God defend that I should wring from him.
BUCKINGHAM	My lord, this argues conscience in your grace, But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, All circumstances well considered. You say that Edward is your brother’s son; So say we, too—but not by Edward’s wife. For first was he contract to Lady Lucy— Your mother lives a witness to his vow— And afterward, by substitute, betrothed To Bona, sister to the King of France. These both put off, a poor petitioner, A care-crazed mother to a many sons, A beauty-waning and distressed widow Even in the afternoon of her best days, Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, Seduced the pitch and height of his degree To base declension and loathed bigamy. By her in his unlawful bed he got This Edward, whom our manners call the Prince. More bitterly could I expostulate, Save that for reverence to some alive I give a sparing limit to my tongue. Then, good my lord, take to your royal self This proffered benefit of dignity— If not to bless us and the land withal, Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry From the corruption of abusing times, Unto a lineal, true-derived course.
MAYOR	(to Richard) Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you.
BUCKINGHAM	(to Richard) Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffered love.
CATFSBY	(to Richard) O make them joyful: grant their lawful suit.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Alas, why would you heap this care on me? I am unfit for state and majesty. I do beseech you, take it not amiss. I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you.
BUCKINGHAM	If you refuse it-as, in love and zeal, Loath to depose the child, your brother’s son, As well we know your tenderness of heart And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, Which we have noted in you to your kindred, And equally indeed to all estates— Yet know, whe‘er you accept our suit or no, Your brother’s son shall never reign our king, But we will plant some other in the throne, To the disgrace and downfall of your house. And in this resolution here we leave you.— Come, citizens. ‘Swounds, I’ll entreat no more.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	O do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Buckingham and some others
CATESBY	Call him again, sweet prince. Accept their suit.
(didascalia)	ANOTHER
CATESBY	If you deny them, all the land will rue it.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Will you enforce me to a world of cares? Call them again.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I am not made of stone, But penetrable to your kind entreats, Albeit against my conscience and my soul.
(didascalia)	Enter Buckingham and the rest
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Cousin of Buckingham, and sage, grave men, Since you will buckle fortune on my back, To bear her burden, whe’er I will or no, I must have patience to endure the load. But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach Attend the sequel of your imposition, Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me From all the impure blots and stains thereof; For God doth know, and you may partly see, How far I am from the desire of this.
MAYOR	God bless your grace! We see it, and will say it.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	In saying so, you shall but say the truth.
BUCKINGHAM	Then I salute you with this royal title: Long live kind Richard, England’s worthy king!
(didascalia)	ALL BUT RICHARD Amen.
BUCKINGHAM	Tomorrow may it please you to be crowned?
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Even when you please, for you will have it so.
BUCKINGHAM	Tomorrow then, we will attend your grace. And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	(to the bishops) Come, let us to our holy work again.— Farewell, my cousin. Farewell, gentle friends.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Richard and bishops above, the rest below

Atto 4, Scena 1

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter Queen Elizabeth, the old Duchess of York, and Marquis Dorset at one door; Lady Anne (Duchess of Gloucester) with Clarence’s daughter at another door
DUCHESS OF YORK	Who meets us here? My niece Plantagenet, Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester? Now for my life, she’s wand’ring to the Tower, On pure heart’s love, to greet the tender Prince.— Daughter, well met.
LADY ANNE	God give your graces both 5 A happy and a joyful time of day.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	As much to you, good sister. Whither away?
LADY ANNE	No farther than the Tower, and—as I guess— Upon the like devotion as yourselves: To gratulate the gentle princes there.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Kind sister, thanks. We’ll enter all together—
(didascalia)	Enter from the Tower Brackenbury the Lieutenant
QUEEN ELIZABETH	And in good time, here the Lieutenant comes. Master Lieutenant, pray you by your leave, How doth the Prince, and my young son of York?
BRACKENBURY	Right well, dear madam. By your patience, I may not suffer you to visit them. The King hath strictly charged the contrary.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	The King? Who’s that?
BRACKENBURY	I mean, the Lord Protector.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	The Lord protect him from that kingly title. Hath he set bounds between their love and me? I am their mother; who shall bar me from them?
DUCHESS OF YORK	I am their father’s mother; I will see them.
LADY ANNE	Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother; Then bring me to their sights. I’ll bear thy blame, And take thy office from thee on my peril.
BRACKENBURY	No, madam, no; I may not leave it so. I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. Exit
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Stanley Earl of Derby
STANLEY	Let me but meet you ladies one hour hence, And I’ll salute your grace of York as mother And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. (To Anne) Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster, There to be crowned Richard’s royal queen.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ah, cut my lace asunder, that my pent heart May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon With this dead-killing news.
LADY ANNE	Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!
DORSET	(to Anne) Be of good cheer.—Mother, how fares your grace?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	O Dorset, speak not to me. Get thee gone. Death and destruction dogs thee at thy heels. Thy mother’s name is ominous to children. If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, And live with Richmond from the reach of hell. Go, hie thee! Hie thee from this slaughterhouse, Lest thou increase the number of the dead, And make me die the thrall of Margaret’s curses: ‘Nor mother, wife, nor counted England’s Queen’.
STANLEY	Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam. (To Dorset) Take all the swift advantage of the hours. You shall have letters from me to my son In your behalf, to meet you on the way. Be not ta’en tardy by unwise delay.
DUCHESS OF YORK	O ill-dispersing wind of misery! O my accursed womb, the bed of death! A cockatrice hast thou hatched to the world, Whose unavoided eye is murderous.
STANLEY	(to Anne) Come, madam, come. I in all haste was sent.
LADY ANNE	And I in all unwillingness will go. O would to God that the inclusive verge Of golden metal that must round my brow Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brains. Anointed let me be with deadly venom, And die ere men can say ‘God save the Queen’.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Go, go, poor soul. I envy not thy glory. To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.
LADY ANNE	No? Why? When he that is my husband now Came to me as I followed Henry’s corpse, When scarce the blood was well washed from his hands, Which issued from my other angel husband And that dear saint which then I weeping followed— O when, I say, I looked on Richard’s face, This was my wish: ‘Be thou’, quoth I, ‘accursed For making me, so young, so old a widow, And when thou wedd’st, let sorrow haunt thy bed; And be thy wife—if any be so mad— More miserable made by the life of thee Than thou hast made me by my dear lord’s death.’ Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
(didascalia)	Within so small a time, my woman’s heart
LADY ANNE	Grossly grew captive to his honey words And proved the subject of mine own soul’s curse, Which hitherto hath held mine eyes from rest— For never yet one hour in his bed Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, But with his timorous dreams was still awaked. Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick, And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Poor heart, adieu. I pity thy complaining.
LADY ANNE	No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.
DORSET	Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory.
LADY ANNE	Adieu, poor soul, that tak’st thy leave of it.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee.
(didascalia)	Exit Dorset
DUCHESS OF YORK	Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Anne, Stanley, and Clarence’s daughter
DUCHESS OF YORK	Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee.
(didascalia)	Exit Elizabeth
DUCHESS OF YORK	I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me. Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, And each hour’s joy racked with a week of teen.
(didascalia)	Exit

Atto 4, Scena 2

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Sound a sennet. Enter King Richard in pomp, the Duke of Buckingham, Sir William Catesby, other nobles, and a Page
KING RICHARD	Stand all apart.—Cousin of Buckingham.
BUCKINGHAM	My gracious sovereign?
KING RICHARD	Give me thy hand.
(didascalia)	Sound a sennet. Here Richard ascendeth the throne
KING RICHARD	Thus high by thy advice And thy assistance is King Richard seated. But shall we wear these glories for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
BUCKINGHAM	Still live they, and for ever let them last.
KING RICHARD	Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch, To try if thou be current gold indeed. Young Edward lives. Think now what I would speak.
BUCKINGHAM	Say on, my loving lord.
KING RICHARD	Why, Buckingham, I say I would be king.
BUCKINGHAM	Why, so you are, my thrice-renownèd liege.
KING RICHARD	Ha? Am I king? ‘Tis so. But Edward lives.
BUCKINGHAM	True, noble prince.
KING RICHARD	O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live ‘true noble prince’. Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull. Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead, And I would have it immediately performed. What sayst thou now? Speak suddenly, be brief.
BUCKINGHAM	Your grace may do your pleasure.
KING RICHARD	Tut, tut, thou art all ice. Thy kindness freezes. Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?
BUCKINGHAM	Give me some little breath, some pause, dear lord, Before I positively speak in this. I will resolve you herein presently. Exit
CATESBY	(to another, aside) The King is angry. See, he gnaws his lip.
KING RICHARD	(aside) I will converse with iron-witted fools And unrespective boys. None are for me That look into me with considerate eyes. High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.— Boy.
PAGE	My lord?
KING RICHARD	Know’st thou not any whom corrupting gold Will tempt unto a close exploit of death?
PAGE	I know a discontented gentleman Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit. Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will no doubt tempt him to anything.
KING RICHARD	What is his name?
PAGE	His name, my lord, is Tyrrell.
KING RICHARD	I partly know the man. Go call him hither, boy.
(didascalia)	Exit Page
(didascalia)	Aside The deep-revolving, witty Buckingham
KING RICHARD	No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels. Hath he so long held out with me untired, And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Stanley Earl of Derby
KING RICHARD	How now, Lord Stanley? What’s the news?
STANLEY	Know, my loving lord, The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled To Richmond, in those parts beyond the seas Where he abides.
KING RICHARD	Come hither, Catesby. (Aside to Catesby) Rumour it abroad That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick. I will take order for her keeping close. Enquire me out some mean-born gentleman, Whom I will marry straight to Clarence’ daughter. The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. Look how thou dream’st. I say again, give out That Anne, my queen, is sick, and like to die. About it, for it stands me much upon To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.
(didascalia)	Exit Catesby
KING RICHARD	(Aside) I must be married to my brother’s daughter, Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass. Murder her brothers, and then marry her? Uncertain way of gain, but I am in So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin. Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.—
(didascalia)	Enter Sir James Tyrrell; he kneels
KING RICHARD	Is thy name Tyrrell?
TYRRELL	James Tyrrell, and your most obedient subject.
KING RICHARD	Art thou indeed?
TYRRELL	Prove me, my gracious lord.
KING RICHARD	Dar’st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?
TYRRELL	Please you, but I had rather kill two enemies.
KING RICHARD	Why there thou hast it: two deep enemies, Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep’s disturbers, Are they that I would have thee deal upon. Tyrrell, I mean those bastards in the Tower.
TYRRELL	Let me have open means to come to them, And soon I’ll rid you from the fear of them.
KING RICHARD	Thou sing’st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrell. Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear. Richard whispers in his ear ‘Tis no more but so. Say it is done, And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.
(didascalia)	TYRRELL I will dispatch it straight. KING RICHARD
KING RICHARD	Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrell, ere we sleep?
(didascalia)	Enter Buckingham
(didascalia)	TYRRELL Ye shall, my lord. Exit
BUCKINGHAM	My lord, I have considered in my mind The late request that you did sound me in.
KING RICHARD	Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to Richmond.
BUCKINGHAM	I hear the news, my lord.
KING RICHARD	Stanley, he is your wife’s son. Well, look to it.
BUCKINGHAM	My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise, For which your honour and your faith is pawned: Th’earldom of Hereford, and the movables Which you have promised I shall possess.
KING RICHARD	Stanley, look to your wife. If she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.
BUCKINGHAM	What says your highness to my just request?
KING RICHARD	I do remember me, Henry the Sixth Did prophesy that Richmond should be king, When Richmond was a little peevish boy. A king… perhaps… perhaps.
BUCKINGHAM	My lord?
KING RICHARD	How chance the prophet could not at that time Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?
BUCKINGHAM	My lord, your promise for the earldom.
KING RICHARD	Richmond? When last I was at Exeter, The Mayor in courtesy showed me the castle, And called it ‘Ruge-mount’—at which name I started, Because a bard of Ireland told me once I should not live long after I saw ‘Richmond’.
BUCKINGHAM	My lord?
KING RICHARD	Ay? What’s o’clock?
BUCKINGHAM	I am thus bold to put your grace in mind Of what you promised me.
KING RICHARD	But what’s o’clock?
BUCKINGHAM	Upon the stroke of ten.
KING RICHARD	Well, let it strike!
BUCKINGHAM	Why ‘let it strike’?
KING RICHARD	Because that, like a jack, thou keep’st the stroke Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. I am not in the giving vein today.
BUCKINGHAM	Why then resolve me, whe’er you will or no?
KING RICHARD	Thou troublest me. I am not in the vein.
(didascalia)	Exit Richard, followed by all but Buckingham
BUCKINGHAM	And is it thus? Repays he my deep service With such contempt? Made I him king for this? O let me think on Hastings, and be gone To Brecon, while my fearful head is on.
(didascalia)	Exit at another door

Atto 4, Scena 3

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter Sir James Tyrrell
TYRRELL	The tyrannous and bloody act is done— The most arch deed of piteous massacre That ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn To do this piece of ruthless butchery, Albeit they were fleshed villains, bloody dogs, Melted with tenderness and mild compassion, Wept like two children in their deaths’ sad story. ‘O thus’, quoth Dighton, ‘lay the gentle babes’; ‘Thus, thus’, quoth Forrest, ‘girdling one another
(didascalia)	Within their alabaster innocent arms.
TYRRELL	Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, And in their summer beauty kissed each other. A book of prayers on their pillow lay, Which once’, quoth Forrest, ‘almost changed my mind. But O, the devil’—there the villain stopped, When Dighton thus told on, ‘We smothered The most replenishèd sweet work of nature, That from the prime creation e’er she framed.’ Hence both are gone, with conscience and remorse. They could not speak, and so I left them both, To bear this tidings to the bloody king.
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard
TYRRELL	And here he comes.—AH health, my sovereign lord.
KING RICHARD	Kind Tyrrell, am I happy in thy news?
TYRRELL	If to have done the thing you gave in charge Beget your happiness, be happy then, For it is done.
KING RICHARD	But didst thou see them dead?
TYRRELL	I did, my lord.
KING RICHARD	And buried, gentle Tyrrell?
TYRRELL	The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; But where, to say the truth, I do not know.
KING RICHARD	Come to me, Tyrrell, soon, at after-supper, When thou shalt tell the process of their death. Meantime, but think how I may do thee good, And be inheritor of thy desire. Farewell till then.
TYRRELL	I humbly take my leave.
(didascalia)	Exit
KING RICHARD	The son of Clarence have I pent up close. His daughter meanly have I matched in marriage. The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom, And Anne, my wife, hath bid this world goodnight. Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims At young Elizabeth, my brother’s daughter, And by that knot looks proudly o’er the crown, To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer—
(didascalia)	Enter Sir Richard Ratcliffe, running
RATCLIFFE	My lord.
KING RICHARD	Good news or bad, that thou com’st in so bluntly?
RATCLIFFE	Bad news, my lord. Ely is fled to Richmond, And Buckingham, backed with the hardy Welshmen, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
KING RICHARD	Ely with Richmond troubles me more near Than Buckingham. and his rash-levied strength. Come, I have learned that fearful commenting Is leaden servitor to dull delay. Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary. Then fiery expedition be my wing: Jove’s Mercury, an herald for a king. Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield. We must be brief, when traitors brave the field.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 4, Scena 4

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter old Queen Margaret
QUEEN MARGARET	So now prosperity begins to mellow And drop into the rotten mouth of death. Here in these confines slyly have I lurked To watch the waning of mine enemies. A dire induction am I witness to, And will to France, hoping the consequence Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
(didascalia)	Enter the old Duchess of York and Queen Elizabeth
QUEEN MARGARET	Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ah, my poor princes! Ah, my tender babes! My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! If yet your gentle souls fly in the air, And be not fixed in doom perpetual, Hover about me with your airy wings And hear your mother’s lamentation.
QUEEN MARGARET	(aside) Hover about her, say that right for right Hath dimmed your infant morn to aged night.
DUCHESS OF YORK	So many miseries have crazed my voice That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute. Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?
QUEEN MARGARET	(aside) Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet; Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done?
QUEEN MARGARET	(aside) When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost, Woe’s scene, world’s shame, grave’s due by life usurped, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Rest thy unrest on England’s lawful earth, Unlawfully made drunk with innocents’ blood. They sit
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Ah that thou wouldst as soon afford a grave As thou canst yield a melancholy seat. Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here. Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?
QUEEN MARGARET	(coming forward) If ancient sorrow be most reverend, Give mine the benefit of seniory, And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. If sorrow can admit society, Tell o’er your woes again by viewing mine. I had an Edward, till a Richard killed him; I had a husband, till a Richard killed him. (To Elizabeth) Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard killed him; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him.
DUCHESS OF YORK	rising I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou holpst to kill him.
QUEEN MARGARET	Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard killed him. From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death: That dog that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood; That foul defacer of God’s handiwork, That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls; That excellent grand tyrant of the earth Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves. O upright, just, and true-disposing God, How do I thank thee that this charnel cur Preys on the issue of his mother’s body, And makes her pewfellow with others’ moan.
DUCHESS OF YORK	O Harry’s wife, triumph not in my woes. God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
QUEEN MARGARET	Bear with me. I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it. Thy Edward, he is dead, that killed my Edward; Thy other Edward dead, to quite my Edward; Young York, he is but boot, because both they Matched not the high perfection of my loss; Thy Clarence, he is dead, that stabbed my Edward, And the beholders of this frantic plays— Th’adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Gray— Untimely smothered in their dusky graves. Richard yet lives, hell’s black intelligencer, Only reserved their factor to buy souls And send them thither; but at hand, at hand Ensues his piteous and unpitied end. Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, To have him suddenly conveyed from hence. Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I plead, That I may live and say, ‘The dog is dead’.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	O thou didst prophesy the time would come That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-backed toad.
QUEEN MARGARET	I called thee then ‘vain flourish of my fortune’; I called thee then, poor shadow, ‘painted queen’— The presentation of but what I was, The flattering index of a direful pageant, One heaved a-high to be hurled down below, A mother only mocked with two fair babes, A dream of what thou wast, a garish flag To be the aim of every dangerous shot, A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble, A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers? Where are thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy? Who sues, and kneels, and says ‘God save the Queen’? Where be the bending peers that flattered thee? Where be the thronging troops that followed thee? Decline all this, and see what now thou art: For happy wife, a most distressed widow; For joyful mother, one that wails the name; For queen, a very caitiff, crowned with care; For one being sued to, one that humbly sues; For she that scorned at me, now scorned of me; For she being feared of all, now fearing one; For she commanding all, obeyed of none. Thus hath the course of justice whirled about, And left thee but a very prey to time, Having no more but thought of what thou wert To torture thee the more, being what thou art. Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? Now thy proud neck bears half my burdened yoke— From which, even here, I slip my weary head, And leave the burden of it all on thee. Farewell, York’s wife, and queen of sad mischance. These English woes shall make me smile in France.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	(rising) O thou, well skilled in curses, stay a while, And teach me how to curse mine enemies.
QUEEN MARGARET	Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were, And he that slew them fouler than he is. Bett’ring thy loss makes the bad causer worse. Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	My words are dull. O quicken them with thine!
QUEEN MARGARET	Thy woes will make them sharp and pierce like mine.
(didascalia)	Exit
DUCHESS OF YORK	Why should calamity be full of words?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Windy attorneys to their client woes, Airy recorders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries. Let them have scope. Though what they will impart Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.
DUCHESS OF YORK	If so, then be not tongue-tied; go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let’s smother My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smothered. A march within The trumpet sounds. Be copious in exclaims.
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard and his train marching with drummers and trumpeters
KING RICHARD	Who intercepts me in my expedition?
DUCHESS OF YORK	O, she that might have intercepted thee, By strangling thee in her accursed womb, From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Hid’st thou that forehead with a golden crown, Where should be branded—if that right were right— The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown, And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers? Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children?
DUCHESS OF YORK	Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence? And little Ned Plantagenet his son?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Gray?
DUCHESS OF YORK	Where is kind Hastings?
KING RICHARD	(to his train)
(didascalia)	A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums!
KING RICHARD	Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord’s anointed. Strike, I say!
(didascalia)	Flourish. Alarums
KING RICHARD	(To the women) Either be patient and entreat me fair, Or with the clamorous report of war Thus will I drown your exclamations.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Art thou my son?
KING RICHARD	Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Then patiently hear my impatience.
KING RICHARD	Madam, I have a touch of your condition, That cannot brook the accent of reproof.
DUCHESS OF YORK	O let me speak!
KING RICHARD	Do, then; but I’ll not hear.
DUCHESS OF YORK	I will be mild and gentle in my words.
KING RICHARD	And brief, good mother, for I am in haste.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Art thou so hasty? I have stayed for thee, God knows, in torment and in agony—
KING RICHARD	And came I not at last to comfort you?
DUCHESS OF YORK	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 schooldays frightful, desp’rate, wild, and furious; Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous; Thy age confirmed, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody; More mild, but yet more harmful; kind in hatred. What comfortable hour canst thou name That ever graced me in thy company?
KING RICHARD	Faith, none but Humphrey Hewer, that called your grace To breakfast 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.
DUCHESS OF YORK	I pray thee, hear me speak.
KING RICHARD	You speak too bitterly.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Hear me a word, For I shall never speak to thee again.
DUCHESS OF YORK	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 more behold 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.
(didascalia)	Exit
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse Abides in me; I say ‘Amen’ to all.
KING RICHARD	Stay, madam. I must talk a word with you.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	I have no more sons of the royal blood For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard, They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens, And therefore level not to hit their lives.
KING RICHARD	You have a daughter called Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	And must she die for this? O let her live, And I’ll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty, Slander myself as false to Edward’s bed, Throw over her the veil of infamy. So she may live unscarred of bleeding slaughter, I will confess she was not Edward’s daughter.
KING RICHARD	Wrong not her birth. She is a royal princess.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	To save her life I’ll say she is not so.
KING RICHARD	Her life is safest only in her birth.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	And only in that safety died her brothers.
KING RICHARD	Lo, at their births good stars were opposite.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	No, to their lives ill friends were contrary.
KING RICHARD	All unavoided is the doom of destiny—
QUEEN ELIZABETH	True, when avoided grace makes destiny. My babes were destined to a fairer death, If grace had blessed thee with a fairer life.
KING RICHARD	Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise And dangerous success of bloody wars, As I intend more good to you and yours Than ever you or yours by me were harmed.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	What good is covered with the face of heaven, To be discovered, that can do me good?
KING RICHARD	Th’advancement of your children, gentle lady.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads.
KING RICHARD	Unto the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth’s glory.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Flatter my sorrow with report of it. Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise to any child of mine?
KING RICHARD	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.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness Last longer telling than thy kindness’ date.
KING RICHARD	Then know that, from my soul, I love thy daughter.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	My daughter’s mother thinks that with her soul.
KING RICHARD	What do you think?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	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.
KING RICHARD	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.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Well then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?
KING RICHARD	Even he that makes her queen. Who else should be?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	What, thou?
KING RICHARD	Even so. How think you of it?
QUEEN ELIZABETH	How canst thou woo her?
KING RICHARD	That would I learn of you, As one being best acquainted with her humour.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	And wilt thou learn of me?
KING RICHARD	Madam, with all my heart.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	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 sometimes Margaret Did to thy father, steeped in Rutland’s blood— A handkerchief which, say to her, did drain The purple sap from her sweet brother’s 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.
KING RICHARD	You mock me, madam. This is not the way To win your daughter.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	There is no other way, Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, And not be Richard, that hath done all this.
KING RICHARD	Infer fair England’s peace by this alliance.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Which she shall purchase with still-lasting war.
KING RICHARD	Tell her the King, that may command, entreats.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	That at her hands which the King’s King forbids.
KING RICHARD	Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	To vail the title, as her mother doth.
KING RICHARD	Say I will love her everlastingly.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	But how long shall that title ‘ever’ last?
KING RICHARD	Sweetly in force unto her fair life’s end.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?
KING RICHARD	As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	As long as hell and Richard likes of it.
KING RICHARD	Say I, her sovereign, am her subject love.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.
KING RICHARD	Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.
KING RICHARD	Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
KING RICHARD	Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	O no, my reasons are too deep and dead— Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.
KING RICHARD	Harp not on that string, madam. That is past.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings break.
KING RICHARD	Now by my George, my garter, and my crown—
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Profaned, dishonoured, and the third usurped.
KING RICHARD	I swear—
QUEEN ELIZABETH	By nothing, for this is no oath. Thy George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour; Thy garter, blemished, pawned his lordly virtue; Thy crown, usurped, disgraced his kingly glory. If something thou wouldst swear to be believed, Swear then by something that thou hast not wronged.
KING RICHARD	Then by mysetf—
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Thy self is self-misused.
KING RICHARD	Now by the world—
QUEEN ELIZABETH	‘Tis full of thy foul wrongs.
KING RICHARD	My father’s death—
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Thy life hath that dishonoured.
KING RICHARD	Why then, by God—
QUEEN ELIZABETH	God’s wrong is most of all. If thou didst fear to break an oath with him, The unity the King my husband made Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died. If thou hadst feared to break an oath by him, Th’imperial metal circling now thy head Had graced the tender temples of my child, And both the princes had been breathing here, Which now—two tender bedfellows for dust— Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now?
KING RICHARD	The time to come.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	That thou hast wronged in the time o‘erpast, For I myself have many tears to wash Hereafter time, for time past wronged by thee. The children live, whose fathers thou hast slaughtered— Ungoverned youth, to wail it in their age. The parents live, whose children thou hast butchered— Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. Swear not by time to come, for that thou hast Misused ere used, by times ill-used o’erpast.
KING RICHARD	As I intend to prosper and repent, So thrive I in my dangerous affairs 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 dear 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, good-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-fond in great designs.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
KING RICHARD	Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Shall I forget myself to be myself?
KING RICHARD	Ay, if yourself’s remembrance wrong yourself.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Yet thou didst kill my children.
KING RICHARD	But in your daughter’s womb I bury them, Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed Selves of themselves, to your recomfiture.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?
KING RICHARD	And be a happy mother by the deed.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	I go. Write to me very shortly, And you shall understand from me her mind.
KING RICHARD	Bear her my true love’s kiss, He kisses her and so farewell—
(didascalia)	Exit Elizabeth
KING RICHARD	Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman.
(didascalia)	Enter Sir Richard Ratcliffe
KING RICHARD	How now, what news?
RATCLIFFE	Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast Rideth a puissant navy. To our shores Throng many doubtful, hollow-hearted friends, Unarmed and unresolved, 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.
KING RICHARD	Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk. Ratcliffe thyself, or Catesby—where is he?
CATESBY	Here, my good lord.
KING RICHARD	Catesby, fly to the Duke.
CATESBY	I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.
KING RICHARD	Ratcliffe, come hither. Post to Salisbury; When thou com‘st thither—(to Catesby) dull, unmindful villain, Why stay’st thou here, and goest not to the Duke?
CATESBY	First, mighty liege, tell me your highness’ pleasure: What from your grace I shall deliver to him?
KING RICHARD	O true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight The greatest strength and power that he can make, And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.
CATESBY	I go.
(didascalia)	Exit
RATCLIFFE	What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?
KING RICHARD	Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?
RATCLIFFE	Your highness told me I should post before.
KING RICHARD	My mind is changed.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Stanley
KING RICHARD	Stanley, what news with you?
STANLEY	None, good my liege, to please you with the hearing, Nor none so bad but well may be reported.
KING RICHARD	Hoyday, a riddle! Neither good nor bad. Why need’st thou run so many mile about When thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way? Once more, what news?
STANLEY	Richmond is on the seas.
KING RICHARD	There let him sink, and be the seas on him. White-livered renegade, what doth he there?
STANLEY	I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
KING RICHARD	Well, as you guess?
STANLEY	Stirred up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely, He makes for England, here to claim the crown.
KING RICHARD	Is the chair empty? Is the sword unswayed? Is the King dead? The empire unpossessed? 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?
STANLEY	Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.
KING RICHARD	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.
STANLEY	No, my good lord, therefore mistrust me not.
KING RICHARD	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?
STANLEY	No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.
KING RICHARD	Cold friends to me. What do they in the north, When they should serve their sovereign in the west?
STANLEY	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.
KING RICHARD	Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond. But I’ll not trust thee.
STANLEY	Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful. I never was, nor never will be, false.
KING RICHARD	Go then and muster men—but leave behind Your son George Stanley. Look your heart be firm, Or else his head’s assurance is but frail.
STANLEY	So deal with him as I prove true to you. Exit
(didascalia)	Enter a Messenger
MESSENGER	My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, As I by friends am well advertised, Sir Edward Courtenay and the haughty prelate, Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, With many more confederates are in arms.
(didascalia)	Enter another Messenger
SECOND MESSENGER	In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in arms, And every hour more competitors Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.
(didascalia)	Enter another Messenger
THIRD MESSENGER	My lord, the army of great Buckingham—
KING RICHARD	Out on ye, owls! Nothing but songs of death? He striketh him There, take thou that, till thou bring better news.
THIRD MESSENGER	The news I have to tell your majesty Is that, by sudden flood and fall of water, Buckingham’s army is dispersed and scattered, And he himself wandered away alone, No man knows whither.
KING RICHARD	I cry thee mercy.— Ratcliffe, reward him for the blow I gave him.— Hath any well-advisèd friend proclaimed Reward to him that brings the traitor in?
THIRD MESSENGER	Such proclamation hath been made, my lord.
(didascalia)	Enter another Messenger
FOURTH MESSENGER	Sir Thomas Lovell and Lord Marquis Dorset— ‘Tis said, my liege—in Yorkshire are in arms. But this good comfort bring I to your highness: The Breton navy is dispersed 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 answered him they came from Buckingham Upon his party. He, mistrusting them, Hoist sail and made his course again for Bretagne.
KING RICHARD	March on, march on, since we are up in arms, If not to fight with foreign enemies, Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.
(didascalia)	Enter Catesby
CATESBY	My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken. That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond Is with a mighty power landed at Milford Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.
KING RICHARD	Away, towards Salisbury! While we reason here, A royal battle might be won and lost. Someone take order Buckingham be brought To Salisbury. The rest march on with me.
(didascalia)	Flourish. Exeunt

Atto 4, Scena 5

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Stanley Earl of Derby and Sir Christopher, a priest
STANLEY	Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me: That in the sty of this most deadly boar My son George Stanley is franked up in hold. If I revolt, off goes young George’s head. The fear of that holds off my present aid. But tell me, where is princely Richmond now?
SIR CHRISTOPHER	At Pembroke, or at Ha’rfordwest in Wales.
STANLEY	What men of name resort to him?
SIR CHRISTOPHER	Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier, Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley, Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt, And Rhys-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.
STANLEY	Well, hie thee to thy lord. Commend me to him. Tell him the Queen hath heartily consented He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter. My letter will resolve him of my mind. Farewell.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Atto 5, Scena 1

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Buckingham with halberdiers, led by a Sheriff to execution
BUCKINGHAM	Will not King Richard let me speak with him?
SHERIFF	No, my good lord, therefore be patient.
BUCKINGHAM	Hastings, and Edward’s children, Gray and Rivers, 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?
SHERIFF	It is.
BUCKINGHAM	Why then All-Souls’ day is my body’s doomsday. This is the day which, in King Edward’s time, I wished might fall on me, when I was found False to his children and his wife’s allies. This is the day wherein I wished to fall By the false faith of him whom most I trusted. This, this All-Souls’ day to my fearful soul Is the determined respite of my wrongs. That high all-seer which I dallied with Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head, And given in earnest what I begged 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 sorrow, Remember Margaret was a prophetess.’ Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame. Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 5, Scena 2

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter Henry Earl of Richmond with a letter, the Earl of Oxford, Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, and others, with drum and colours
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny, Thus far into the bowels of the land Have we marched on without impediment, And here receive we from our father Stanley Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, That spoils your summer fields and fruitful vines, Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough In your inbowelled bosoms, this foul swine Lies now even in the centry 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.
OXFORD	Every man’s conscience is a thousand swords To fight against this guilty homicide.
HERBERT	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.
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	All for our vantage. Then, in God’s name, march. True hope is swift, and flies with swallows’ wings; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
(didascalia)	Exeunt marching

Atto 5, Scena 3

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard in arms, with the Duke of Norfolk, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, Sir William Catesby, and others
KING RICHARD	Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth field.
(didascalia)	Soldiers begin to pitch a tent
KING RICHARD	Why, how now, Catesby? Why look you so sad?
(didascalia)	CATESBY
KING RICHARD	My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.
KING RICHARD	My lord of Norfolk.
NORFOLK	Here, most gracious liege.
KING RICHARD	Norfolk, we must have knocks. Ha, must we not?
NORFOLK	We must both give and take, my loving lord.
KING RICHARD	Up with my tent! Here will I lie tonight. But where tomorrow? Well, all’s one for that. Who hath descried the number of the traitors?
NORFOLK	Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.
KING RICHARD	Why, our battalia trebles that account. Besides, 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 survey the vantage of the ground. Call for some men of sound direction. Let’s lack no discipline, make no delay— For, lords, tomorrow is a busy day.
(didascalia)	Exeunt at one door

Atto 5, Scena 4

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter at another door Henry Earl of Richmond, Sir James Blunt, Sir William Brandon, the Earl of Oxford, Marquis Dorset, and others
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	The weary sun hath made a golden set, And by the bright track of his fiery car Gives token of a goodly day tomorrow. Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment; Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him, And by the second hour in the morning Desire the Earl to see me in my tent. Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me: Where is Lord Stanley quartered, do you know?
BLUNT	Unless I have mista’en his colours much, Which well I am assured I have not done, His regiment lies half a mile, at least, South from the mighty power of the King.
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	If without peril it be possible, Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him, And give him from me this most needful note.
BLUNT	Upon my life, my lord, I’ll undertake it. And so God give you quiet rest tonight.
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	Good night, good Captain Blunt.
(didascalia)	Exit Blunt
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	Come, gentlemen. Give me some ink and paper in my tent. I’ll draw the form and model of our battle, Limit each leader to his several charge, And part in just proportion our small power. Let us consult upon tomorrow’s business. Into my tent: the dew is raw and cold. They withdraw into the tent

Atto 5, Scena 5

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	A table brought in. Enter King Richard, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, the Duke of Norfolk, Sir William Catesby, and others
KING RICHARD	What is’t o’clock?
CATESBY	It’s supper-time, my lord. It’s nine o’clock.
KING RICHARD	I will not sup tonight. Give me some ink and paper. What, is my beaver easier than it was? And all my armour laid into my tent?
CATESBY	It is, my liege, and all things are in readiness.
KING RICHARD	Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge. Use careful watch; choose trusty sentinels.
NORFOLK	I go, my lord.
KING RICHARD	Stir with the lark tomorrow, gentle Norfolk.
NORFOLK	I warrant you, my lord.
(didascalia)	Exit
KING RICHARD	Catesby.
CATESBY	My lord?
KING RICHARD	Send out a pursuivant-at-arms To Stanley’s regiment. Bid him bring his power Before sun-rising, lest 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 tomorrow. Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. Ratcliffe.
(didascalia)	Exit Catesby
RATCLIFFE	My lord?
KING RICHARD	Saw’st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?
RATCLIFFE	Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself, Much about cockshut time, from troop to troop Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.
KING RICHARD	So, I am satisfied. Give me some wine. I have not that alacrity of spirit, Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. The wine is brought Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?
RATCLIFFE	It is, my lord.
KING RICHARD	Leave me. Bid my guard watch. About the mid of night come to my tent, Ratcliffe, and help to arm me. Leave me, I say.
(didascalia)	Exit Ratcliffe with others. Richard writes, and later sleeps
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Stanley Earl of Derby to Henry Earl of Richmond and the lords in his tent
STANLEY	Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	All comfort that the dark night can afford Be to thy person, noble father-in-law. Tell me, how fares our loving mother?
STANLEY	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 th’arbitrement Of bloody strokes and mortal-sharing 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 sundered friends should dwell upon. God give us leisure for these rights of love. Once more, adieu. Be valiant, and speed well.
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	Good lords, conduct him to his regiment. I’ll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap, Lest leaden slumber peise me down tomorrow, When I should mount with wings of victory. Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Stanley and the lords
(didascalia)	Richmond kneels
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	O thou, whose captain I account myself, Look on my forces with a gracious eye. Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, That they may crush down with a heavy fall Th’usurping helmets of our adversaries. Make us thy ministers of chastisement, That we may praise thee in the victory. To thee I do commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes. Sleeping and waking, O defend me still! He sleeps
(didascalia)	Enter the Ghost of young Prince Edward above
GHOST OF PRINCE EDWARD	(to Richard) Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow, Prince Edward, son to Henry the Sixth. Think how thou stabbedst me in my prime of youth At Tewkesbury. Despair, therefore, and die. (To Richmond) Be cheerful, Richmond, for the wronged souls Of butchered princes fight in thy behalf. King Henry’s issue, Richmond, comforts thee. Exit
(didascalia)	Enter above the Ghost of King Henry the Sixth
GHOST OF KING HENRY	(to Richard) When I was mortal, my anointed body By thee was punched full of deadly holes. Think on the Tower and me. Despair and die. Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die. (To Richmond) Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror. Harry that prophesied thou shouldst be king
(didascalia)	Comforts thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish! Exit
(didascalia)	Enter above the Ghost of George Duke of Clarence
GHOST OF CLARENCE	(to Richard) Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow, I that was washed to death with fulsome wine, Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death. Tomorrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die. (To Richmond) Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee. Good angels guard thy battle. Live and flourish!
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter above the Ghosts of Lord Rivers, Lord Gray, and Sir Thomas Vaughan
GHOST OF RIVERS	(to Richard) Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow, Rivers that died at Pomfret. Despair and die.
GHOST OF GRAY	(to Richard) Think upon Gray, and let thy soul despair.
GHOST OF VAUGHAN	(to Richard) Think upon Vaughan, and with guilty fear Let fall thy pointless lance. Despair and die.
ALL THREE	(to Richmond) Awake, and think our wrongs in Richard’s bosom Will conquer him. Awake, and win the day!
(didascalia)	Exeunt Ghosts
(didascalia)	Enter above the Ghosts of the two young Princes
(didascalia)	GHOSTS OF THE PRINCES (to Richard)
ALL THREE	Dream on thy cousins, smothered in the Tower. Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death. Thy nephews’ souls bid thee despair and die. (To Richmond) Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace and wake in joy. Good angels guard thee from the boar’s annoy. Live, and beget a happy race of kings! Edward’s unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Ghosts
(didascalia)	Enter above the Ghost of Lord Hastings
GHOST OF HASTINGS	(to Richard) Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, And in a bloody battle end thy days. Think on Lord Hastings, then despair and die. (To Richmond) Quiet, untroubled soul, awake, awake! Arm, fight, and conquer for fair England’s sake.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter above the Ghost of Lady Anne
GHOST OF LADY ANNE	(to Richard) Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife, That never slept a quiet hour with thee, Now fills thy sleep with perturbations. Tomorrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die. (To Richmond) Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep. Dream of success and happy victory.
(didascalia)	Thy adversary’s wife doth pray for thee. Exit
(didascalia)	Enter above the Ghost of the Duke of Buckingham
GHOST OF BUCKINGHAM	(to Richard) The first was I that helped thee to the crown; The last was I that felt thy tyranny. O in the battle think on Buckingham, And die in terror of thy guiltiness! Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death; Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath. (To Richmond) I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid. But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismayed. God and good angels fight on Richmond’s side,
(didascalia)	And Richard falls in height of all his pride. Exit
GHOST OF BUCKINGHAM	Richard starteth up out of a dream
KING RICHARD	Give me another horse! Bind up my wounds! Have mercy, Jesu!—Soft, I did but dream. O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me? The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What do I Fear? Myself? There’s none else by. Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am. Then fly! What, from myself? Great reason. Why? Lest I revenge. Myself upon myself? Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good That I myself have done unto myself? O no, alas, I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself. I am a villain. Yet I lie: I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well.—Fool, do not flatter. My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high‘st degree! Murder, stern murder, in the dir’st degree! All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, ‘Guilty, guilty!’ I shall despair. There is no creature loves me, And if I die no soul will pity me. Nay, wherefore should they?—Since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself. Methought the souls of all that I had murdered Came to my tent, and every one did threat Tomorrow’s vengeance on the head of Richard.
(didascalia)	Enter Ratcliffe
RATCLIFFE	My lord?
KING RICHARD	‘Swounds, who is there?
RATCLIFFE	My lord, ’tis I. The early village cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn. Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.
KING RICHARD	O Ratcliffe, I have dreamed a fearful dream. What thinkest thou, will all our friends prove true?
RATCLIFFE	No doubt, my lord.
KING RICHARD	Ratcliffe, I fear, I fear.
RATCLIFFE	Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.
KING RICHARD	By the Apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond. ’Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me. Under our tents I’ll play the eavesdropper, To see if any mean to shrink from me.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Richard and Ratcliffe
(didascalia)	Enter the lords to Henry Earl of Richmond, sitting in his tent
(didascalia)	LORDS Good morrow, Richmond.
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, That you have ta’en a tardy sluggard here.
(didascalia)	A LORDHow have you slept, my lord?
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	The sweetest sleep and fairest boding dreams That ever entered in a drowsy head Have I since your departure had, my lords. Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murdered Came to my tent and cried on victory. I promise you, my soul is very jocund In the remembrance of so fair a dream. How far into the morning is it, lords? A LORD Upon the stroke of four.
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	Why then, ’tis time to arm, and give direction. His oration to his soldiers Much that I could say, loving countrymen, The leisure and enforcement of the time Forbids to dwell on. Yet remember this: God and our good cause fight upon our side. The prayers of holy saints and wrongèd souls, Like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our forces. Richard except, those whom we fight against Had rather have us win than him they follow. For what is he they follow? Truly, friends, A bloody tyrant and a homicide; One raised in blood, and one in blood established; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughtered those that were the means to help him; A base, foul stone, made precious by the foil Of England’s chair, where he is falsely set; One that hath ever been God’s enemy. Then if you fight against God’s enemy, God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers. If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain. If you do fight against your country’s foes, Your country’s foison pays your pains the hire. If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors. If you do free your children from the sword, Your children’s children quites it in your age. Then, in the name of God and all these rights, Advance your standards! Draw your willing swords! For me, the ransom of this bold attempt Shall be my cold corpse on the earth’s cold face; But if I thrive, to gain of my attempt, The least of you shall share his part thereof.
(didascalia)	Sound, drums and trumpets, bold and cheerfully!
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	God and Saint George! Richmond and victory!
(didascalia)	Exeunt to the sound of drums and trumpets

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Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, Sir William Catesby, and others
KING RICHARD	What said Northumberland, as touching Richmond?
RATCLIFFE	That he was never trained up in arms.
KING RICHARD	He said the truth. And what said Surrey then?
RATCLIFFE	He smiled and said, ‘The better for our purpose.’
KING RICHARD	He was in the right, and so indeed it is. Clock strikes Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar. Who saw the sun today?
(didascalia)	A book is brought
RATCLIFFE	Not I, my lord.
KING RICHARD	Then he disdains to shine, for by the book He should have braved the east an hour ago. A black day will it be to somebody. Ratcliffe.
RATCLIFFE	My lord?
KING RICHARD	The sun will not be seen today. The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. I would these dewy tears were from the ground. Not shine today—why, what is that to me More than to Richmond? For the selfsame heaven That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Norfolk
NORFOLK	Arm, arm, my lord! The foe vaunts in the field.
KING RICHARD	Come, bustle, bustle! Caparison my horse.
(didascalia)	Richard arms
(didascalia)	Exit one
KING RICHARD	Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power. I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, And thus my battle shall be orderèd. My forward shall be drawn out all in length, Consisting equally of horse add foot, Our archers placèd strongly in the midst. John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey, Shall have the leading of this multitude. They thus directed, we ourself will follow In the main battle, whose puissance on both sides Shall be well wingèd with our chiefest horse. This, and Saint George to boot! What think’st thou, Norfolk?
NORFOLK	A good direction, warlike sovereign. He showeth him a paper This paper found I on my tent this morning. (He reads) ‘Jackie of Norfolk be not too bold, For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.’
KING RICHARD	A thing devisèd by the enemy.— Go, gentlemen, each man unto his charge. Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls. Conscience is but a word that cowards use, Devised at first to keep the strong in awe. Our strong arms be our conscience; swords, our law. March on, join bravely! Let us to’t, pell mell— If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. His oration to his army What shall I say, more than I have inferred? Remember whom you are to cope withal: A sort of vagabonds, rascals and runaways, A scum of Bretons and base lackey peasants, Whom their o‘ercloyèd country vomits forth To desperate ventures and assured destruction. You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest; You having lands and blessed with beauteous wives, They would distrain the one, distain the other. And who doth lead them, but a paltry fellow? Long kept in Bretagne at our mother’s cost; A milksop; one that never in his life Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow. Let’s whip these stragglers o’er the seas again, Lash hence these overweening rags of France, These famished beggars, weary of their lives, Who—but for dreaming on this fond exploit— For want of means, poor rats, had hanged themselves. If we be conquered, let men conquer us, And not these bastard Bretons, whom our fathers Have in their own land beaten, bobbed, and thumped, And in record left them the heirs of shame. Shall these enjoy our lands? Lie with our wives? Ravish our daughters?
(didascalia)	Drum afar off
KING RICHARD	Hark, I hear their drum. Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood! Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
(didascalia)	Enter a Messenger
KING RICHARD	What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?
MESSENGER	My lord, he doth deny to come.
KING RICHARD	Off with young George’s head!
NORFOLK	My lord, the enemy is past the marsh. After the battle let George Stanley die.
KING RICHARD	A thousand hearts are great within my bosom. Advance our standards! Set upon our foes! Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons. Upon them! Victory sits on our helms!
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 5, Scena 7

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Alarum. Excursions. Enter Sir William Catesby
CATESBY	calling Rescue, my lord of Norfolk! Rescue, rescue!
(didascalia)	To a soldier The King enacts more wonders than a man,
CATESBY	Daring an opposite to every danger. His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
(didascalia)	Calling Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!
(didascalia)	Alarums. Enter King Richard
KING RICHARD	A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!
CATESBY	Withdraw, my lord. I’ll help you to a horse.
KING RICHARD	Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die. I think there be six Richmonds in the field. Five have I slain today, instead of him. A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 5, Scena 8

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Alarum. Enter King Richard
(didascalia)	at one door and Henry Earl of Richmond
(didascalia)	at another. They fight. Richard is slain.
(didascalia)	Exit Richmond.
(didascalia)	Retreat and flourish. Enter Henry Earl of Richmond and Lord Stanley Earl of Derby, with divers other lords and soldiers
HENRY EARL OF RICHMOND	God and your arms be praised, victorious friends! The day is ours. The bloody dog is dead.
STANLEY	(bearing the crown) Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee. Lo, here this long usurpèd royalty From the dead temples of this bloody wretch Have I plucked off, to grace thy brows withal. Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.
(didascalia)	He sets the crown on Henry’s head
KING HENRY THE SEVENTH	Great God of heaven, say ‘Amen’ to all. But tell me—young George Stanley, is he living?
STANLEY	He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town, Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.
KING HENRY THE SEVENTH	What men of name are slain on either side?
(didascalia)	STANLEY(reads)
KING HENRY THE SEVENTH	John Duke of Norfolk, Robert Brackenbury, Walter Lord Ferrers, and Sir William Brandon.
KING HENRY THE SEVENTH	Inter their bodies as becomes their births. Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled That in submission will return to us, And then—as we have ta‘en the sacrament— We will unite the white rose and the red. Smile, heaven, upon this fair conjunction, That long have frowned upon their enmity. What traitor hears me and says not ‘Amen’? England hath long been mad, and scarred herself; The brother blindly shed the brother’s blood; The father rashly slaughtered his own son; The son, compelled, been butcher to the sire; All that divided York and Lancaster, United in their dire division. O now let Richmond and Elizabeth, The true succeeders of each royal house, By God’s fair ordinance conjoin together, And let their heirs—God, if his will be so— Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace, With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days. Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again And make poor England weep forth streams of blood. Let them not live to taste this land’s increase, That would with treason wound this fair land’s peace. Now civil wounds are stopped; peace lives again. That she may long live here, God say ‘Amen’.
(didascalia)	Flourish. Exeunt
ADDITIONAL PASSAGES	The following passages are contained in the Folio text, but not the Quarto; they were apparently omitted from performances. a. AFTER I.2.I54 These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear— No, when my father York and Edward wept To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father like a child Told the sad story of my father’s death And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedashed with rain. In that sad time My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear, And what these sorrows could not thence exhale Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. b. AFTER 1.3.166
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Wert thou not banishèd on pain of death?
QUEEN MARGARET	I was, but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode. c. AFTER I.4.68 O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease thee But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone. O spare my guiltless wife and my poor children. d. AFTER 2.2.88 The Folio has Dorset and Rivers enter with Queen Elizabeth at 2.2.33.I.
DORSET	Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeased That you take with unthankfulness his doing. In common worldly things ’tis called ungrateful With dull unwillingness to pay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven For it requires the royal debt it lent you.
RIVERS	Madam, bethink you like a careful mother Of the young Prince your son. Send straight for him; Let him be crowned. In him your comfort lives. Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward’s grave And plant your joys in living Edward’s throne. e. AFTER 2.2.II0
RIVERS	Why with some little train, my lord of Buckingham?
BUCKINGHAM	Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude The new-healed wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungoverned. Where every horse bears his commanding rein And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm as harm apparent In my opinion ought to be prevented.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	I hope the King made peace with all of us, And the compact is firm and true in me.
RIVERS	And so in me, and so I think in all. Yet since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged. Therefore I say, with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince.
HASTINGS	And so say I. f. AFTER 3.I.I70 And summon him tomorrow to the Tower To sit about the coronation. g. AFTER 3.5.I00 Beginning Richard Gloucester’s speech. The Folio brings on Lovell and Ratcliffe instead of Catesby at 3.5.19.1.
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	Go, Lovell, with all speed to Doctor Shaw; (To Ratcliffe) Go thou to Friar Penker. Bid them both Meet me within this hour at Baynard’s Castle.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lovell and Ratcliffe,
RICHARD GLOUCESTER	h. AFTER 3.7.I43 If not to answer, you might haply think Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, Which fondly you would here impose on me. If to reprove you for this suit of yours, So seasoned with your faithful love to me, Then on the other side I checked my friends. Therefore to speak, and to avoid the first, And then in speaking not to incur the last, Definitively thus I answer you. i. AFTER 4.I.96 In the Folio, the characters do not exit during the Duchess of York’s preceding speech.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Stay: yet look back with me unto the Tower.— Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes, Whom envy hath immured within your walls. Rough cradle for such little pretty ones, Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow For tender princes: use my babies well. So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
QUEEN ELIZABETH	j. AFTER 4.4.22I
KING RICHARD	You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Cousins indeed, and by their uncle cozened Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts, Thy head all indirectly gave direction. No doubt the murd‘rous 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 anchored in thine eyes— And I in such a desp’rate bay of death, Like a poor barque of sails and tackling reft, Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. k. AFTER 4.4.273
KING RICHARD	Say that I did all this for love of her.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee, Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
KING RICHARD	Look what is done cannot be now amended. Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after-hours gives 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 killed 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 mettall, of your very blood: Of all one pain, save for a night of groans Endured 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 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 Repaired 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, transformed 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 sovereignty. Acquaint the Princess With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys. And when this arm of mine hath chastised The petty rebel, dull-brained 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 victoress: Caesar’s Caesar.
QUEEN ELIZABETH	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?
WITH	Venus and Adonis, Shakespeare made his debut in print: his signature appears at the end of the formal dedication to the Earl of Southampton in which the poem is described as ‘the first heir of my invention’—though Shakespeare had already begun to make his mark as a playwright. A terrible outbreak of plague, which was to last for almost two years, began in the summer of I592, and London’s theatres were closed as a precaution against infection. Probably Shakespeare wrote his poem at this time, perhaps seeing a need for an alternative career. It is an early example of the Ovidian erotic narrative poems that were fashionable for about thirty years from 1589; the best known outside Shakespeare is Christopher Marlowe’s Hero and Leander, written at about the same time. Ovid, in Book I0 of the Metamorphoses, tells the story of Venus and Adonis in about seventy-five lines of verse; Shakespeare’s poem—drawing, probably, on both the original Latin and Arthur Golding’s English version (I565-7)—is I,I94 lines long. He modified Ovid’s tale as well as expanding it. In Ovid, the handsome young mortal Adonis returns the love urged on him by Venus, the goddess of love. Shakespeare turns Adonis into a bashful teenager, unripe for love, who shies away from her advances. In Ovid, the lovers go hunting together (though Venus chases only relatively harmless beasts, and advises Adonis to do the same); in Shakespeare, Adonis takes to the hunt rather as a respite from Venus’ remorseless attentions. Whereas Ovid’s Venus flies off to Cyprus in her dove-drawn chariot and returns only after Adonis has been mortally wounded, Shakespeare’s anxiously awaits the outcome of the chase. She hears the yelping of Adonis’ hounds, sees a bloodstained boar, comes upon Adonis’ defeated dogs, and at last finds his body. In Ovid, she metamorphoses him into an anemone; in Shakespeare, Adonis’ body melts away, and Venus plucks the purple and white flower that springs up in its place. Shakespeare’s only addition to Ovid’s narrative is the episode (259-324) in which Adonis’ stallion lusts after a mare, so frustrating Adonis’ attempt to escape Venus’ embraces. But there are many rhetorical elaborations, such as Venus’ speech of attempted seduction (95-1174), her disquisition on the dangers of boar-hunting (6I3-7I4), her metaphysical explanation of why the night is dark (72I-68), Adonis’ reply (769-8I0), culminating in his eloquent contrast between lust and love, and Venus’ lament over his body (I069-II64). Venus and Adonis is a mythological poem whose landscape is inhabited by none but the lovers and those members of the animal kingdom—the lustful stallion, the timorous hare (679-708), the sensitive snail (I033-6), and the savage boar—which reflect their passions. The boar’s disruption of the harmony that existed between Adonis and the animals will, says Venus, result in eternal discord: ‘Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend’ (II36). In Shakespeare’s own time, Venus and Adonis was his most frequently reprinted work, with at least ten editions during his life, and another half-dozen by I636. Like his other non-dramatic works, it was not included in the Folio of I623. It fell out of fashion until Coleridge wrote enthusiastically about it in Biographia Literaria (I8I7). Though its conscious artifice may limit its appeal, it is a brilliantly sophisticated erotic comedy, a counterpart in verbal ingenuity to Love’s Labour’s Lost; the comedy of the poem, like that of the play, is darkened and deepened in its later stages by the shadow of sudden death. Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE	HENRY WRIOTHESLEY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TITCHFIELD Right Honourable, I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden. Only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so barren a land for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart’s content, which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world’s hopeful expectation. Your honour’s in all duty, William Shakespeare

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RICHARD III

Capitoli / Chapters

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Testo integrale / Full text

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