O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes,—
Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms:
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd 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 stopp'd
When Dighton thus told on,we smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature,
That, from the prime creation, e'er she framed—
Hence both are gone with conscience and re-

K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead?
Tyr. I did, my lord.

K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;

But where, to say the truth, I do not know.

K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper,

When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Mean time, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell, till then.

Tyr. I humbly take my leave.

[Exit.

K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I pen'd up close;

His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown,
To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.

Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near,

Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
Come,-I have learn'd, 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, and herald for a king!
Go, muster men: my counsel is my shield;
We must be brief, when traitors brave the field.
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.—The same. Before the Palace.
Enter Queen MARGARET.

Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,
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.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! Who comes

here?

Duch. So many miseries have crazed my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute,Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

Q. Eliz. 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?

Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet

son.

Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living ghost,

Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,

Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,
[Sitting down.
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood!
Q. Eliz. 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?

[Sitting down by her.
Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent,
Give mine the benefit of seniory,
And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society,

"Sitting down with them. Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine:I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill

him;

I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.
Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard

kill'd 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 handy-work;
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.-
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
And makes her pew-fellow f with others' moan:
Preys on the issue of his mother's body,
Duch. O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes;
God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
Q. Mar. Bear with me; I am hungry for re-

venge,

Edward;

And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
Young York he is but boot, because both they
Match not the high perfection of my loss.
Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my
And the beholders of this tragic play,
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely smother'd 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 convey'd from hence :-
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to say, The dog is dead!

Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophecy, the time would

come,

That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad.
That I should wish for thee to help me curse
Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my

fortune;

I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen;
The presentation of but what I was,
The flattering index ý of a direful pageant,
One heaved a high, to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou wast; a garish || dag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot;

• Seniority.

Thrown in to boot.

+ Companion.

Indexes were anciently placed at the begin ning of books

Flaring.

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 bro-
thers?

Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy?
Who sues, and kneels, and says-God save the

queen?

Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd 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 one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care:
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd 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 burden'd yoke;
From which even here I slip my wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.

Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mis

chance,

These English woes shall make me smile in France. Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while,

And teach me how to curse mine enemies.

Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day;

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

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

Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine. [Exit Q. Margaret. Duch. Why should calamity be full of words? Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries!

Let them have scope: though what they do impart Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.

Duch. If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let's smother My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd. [Drum, within. I hear his drum,-be copious in exclaims. Enter King RICHARD, and his Train, marching. K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition? Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee, By strangling thee in her accursed womb, From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast

done.

Q. Eliz. Hidest 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?

Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence?

And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?

Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?

Duch. Where is kind Hastings?

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

Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord's anointed: Strike, I say.

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

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

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

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

rious;

Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous; Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred: What comfortable hour canst thou name,

That ever graced me in thy company?

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

To break fast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,

Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.-
Strike up the drum.

Duch. I pr'ythee, hear me speak.
K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.
Duch. Hear me a word;

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

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

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

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

you.

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

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

Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? O, let her live,

And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty!
Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed;
Throw over her the veil of infamy:
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal

blood.

Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say-she is not so.
K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth.
Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her bro-
thers.

K. Rich. Lo, at their births good stars were opposite.

Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.

K. Rich. All unavoided ‡ is the doom of destiny. Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny:

My babes were destined to a fairer death,
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.
K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my

cousins.

Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed; and by their uucle cozen'd

Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hands soever lanced their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
* Cross.
Unavoidable.

+ Touchy, fretful. § Constant

And I, in such a desperate bay of death,

Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize,

And dangerous success of bloody wars,

As I intend more good to you and yours.
Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd !

To be discover'd, that can do me good?

K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle lady.

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

K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune,

The high imperial type of this earth's glory *.

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

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

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

kindness

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

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

soul.

K. Rich. What do you think?

Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul:

So, from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers;
And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it."
K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning;
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And do intend to make her queen of England.
Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be
her king?

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

Q. Elis. What, thou?

K. Rich. Even so: What think you of it, Madam?
Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her?
K. Rich. That I would learn of you,

As one being best acquainted with her humour.
Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?
K. Rich, Madam, with all my heart.

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

A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave,
Edward, and York; then, haply, will she weep:
Therefore present to her, as sometime Margaret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,-
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet 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 madest away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake,
Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
K. Rich. You mock me, Madam; this is not the way
To win your daughter.

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

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

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

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

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,
Aud all the ruins of distressful times
Repair'd with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see:
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed,
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl;
Advantaging their loan with interest

Of ten-times-double gain of happiness.
Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;
Put in her tender heart the 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-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victress, Cæsar's Cæsar.
Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? Her father's
brother

Would be her lord? Or shall I say, her uncle?
Or, he that slew her brothers, and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honour, and her love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?

K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance. Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

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

entreats.

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

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

K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature lengthens it.
Q. Ediz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it.
K.Rich. Say, I, her sov'reign, am her subject low.
Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such so-
vereignty.

K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told.

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

tale.

Q. Eliz. By nothing; for this is no oath.
Thy George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour;
Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
Thy crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory:
If something thou wouldst swear to be believed,
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.
K. Rich. Now by the world,-

Q. Eliz. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.
K. Rich. My father's death,-
Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonour'd.

In the Levitical Law, chap. xviii. 14.
The ensigns of the order of the Garter.

K. Rich. Then, by myself,-
Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-mis-used.
K. Rich. Why then, by God,—

Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him,
The unity, the king thy brother made,
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him,
The 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 bed-fellows for dust,
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now?

K. Rich. By the time to come.

Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast;

For I myself have many tears to wash

Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee. The children live, whose parents thou hast slaughter'd,

Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age:
The parents live, whose children thou hast butch-
er'd,

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

K. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent!
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound!
Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours!

Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!
Be opposite all planets of good luck

To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love,
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,

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

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

Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children.

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

them:

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

Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. Q. Eliz. I go.-Write to me very shortly, And you shall understand from me her mind. K. Rich, Bear her my true love's kiss, and so farewell. [Kissing her.—Exit Q. Eli abeth. Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman! How now? What news?

Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following.
Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast
Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore
Throng many doubtful hollow hearted friends,
Unarm'd, 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.
K. Rich. Some light-foot friend, post to the duke
of Norfolk:-

Ratcliff, thyself,- or Catesby, where is he?
Cate. Here, my good lord.

K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke.

Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste. K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither: post to Salisbury When thou comest thither,-Dull unmindful villain, [To Catesby Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke? Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' pleasure,

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

[Exit.

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

Cate. I go.

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

K. Rich. Why, what wouldst thou do there, be fore I go?

Rat. Your highness told me I should post before. Enter STANLEY.

K. Rich. My mind is changed.-Stanley, what news with you?

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

Nor none so bad, but well may be reported.

K. Rich. Heyday, a riddle! Neither good nor bad! What need'st thou run so many miles about When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest way? Once more, what news?

Stan. Richmond is on the seas.

K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on him!

White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?
Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
K. Rich. Well, as you guess?

Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and
Morton,

He makes for England, here to claim the crown. K. Rich. Is the chair empty? Is the sword un

sway'd?

And every hour more competitors
Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.
Enter another MESSENGER.

3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Buckinghain

K. Rich. Out on ye, owls! Nothing but songs of death? [He strikes him. There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty, Is,-that, by sudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd; And he himself wander'd away alone, No man knows whither.

K. Rich. O, I cry you mercy :

• Associates.

There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine. Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

Enter another MESSENGER.

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

'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
But this good comfort bring I to your highness,-
The Bretagne navy is dispersed by tempest:
Richmond, in Dorsershire, sent out a boat
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks,
If they were his assistants, yea, or no:
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne.
K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up
in arms:

If not to fight with foreign enemies,
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.

That, in the sty of this most bloody boar,
My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold;
If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
The fear of that withholds my present aid.
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now ?
Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in
Wales.

Stan. What men of name resort to him?

Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier; Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley; Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt, And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew; And many other of great fame and worth: And towards London do they bend their course, If by the way they be not fought withal. Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; commend me to him;

Tell him, the queen hath heartily consented He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. These letters will resolve him of my mind. Farewell. [Gives Papers to Sir Christopher. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-Salisbury.—An open Place. Enter the SHERIFF, and Guard, with BUCKINGHAM, ted to Execution.

Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with

him?

Sher. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.
Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers,
Grey,

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, fellows, is it not?
Sher. It is, my lord.

Buck. Why then, All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday.

This is the day, which, in king Edward's time,
I wish'd might fall on me when I was found
False to his children, or his wife's allies:
This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall
By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;

• Force + Chaplain to the countess of Richmond. A sty in which hogs are set apart for fattening.

SCENE II.-Plain near Tamworth. Enter, with Drum and Colours, RICHMOND, OXFORD, Sir JAMES BLUNT, Sir WALTER HERBERT, and others, with Forces, marching.

Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,

Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny,
Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we march'd on without impediment;
And here receive we from our father Stanley
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,
That spoil'd your sunimer fields, and fruitful vines,
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his
trough

In your embowell'd bosoms,-this foul swine
Lies now even in the centre of this isle,
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn:
From Tamworth thither, is but one day's march.
In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends,
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace.
By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand
swords,
To fight against that bloody homicide.
Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn

power.

[Exeunt.

K. Rich. 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 want no discipline, make no delay; For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. Enter, on the other side of the Field, RICHMOND, Sir WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, and other Lords. Some of the Soldiers pitch RICHMOND'S Tent. Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set, And by the bright track of his fiery car, Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow.— Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. Give me some ink and paper in my tent ;I'll draw the form and model of our battle,

• Injurious practice