Take all the swift aduantage of the howres:
You shall haue Letters from me to my Sonne,
In your behalfe, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta'ne tardie by vnwise delay
Duch.Yorke. O ill dispersing Winde of Miserie.
O my accursed Wombe, the Bed of Death:
A Cockatrice hast thou hatcht to the World,
Whose vnauoided Eye is murtherous
Stanley. Come, Madame, come, I in all haste was sent
Anne. And I with all vnwillingnesse will goe.
O would to God, that the inclusiue Verge
Of Golden Mettall, that must round my Brow,
Were red hot Steele, to seare me to the Braines,
Anoynted let me be with deadly Venome,
And dye ere men can say, God saue the Queene
Qu. Goe, goe, poore soule, I enuie not thy glory,
To feed my humor, wish thy selfe no harme
Anne. No: why? When he that is my Husband now,
Came to me, as I follow'd Henries Corse,
When scarce the blood was well washt from his hands,
Which issued from my other Angell Husband,
And that deare Saint, which then I weeping follow'd:
O, when I say I look'd on Richards Face,
This was my Wish: Be thou (quoth I) accurst,
For making me, so young, so old a Widow:
And when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy Bed;
And be thy Wife, if any be so mad,
More miserable, by the Life of thee,
Then thou hast made me, by my deare Lords death.
Loe, ere I can repeat this Curse againe,
Within so small a time, my Womans heart
Grossely grew captiue to his honey words,
And prou'd the subiect of mine owne Soules Curse,
Which hitherto hath held mine eyes from rest:
For neuer yet one howre in his Bed
Did I enioy the golden deaw of sleepe,
But with his timorous Dreames was still awak'd.
Besides, he hates me for my Father Warwicke,
And will (no doubt) shortly be rid of me
Qu. Poore heart adieu, I pittie thy complaining
Anne. No more, then with my soule I mourne for
yours
Dors. Farewell, thou wofull welcommer of glory
Anne. Adieu, poore soule, that tak'st thy leaue
of it
Du.Y. Go thou to Richmond, & good fortune guide thee,
Go thou to Richard, and good Angels tend thee,
Go thou to Sanctuarie, and good thoughts possesse thee,
I to my Graue, where peace and rest lye with mee.
Eightie odde yeeres of sorrow haue I seene,
And each howres ioy wrackt with a weeke of teene
Qu. Stay, yet looke backe with me vnto the Tower.
Pitty, you ancient Stones, those tender Babes,
Whom Enuie hath immur'd within your Walls,
Rough Cradle for such little prettie ones,
Rude ragged Nurse, old sullen Play-fellow,
For tender Princes: vse my Babies well;
So foolish Sorrowes bids your Stones farewell.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Sound a Sennet. Enter Richard in pompe, Buckingham, Catesby,
Ratcliffe,
Louel.
Rich. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham
Buck. My gracious Soueraigne
Rich. Giue me thy hand.
Sound.
Thus high, by thy aduice, and thy assistance,
Is King Richard seated:
But shall we weare these Glories for a day?
Or shall they last, and we reioyce in them?
Buck. Still liue they, and for euer let them last
Rich. Ah Buckingham, now doe I play the Touch,
To trie if thou be currant Gold indeed:
Young Edward liues, thinke now what I would speake
Buck. Say on my louing Lord
Rich. Why Buckingham, I say I would be King
Buck. Why so you are, my thrice-renowned Lord
Rich. Ha? am I King? 'tis so: but Edward liues
Buck True, Noble Prince
Rich. O bitter consequence!
That Edward still should liue true Noble Prince.
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.
Shall I be plaine? I wish the Bastards dead,
And I would haue it suddenly perform'd.
What say'st thou now? speake suddenly, be briefe
Buck. Your Grace may doe your pleasure
Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all Ice, thy kindnesse freezes:
Say, haue I thy consent, that they shall dye?
Buc. Giue me some litle breath, some pawse, deare Lord,
Before I positiuely speake in this:
I will resolue you herein presently.
Exit Buck[ingham].
Catesby. The King is angry, see he gnawes his Lippe
Rich. I will conuerse with Iron-witted Fooles,
And vnrespectiue Boyes: none are for me,
That looke into me with considerate eyes,
High-reaching Buckingham growes circumspect.
Boy
Page. My Lord
Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting Gold
Will tempt vnto a close exploit of Death?
Page. I know a discontented Gentleman,
Whose humble meanes match not his haughtie spirit:
Gold were as good as twentie Orators,
And will (no doubt) tempt him to any thing
Rich. What is his Name?
Page. His Name, my Lord, is Tirrell
Rich. I partly know the man: goe call him hither,
Boy.
Enter.
The deepe reuoluing wittie Buckingham,
No more shall be the neighbor to my counsailes.
Hath he so long held out with me, vntyr'd,
And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.
Enter Stanley.
How now, Lord Stanley, what's the newes?
Stanley. Know my louing Lord, the Marquesse Dorset
As I heare, is fled to Richmond,
In the parts where he abides
Rich. Come hither Catesby, rumor it abroad,
That Anne my Wife is very grieuous sicke,
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out some meane poore Gentleman,
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence Daughter:
The Boy is foolish, and I feare not him.
Looke how thou dream'st: I say againe, giue out,
That Anne, my Queene, is sicke, and like to dye.
About it, for it stands me much vpon
To stop all hopes, whose growth may dammage me.
I must be marryed to my Brothers Daughter,
Or else my Kingdome stands on brittle Glasse:
Murther her Brothers, and then marry her,
Vncertaine way of gaine. But I am in
So farre in blood, that sinne will pluck on sinne,
Teare-falling Pittie dwells not in this Eye.
Enter Tyrrel.
Is thy Name Tyrrel?
Tyr. Iames Tyrrel, and your most obedient subiect
Rich. Art thou indeed?
Tyr. Proue me, my gracious Lord
Rich. Dar'st thou resolue to kill a friend of mine?
Tyr. Please you:
But I had rather kill two enemies
Rich. Why then thou hast it: two deepe enemies,
Foes to my Rest, and my sweet sleepes disturbers,
Are they that I would haue thee deale vpon:
Tyrrel, I meane those Bastards in the Tower
Tyr. Let me haue open meanes to come to them,
And soone Ile rid you from the feare of them
Rich. Thou sing'st sweet Musique:
Hearke, come hither Tyrrel,
Goe by this token: rise, and lend thine Eare,
Whispers.
There is no more but so: say it is done,
And I will loue thee, and preferre thee for it
Tyr. I will dispatch it straight.
Enter.
Enter Buckingham.
Buck. My Lord, I haue consider'd in my minde,
The late request that you did sound me in
Rich. Well, let that rest: Dorset is fled to Richmond
Buck. I heare the newes, my Lord
Rich. Stanley, hee is your Wiues Sonne: well, looke
vnto it
Buck. My Lord, I clayme the gift, my due by promise,
For which your Honor and your Faith is pawn'd,
Th' Earledome of Hertford, and the moueables,
Which you haue promised I shall possesse
Rich. Stanley looke to your Wife: if she conuey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it
Buck. What sayes your Highnesse to my iust request?
Rich. I doe remember me, Henry the Sixt
Did prophecie, that Richmond should be King,
When Richmond was a little peeuish Boy.
A King perhaps
Buck. May it please you to resolue me in my suit
Rich. Thou troublest me, I am not in the vaine.
Enter
Buck. And is it thus? repayes he my deepe seruice
With such contempt? made I him King for this?
O let me thinke on Hastings, and be gone
To Brecnock, while my fearefull Head is on.
Enter.
Enter Tyrrel.
Tyr. The tyrannous and bloodie Act is done,
The most arch deed of pittious massacre
That euer yet this Land was guilty of:
Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborne
To do this peece of ruthfull Butchery,
Albeit they were flesht Villaines, bloody Dogges,
Melted with tendernesse, and milde compassion,
Wept like to Children, in their deaths sad Story.
O thus (quoth Dighton) lay the gentle Babes:
Thus, thus (quoth Forrest) girdling one another
Within their Alablaster innocent Armes:
Their lips were foure red Roses on a stalke,
And in their Summer Beauty kist each other.
A Booke of Prayers on their pillow lay,
Which one (quoth Forrest) almost chang'd my minde:
But oh the Diuell, there the Villaine stopt:
When Dighton thus told on, we smothered
The most replenished sweet worke of Nature,
That from the prime Creation ere she framed.
Hence both are gone with Conscience and Remorse,
They could not speake, and so I left them both,
To beare this tydings to the bloody King.
Enter Richard.
And heere he comes. All health my Soueraigne Lord
Ric. Kinde Tirrell, am I happy in thy Newes
Tir. If to haue done the thing you gaue in charge,
Beget your happinesse, be happy then,
For it is done
Rich. But did'st thou see them dead
Tir. I did my Lord
Rich. And buried gentle Tirrell
Tir. The Chaplaine of the Tower hath buried them,
But where (to say the truth) I do not know
Rich. Come to me Tirrel soone, and after Supper,
When thou shalt tell the processe of their death.
Meane time, but thinke how I may do the good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell till then
Tir. I humbly take my leaue
Rich. The Sonne of Clarence haue I pent vp close,
His daughter meanly haue I matcht in marriage,
The Sonnes of Edward sleepe in Abrahams bosome,
And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.
Now for I know the Britaine Richmond aymes
At yong Elizabeth my brothers daughter,
And by that knot lookes proudly on the Crowne,
To her go I, a iolly thriuing wooer.
Enter Ratcliffe.
Rat. My Lord
Rich. Good or bad newes, that thou com'st in so
bluntly?
Rat. Bad news my Lord, Mourton is fled to Richmond,
And Buckingham backt with the hardy Welshmen
Is in the field, and still his power encreaseth
Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more neere,
Then Buckingham and his rash leuied Strength.
Come, I haue learn'd, that fearfull commenting
Is leaden seruitor to dull delay.
Delay leds impotent and Snaile-pac'd Beggery:
Then fierie expedition be my wing,
Ioues Mercury, and Herald for a King:
Go muster men: My counsaile is my Sheeld,
We must be breefe, when Traitors braue the Field.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter old Queene Margaret
Mar. So now prosperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death:
Heere in these Confines slily haue I lurkt,
To watch the waining of mine enemies.
A dire induction, am I witnesse to,
And will to France, hoping the consequence
Will proue as bitter, blacke, and Tragicall.
Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes heere?
Enter Dutchesse and Queene.
Qu. Ah my poore Princes! ah my tender Babes:
My vnblowed Flowres, new appearing sweets:
If yet your gentle soules flye in the Ayre,
And be not fixt in doome perpetuall,
Houer about me with your ayery wings,
And heare your mothers Lamentation
Mar. Houer about her, say that right for right
Hath dim'd your Infant morne, to Aged night
Dut. So many miseries haue craz'd my voyce,
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?
Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,
Edward for Edward, payes a dying debt
Qu. Wilt thou, O God, flye from such gentle Lambs,
And throw them in the intrailes of the Wolfe?
When didst thou sleepe, when such a deed was done?
Mar. When holy Harry dyed, and my sweet Sonne
Dut. Dead life, blind sight, poore mortall liuing ghost,
Woes Scene, Worlds shame, Graues due, by life vsurpt,
Breefe abstract and record of tedious dayes,
Rest thy vnrest on Englands lawfull earth,
Vnlawfully made drunke with innocent blood
Qu. Ah that thou would'st assoone affoord a Graue,
As thou canst yeeld a melancholly seate:
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them heere,
Ah who hath any cause to mourne but wee?
Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reuerent,
Giue mine the benefit of signeurie,
And let my greefes frowne on the vpper hand
If sorrow can admit Society.
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him:
I had a Husband, till a Richard kill'd him:
Thou had'st an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him:
Thou had'st a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him
Dut. I had a Richard too, and thou did'st kill him;
I had a Rutland too, thou hop'st to kill him
Mar. Thou had'st a Clarence too,
And Richard kill'd him.
From forth the kennell of thy wombe hath crept
A Hell-hound that doth hunt vs all to death:
That Dogge, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry Lambes, and lap their gentle blood:
That foule defacer of Gods handy worke:
That reignes in gauled eyes of weeping soules:
That excellent grand Tyrant of the earth,
Thy wombe let loose to chase vs to our graues.
O vpright, iust, and true-disposing God,
How do I thanke thee, that this carnall Curre
Prayes on the issue of his Mothers body,
And makes her Pue-fellow with others mone
Dut. Oh Harries wife, triumph not in my woes:
God witnesse with me, I haue wept for thine
Mar. Beare with me: I am hungry for reuenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward,
The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward:
Yong Yorke, he is but boote, because both they
Matcht not the high perfection of my losse.
Thy Clarence he is dead, that stab'd my Edward,
And the beholders of this franticke play,
Th' adulterate Hastings, Riuers, Vaughan, Gray,
Vntimely smother'd in their dusky Graues.
Richard yet liues, Hels blacke Intelligencer,
Onely reseru'd their Factor, to buy soules,
And send them thither: But at hand, at hand
Insues his pittious and vnpittied end.
Earth gapes, Hell burnes, Fiends roare, Saints pray,
To haue him sodainly conuey'd from hence:
Cancell his bond of life, deere God I pray,
That I may liue and say, The Dogge is dead
Qu. O thou did'st prophesie, the time would come,
That I should wish for thee to helpe me curse
That bottel'd Spider, that foule bunch-back'd Toad
Mar. I call'd thee then, vaine flourish of my fortune:
I call'd thee then, poore Shadow, painted Queen,
The presentation of but what I was;
The flattering Index of a direfull Pageant;
One heau'd a high, to be hurl'd downe below:
A Mother onely mockt with two faire Babes;
A dreame of what thou wast, a garish Flagge
To be the ayme of euery dangerous Shot;
A signe of Dignity, a Breath, a Bubble;
A Queene in ieast, onely to fill the Scene.
Where is thy Husband now? Where be thy Brothers?
Where be thy two Sonnes? Wherein dost thou Ioy?
Who sues, and kneeles, and sayes, God saue the Queene?
Where be the bending Peeres that flattered thee?
Where be the thronging Troopes that followed thee?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art.
For happy Wife, a most distressed Widdow:
For ioyfull Mother, one that wailes the name:
For one being sued too, one that humbly sues:
For Queene, a very Caytiffe, crown'd with care:
For she that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me:
For she being feared of all, now fearing one:
For she commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of Iustice whirl'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time,
Hauing no more but Thought of what thou wast.
To torture thee the more, being what thou art,
Thou didst vsurpe my place, and dost thou not
Vsurpe the iust proportion of my Sorrow?
Now thy proud Necke, beares halfe my burthen'd yoke,
From which, euen heere I slip my wearied head,
And leaue the burthen of it all, on thee.
Farwell Yorkes wife, and Queene of sad mischance,
These English woes, shall make me smile in France
Qu. O thou well skill'd in Curses, stay a-while,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies
Mar. Forbeare to sleepe the night, and fast the day:
Compare dead happinesse, with liuing woe:
Thinke that thy Babes were sweeter then they were,
And he that slew them fowler then he is:
Bett'ring thy losse, makes the bad causer worse,
Reuoluing this, will teach thee how to Curse
Qu. My words are dull, O quicken them with thine
Mar. Thy woes will make them sharpe,
And pierce like mine.
Exit Margaret.
Dut. Why should calamity be full of words?
Qu. Windy Atturnies to their Clients Woes,
Ayery succeeders of intestine ioyes,
Poore breathing Orators of miseries,
Let them haue scope, though what they will impart,
Helpe nothing els, yet do they ease the hart
Dut. If so then, be not Tongue-ty'd: go with me,
And in the breath of bitter words, let's smother
My damned Son, that thy two sweet Sonnes smother'd.
The Trumpet sounds, be copious in exclaimes.
Enter King Richard, and his Traine.
Rich. Who intercepts me in my Expedition?
Dut. O she, that might haue intercepted thee
By strangling thee in her accursed wombe,
From all the slaughters (Wretch) that thou hast done
Qu. Hid'st thou that Forhead with a Golden Crowne
Where't should be branded, if that right were right?
The slaughter of the Prince that ow'd that Crowne,
And the dyre death of my poore Sonnes, and Brothers.
Tell me thou Villaine-slaue, where are my Children?
Dut. Thou Toad, thou Toade,
Where is thy Brother Clarence?
And little Ned Plantagenet his Sonne?
Qu. Where is the gentle Riuers, Vaughan, Gray?
Dut. Where is kinde Hastings?
Rich. A flourish Trumpets, strike Alarum Drummes:
Let not the Heauens heare these Tell-tale women
Raile on the Lords Annointed. Strike I say.
Flourish. Alarums.
Either be patient, and intreat me fayre,
Or with the clamorous report of Warre,
Thus will I drowne your exclamations
Dut. Art thou my Sonne?
Rich. I, I thanke God, my Father, and your selfe
Dut. Then patiently heare my impatience
Rich. Madam, I haue a touch of your condition,
That cannot brooke the accent of reproofe
Dut. O let me speake
Rich. Do then, but Ile not heare
Dut. I will be milde, and gentle in my words
Rich. And breefe (good Mother) for I am in hast
Dut. Art thou so hasty? I haue staid for thee
(God knowes) in torment and in agony
Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?
Dut. No by the holy Rood, thou know'st it well,
Thou cam'st on earth, to make the earth my Hell.
A greeuous burthen was thy Birth to me,
Tetchy and wayward was thy Infancie.
Thy School-daies frightfull, desp'rate, wilde, and furious,
Thy prime of Manhood, daring, bold, and venturous:
Thy Age confirm'd, proud, subtle, slye, and bloody,
More milde, but yet more harmfull; Kinde in hatred:
What comfortable houre canst thou name,
That euer grac'd me with thy company?
Rich. Faith none, but Humfrey Hower,
That call'd your Grace
To Breakefast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your eye,
Let me march on, and not offend you Madam.
Strike vp the Drumme
Dut. I prythee heare me speake
Rich. You speake too bitterly
Dut. Heare me a word:
For I shall neuer speake to thee againe
Rich. So
Dut. Either thou wilt dye, by Gods iust ordinance
Ere from this warre thou turne a Conqueror:
Or I with greefe and extreame Age shall perish,
And neuer more behold thy face againe.
Therefore take with thee my most greeuous Curse,
Which in the day of Battell tyre thee more
Then all the compleat Armour that thou wear'st.
My Prayers on the aduerse party fight,
And there the little soules of Edwards Children,
Whisper the Spirits of thine Enemies,
And promise them Successe and Victory:
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end:
Shame serues thy life, and doth thy death attend.
Enter.
Qu. Though far more cause, yet much lesse spirit to curse
Abides in me, I say Amen to her
Rich. Stay Madam, I must talke a word with you
Qu. I haue no more sonnes of the Royall Blood
For thee to slaughter. For my Daughters (Richard)
They shall be praying Nunnes, not weeping Queenes:
And therefore leuell not to hit their liues
Rich. You haue a daughter call'd Elizabeth,
Vertuous and Faire, Royall and Gracious?
Qu. And must she dye for this? O let her liue,
And Ile corrupt her Manners, staine her Beauty,
Slander my Selfe, as false to Edwards bed:
Throw ouer her the vaile of Infamy,
So she may liue vnscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
I will confesse she was not Edwards daughter
Rich. Wrong not her Byrth, she is a Royall Princesse
Qu. To saue her life, Ile say she is not so
Rich. Her life is safest onely in her byrth
Qu. And onely in that safety, dyed her Brothers
Rich. Loe at their Birth, good starres were opposite
Qu. No, to their liues, ill friends were contrary
Rich. All vnauoyded is the doome of Destiny
Qu. True: when auoyded grace makes Destiny.
My Babes were destin'd to a fairer death,
If grace had blest thee with a fairer life
Rich. You speake as if that I had slaine my Cosins?
Qu. Cosins indeed, and by their Vnckle couzend,
Of Comfort, Kingdome, Kindred, Freedome, Life,
Whose hand soeuer lanch'd their tender hearts,
Thy head (all indirectly) gaue direction.
No doubt the murd'rous Knife was dull and blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To reuell in the Intrailes of my Lambes.
But that still vse of greefe, makes wilde greefe tame,
My tongue should to thy eares not name my Boyes,
Till that my Nayles were anchor'd in thine eyes:
And I in such a desp'rate Bay of death,
Like a poore Barke, of sailes and tackling reft,
Rush all to peeces on thy Rocky bosome
Rich. Madam, so thriue I in my enterprize
And dangerous successe of bloody warres,
As I intend more good to you and yours,
Then euer you and yours by me were harm'd
Qu. What good is couer'd with the face of heauen,
To be discouered, that can do me good
Rich. Th' aduancement of your children, gentle Lady
Qu. Vp to some Scaffold, there to lose their heads
Rich. Vnto the dignity and height of Fortune,
The high Imperiall Type of this earths glory
Qu. Flatter my sorrow with report of it:
Tell me, what State, what Dignity, what Honor,
Canst thou demise to any childe of mine
Rich. Euen all I haue; I, and my selfe and all,
Will I withall indow a childe of thine:
So in the Lethe of thy angry soule,
Thou drowne the sad remembrance of those wrongs,
Which thou supposest I haue done to thee
Qu. Be breefe, least that the processe of thy kindnesse
Last longer telling then thy kindnesse date
Rich. Then know,
That from my Soule, I loue thy Daughter
Qu. My daughters Mother thinkes it with her soule
Rich. What do you thinke?
Qu. That thou dost loue my daughter from thy soule
So from thy Soules loue didst thou loue her Brothers,
And from my hearts loue, I do thanke thee for it
Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:
I meane that with my Soule I loue thy daughter,
And do intend to make her Queene of England
Qu. Well then, who dost y meane shallbe her King
Rich. Euen he that makes her Queene:
Who else should bee?
Qu. What, thou?
Rich. Euen so: How thinke you of it?
Qu. How canst thou woo her?
Rich. That I would learne of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humour
Qu. And wilt thou learne of me?
Rich. Madam, with all my heart
Qu. Send to her by the man that slew her Brothers.
A paire of bleeding hearts: thereon ingraue
Edward and Yorke, then haply will she weepe:
Therefore present to her, as sometime Margaret
Did to thy Father, steept in Rutlands blood,
A hand-kercheefe, which say to her did dreyne
The purple sappe from her sweet Brothers body,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withall.
If this inducement moue her not to loue,
Send her a Letter of thy Noble deeds:
Tell her, thou mad'st away her Vnckle Clarence,
Her Vnckle Riuers, I (and for her sake)
Mad'st quicke conueyance with her good Aunt Anne
Rich. You mocke me Madam, this not the way
To win your daughter
Qu. There is no other way,
Vnlesse thou could'st put on some other shape,
And not be Richard, that hath done all this
Ric. Say that I did all this for loue of her
Qu. Nay then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee
Hauing bought loue, with such a bloody spoyle