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 honor, 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.

Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

K. Rich. Even he that makes her queen. Who else should be?

Q. Eliz. What, thou?

K. Rich.

Even so.

How think you of it?

That I would learn of you,

Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo 'her?
K. Rich.

As one being best acquainted with her humor.
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 brothers, 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, steeped in Rutland's bloodA handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain The purple sap from her sweet brothers' 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.

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 hate 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 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 mettle, 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 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-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 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 honor, 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. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it.
K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low.
Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.
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. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style. K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow, and too quick. Q. Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead;Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.

K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past. Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heartstrings break. K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,Q. Eliz. Profaned, dishonored, and the third usurped. K. Rich. I swear

Q. Eliz. By nothing; for this is no oath. Thy George, profaned, hath lost his holy honor; Thy garter, blemished, pawned his knightly 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.

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 dishonored.

K. Rich. Then, by myself,-
Q. Eliz.

Thyself is self misused.

K. Rich. Why then, by God,-
Q. Eliz.
God's wrong is most of all.
If thou hadst feared to break an oath by him,
The unity, the king thy brother made,

Had not been broken, nor my brother slain.
If thou hadst feared 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 bedfellows 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, wronged by thee.

The children live, whose parents 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.
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 yourself'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, 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. ELIZABETH. 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,
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.

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 com'st thither,-Dull, unmindful villain,
[To CATESBY.

Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke?
Čate. 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
The greatest strength and power he can make,
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.

Cate. I go.

[Exit.

Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury? K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do there, before I go? Rat. Your highness told me I should post before.