K. Rich. Hoyday, a Riddle, neither good nor bad:
What need it thou run fo many Miles abour,

When thou may't tell thy Tale the nearest way?
Once more, what News?

Stan. Richmond is on the Seas.

K. Rich. Ter let him fink, and be the Seas on him,
White-liver'd Run-a-gate, what doth he there?

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

Stan. Stir'd up by Dorfet, Buckingham, and Morton,
He makes for England, here to claim the Crown.

K. Rich I th Chair empty? is the Sword unfway'd? Is the King dead? the Empire unpoffets'd?

What Heir of York is there alive, but we?

And who is England's King, but great York's Heir?
Then tel me, what makes he upon the Seas?

Stan. Unlef for that, my Lieg, I cannot guefs.
K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your Liege,
You cannot guess, wher fore the Welch man comes.
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.

Stan. No, m. good Lord, therefore mistrust me not.
K. Rich. Where is thy Power then to beat him back?
Where be thy Tenants, and thy Followers?

Are they not now upon the Western Shore,
Saf conducting the Rebels from their Ships?

Stan No, my good Lord, my Friends are in the North.
K. Rich. Cold Friends to me: what do they in the North,
When they fhould ferve their Sovereign in the West?
Stan. Thy have not been commanded, mighty King;
Pleateth your Majefty to give me leave,"

I'll mufter up my Friends, and meet your Grace,
Where, and what time your Majefty fhall plafe.

K. Rich. Ay, thou would't be gone, to join with RichBut I'l pot ruft thee.

Stan. Moft mighty Sovereign,

You ha e no caule to h ld m Friendship doubtful,
I never was, nor never will be false.

(mond:

K. Rich. G then, and mufter Men; bu leave behind
Your Son George Stanley: Look your Heart be firm,
Or elfe his Head's affurance is but frail.

Stan.

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

Enter a Messenger.

[Exit Stanley.

Mef. My gracious Sovereign, now in Devonshire,
As I by Friends am well advertifed,

Si Edward Courtney, and the haughty Prelate,
Bishop of Exeter, his elder Brother,

With many more Confederates are in Arms.
Enter another Messenger.

Mef. In Kent, my Liege, the Guilfords are in Arms,
And every hour Competitors

Flock to the Rebels, and their Power grows ftrong.
Enter another Mieffenger.

Mef. My Lord, the Army of great Buckingham —— K. Rich. Out on ye, Owls, nothing but Songs of Death. He strikes him. There take thou that, 'till thou bring better News. Mef. The News I have to tell your Majesty, Is, tha by fidden Flood, and fall of Waters, Buckingham's Army is difpers'd and scatter'd, And he himfeif wandred away alone, No Man knows whither.

K. Rich. I cry thee Mercy;

There is my Purfe, to cure that Blow of thine,
Hath any well advifed Friend proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the Traitor in?

Mef. Such Proclamation hath been made, my Lord.
Enter another Messenger.

Mef. Sir Thomas Lovel, and Lord Marquels Dorfet,
'Tis faid, my Liege, in Yorkshire are in Arms:
But this good comfort bring I to your Highness,
The Britain Nay is difpers'd by Tempeft.
Richmond in Dorfet fhire fent out a Boat
Unto the Shore, to ask thofe on the Banks,
If they were hi Affiftants, yea, or no?
Who afwer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his Party; he mitrufting them,

Hois'd Sail, and made his Courfe again for Britain.

K. Rich. March on, march on, fince we are up in Arms,

If not to fight with Foreign Enemies,

M 3

Yet

Yet to beat down thefe Rebels here at Home.

Enter Catesby.

Catef. 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 News, but yet it must be told.

K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury; while we reafon here, A Royal Battel might be won and loft:

Some one take order that Buckingham be brought

To Salisbury, the reft march on with me.

SCENE IV.

Enter Derby, and Sir Chriftopher.

[Exeunt.

Derby. Sir Chriftopher, tell Richmond this from me,
That in the Sty of the most deadly Boar,
My Son George Stanley is frankt up in hold:
If I revolt, off goes young George's Head,
The fear of that holds off my prefent Aid.
So get thee gone; commend me to thy Lord.
Withal fay, that the Queen hath heartily consented
He should efpoufe Elizabeth her Daughter.
But tell me, where is Princely Richmond now?
Chrif. At Pembrook, or at Hertford Weft in Wales.
Derby. What Men of Name refort to him?
Chrif. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned Soldier,
Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,
Oxford, redoubted Pembrook, Sir James Blunt,
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant Crew,
And many other of great Name and Worth:
And towards London do they bend their Power,
If by the way they be not fought withal.

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

Farewel.

[Exennt.

ACT

A CT V. SCENE I.

Enter the Sheriff, and Buckingham with Halberds led to Execution.

Buck. WILL not King Richard let me (peak with him?

Sher. No, good my Lord, therefore be patient.

Buck. Haftings, and Edward's Children, Gray and Rivers,
Holy King Henry, and thy fair Son Edward,
Vaughan, and all that have mifcarried

By under-hand corrupted foul Injustice,
If that your moody discontented Souls,

Do through the Clouds behold this present hour,
Even for revenge mock my Deftruction.

This is All-Souls Day, Fellow, is it not?

Sher. It is.

Buck. Why then All-Souls Day is my Body's Doomsday. This is the Day, which in King Edward's time

I wifht might fall on me, when I was found
Falfe to his Children, and his Wife's Allies.
This is the Day wherein I wifht to fall
By the falfe Faith of him whom most I trufted.
This, this All-Souls Day to my fearful Soul,
Is the determin'd refpite of my Wrongs:
That high All-feer, which I dallied with,
Hath turn'd my feigned Prayer on my Head,
And given in earneft, what I begg'd in jeft.
Thus doth he force the Swords of wicked Men
To turn their own points in their Masters Bofoms.
Thus Margaret's Curfe falls heavy on my Neck:
When he, quoth fhe, will 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.

[Exeunt Buckingham with Officers.

Enter Richmond, Oxford, Blunt, Herbert, and others, with Drum and Colours.

Richm. Fellows in Arms, and my most loving Friends, Brus'd underneath the Yoak of Tyranny. Thus far into the Bowels of the Land, Have we marcht on without Impediment; And here receive we from our Father Stanley Lines of fair Comfort and Encouragement: The wretched, bloody and ufurping Boar, That fpoil'd our Summer-Fields, and fruitful Vines, Swills your warm Blood like Wash, and makes his Trough In your embowell'd Bofoms; This foul Swine

Is now even in the Center 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, couragious Friends,
To reap the Harveft of perpetual Peace,
By this one bloody trial of fharp War.

Oxf. Every Man's Confcience is a thousand Men,

To fight against this guilty Homicide.

Herb. I doubt not but his Friends will turn to us. Blunt. He hath no Friends, but what are Friends for fear, Which in his deareft need will fly from him.

Richm. All for our vantage, then in God's Name march, True hope is fwift, and flies with Swallow's Wings, Kings it makes Gods, and meaner Creatures Kings.

[Exeunt. Enter King Richrrd in Arms, with Norfolk, Ratcliff, and the Earl of Surrey.

K. Rich. Here pitch our Tent, even here in Bosworth-field. My Lord of Surrey, why look you fo fad?

Sur. My Heart is ten times lighter than my Looks. -
K. Rich. My Lord of Norfolk.

Nar. Here, moft gracious Liege.

K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks:

Ha, muft we not?

Nor. We must both give and take, my loving Lord.

K. Rich.