K. Rich. Hoyday, a Riddle, neither good nor bad: When thou may't tell thy Tale the nearest way? Stan. Richmond is on the Seas. K. Rich. Ter let him fink, and be the Seas on him, Stan. I know not, mighty Sovereign, but by guefs. Stan. Stir'd up by Dorfet, Buckingham, and Morton, 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? Stan. Unlef for that, my Lieg, I cannot guefs. Stan. No, m. good Lord, therefore mistrust me not. Are they not now upon the Western Shore, Stan No, my good Lord, my Friends are in the North. I'll mufter up my Friends, and meet your Grace, 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, (mond: K. Rich. G then, and mufter Men; bu leave behind Stan. Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you. Enter a Messenger. [Exit Stanley. Mef. My gracious Sovereign, now in Devonshire, Si Edward Courtney, and the haughty Prelate, With many more Confederates are in Arms. Mef. In Kent, my Liege, the Guilfords are in Arms, Flock to the Rebels, and their Power grows ftrong. 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, Mef. Such Proclamation hath been made, my Lord. Mef. Sir Thomas Lovel, and Lord Marquels Dorfet, 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, 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, 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, By under-hand corrupted foul Injustice, Do through the Clouds behold this present hour, 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 Come lead me, Officers, to the Block of Shame, [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: 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. - 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. |