K. Rich. Up with my Tent, here will I lye to Night,
But where to Morrow? well all's one for that.
Who hath defcry'd the number of the Traitors?

Nor. Six or feven thoufand is their utmoft Power.
K. Rich. Why our Battalia trebles that account:
Befides, the King's Name is a Tower of Strength,
Which they upon the adverfe Faction want.
Up with the Tent: Come, Noble Gentlemen,
Let us furvey the vantage of the Ground.
Call for fome Men of found Direction:
Let's lack no Difcipline, make no delay,
For, Lords, to Morrow is a bufie Day.

[Exeunt.

Enter Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and

Dorfet.

Richm. The weary Sun hath made a Golden fet,
And by the bright Tract of his fiery Car,
Gives token of a goodly Day to Morrow.
Sir William Brandon, you fhall bear my Standard:
Give me fome Ink and Paper in my Tent;
I'll draw the Form and Model of our Battel,
Limit each Leader to his feveral Charge,
And part in just proportion our fmall Power.
My Lord of Oxford, you Sir William Brandon,
And you Sir William Herbert ftay with me;
The Earl of Pembrook keeps his Regiment;
Good Captain Blunt, bear my good Night to him,
And by the fecond hour in the Morning,
Defire the Earl to fee me in my Tent.

Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for me:
Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know?
Blunt. Unless I have mifta'en his Colours much,
(Which well I am affur'd' I have not done)
His Regiment lies, half a mile at least,
South from the mighty Power of the King.
Richm. If without Peril it be poffible,

Sweet Blunt, make fome good means to fpeak with him,
And give him from me this moft needful Note.

Blunt, Upon my felf, my Lord, I'll undertake it.
And fo God give you quiet reft to Night.
Richm. Good Night, good Captain Blunt.

Come, Gentlemen,

Let

Let us confult upon to Morrow's Bufinefs;
Into my Tent, the Dew is raw and cold.

[They withdraw into the Tent. Enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Norfolk and Catesby. K. Rich. What is't a Clock?

Catesby. It's Supper time, my Lord, it's nine a Clock. K. Rich. I will not Sup to Night,

Give me fome Ink and Paper:

What, is my Beaver eafier than it was?

And all my Armour laid into my Tent?

Catef. It is, my Liege; and all things are in readiness.
K. Rich. Good Norfolk hye thee to thy Charge,
Ufe careful Watch, chufe trufty Centinels.

Nor. I go, my Lord.

K. Rich. Stir with the Lark to Morrow, gentle Norfolk. Nor. I warrant you, my Lord.

K. Rich. Ratcliff.

Rat. My Lord.

K. Rich. Send out a Pursuivant at Arms

To Stanley's Regiment; bid him bring his Power
Before Sun-rifing, left his Son George fall

Into the blind Cave of eternal Night.

Fill me a Bowl of Wine; give me a Watch:
Saddle white Surrey for the Field to Morrow:

[Exit.

Look that my Staves be found, and not too heavy. Ratcliff. Rat. My Lord.

K. Rich. Saw'ft the melancholy Lord Northumberland?
Rat. Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself,

Much about Cock-fhut time, from Troop to Troop
Went through the Army, cheering up the Soldiers.

K. Rich. So, I am fatisfy'd; give me a Bowl of Wine, I have not that alacrity of Spirit,

Nor cheer of Mind that I was wont to have.

Set it down. Is Ink and Paper ready?

Rat. It is, my Lord.

K. Rich. Bid my Guard watch. Leave me.

Ratcliff, about the mid of Night come to my Tent,
And help to Arm. Leave me, I fay.

[Exit Ratcliff

Enter Derby to Richmond in his Tent.

Derby. Fortune and Victory fit on thy Helm.
Rich. All comfort that the dark Night can afford,

B

Be to thy Perfon, noble Father-in-Law,
Tell me, how fares our noble Mother?

Derby. I, by Attorney, blefs thee from thy Mother,
Who prays continually for Richmond's good;

So much for that. The filent Hours fteal on,
And flaky Darkness breaks within the East.
In brief, for fo the Seafon bids us be,
Prepare thy Battel early in the Morning,
And put thy Fortune to th' Arbitrement
Of bloody Stroaks, and mortal ftaring War:
I, as I may, (that which I would, I cannot)
With beft advantage will deceive the time,
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of Arms.
But on thy fide I may not be too forward,
Left being feen, thy Brother, tender George,
Be executed in his Father's fight.

Farewel; the leifure, and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious Vows of Love.
And ample enterchange of fweet Difcourfe,
Which fo long fundred Friends fhould dwell upon:
God give us leifure for these rites of Love.
Once more Adieu, be valiant, and fpeed well.
Richm. Good Lords, conduct him to his Regiment:
I'll ftrive, with troubled Noife, to take a Nap,
Left leaden flumber poize me down to morrow,
When I should mount with Wings of Victory:
Once more, good Night, kind Lords and Gentlemen.
[Exeunt. Manet Richmond.
O thou, whofe Captain I account my felf,
Look on my Forces with a gracious Eye:
Put in their Hands thy brufing Irons of wrath,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall,
Th' ufurping Helmets of our Adversaries.
Make us thy Minifters of Chaftisement,
That we may praise thee in thy Victory:
To thee I do commend my watchful Soul,
E'er I let fall the Windows of mine Eyes:
Sleeping, and waking, oh defend me ftill.
Enter the Ghost of Prince Edward, Son to Henry the Sixth.
Ghost. Let me fit heavy on thy Soul to morrow:

[Sleeps.

[To K. Rich.

Think how thou ftabb'dst me in the prime of Youth

At Tewksbury; defpair therefore, and die.
Be cheerful, Richmond,

For the wronged Souls

Of butcher'd Princes fight in thy behalf:

King Henry's iffe, Richmond, comforts thee.
Enter the Ghost of Henry the Sixth.

[To Richm

Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed Body,

By thee was punched full of holes ;

Think on the Tower, and me: D fpair and die.
Henry the Sixth bids thee d fpar, and die.
Virtuous and holy, be thou Co queror.

To K. Rich

To Richm

e King, a flourish.

Harry, that prophefied thou should ft
Doth comfort thee i fleep, live,

Enter the Ghost of Clarence.

Ghost. Let me fit heavy on thy Soul to morrow;

I that was wash'd to death in Fulf m Wine,
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death:
To morrow in the Battel think on me,

[To K. Rich.

And fall thy edglefs Sword, despair and die.
Thou Off-fpring of the Houfe of Lancaster, [To Richm
The wronged Heirs of York do pray for thee,
Good Angels guard thy Battel, live and furish.

Enter the Ghosts of Rivers, Gray, and Vaughan.
Riv. Let me fit heavy on thy Soul to morrow,

[To K. Rich.

Rivers, that dy'd at Pomfret: Despair, and die.
Gray. Think upon Gray, and let thy Soul despair.

Vaugh. Think upon Vaughan, and with guilty fear

To K. Rich.

Let fall thy Launce, defpair and die.
All. Awake,

[To K. Rich,

And thi k our wrongs in Richard's Bofom

[To Richm.

Ghost. Bloody a d guilty; guilty awake,

Will conquer. Awake, and win the Day.
Enter the Ghost of Lord Haftings.

And in a bloody Batel end thy Days,
Think on Lord Haftings; delpair and dic.

[To K. Rich.

Quiet untroubled Soul,

[To Richm.

Awake, awake:

Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair Englad's fake.

Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes.

Ghofts. Dream on thy Coufins

Smother'd in the Tower:

Let us be laid within thy Bofom, Richard,

[To K. Rich.

And weigh thee down to ruin, fhame, and death.
Thy Nephews Souls bid thee defpair and die.
Sleep Richmond,

Step in Peace, and wake in Joy,

Good Angels guard thee from the Boar's annoy,
Live, and beget a happy race of Kings.

Edward's unhappy Sons do bid thee Aurifh.
Enter the Ghost of Anne his Wife.

Ghoft. Richard, thy Wife,

Tha wretch d Anne, thy Wife,

That never flept a qu'et H ur with thee,
Now fills thy fleep with perturbations,
To mo row in the Batrel think or me,

And fall thy edglefs Sword, defpair and die.
Thou quiet Soul,

[To Richm

[To K. Rich.

[To Richm.

Sleep thou a quiet Sleep:

Dream of Succefs, and happy Victory,

Thy Adverfaries Wife doth pray for thee.
Enter the Ghost of Buckingham.

Ghoft: The fist was I,

That help'd thee to the Crown:

The laft was I, that felt thy Tyranny.
O, in the Battel think on Buckingham,

And die in terror of thy guiltinefs,

[To K. Rich.

Dream on, dream on, of bloody Deeds and Death,
Fainting defpair; defpairing yield thy breath.

Idy'd for hope,

Er I could lend thee aid;

Bat cheer thy Heart, and be thou not difmay'd:

God, and good Angels fight on Richmond's fide,

[To Richm.

And Richard falls in height of all his Pride. [The Ghofts vanish.

[K. Richard starts out of his Dream.

K. Rich. Give me another Horfe, bind up my Wounds: Have mercy, Jess — -Soft, I did but dream.