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O coward Confcience! how doft thou affli& me?
The Lights burn blue It is not dead Mid-night-
Cold fearful Drops ftand on my trembling Flesh:
What do I fear my felf? There's none else by,
Richard loves Richard, that is, I am I.

Is there a Murtherer here? No; Yes, I am:
Then fly what from my felf? Great reafon; why?
Left I revenge. What? my felf upon my felf?
Alack, I love my felf. Wherefore? For any good
That I my felf have done upon my felf?

O no.

Alas, I rather hate my felf,

For hateful Deeds committed by felf.

I am a Villain; yet I lie, I am not.

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Fool, of thy felf fpeak well Fool, do not flatter.
My Confcience hath a thoufand feveral Tongues,
And every Tongue brings in a feveral Tale,
And every Tale condemns me for a Villain;
Perjury, in the high'ft degree,

Murther, ftern Murther, in the dir'ft degree,
All feveral Sins, all us'd in each degree,

Throng all to th' Bar, crying a'l, Guilty, guilty.
I fhall defpair, there is no Creature loves me;
And if I die, no Soul fhall pity_me..

Nay, wherefore fhould they? fince that I my felf
Find in my felf no pity to my felf.

Methought, the Souls of all that I had murther'd
Came to my Tent, and every one did threat
To morrows Vengeance on the head of Richard.
Enter Ratcliff.

Rat. My Lord.

K. Rich. Who's there?

Rat. Ratcliff, my Lord, 'tis I; the early Village Cock Hath twice done Salutation to the Morn;

Your Friends are up, and buckle on their Armour.
K. Rich. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear'

Rat. Nay, good my Lord, be not afraid of (hadows.
K. Rich. By the Apoftle Paul fhadows to night
Have ftruck more terrour to the Soul of Richard,
Than can the fubftance of ten thousand Soldiers
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.

'Tis not yet near Day. Come, go with me, Under our Tents; I'll play the Eaves-dropper, To hear if any Man fhrink from me.

[Exeunt K. Richard and Ratcliff.

Enter the Lords to Richmond fitting in his Tent.

Lords. Good morrow, Richmond.

Richm. Cry you mercy, Lords, and watchful Gentlemen,

That you have ta'en a tardy Sluggard here.
Lords. How have you flept, my Lord?
Richm. The fweeteft Sleep,

And fairest boading Dreams,

That ever entred in a drowfie Head.
Have I fince your departure had, my Lords.
Methought their Souls, whofe Bodies Richard murther'd,
Came to my Tent, and cried on Victory.
I promise you my Heart is very jocund,
In the remembrance of fo fair a Dream.
How far into the Morning is it, Lords?
Lords. Upon the ftroak of four.

Richm. Why then 'tis time to Arm, and give direction. More than I have faid, loving Countrymen,

The leifure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell upon; yet remember this,
God, and our good Caufe, fight upon our fide,
The Prayers of holy Saints, and wronged Souls,
Like high rear'd Bulwarks, ftand before our Faces.
Richard except, thofe whom we fight against,
Had rather have us win, than him they follow.
For, what is he they follow? Truly Gentlemen,
A bloody Tyrant, and a Homicide:

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One rais'd in Blood, and one in Blood eftablish'd;
One that made means to come by what he hath,
And flaughter'd thofe that were the means to help him;
A bafe foul Stone, made precious by the foil
Of England's Chair, where he is falfely fet.
One that hath ever been God's Enemy;
Then if you fight against God's Enemy,
God will in juftice ward you as his Soldiers.

If

If you

do fwear to put a Tyrant down,
You fleep in Peace, the Tyrant being flain:
If you do fight against your Countries Foes,
Your Countries Fat fhall pay your pains the hire.
If you do fight in fafeguard of your Wives,
Your Wives fhall welcome home the Conquerors.
If you do free your Children from the Sword,
Your Childrens Children quits it in your Age.
Then in the Name of God and all these rights,
Advance your Standards, draw your willing Swords.
For me, the ranfom of my bold attempt,
Shall be this cold Corps on the Earth's cold face.
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt,
The leaft of you fhall fhare his part thereof.
Sound Drums and Trumpets boldly, and chearfully,
God, and Saint George, Richmond, and Victory.

Enter King Richard, Ratcliff, and Catesby. K. Rich. What faid Northumberland, as touching Rich mond?

Rat. That he was never trained up in Arms.

K. Rich. He faid the truth; and what faid Surrey then. Rat. He fmil'd and faid, the better for our purpose. K. Rich. He was in the right, and fo indeed it is. Tell the Clock there.

Give me a Kalender

Rat. Not I, my Lord.

[Clock Strikes.

who faw the Sun to day?

K. Rich. Then he difdains to fhine; for, by the Book,

He should have brav'd the Eaft an hour ago

A black Day it will be to fome body, Ratcliff.

Rat. My Lord.

K. Rich. The Sun will not be feen to day
The Sky doth frown and lowre upon our Army
I would these dewy Tears were from the Ground
Not shine to day? why what is that to me

More than to Richmond? for the felf-fame Heav'n
That frowns on me, looks fadly upon him.

Enter Norfolk.

Norf. Arm, arm, my Lord, the Foes vaunt in the Field. K. Rich. Come, buftle, buftle-Caparifon my Horse.

Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his Power,

I will lead forth my Soldiers to the Plain,
And thus my Battel shall be ordered.
My Foreward fhall be drawn in length,
Confifting equally of Horfe and Foot:
Our Archers shall be placed in the midft;
John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of the Foot and Horse.
They thus directed, we will follow

In the main Battel, whofe puiffance on either fide
Shall be well winged with our chiefeft Horse:
This, and St. George to boot.

What think'ft thou, Norfolk?

Nor. A good Direction, warlike Sovereign. This found I on my Tent this Morning.

Jocky of Norfolk, be not fo bold.

Giving a Scrowl.

For Dickon thy Mafter is bought and fold.

K. Rich. A thing devifed by the Enemy.
Go Gentlemen, every Man to his Charge,
Let not our babling Dreams affright our Souls,
For Confcience is a Word that Cowards ufe,
Devis'd at first to keep the ftrong in awe,

[Reads.

Our strong Arms be our Confcience, Swords our Law.
March on, join bravely, let us to't pell mell,
If not to Heav'n, then hand in hand to Hell.
What shall I fay more than I have inferr'd?
Remember whom you are to cope withal,
A fort of Vagabonds, Rafcals, Run-aways,
A fcum of Britains, and bafe Lackey-Peasants,
Whom their o'er-cloyed Country vomits forth
To defperate Adyentures, and affur'd Destruction.
You fleeping fafe, they bring you to unreft:
You having Lands, and bleft with beauteous Wives,
They would reftrain the one, diftain the other.
Ard who doth lead them, but a paltry Fellow?
Long kept in Britain at our Mother's Coft,
A milk-fop, one that never in his Life
Felt fo much Cold, as over Shooes in Snow:
Let's whip these Stragglers o'er the Seas again,
Lash hence thefe over-weening Rags of France,
VOL. IV.

N

Thefe

These famish'd Beggars, weary of their Lives,
Who, but for dreaming on this fond Exploit,
For want of means, poor Rats, had hang'd themfelves.
If we be conquer'd, let Men conquer us,

And not thofe Baftard-Britains, whom our Fathers
Have in their own Land beaten, bobb'd and thump'd,
And on Record, left them the Heirs of Shame.

Shall these enjoy our Lands? lye with our Wives?
Ravish our Daughters?
[Drum afar off.
Hark, I hear their Drum,

Right Gentlemen of England, fight boldly, Yeomen,
Draw, Archers, draw your Arrows to the Head.
Spur your proud Horfes hard, and ride in Blood,
Amaze the Welkin with your broken Staves.
Enter a Meffenger.

What fays Lord Stanley, will he bang his Power?
Mef. My Lord, he doth deny to come.
K. Rich. Off with his Son George's Head,
Nor. My Lord, the Enemy is paft the Marsh;
After the Battel let George Stanley dye.

K. Rich. A thousand Hearts are great within my Bofom. Advance our Standards, fet upon our Foes,

Our ancient word of Courage, fair St. George,
Infpire us with the spleen of fiery Dragons:
Upon them, Victory fits on our Helms.

[Exeunt.

Alarum. Excurfions. Enter Catesby.

Catef. Refcue, my Lord of Norfolk
Refcue, Refcue:

The King enacts more Wonders than a Man,
Daring an oppofite to every Danger:
His Hofe is flain, and all on foot he fights.
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of Death:
Refcue, fair Lord, or else the Day is loft.

Alarums. Enter King Richard.

K. Rich. A Horte, a Horfe, my Kingdom for a Horfe.
Catef. Withdraw, my Lord, I'll help you to a Horse.
K. Rich. Slave, I have fet my Life upon a caft,

And I will ftand the hazard of the Die:
I think there be fix Richmonds in the Field,
Five have I flain to Dav, inftead of him.
A Horfe, a Horfe, my Kingdom for a Horse.

Alarum.

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