prompt:
Chapter: Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter the Queene, Anne Duchesse of Gloucester, the Duchesse of
Yorke, and
Marquesse Dorset.

  Duch.Yorke. Who meetes vs heere?
My Neece Plantagenet,
Led in the hand of her kind Aunt of Gloster?
Now, for my Life, shee's wandring to the Tower,
On pure hearts loue, to greet the tender Prince.
Daughter, well met

   Anne. God giue your Graces both, a happie
And a ioyfull time of day

   Qu. As much to you, good Sister: whither away?
  Anne. No farther then the Tower, and as I guesse,
Vpon the like deuotion as your selues,
To gratulate the gentle Princes there

   Qu. Kind Sister thankes, wee'le enter all together:
Enter the Lieutenant.

And in good time, here the Lieutenant comes.
Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leaue,
How doth the Prince, and my young Sonne of Yorke?
  Lieu. Right well, deare Madame: by your patience,
I may not suffer you to visit them,
The King hath strictly charg'd the contrary

   Qu. The King? who's that?
  Lieu. I meane, the Lord Protector

   Qu. The Lord protect him from that Kingly Title.
Hath he set bounds betweene their loue, and me?
I am their Mother, who shall barre me from them?
  Duch.Yorke. I am their Fathers Mother, I will see
them

   Anne. Their Aunt I am in law, in loue their Mother:
Then bring me to their sights, Ile beare thy blame,
And take thy Office from thee, on my perill

   Lieu. No, Madame, no; I may not leaue it so:
I am bound by Oath, and therefore pardon me.

Exit Lieutenant.

Enter Stanley.

  Stanley. Let me but meet you Ladies one howre hence,
And Ile salute your Grace of Yorke as Mother,
And reuerend looker on of two faire Queenes.
Come Madame, you must straight to Westminster,
There to be crowned Richards Royall Queene

   Qu. Ah, cut my Lace asunder,
That my pent heart may haue some scope to beat,
Or else I swoone with this dead-killing newes

   Anne. Despightfull tidings, O vnpleasing newes

   Dors. Be of good cheare: Mother, how fares your
Grace?
  Qu. O Dorset, speake not to me, get thee gone,
Death and Destruction dogges thee at thy heeles,
Thy Mothers Name is ominous to Children.
If thou wilt out-strip Death, goe crosse the Seas,
And liue with Richmond, from the reach of Hell.
Goe hye thee, hye thee from this slaughter-house,
Lest thou encrease the number of the dead,
And make me dye the thrall of Margarets Curse,
Nor Mother, Wife, nor Englands counted Queene

   Stanley. Full of wise care, is this your counsaile, Madame:
Take all the swift aduantage of the howres:
You shall haue Letters from me to my Sonne,
In your behalfe, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta'ne tardie by vnwise delay

   Duch.Yorke. O ill dispersing Winde of Miserie.
O my accursed Wombe, the Bed of Death:
A Cockatrice hast thou hatcht to the World,
Whose vnauoided Eye is murtherous

   Stanley. Come, Madame, come, I in all haste was sent

   Anne. And I with all vnwillingnesse will goe.
O would to God, that the inclusiue Verge
Of Golden Mettall, that must round my Brow,
Were red hot Steele, to seare me to the Braines,
Anoynted let me be with deadly Venome,
And dye ere men can say, God saue the Queene

   Qu. Goe, goe, poore soule, I enuie not thy glory,
To feed my humor, wish thy selfe no harme

   Anne. No: why? When he that is my Husband now,
Came to me, as I follow'd Henries Corse,
When scarce the blood was well washt from his hands,
Which issued from my other Angell Husband,
And that deare Saint, which then I weeping follow'd:
O, when I say I look'd on Richards Face,
This was my Wish: Be thou (quoth I) accurst,
For making me, so young, so old a Widow:
And when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy Bed;
And be thy Wife, if any be so mad,
More miserable, by the Life of thee,
Then thou hast made me, by my deare Lords death.
Loe, ere I can repeat this Curse againe,
Within so small a time, my Womans heart
Grossely grew captiue to his honey words,
And prou'd the subiect of mine owne Soules Curse,
Which hitherto hath held mine eyes from rest:
For neuer yet one howre in his Bed
Did I enioy the golden deaw of sleepe,
But with his timorous Dreames was still awak'd.
Besides, he hates me for my Father Warwicke,
And will (no doubt) shortly be rid of me

   Qu. Poore heart adieu, I pittie thy complaining

   Anne. No more, then with my soule I mourne for
yours

   Dors. Farewell, thou wofull welcommer of glory

   Anne. Adieu, poore soule, that tak'st thy leaue
of it

   Du.Y. Go thou to Richmond, & good fortune guide thee,
Go thou to Richard, and good Angels tend thee,
Go thou to Sanctuarie, and good thoughts possesse thee,
I to my Graue, where peace and rest lye with mee.
Eightie odde yeeres of sorrow haue I seene,
And each howres ioy wrackt with a weeke of teene

   Qu. Stay, yet looke backe with me vnto the Tower.
Pitty, you ancient Stones, those tender Babes,
Whom Enuie hath immur'd within your Walls,
Rough Cradle for such little prettie ones,
Rude ragged Nurse, old sullen Play-fellow,
For tender Princes: vse my Babies well;
So foolish Sorrowes bids your Stones farewell.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Sound a Sennet. Enter Richard in pompe, Buckingham, Catesby,
Ratcliffe,
Louel.

  Rich. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham

   Buck. My gracious Soueraigne

   Rich. Giue me thy hand.

Sound.

Thus high, by thy aduice, and thy assistance,
Is King Richard seated:
But shall we weare these Glories for a day?
Or shall they last, and we reioyce in them?
  Buck. Still liue they, and for euer let them last

   Rich. Ah Buckingham, now doe I play the Touch,
To trie if thou be currant Gold indeed:
Young Edward liues, thinke now what I would speake

   Buck. Say on my louing Lord

   Rich. Why Buckingham, I say I would be King

   Buck. Why so you are, my thrice-renowned Lord

   Rich. Ha? am I King? 'tis so: but Edward liues

   Buck True, Noble Prince

   Rich. O bitter consequence!
That Edward still should liue true Noble Prince.
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.
Shall I be plaine? I wish the Bastards dead,
And I would haue it suddenly perform'd.
What say'st thou now? speake suddenly, be briefe

   Buck. Your Grace may doe your pleasure

   Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all Ice, thy kindnesse freezes:
Say, haue I thy consent, that they shall dye?
  Buc. Giue me some litle breath, some pawse, deare Lord,
Before I positiuely speake in this:
I will resolue you herein presently.

Exit Buck[ingham].

  Catesby. The King is angry, see he gnawes his Lippe

   Rich. I will conuerse with Iron-witted Fooles,
And vnrespectiue Boyes: none are for me,
That looke into me with considerate eyes,
High-reaching Buckingham growes circumspect.
Boy

   Page. My Lord

   Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting Gold
Will tempt vnto a close exploit of Death?
  Page. I know a discontented Gentleman,
Whose humble meanes match not his haughtie spirit:
Gold were as good as twentie Orators,
And will (no doubt) tempt him to any thing

   Rich. What is his Name?
  Page. His Name, my Lord, is Tirrell

   Rich. I partly know the man: goe call him hither,
Boy.
Enter.

The deepe reuoluing wittie Buckingham,
No more shall be the neighbor to my counsailes.
Hath he so long held out with me, vntyr'd,
And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.
Enter Stanley.

How now, Lord Stanley, what's the newes?
  Stanley. Know my louing Lord, the Marquesse Dorset
As I heare, is fled to Richmond,
In the parts where he abides

   Rich. Come hither Catesby, rumor it abroad,
That Anne my Wife is very grieuous sicke,
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out some meane poore Gentleman,
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence Daughter:
The Boy is foolish, and I feare not him.
Looke how thou dream'st: I say againe, giue out,
That Anne, my Queene, is sicke, and like to dye.
About it, for it stands me much vpon
To stop all hopes, whose growth may dammage me.
I must be marryed to my Brothers Daughter,
Or else my Kingdome stands on brittle Glasse:
Murther her Brothers, and then marry her,
Vncertaine way of gaine. But I am in
So farre in blood, that sinne will pluck on sinne,
Teare-falling Pittie dwells not in this Eye.
Enter Tyrrel.

Is thy Name Tyrrel?
  Tyr. Iames Tyrrel, and your most obedient subiect

   Rich. Art thou indeed?
  Tyr. Proue me, my gracious Lord

   Rich. Dar'st thou resolue to kill a friend of mine?
  Tyr. Please you:
But I had rather kill two enemies

   Rich. Why then thou hast it: two deepe enemies,
Foes to my Rest, and my sweet sleepes disturbers,
Are they that I would haue thee deale vpon:
Tyrrel, I meane those Bastards in the Tower

   Tyr. Let me haue open meanes to come to them,
And soone Ile rid you from the feare of them

   Rich. Thou sing'st sweet Musique:
Hearke, come hither Tyrrel,
Goe by this token: rise, and lend thine Eare,

Whispers.

There is no more but so: say it is done,
And I will loue thee, and preferre thee for it

   Tyr. I will dispatch it straight.
Enter.

Enter Buckingham.

  Buck. My Lord, I haue consider'd in my minde,
The late request that you did sound me in

   Rich. Well, let that rest: Dorset is fled to Richmond

   Buck. I heare the newes, my Lord

   Rich. Stanley, hee is your Wiues Sonne: well, looke
vnto it

   Buck. My Lord, I clayme the gift, my due by promise,
For which your Honor and your Faith is pawn'd,
Th' Earledome of Hertford, and the moueables,
Which you haue promised I shall possesse

   Rich. Stanley looke to your Wife: if she conuey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it

   Buck. What sayes your Highnesse to my iust request?
  Rich. I doe remember me, Henry the Sixt
Did prophecie, that Richmond should be King,
When Richmond was a little peeuish Boy.
A King perhaps

   Buck. May it please you to resolue me in my suit

   Rich. Thou troublest me, I am not in the vaine.
Enter

   Buck. And is it thus? repayes he my deepe seruice
With such contempt? made I him King for this?
O let me thinke on Hastings, and be gone
To Brecnock, while my fearefull Head is on.
Enter.

Enter Tyrrel.

  Tyr. The tyrannous and bloodie Act is done,
The most arch deed of pittious massacre
That euer yet this Land was guilty of:
Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborne
To do this peece of ruthfull Butchery,
Albeit they were flesht Villaines, bloody Dogges,
Melted with tendernesse, and milde compassion,
Wept like to Children, in their deaths sad Story.
O thus (quoth Dighton) lay the gentle Babes:
Thus, thus (quoth Forrest) girdling one another
Within their Alablaster innocent Armes:
Their lips were foure red Roses on a stalke,
And in their Summer Beauty kist each other.
A Booke of Prayers on their pillow lay,
Which one (quoth Forrest) almost chang'd my minde:
But oh the Diuell, there the Villaine stopt:
When Dighton thus told on, we smothered
The most replenished sweet worke of Nature,
That from the prime Creation ere she framed.
Hence both are gone with Conscience and Remorse,
They could not speake, and so I left them both,
To beare this tydings to the bloody King.
Enter Richard.

And heere he comes. All health my Soueraigne Lord

   Ric. Kinde Tirrell, am I happy in thy Newes

   Tir. If to haue done the thing you gaue in charge,
Beget your happinesse, be happy then,
For it is done

   Rich. But did'st thou see them dead

   Tir. I did my Lord

   Rich. And buried gentle Tirrell

   Tir. The Chaplaine of the Tower hath buried them,
But where (to say the truth) I do not know

   Rich. Come to me Tirrel soone, and after Supper,
When thou shalt tell the processe of their death.
Meane time, but thinke how I may do the good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell till then

   Tir. I humbly take my leaue

   Rich. The Sonne of Clarence haue I pent vp close,
His daughter meanly haue I matcht in marriage,
The Sonnes of Edward sleepe in Abrahams bosome,
And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.
Now for I know the Britaine Richmond aymes
At yong Elizabeth my brothers daughter,
And by that knot lookes proudly on the Crowne,
To her go I, a iolly thriuing wooer.
Enter Ratcliffe.

  Rat. My Lord

   Rich. Good or bad newes, that thou com'st in so
bluntly?
  Rat. Bad news my Lord, Mourton is fled to Richmond,
And Buckingham backt with the hardy Welshmen
Is in the field, and still his power encreaseth

   Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more neere,
Then Buckingham and his rash leuied Strength.
Come, I haue learn'd, that fearfull commenting
Is leaden seruitor to dull delay.
Delay leds impotent and Snaile-pac'd Beggery:
Then fierie expedition be my wing,
Ioues Mercury, and Herald for a King:
Go muster men: My counsaile is my Sheeld,
We must be breefe, when Traitors braue the Field.

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Enter old Queene Margaret

   Mar. So now prosperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death:
Heere in these Confines slily haue I lurkt,
To watch the waining of mine enemies.
A dire induction, am I witnesse to,
And will to France, hoping the consequence
Will proue as bitter, blacke, and Tragicall.
Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes heere?
Enter Dutchesse and Queene.

  Qu. Ah my poore Princes! ah my tender Babes:
My vnblowed Flowres, new appearing sweets:
If yet your gentle soules flye in the Ayre,
And be not fixt in doome perpetuall,
Houer about me with your ayery wings,
And heare your mothers Lamentation

   Mar. Houer about her, say that right for right
Hath dim'd your Infant morne, to Aged night

   Dut. So many miseries haue craz'd my voyce,
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?
  Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,
Edward for Edward, payes a dying debt

   Qu. Wilt thou, O God, flye from such gentle Lambs,
And throw them in the intrailes of the Wolfe?
When didst thou sleepe, when such a deed was done?
  Mar. When holy Harry dyed, and my sweet Sonne

   Dut. Dead life, blind sight, poore mortall liuing ghost,
Woes Scene, Worlds shame, Graues due, by life vsurpt,
Breefe abstract and record of tedious dayes,
Rest thy vnrest on Englands lawfull earth,
Vnlawfully made drunke with innocent blood

   Qu. Ah that thou would'st assoone affoord a Graue,
As thou canst yeeld a melancholly seate:
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them heere,
Ah who hath any cause to mourne but wee?
  Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reuerent,
Giue mine the benefit of signeurie,
And let my greefes frowne on the vpper hand
If sorrow can admit Society.
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him:
I had a Husband, till a Richard kill'd him:
Thou had'st an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him:
Thou had'st a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him

   Dut. I had a Richard too, and thou did'st kill him;
I had a Rutland too, thou hop'st to kill him

   Mar. Thou had'st a Clarence too,
And Richard kill'd him.
From forth the kennell of thy wombe hath crept
A Hell-hound that doth hunt vs all to death:
That Dogge, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry Lambes, and lap their gentle blood:
That foule defacer of Gods handy worke:
That reignes in gauled eyes of weeping soules:
That excellent grand Tyrant of the earth,
Thy wombe let loose to chase vs to our graues.
O vpright, iust, and true-disposing God,
How do I thanke thee, that this carnall Curre
Prayes on the issue of his Mothers body,
And makes her Pue-fellow with others mone

   Dut. Oh Harries wife, triumph not in my woes:
God witnesse with me, I haue wept for thine

   Mar. Beare with me: I am hungry for reuenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward,
The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward:
Yong Yorke, he is but boote, because both they
Matcht not the high perfection of my losse.
Thy Clarence he is dead, that stab'd my Edward,
And the beholders of this franticke play,
Th' adulterate Hastings, Riuers, Vaughan, Gray,
Vntimely smother'd in their dusky Graues.
Richard yet liues, Hels blacke Intelligencer,
Onely reseru'd their Factor, to buy soules,
And send them thither: But at hand, at hand
Insues his pittious and vnpittied end.
Earth gapes, Hell burnes, Fiends roare, Saints pray,
To haue him sodainly conuey'd from hence:
Cancell his bond of life, deere God I pray,
That I may liue and say, The Dogge is dead

   Qu. O thou did'st prophesie, the time would come,
That I should wish for thee to helpe me curse
That bottel'd Spider, that foule bunch-back'd Toad

   Mar. I call'd thee then, vaine flourish of my fortune:
I call'd thee then, poore Shadow, painted Queen,
The presentation of but what I was;
The flattering Index of a direfull Pageant;
One heau'd a high, to be hurl'd downe below:
A Mother onely mockt with two faire Babes;
A dreame of what thou wast, a garish Flagge
To be the ayme of euery dangerous Shot;
A signe of Dignity, a Breath, a Bubble;
A Queene in ieast, onely to fill the Scene.
Where is thy Husband now? Where be thy Brothers?
Where be thy two Sonnes? Wherein dost thou Ioy?
Who sues, and kneeles, and sayes, God saue the Queene?
Where be the bending Peeres that flattered thee?
Where be the thronging Troopes that followed thee?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art.
For happy Wife, a most distressed Widdow:
For ioyfull Mother, one that wailes the name:
For one being sued too, one that humbly sues:
For Queene, a very Caytiffe, crown'd with care:
For she that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me:
For she being feared of all, now fearing one:
For she commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of Iustice whirl'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time,
Hauing no more but Thought of what thou wast.
To torture thee the more, being what thou art,
Thou didst vsurpe my place, and dost thou not
Vsurpe the iust proportion of my Sorrow?
Now thy proud Necke, beares halfe my burthen'd yoke,
From which, euen heere I slip my wearied head,
And leaue the burthen of it all, on thee.
Farwell Yorkes wife, and Queene of sad mischance,
These English woes, shall make me smile in France

   Qu. O thou well skill'd in Curses, stay a-while,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies

   Mar. Forbeare to sleepe the night, and fast the day:
Compare dead happinesse, with liuing woe:
Thinke that thy Babes were sweeter then they were,
And he that slew them fowler then he is:
Bett'ring thy losse, makes the bad causer worse,
Reuoluing this, will teach thee how to Curse

   Qu. My words are dull, O quicken them with thine

   Mar. Thy woes will make them sharpe,
And pierce like mine.

Exit Margaret.

  Dut. Why should calamity be full of words?
  Qu. Windy Atturnies to their Clients Woes,
Ayery succeeders of intestine ioyes,
Poore breathing Orators of miseries,
Let them haue scope, though what they will impart,
Helpe nothing els, yet do they ease the hart

   Dut. If so then, be not Tongue-ty'd: go with me,
And in the breath of bitter words, let's smother
My damned Son, that thy two sweet Sonnes smother'd.
The Trumpet sounds, be copious in exclaimes.
Enter King Richard, and his Traine.

  Rich. Who intercepts me in my Expedition?
  Dut. O she, that might haue intercepted thee
By strangling thee in her accursed wombe,
From all the slaughters (Wretch) that thou hast done

   Qu. Hid'st thou that Forhead with a Golden Crowne
Where't should be branded, if that right were right?
The slaughter of the Prince that ow'd that Crowne,
And the dyre death of my poore Sonnes, and Brothers.
Tell me thou Villaine-slaue, where are my Children?
  Dut. Thou Toad, thou Toade,
Where is thy Brother Clarence?
And little Ned Plantagenet his Sonne?
  Qu. Where is the gentle Riuers, Vaughan, Gray?
  Dut. Where is kinde Hastings?
  Rich. A flourish Trumpets, strike Alarum Drummes:
Let not the Heauens heare these Tell-tale women
Raile on the Lords Annointed. Strike I say.

Flourish. Alarums.

Either be patient, and intreat me fayre,
Or with the clamorous report of Warre,
Thus will I drowne your exclamations

   Dut. Art thou my Sonne?
  Rich. I, I thanke God, my Father, and your selfe

   Dut. Then patiently heare my impatience

   Rich. Madam, I haue a touch of your condition,
That cannot brooke the accent of reproofe

   Dut. O let me speake

   Rich. Do then, but Ile not heare

   Dut. I will be milde, and gentle in my words

   Rich. And breefe (good Mother) for I am in hast

   Dut. Art thou so hasty? I haue staid for thee
(God knowes) in torment and in agony

   Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?
  Dut. No by the holy Rood, thou know'st it well,
Thou cam'st on earth, to make the earth my Hell.
A greeuous burthen was thy Birth to me,
Tetchy and wayward was thy Infancie.
Thy School-daies frightfull, desp'rate, wilde, and furious,
Thy prime of Manhood, daring, bold, and venturous:
Thy Age confirm'd, proud, subtle, slye, and bloody,
More milde, but yet more harmfull; Kinde in hatred:
What comfortable houre canst thou name,
That euer grac'd me with thy company?
  Rich. Faith none, but Humfrey Hower,
That call'd your Grace
To Breakefast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your eye,
Let me march on, and not offend you Madam.
Strike vp the Drumme

   Dut. I prythee heare me speake

   Rich. You speake too bitterly

   Dut. Heare me a word:
For I shall neuer speake to thee againe

   Rich. So

   Dut. Either thou wilt dye, by Gods iust ordinance
Ere from this warre thou turne a Conqueror:
Or I with greefe and extreame Age shall perish,
And neuer more behold thy face againe.
Therefore take with thee my most greeuous Curse,
Which in the day of Battell tyre thee more
Then all the compleat Armour that thou wear'st.
My Prayers on the aduerse party fight,
And there the little soules of Edwards Children,
Whisper the Spirits of thine Enemies,
And promise them Successe and Victory:
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end:
Shame serues thy life, and doth thy death attend.
Enter.

  Qu. Though far more cause, yet much lesse spirit to curse
Abides in me, I say Amen to her

   Rich. Stay Madam, I must talke a word with you

   Qu. I haue no more sonnes of the Royall Blood
For thee to slaughter. For my Daughters (Richard)
They shall be praying Nunnes, not weeping Queenes:
And therefore leuell not to hit their liues

   Rich. You haue a daughter call'd Elizabeth,
Vertuous and Faire, Royall and Gracious?
  Qu. And must she dye for this? O let her liue,
And Ile corrupt her Manners, staine her Beauty,
Slander my Selfe, as false to Edwards bed:
Throw ouer her the vaile of Infamy,
So she may liue vnscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
I will confesse she was not Edwards daughter

   Rich. Wrong not her Byrth, she is a Royall Princesse

   Qu. To saue her life, Ile say she is not so

   Rich. Her life is safest onely in her byrth

   Qu. And onely in that safety, dyed her Brothers

   Rich. Loe at their Birth, good starres were opposite

   Qu. No, to their liues, ill friends were contrary

   Rich. All vnauoyded is the doome of Destiny

   Qu. True: when auoyded grace makes Destiny.
My Babes were destin'd to a fairer death,
If grace had blest thee with a fairer life

   Rich. You speake as if that I had slaine my Cosins?
  Qu. Cosins indeed, and by their Vnckle couzend,
Of Comfort, Kingdome, Kindred, Freedome, Life,
Whose hand soeuer lanch'd their tender hearts,
Thy head (all indirectly) gaue direction.
No doubt the murd'rous Knife was dull and blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To reuell in the Intrailes of my Lambes.
But that still vse of greefe, makes wilde greefe tame,
My tongue should to thy eares not name my Boyes,
Till that my Nayles were anchor'd in thine eyes:
And I in such a desp'rate Bay of death,
Like a poore Barke, of sailes and tackling reft,
Rush all to peeces on thy Rocky bosome

   Rich. Madam, so thriue I in my enterprize
And dangerous successe of bloody warres,
As I intend more good to you and yours,
Then euer you and yours by me were harm'd

   Qu. What good is couer'd with the face of heauen,
To be discouered, that can do me good

   Rich. Th' aduancement of your children, gentle Lady
  Qu. Vp to some Scaffold, there to lose their heads

   Rich. Vnto the dignity and height of Fortune,
The high Imperiall Type of this earths glory

   Qu. Flatter my sorrow with report of it:
Tell me, what State, what Dignity, what Honor,
Canst thou demise to any childe of mine

   Rich. Euen all I haue; I, and my selfe and all,
Will I withall indow a childe of thine:
So in the Lethe of thy angry soule,
Thou drowne the sad remembrance of those wrongs,
Which thou supposest I haue done to thee

   Qu. Be breefe, least that the processe of thy kindnesse
Last longer telling then thy kindnesse date

   Rich. Then know,
That from my Soule, I loue thy Daughter

   Qu. My daughters Mother thinkes it with her soule

   Rich. What do you thinke?
  Qu. That thou dost loue my daughter from thy soule
So from thy Soules loue didst thou loue her Brothers,
And from my hearts loue, I do thanke thee for it

   Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:
I meane that with my Soule I loue thy daughter,
And do intend to make her Queene of England

   Qu. Well then, who dost y meane shallbe her King

   Rich. Euen he that makes her Queene:
Who else should bee?
  Qu. What, thou?
  Rich. Euen so: How thinke you of it?
  Qu. How canst thou woo her?
  Rich. That I would learne of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humour

   Qu. And wilt thou learne of me?
  Rich. Madam, with all my heart

   Qu. Send to her by the man that slew her Brothers.
A paire of bleeding hearts: thereon ingraue
Edward and Yorke, then haply will she weepe:
Therefore present to her, as sometime Margaret
Did to thy Father, steept in Rutlands blood,
A hand-kercheefe, which say to her did dreyne
The purple sappe from her sweet Brothers body,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withall.
If this inducement moue her not to loue,
Send her a Letter of thy Noble deeds:
Tell her, thou mad'st away her Vnckle Clarence,
Her Vnckle Riuers, I (and for her sake)
Mad'st quicke conueyance with her good Aunt Anne

   Rich. You mocke me Madam, this not the way
To win your daughter

   Qu. There is no other way,
Vnlesse thou could'st put on some other shape,
And not be Richard, that hath done all this

   Ric. Say that I did all this for loue of her

   Qu. Nay then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee
Hauing bought loue, with such a bloody spoyle

   Rich. Looke what is done, cannot be now amended:
Men shall deale vnaduisedly sometimes,
Which after-houres giues leysure to repent.
If I did take the Kingdome from your Sonnes,
To make amends, Ile giue it to your daughter:
If I haue kill'd the issue of your wombe,
To quicken your encrease, I will beget
Mine yssue of your blood, vpon your Daughter:
A Grandams name is little lesse in loue,
Then is the doting Title of a Mother;
They are as Children but one steppe below,
Euen of your mettall, of your very blood:
Of all one paine, saue for a night of groanes
Endur'd 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 losse you haue, is but a Sonne being King,
And by that losse, your Daughter is made Queene.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindnesse as I can.
Dorset your Sonne, that with a fearfull soule
Leads discontented steppes in Forraine soyle,
This faire Alliance, quickly shall call home
To high Promotions, and great Dignity.
The King that calles your beauteous Daughter Wife,
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset, Brother:
Againe shall you be Mother to a King:
And all the Ruines of distressefull Times,
Repayr'd with double Riches of Content.
What? we haue many goodly dayes to see:
The liquid drops of Teares that you haue shed,
Shall come againe, transform'd to Orient Pearle,
Aduantaging their Loue, with interest
Often-times double gaine of happinesse.
Go then (my Mother) to thy Daughter go,
Make bold her bashfull yeares, with your experience,
Prepare her eares to heare a Woers Tale.
Put in her tender heart, th' aspiring Flame
Of Golden Soueraignty: Acquaint the Princesse
With the sweet silent houres of Marriage ioyes:
And when this Arme of mine hath chastised
The petty Rebell, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with Triumphant Garlands will I come,
And leade thy daughter to a Conquerors bed:
To whom I will retaile my Conquest wonne,
And she shalbe sole Victoresse, C�sars C�sar

   Qu. What were I best to say, her Fathers Brother
Would be her Lord? Or shall I say her Vnkle?
Or he that slew her Brothers, and her Vnkles?
Vnder what Title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the Law, my Honor, and her Loue,
Can make seeme pleasing to her tender yeares?
  Rich. Inferre faire Englands peace by this Alliance

   Qu. Which she shall purchase with stil lasting warre

   Rich. Tell her, the King that may command, intreats

   Qu. That at her hands, which the kings King forbids

   Rich. Say she shall be a High and Mighty Queene

   Qu. To vaile the Title, as her Mother doth

   Rich. Say I will loue her euerlastingly

   Qu. But how long shall that title euer last?
  Rich. Sweetly in force, vnto her faire liues end

   Qu. But how long fairely shall her sweet life last?
  Rich. As long as Heauen and Nature lengthens it

   Qu. As long as Hell and Richard likes of it

   Rich. Say, I her Soueraigne, am her Subiect low

   Qu. But she your Subiect, lothes such Soueraignty

   Rich. Be eloquent in my behalfe to her

   Qu. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told

   Rich. Then plainly to her, tell my louing tale

   Qu. Plaine and not honest, is too harsh a style

   Rich. Your Reasons are too shallow, and to quicke

   Qu. O no, my Reasons are too deepe and dead,
Too deepe and dead (poore Infants) in their graues,
Harpe on it still shall I, till heart-strings breake

   Rich. Harpe not on that string Madam, that is past.
Now by my George, my Garter, and my Crowne

   Qu. Prophan'd, dishonor'd, and the third vsurpt

   Rich. I sweare

   Qu. By nothing, for this is no Oath:
Thy George prophan'd, hath lost his Lordly Honor;
Thy Garter blemish'd, pawn'd his Knightly Vertue;
Thy Crowne vsurp'd, disgrac'd his Kingly Glory:
If something thou would'st sweare to be beleeu'd,
Sweare then by something, that thou hast not wrong'd

   Rich. Then by my Selfe

   Qu. Thy Selfe, is selfe-misvs'd

   Rich. Now by the World

   Qu. 'Tis full of thy foule wrongs

   Rich. My Fathers death

   Qu. Thy life hath it dishonor'd

   Rich. Why then, by Heauen

   Qu. Heauens wrong is most of all:
If thou didd'st feare to breake an Oath with him,
The vnity the King my husband made,
Thou had'st not broken, nor my Brothers died.
If thou had'st fear'd to breake an oath by him,
Th' Imperiall mettall, circling now thy head,
Had grac'd the tender temples of my Child,
And both the Princes had bene breathing heere,
Which now two tender Bed-fellowes for dust,
Thy broken Faith hath made the prey for Wormes.
What can'st thou sweare by now

   Rich. The time to come

   Qu. That thou hast wronged in the time ore-past:
For I my selfe haue many teares to wash
Heereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee.
The Children liue, whose Fathers thou hast slaughter'd,
Vngouern'd youth, to waile it with their age:
The Parents liue, whose Children thou hast butcher'd,
Old barren Plants, to waile it with their Age.
Sweare not by time to come, for that thou hast
Misvs'd ere vs'd, by times ill-vs'd repast

   Rich. As I entend to prosper, and repent:
So thriue I in my dangerous Affayres
Of hostile Armes: My selfe, my selfe confound:
Heauen, and Fortune barre me happy houres:
Day, yeeld me not thy light; nor Night, thy rest.
Be opposite all Planets of good lucke
To my proceeding, if with deere hearts loue,
Immaculate deuotion, holy thoughts,
I tender not thy beautious Princely daughter.
In her, consists my Happinesse, and thine:
Without her, followes to my selfe, and thee;
Her selfe, the Land, and many a Christian soule,
Death, Desolation, Ruine, and Decay:
It cannot be auoyded, but by this:
It will not be auoyded, but by this.
Therefore deare Mother (I must call you so)
Be the Atturney of my loue to her:
Pleade what I will be, not what I haue beene;
Not my deserts, but what I will deserue:
Vrge the Necessity and state of times,
And be not peeuish found, in great Designes

   Qu. Shall I be tempted of the Diuel thus?
  Rich. I, if the Diuell tempt you to do good

   Qu. Shall I forget my selfe, to be my selfe

   Rich. I, if your selfes remembrance wrong your selfe

   Qu. Yet thou didst kil my Children

   Rich. But in your daughters wombe I bury them.
Where in that Nest of Spicery they will breed
Selues of themselues, to your recomforture

   Qu. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?
  Rich. And be a happy Mother by the deed

   Qu. I go, write to me very shortly,
And you shal vnderstand from me her mind.

Exit Q[ueene].

  Rich. Beare her my true loues kisse, and so farewell.
Relenting Foole, and shallow-changing Woman.
How now, what newes?
Enter Ratcliffe.

  Rat. Most mightie Soueraigne, on the Westerne Coast
Rideth a puissant Nauie: to our Shores
Throng many doubtfull hollow-hearted friends,
Vnarm'd, and vnresolu'd to beat them backe.
'Tis thought, that Richmond is their Admirall:
And there they hull, expecting but the aide
Of Buckingham, to welcome them ashore

   Rich. Some light-foot friend post to y Duke of Norfolk:
Ratcliffe thy selfe, or Catesby, where is hee?
  Cat. Here, my good Lord

   Rich. Catesby, flye to the Duke

   Cat. I will, my Lord, with all conuenient haste

   Rich. Catesby come hither, poste to Salisbury:
When thou com'st thither: Dull vnmindfull Villaine,
Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the Duke?
  Cat. First, mighty Liege, tell me your Highnesse pleasure,
What from your Grace I shall deliuer to him

   Rich. O true, good Catesby, bid him leuie straight
The greatest strength and power that he can make,
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury

   Cat. I goe.
Enter.

  Rat. What, may it please you, shall I doe at Salisbury?
  Rich. Why, what would'st thou doe there, before I
goe?
  Rat. Your Highnesse told me I should poste before

   Rich. My minde is chang'd:
Enter Lord Stanley.

Stanley, what newes with you?
  Sta. None, good my Liege, to please you with y hearing,
Nor none so bad, but well may be reported

   Rich. Hoyday, a Riddle, neither good nor bad:
What need'st thou runne so many miles about,
When thou mayest tell thy Tale the neerest way?
Once more, what newes?
  Stan. Richmond is on the Seas

   Rich. There let him sinke, and be the Seas on him,
White-liuer'd Runnagate, what doth he there?
  Stan. I know not, mightie Soueraigne, but by guesse

   Rich. Well, as you guesse

   Stan. Stirr'd vp by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,
He makes for England, here to clayme the Crowne

   Rich. Is the Chayre emptie? is the Sword vnsway'd?
Is the King dead? the Empire vnpossest?
What Heire of Yorke is there aliue, but wee?
And who is Englands King, but great Yorkes Heire?
Then tell me, what makes he vpon the Seas?
  Stan. Vnlesse for that, my Liege, I cannot guesse

   Rich. Vnlesse for that he comes to be your Liege,
You cannot guesse wherefore the Welchman comes.
Thou wilt reuolt, and flye to him, I feare

   Stan. No, my good Lord, therefore mistrust me not

   Rich. Where is thy Power then, to beat him back?
Where be thy Tenants, and thy followers?
Are they not now vpon the Westerne Shore,
Safe-conducting the Rebels from their Shippes?
  Stan. No, my good Lord, my friends are in the
North

   Rich. Cold friends to me: what do they in the North,
When they should serue their Soueraigne in the West?
  Stan. They haue not been commanded, mighty King:
Pleaseth your Maiestie to giue me leaue,
Ile muster vp my friends, and meet your Grace,
Where, and what time your Maiestie shall please

   Rich. I, thou would'st be gone, to ioyne with Richmond:
But Ile not trust thee

   Stan. Most mightie Soueraigne,
You haue no cause to hold my friendship doubtfull,
I neuer was, nor neuer will be false

   Rich. Goe then, and muster men: but leaue behind
Your Sonne George Stanley: looke your heart be firme,
Or else his Heads assurance is but fraile

   Stan. So deale with him, as I proue true to you.

Exit Stanley.

Enter a Messenger.

  Mess. My gracious Soueraigne, now in Deuonshire,
As I by friends am well aduertised,
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughtie Prelate,
Bishop of Exeter, his elder Brother,
With many moe Confederates, are in Armes.
Enter another Messenger

   Mess. In Kent, my Liege, the Guilfords are in Armes,
And euery houre more Competitors
Flocke to the Rebels, and their power growes strong.
Enter another Messenger.

  Mess. My Lord, the Armie of great Buckingham

   Rich. Out on ye, Owles, nothing but Songs of Death,

He striketh him.

There, take thou that, till thou bring better newes

   Mess. The newes I haue to tell your Maiestie,
Is, that by sudden Floods, and fall of Waters,
Buckinghams Armie is dispers'd and scatter'd,
And he himselfe wandred away alone,
No man knowes whither

   Rich. I cry thee mercie:
There is my Purse, to cure that Blow of thine.
Hath any well-aduised friend proclaym'd
Reward to him that brings the Traytor in?
  Mess. Such Proclamation hath been made, my Lord.
Enter another Messenger.

  Mess. Sir Thomas Louell, and Lord Marquesse Dorset,
'Tis said, my Liege, in Yorkeshire are in Armes:
But this good comfort bring I to your Highnesse,
The Brittaine Nauie is dispers'd by Tempest.
Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a Boat
Vnto the shore, to aske those on the Banks,
If they were his Assistants, yea, or no?
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham,
Vpon his partie: he mistrusting them,
Hoys'd sayle, and made his course againe for Brittaine

   Rich. March on, march on, since we are vp in Armes,
If not to fight with forraine Enemies,
Yet to beat downe these Rebels here at home.
Enter Catesby.

  Cat. My Liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken,
That is the best newes: that the Earle of Richmond
Is with a mighty power Landed at Milford,
Is colder Newes, but yet they must be told

   Rich. Away towards Salsbury, while we reason here,
A Royall battell might be wonne and lost:
Some one take order Buckingham be brought
To Salsbury, the rest march on with me.

Florish. Exeunt

Scena Quarta.

Enter Derby, and Sir Christopher.

  Der. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me,
That in the stye of the most deadly Bore,
My Sonne George Stanley is frankt vp in hold:
If I reuolt, off goes yong Georges head,
The feare of that, holds off my present ayde.
So get thee gone: commend me to thy Lord.
Withall say, that the Queene hath heartily consented
He should espouse Elizabeth hir daughter.
But tell me, where is Princely Richmond now?
  Chri. At Penbroke, or at Hertford West in Wales

   Der. What men of Name resort to him

   Chri. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned Souldier,
Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir Iames 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 withall

   Der. Well hye thee to thy Lord: I kisse his hand,
My Letter will resolue him of my minde.
Farewell.

Exeunt.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: This act opens with a gathering of those whom Richard has wronged and who will suffer far more acutely in the future. Queen Elizabeth, the old Duchess of York, and Dorset enter from one side. They are on their way to visit the princes in the Tower. At the same moment Richard's wife, Anne, Duchess of Gloucester, comes in leading Clarence's young daughter, Lady Margaret Plantagenet. They are also on their way to the Tower. As they exchange greetings and make their errands known to one another, Brakenbury enters. Queen Elizabeth immediately asks how the princes are. He replies that they are well but that the king has ordered that they are to have no visitors. The reference to "the King" appalls Elizabeth, and she demands an explanation. Brakenbury begs her pardon and says that he means the lord protector. The women are now thoroughly alarmed, and each protests that she has special right to see the children. But Brakenbury insists that he cannot violate his oath. The Earl of Derby enters and greets the Duchess of York as "the looker-on of two fair queens," meaning, of course, Elizabeth and Anne. He has come to escort Anne to Westminster for the coronation. Both women express utter horror at the news. When Dorset tries to comfort his mother, she immediately thinks of his danger and commands him to join Richmond in Brittany. Stanley, stepfather to Richmond , strongly approves of her counsel. The old duchess curses the womb that brought forth Richard. Stanley urges Lady Anne to hurry. She replies that she would rather be tortured by the ancient method of encircling her brow with red hot steel than be crowned queen. Elizabeth, so far from being offended at Anne, voices words of commiseration. Anne recalls how she had denounced Richard for making her a widow and had uttered a curse on the woman who married him. Now she realizes that she is the victim of her own curse, for she has not known a moment's rest since her marriage because of Richard's "timorous" dreams. She fears that Richard will do away with her. With grief and foreboding the women part, the old duchess wishing for the grave and Queen Elizabeth remaining behind to look back at the rough outline of the Tower. She prays that it will use her young children well, knowing perhaps too well that her entreaty to the stones is useless. In Scene 2, the climax of the play has been reached. Richard now wears the coveted crown. He enters the palace in pomp, acknowledges Buckingham, his right-hand man, and tries the duke's loyalty to the utmost by inciting him to arrange for the immediate murder of the little princes. The wary Buckingham does not pick up Richard's indirect suggestion, and the newly crowned king is forced to speak openly: He wishes the "bastards" dead. Now Buckingham's reply is circumspect, and when Richard taunts him, he asks leave to consider. Angry, Richard rails against Buckingham, saying he will speak only to unfeeling and thoughtless boys hereafter. He calls a page over to ask if he knows of anyone who would do murder for money. The page suggests one Tyrrell for whom "gold were as good as orators to tempt." While the page goes to get Tyrrell, the king resolves to confide no more in Buckingham. Stanley enters with the news that Dorset has fled to Richmond. Without appearing to have heard, Richard orders Catesby to spread the rumor abroad that his wife Anne is ill and likely to die. He will make certain that she sees no one. Meanwhile he must find some commoner to marry and dispose of Clarence's daughter; Clarence's son poses no problem since he is weak-minded. Richard knows that to murder the princes and then to marry their sister Elizabeth, as he hopes to do, involves great risks: "Uncertain way of gain! But I am in / So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin" . Stanley, who had moved to one side, did not hear a word of this heartless speech. Tyrrel enters and arrangements are made to dispose of the princes, whom Richard describes as foes to his rest and his "sweet sleep's disturbers." Buckingham, having considered the king's suggestion about murdering the children, returns. Richard ignores him and talks to Stanley, warning him to take care since Richmond is his stepson. The duke interrupts with a request for the rewards he has been promised, especially the earldom of Hereford. The king continues to ignore him. He recalls a prophecy of Henry VI that Richmond would be king and another made by an Irish bard that Richard himself would not live long after he saw Richmond. As Buckingham again interrupts, Richard asks the time and sarcastically compares the duke to the "Jack" on a clock, a mechanical figure that appears to strike the hour -- in just such a way does Buckingham keep begging and interrupting Richard's thoughts. Left alone on the stage, the duke now fully understands his position. Recalling the fate of Hastings, he resolves to flee to his manor at Brecknock without his rewards but at least with his head. In soliloquy in Scene 3, Tyrrel describes the murder of the children, which has taken place offstage. He is shaken with horror at the very thought of the bloody deed; even the underlings he had hired to do the actual killing melted with compassion. As he retells the story Dighton and Forrest had told him, he describes for the audience the children, sleeping in each other's arms, a prayer book lying on their pillow. For a moment, Forrest became conscience-stricken, but he recovered himself to join Dighton in smothering the innocent children. Now the latter is conscience-stricken and filled with remorse as he brings his report to the "bloody King." Richard is pleased to learn that the princes are dead and buried. He instructs Tyrrel to see him after supper and give him all the details and receive the promised reward. As Tyrrel goes out, Richard summarizes his accomplishments: Clarence's son is in prison, his daughter "meanly . . . matched" in marriage, the princes are dead, Anne has "bid the world goodnight." And now, since Richmond wants to marry young Elizabeth, daughter of Edward IV, Richard must carry out his plan to marry her first. He is about to leave and to present himself to her as a "jolly thriving wooer" when Catesby enters. Now the mood changes for Richard. Catesby brings the disquieting news that Ely has fled to Richmond and that Buckingham is gathering forces in Wales. The king is more distressed to hear of Ely's withdrawal. The news, however, instead of crushing him, fills him with a zest for battle. Urging speed, he goes off to muster men for the fight. The first part of Scene 4, a long lament, opens appropriately with old Queen Margaret saying that she has lurked about and watched the waning of her adversaries. She is going to withdraw to France, confident that everything will continue as badly as it has begun. Queen Elizabeth enters with the Duchess of York, weeping for her children. Margaret declares that the loss is a deserved one since Edward IV, the children's father, had been a principal in the murder of Margaret's son Edward. When Elizabeth asks her when she could sleep when the little princes had been put to death, Margaret replies bitterly: "When holy Harry died, and my sweet son." The duchess, overcome with her own woes, sits down on the ground that has been "made drunk with innocents' blood." Elizabeth wishes that the earth would open up and offer her a grave as easily as it offers her a seat. Queen Margaret joins them, insisting that her sorrows have precedence since they are the oldest. She begins a long recital of their joint woes, identifying Richard Ill as the author. The Duchess of York interrupts to accuse Margaret of being responsible for the deaths of her husband and Rutland, one of her sons. Margaret continues, insisting that the deaths of Edward IV, the young princes, and Clarence were debts paid for crimes committed against the house of Lancaster. So died the "beholders of this tragic play," Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, and Grey -- yet Richard, "Hell's black intelligencer," still lives. She utters a prayer that she may yet survive to say "The dog is dead." Elizabeth recalls Margaret's prophecy that the time would come when she would ask for Margaret's help in cursing Richard, "That bottled spider, that foul-backed toad!" Margaret reminds her of what she had said at greater length about Elizabeth. She compares Elizabeth to a flag borne by a standard-bearer that attracts all shots: "Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers? / Where are thy children? Wherein dost thou joy? / Who sues to thee, and cries 'God save the Queen'?" . Just as Elizabeth once usurped her place as queen, so now she usurps a just share of Margaret's sorrow. When she is about to leave after this tirade, Elizabeth asks her to stay and teach her how to curse. Margaret gives her a grim recipe, and, on further urging, points out that woe will teach Elizabeth what she wants to know. Finally she leaves. The duchess asks why calamity should be so full of words. Elizabeth describes them as "Windy attorneys to their clients woes" which "Help not at all, yet do they ease the heart." The duchess urges Elizabeth to accompany her and smother Richard in the breath of bitter words since he had smothered Elizabeth's children. At this point, the king himself enters, marching, with drums and trumpets. Richard asks who intercepts his march, whereupon the duchess and Elizabeth attack him for his wrongs. He threatens to drown his mother's words in a flourish of trumpets unless she speaks fair of him. When he shows his impatience, she states that she can think of no single hour, from his birth onward, when he has not been a source of trouble to her. She warns him that, though this is their last meeting, she leaves him with a "heavy curse": "Bloody thou art, bloody will be thine end." Elizabeth voices her amen to all that the duchess has said, but Richard nevertheless detains her. When Elizabeth states that she has no more sons for Richard to murder and that her daughters will be "praying nuns, not weeping queens," the king begins his suit for the hand of her daughter Elizabeth, whom he praises as "Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious." Understandably, the queen-mother wonders what new torture Richard has in store for her, and she is provoked into a violent harangue against him. He protests that he means to do her good -- he will marry her daughter if she will only forget past grievances and give her consent. Elizabeth is horrified. When he asks how to go about winning the young lady, she bitterly suggests that he has done everything calculated to win a girl's heart -- murdered her brothers, her aunt , her uncles . Making use of all of his persuasive powers, the king claims that what is done cannot be undone; he will make up for the loss of the princes, her children, by making her daughter the mother of kings and herself the happy grandmother. Elizabeth obviously is moved by the proposal and agrees to let him know her daughter's mind shortly. This jolly, thriving wooer asks her to bear to the girl his "true love's kiss." Once she has left, however, he refers to Elizabeth with amusement: "Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!" Ratcliff and Catesby come with the news that Richmond, with a powerful navy, is off the coast of Wales waiting for Buckingham's support. Richard orders Catesby to go immediately to the Duke of Norfolk, and Ratcliff to leave for Salisbury. Not until he has upbraided Catesby for delaying does he become aware of the fact that he had neglected to give instructions. Norfolk is to be told to raise the greatest possible "strength and power" and to meet Richard at Salisbury. Lord Stanley enters with the news that Richmond, aroused by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely, "makes for England, there to claim the crown." Richard asks why should this be since the royal throne is occupied and no other heir of York survives. He accuses Stanley of planning to rebel against him and fly to his enemies. Stanley protests that he is loyal to Richard and promises to bring his forces down from the north. But the king still does not trust him; he insists that Stanley leave his son George as assurance of his loyalty. As Stanley leaves, messengers enter successively with news of the revolt of Courtney and the Bishop of Exeter in Devonshire, and of the Guilfords in Kent -- that is, risings in the southeast and southwest parts of the kingdom. Furious, Richard strikes the third messenger before he has a chance to speak and then learns that this time the news is good: Buckingham's forces have been dispersed by flood. Still another messenger reports that Sir Thomas Lovel and Dorset head a force in Yorkshire to the north. But this bad news for Richard is offset by the report that Richmond, his fleet broken up by a tempest and mistrusting those on shore who said they came from Buckingham, has hoisted sail and made for Brittany. Catesby comes in to say that Buckingham has been captured but that Richmond had landed with a "mighty power" at Milford. "Away for Salisbury!" exclaims Richard. There is no time to reason: "A royal battle might be won and lost." His final order is that Buckingham be brought to Salisbury. Derby sends Sir Christopher Urswick to his stepson Richmond with the message that his son George is held captive. For fear of causing his son's death, Derby cannot send aid to Richmond immediately. He learns that Richmond now is in Wales. Supporting the claimant to the throne are many "of noble fame and worth." They are headed for London. Derby finally instructs Sir Christopher to tell Richmond that the Queen-Mother Elizabeth heartily has given her consent to the marriage of Richmond and her daughter.


prompt:
Chapter: Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Buckingham with Halberds, led to Execution.

  Buc. Will not King Richard let me speake with him?
  Sher. No my good Lord, therefore be patient

   Buc. Hastings, and Edwards children, Gray & Riuers,
Holy King Henry, and thy faire Sonne Edward,
Vaughan, and all that haue miscarried
By vnder-hand corrupted foule iniustice,
If that your moody discontented soules,
Do through the clowds behold this present houre,
Euen for reuenge mocke my destruction.
This is All-soules day (Fellow) is it not?
  Sher. It is

   Buc. Why then Al-soules day, is my bodies doomsday
This is the day, which in King Edwards time
I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found
False to his Children, and his Wiues Allies.
This is the day, wherein I wisht to fall
By the false Faith of him whom most I trusted.
This, this All-soules day to my fearfull Soule,
Is the determin'd respit of my wrongs:
That high All-seer, which I dallied with,
Hath turn'd my fained Prayer on my head,
And giuen in earnest, what I begg'd in iest.
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men
To turne their owne points in their Masters bosomes.
Thus Margarets curse falles heauy on my necke:
When he (quoth she) shall split thy heart with sorrow,
Remember Margaret was a Prophetesse:
Come leade me Officers to the blocke of shame,
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

Exeunt. Buckingham with Officers.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Richmond, Oxford, Blunt, Herbert, and others, with drum
and
colours.

  Richm. Fellowes in Armes, and my most louing Frends
Bruis'd vnderneath the yoake of Tyranny,
Thus farre into the bowels of the Land,
Haue we marcht on without impediment;
And heere receiue we from our Father Stanley
Lines of faire comfort and encouragement:
The wretched, bloody, and vsurping Boare,
(That spoyl'd your Summer Fields, and fruitfull Vines)
Swilles your warm blood like wash, & makes his trough
In your embowel'd bosomes: This foule Swine
Is now euen in the Centry of this Isle,
Ne're to the Towne of Leicester, as we learne:
From Tamworth thither, is but one dayes march.
In Gods name cheerely on, couragious Friends,
To reape the Haruest of perpetuall peace,
By this one bloody tryall of sharpe Warre

   Oxf. Euery mans Conscience is a thousand men,
To fight against this guilty Homicide

   Her. I doubt not but his Friends will turne to vs

   Blunt. He hath no friends, but what are friends for fear,
Which in his deerest neede will flye from him

   Richm. All for our vantage, then in Gods name march,
True Hope is swift, and flyes with Swallowes wings,
Kings it makes Gods, and meaner creatures Kings.

Exeunt. Omnes.

Enter King Richard in Armes with Norfolke, Ratcliffe, and the
Earle of
Surrey.

  Rich. Here pitch our Tent, euen here in Bosworth field,
My Lord of Surrey, why looke you so sad?
  Sur. My heart is ten times lighter then my lookes

   Rich. My Lord of Norfolke

   Nor. Heere most gracious Liege

   Rich. Norfolke, we must haue knockes:
Ha, must we not?
  Nor. We must both giue and take my louing Lord

   Rich. Vp with my Tent, heere wil I lye to night,
But where to morrow? Well, all's one for that.
Who hath descried the number of the Traitors?
  Nor. Six or seuen thousand is their vtmost power

   Rich. Why our Battalia trebbles that account:
Besides, the Kings name is a Tower of strength,
Which they vpon the aduerse Faction want.
Vp with the Tent: Come Noble Gentlemen,
Let vs suruey the vantage of the ground.
Call for some men of sound direction:
Let's lacke no Discipline, make no delay,
For Lords, to morrow is a busie day.

Exeunt.

Enter Richmond, Sir William Branden, Oxford, and Dorset.

  Richm. The weary Sunne, hath made a Golden set,
And by the bright Tract of his fiery Carre,
Giues token of a goodly day to morrow.
Sir William Brandon, you shall beare my Standard:
Giue me some Inke and Paper in my Tent:
Ile draw the Forme and Modell of our Battaile,
Limit each Leader to his seuerall Charge,
And part in iust proportion our small Power.
My Lord of Oxford, you Sir William Brandon,
And your Sir Walter Herbert stay with me:
The Earle of Pembroke keepes his Regiment;
Good Captaine Blunt, beare my goodnight to him,
And by the second houre in the Morning,
Desire the Earle to see me in my Tent:
Yet one thing more (good Captaine) do for me:
Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know?
  Blunt. Vnlesse I haue mistane his Colours much,
(Which well I am assur'd I haue not done)
His Regiment lies halfe a Mile at least
South, from the mighty Power of the King

   Richm. If without perill it be possible,
Sweet Blunt, make some good meanes to speak with him
And giue him from me, this most needfull Note

   Blunt. Vpon my life, my Lord, Ile vndertake it,
And so God giue you quiet rest to night

   Richm. Good night good Captaine Blunt:
Come Gentlemen,
Let vs consult vpon to morrowes Businesse;
Into my Tent, the Dew is rawe and cold.

They withdraw into the Tent.

Enter Richard, Ratcliffe, Norfolke, & Catesby.

  Rich. What is't a Clocke?
  Cat. It's Supper time my Lord, it's nine a clocke

   King. I will not sup to night,
Giue me some Inke and Paper:
What, is my Beauer easier then it was?
And all my Armour laid into my Tent?
  Cat. It is my Liege: and all things are in readinesse

   Rich. Good Norfolke, hye thee to thy charge,
Vse carefull Watch, choose trusty Centinels,
  Nor. I go my Lord

   Rich. Stir with the Larke to morrow, gentle Norfolk

   Nor. I warrant you my Lord.

Exit

  Rich. Ratcliffe

   Rat. My Lord

   Rich. Send out a Pursuiuant at Armes
To Stanleys Regiment: bid him bring his power
Before Sun-rising, least his Sonne George fall
Into the blinde Caue of eternall night.
Fill me a Bowle of Wine: Giue me a Watch,
Saddle white Surrey for the Field to morrow:
Look that my Staues be sound, & not too heauy. Ratcliff

   Rat. My Lord

   Rich. Saw'st the melancholly Lord Northumberland?
  Rat. Thomas the Earle of Surrey, and himselfe,
Much about Cockshut time, from Troope to Troope
Went through the Army, chearing vp the Souldiers

   King. So, I am satisfied: Giue me a Bowle of Wine,
I haue not that Alacrity of Spirit,
Nor cheere of Minde that I was wont to haue.
Set it downe. Is Inke and Paper ready?
  Rat. It is my Lord

   Rich. Bid my Guard watch. Leaue me.
Ratcliffe, about the mid of night come to my Tent
And helpe to arme me. Leaue me I say.

Exit Ratclif.

Enter Derby to Richmond in his Tent.

  Der. Fortune, and Victory sit on thy Helme

   Rich. All comfort that the darke night can affoord,
Be to thy Person, Noble Father in Law.
Tell me, how fares our Noble Mother?
  Der. I by Attourney, blesse thee from thy Mother,
Who prayes continually for Richmonds good:
So much for that. The silent houres steale on,
And flakie darkenesse breakes within the East.
In breefe, for so the season bids vs be,
Prepare thy Battell early in the Morning,
And put thy Fortune to th' Arbitrement
Of bloody stroakes, and mortall staring Warre:
I, as I may, that which I would, I cannot,
With best aduantage will deceiue the time,
And ayde thee in this doubtfull shocke of Armes.
But on thy side I may not be too forward,
Least being seene, thy Brother, tender George
Be executed in his Fathers sight.
Farewell: the leysure, and the fearfull time
Cuts off the ceremonious Vowes of Loue,
And ample enterchange of sweet Discourse,
Which so long sundred Friends should dwell vpon:
God giue vs leysure for these rites of Loue.
Once more Adieu, be valiant, and speed well

   Richm. Good Lords conduct him to his Regiment:
Ile striue with troubled noise, to take a Nap,
Lest leaden slumber peize me downe to morrow,
When I should mount with wings of Victory:
Once more, good night kinde Lords and Gentlemen.

Exeunt. Manet Richmond.

O thou, whose Captaine I account my selfe,
Looke on my Forces with a gracious eye:
Put in their hands thy bruising Irons of wrath,
That they may crush downe with a heauy fall,
Th' vsurping Helmets of our Aduersaries:
Make vs thy ministers of Chasticement,
That we may praise thee in thy victory:
To thee I do commend my watchfull soule,
Ere I let fall the windowes of mine eyes:
Sleeping, and waking, oh defend me still.

Sleeps.

Enter the Ghost of Prince Edward, Sonne to Henry the sixt.

  Gh. to Ri[chard]. Let me sit heauy on thy soule to morrow:
Thinke how thou stab'st me in my prime of youth
At Teukesbury: Dispaire therefore, and dye.

Ghost to Richm[ond].

Be chearefull Richmond,
For the wronged Soules
Of butcher'd Princes, fight in thy behalfe:
King Henries issue Richmond comforts thee.
Enter the Ghost of Henry the sixt.

  Ghost. When I was mortall, my Annointed body
By thee was punched full of holes;
Thinke on the Tower, and me: Dispaire, and dye,
Harry the sixt, bids thee dispaire, and dye.

To Richm[ond].

Vertuous and holy be thou Conqueror:
Harry that prophesied thou should'st be King,
Doth comfort thee in sleepe: Liue, and flourish.
Enter the Ghost of Clarence.

  Ghost. Let me sit heauy in thy soule to morrow.
I that was wash'd to death with Fulsome Wine:
Poore Clarence by thy guile betray'd to death:
To morrow in the battell thinke on me,
And fall thy edgelesse Sword, dispaire and dye.

To Richm[ond].

Thou off-spring of the house of Lancaster
The wronged heyres of Yorke do pray for thee,
Good Angels guard thy battell, Liue and Flourish.
Enter the Ghosts of Riuers, Gray, and Vaughan.

  Riu. Let me sit heauy in thy soule to morrow,
Riuers, that dy'de at Pomfret: dispaire, and dye

   Grey. Thinke vpon Grey, and let thy soule dispaire

   Vaugh. Thinke vpon Vaughan, and with guilty feare
Let fall thy Lance, dispaire and dye.

  All to Richm[ond].

Awake,
And thinke our wrongs in Richards Bosome,
Will conquer him. Awake, and win the day.
Enter the Ghost of Lord Hastings.

  Gho. Bloody and guilty: guiltily awake,
And in a bloody Battell end thy dayes.
Thinke on Lord Hastings: dispaire, and dye.

Hast. to Rich[ard].

Quiet vntroubled soule,
Awake, awake:
Arme, fight, and conquer, for faire Englands sake.
Enter the Ghosts of the two yong Princes.

  Ghosts. Dreame on thy Cousins
Smothered in the Tower:
Let vs be laid within thy bosome Richard,
And weigh thee downe to ruine, shame, and death,
Thy Nephewes soule bids thee dispaire and dye.

Ghosts to Richm[ond].

Sleepe Richmond,
Sleepe in Peace, and wake in Ioy,
Good Angels guard thee from the Boares annoy,
Liue, and beget a happy race of Kings,
Edwards vnhappy Sonnes, do bid thee flourish.

Enter the Ghost of Anne, his Wife.

  Ghost to Rich[ard].

 Richard, thy Wife,
That wretched Anne thy Wife,
That neuer slept a quiet houre with thee,
Now filles thy sleepe with perturbations,
To morrow in the Battaile, thinke on me,
And fall thy edgelesse Sword, dispaire and dye:

Ghost to Richm[ond].

Thou quiet soule,
Sleepe thou a quiet sleepe:
Dreame of Successe, and Happy Victory,
Thy Aduersaries Wife doth pray for thee.
Enter the Ghost of Buckingham.

  Ghost to Rich[ard].

 The first was I
That help'd thee to the Crowne:
That last was I that felt thy Tyranny.
O, in the Battaile think on Buckingham,
And dye in terror of thy guiltinesse.
Dreame on, dreame on, of bloody deeds and death,
Fainting dispaire; dispairing yeeld thy breath.

Ghost to Richm[ond].

I dyed for hope
Ere I could lend thee Ayde;
But cheere thy heart, and be thou not dismayde:
God, and good Angels fight on Richmonds side,
And Richard fall in height of all his pride.

Richard starts out of his dreame.

  Rich. Giue me another Horse, bind vp my Wounds:
Haue mercy Iesu. Soft, I did but dreame.
O coward Conscience? how dost thou afflict me?
The Lights burne blew. It is not dead midnight.
Cold fearefull drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What? do I feare my Selfe? There's none else by,
Richard loues Richard, that is, I am I.
Is there a Murtherer heere? No; Yes, I am:
Then flye; What from my Selfe? Great reason: why?
Lest I Reuenge. What? my Selfe vpon my Selfe?
Alacke, I loue my Selfe. Wherefore? For any good
That I my Selfe, haue done vnto my Selfe?
O no. Alas, I rather hate my Selfe,
For hatefull Deeds committed by my Selfe.
I am a Villaine: yet I Lye, I am not.
Foole, of thy Selfe speake well: Foole, do not flatter.
My Conscience hath a thousand seuerall Tongues,
And euery Tongue brings in a seuerall Tale,
And euerie Tale condemnes me for a Villaine;
Periurie, in the high'st Degree,
Murther, sterne murther, in the dyr'st degree,
All seuerall sinnes, all vs'd in each degree,
Throng all to'th' Barre, crying all, Guilty, Guilty.
I shall dispaire, there is no Creature loues me;
And if I die, no soule shall pittie me.
Nay, wherefore should they? Since that I my Selfe,
Finde in my Selfe, no pittie to my Selfe.
Me thought, the Soules of all that I had murther'd
Came to my Tent, and euery one did threat
To morrowes vengeance on the head of Richard.
Enter Ratcliffe.

  Rat. My Lord

   King. Who's there?
  Rat. Ratcliffe, my Lord, 'tis I: the early Village Cock
Hath twice done salutation to the Morne,
Your Friends are vp, and buckle on their Armour

   King. O Ratcliffe, I feare, I feare

   Rat. Nay good my Lord, be not affraid of Shadows

   King. By the Apostle Paul, shadowes to night
Haue stroke more terror to the soule of Richard,
Then can the substance of ten thousand Souldiers
Armed in proofe, and led by shallow Richmond.
'Tis not yet neere day. Come go with me,
Vnder our Tents Ile play the Ease-dropper,
To heare if any meane to shrinke from me.

Exeunt. Richard & Ratliffe,

Enter the Lords to Richmond sitting in his Tent.

  Richm. Good morrow Richmond

   Rich. Cry mercy Lords, and watchfull Gentlemen,
That you haue tane a tardie sluggard heere?
  Lords. How haue you slept my Lord?
  Rich. The sweetest sleepe,
And fairest boading Dreames,
That euer entred in a drowsie head,
Haue I since your departure had my Lords.
Me thought their Soules, whose bodies Rich[ard]. murther'd,
Came to my Tent, and cried on Victory:
I promise you my Heart is very iocond,
In the remembrance of so faire a dreame,
How farre into the Morning is it Lords?
  Lor. Vpon the stroke of foure

   Rich. Why then 'tis time to Arme, and giue direction.

His Oration to his Souldiers.

More then I haue said, louing Countrymen,
The leysure and inforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell vpon: yet remember this,
God, and our good cause, fight vpon our side,
The Prayers of holy Saints and wronged soules,
Like high rear'd Bulwarkes, stand before our Faces,
(Richard except) those whom we fight against,
Had rather haue vs win, then him they follow.
For, what is he they follow? Truly Gentlemen,
A bloudy Tyrant, and a Homicide:
One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
One that made meanes to come by what he hath,
And slaughter'd those that were the meanes to help him:
A base foule Stone, made precious by the soyle
Of Englands Chaire, where he is falsely set:
One that hath euer beene Gods Enemy.
Then if you fight against Gods Enemy,
God will in iustice ward you as his Soldiers.
If you do sweare to put a Tyrant downe,
You sleepe in peace, the Tyrant being slaine:
If you do fight against your Countries Foes,
Your Countries Fat shall pay your paines the hyre.
If you do fight in safegard of your wiues,
Your wiues shall 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,
Aduance your Standards, draw your willing Swords.
For me, the ransome of my bold attempt,
Shall be this cold Corpes on the earth's cold face.
But if I thriue, the gaine of my attempt,
The least of you shall share his part thereof.
Sound Drummes and Trumpets boldly, and cheerefully,
God, and Saint George, Richmond, and Victory.
Enter King Richard, Ratcliffe, and Catesby.

  K. What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?
  Rat. That he was neuer trained vp in Armes

   King. He said the truth: and what said Surrey then?
  Rat. He smil'd and said, the better for our purpose

   King. He was in the right, and so indeed it is.
Tell the clocke there.

Clocke strikes.

Giue me a Kalender: Who saw the Sunne to day?
  Rat. Not I my Lord

   King. Then he disdaines to shine: for by the Booke
He should haue brau'd the East an houre ago,
A blacke day will it be to somebody. Ratcliffe

   Rat. My Lord

   King. The Sun will not be seene to day,
The sky doth frowne, and lowre vpon our Army.
I would these dewy teares were from the ground.
Not shine to day? Why, what is that to me
More then to Richmond? For the selfe-same Heauen
That frownes on me, lookes sadly vpon him.
Enter Norfolke.

  Nor. Arme, arme, my Lord: the foe vaunts in the field

   King. Come, bustle, bustle. Caparison my horse.
Call vp Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power,
I will leade forth my Soldiers to the plaine,
And thus my Battell shal be ordred.
My Foreward shall be drawne in length,
Consisting equally of Horse and Foot:
Our Archers shall be placed in the mid'st;
Iohn Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Earle of Surrey,
Shall haue the leading of the Foot and Horse.
They thus directed, we will follow
In the maine Battell, whose puissance on either side
Shall be well-winged with our cheefest Horse:
This, and Saint George to boote.
What think'st thou Norfolke

   Nor. A good direction warlike Soueraigne,
This found I on my Tent this Morning.
Iockey of Norfolke, be not so bold,
For Dickon thy maister is bought and sold

   King. A thing deuised by the Enemy.
Go Gentlemen, euery man to his Charge,
Let not our babling Dreames affright our soules:
For Conscience is a word that Cowards vse,
Deuis'd at first to keepe the strong in awe,
Our strong armes be our Conscience, Swords our Law.
March on, ioyne brauely, let vs too't pell mell,
If not to heauen, then hand in hand to Hell.
What shall I say more then I haue inferr'd?
Remember whom you are to cope withall,
A sort of Vagabonds, Rascals, and Run-awayes,
A scum of Brittaines, and base Lackey Pezants,
Whom their o're-cloyed Country vomits forth
To desperate Aduentures, and assur'd Destruction.
You sleeping safe, they bring you to vnrest:
You hauing Lands, and blest with beauteous wiues,
They would restraine the one, distaine the other,
And who doth leade them, but a paltry Fellow?
Long kept in Britaine at our Mothers cost,
A Milke-sop, one that neuer in his life
Felt so much cold, as ouer shooes in Snow:
Let's whip these straglers o're the Seas againe,
Lash hence these ouer-weening Ragges of France,
These famish'd Beggers, weary of their liues,
Who (but for dreaming on this fond exploit)
For want of meanes (poore Rats) had hang'd themselues.
If we be conquered, let men conquer vs,
And not these bastard Britaines, whom our Fathers
Haue in their owne Land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd,
And on Record, left them the heires of shame.
Shall these enioy our Lands? lye with our Wiues?
Rauish our daughters?

Drum afarre off

Hearke, I heare their Drumme,
Right Gentlemen of England, fight boldly yeomen,
Draw Archers draw your Arrowes to the head,
Spurre your proud Horses hard, and ride in blood,
Amaze the welkin with your broken staues.
Enter a Messenger.

What sayes Lord Stanley, will he bring his power?
  Mes. My Lord, he doth deny to come

   King. Off with his sonne Georges head

   Nor. My Lord, the Enemy is past the Marsh:
After the battaile, let George Stanley dye

   King. A thousand hearts are great within my bosom.
Aduance our Standards, set vpon our Foes,
Our Ancient word of Courage, faire S[aint]. George
Inspire vs with the spleene of fiery Dragons:
Vpon them, Victorie sits on our helpes.

Alarum, excursions. Enter Catesby.

  Cat. Rescue my Lord of Norfolke,
Rescue, Rescue:
The King enacts more wonders then a man,
Daring an opposite to euery danger:
His horse is slaine, and all on foot he fights,
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death:
Rescue faire Lord, or else the day is lost.

Alarums.

Enter Richard.

  Rich. A Horse, a Horse, my Kingdome for a Horse

   Cates. Withdraw my Lord, Ile helpe you to a Horse
  Rich. Slaue, I haue set my life vpon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the Dye:
I thinke there be sixe Richmonds in the field,
Fiue haue I slaine to day, in stead of him.
A Horse, a Horse, my Kingdome for a Horse.

Alarum, Enter Richard and Richmond, they fight, Richard is
slaine.

Retreat, and Flourish. Enter Richmond, Derby bearing the Crowne,
with
diuers other Lords.

  Richm. God, and your Armes
Be prais'd Victorious Friends;
The day is ours, the bloudy Dogge is dead

   Der. Couragious Richmond,
Well hast thou acquit thee: Loe,
Heere these long vsurped Royalties,
From the dead Temples of this bloudy Wretch,
Haue I pluck'd off, to grace thy Browes withall.
Weare it, and make much of it

   Richm. Great God of Heauen, say Amen to all.
But tell me, is yong George Stanley liuing?
  Der. He is my Lord, and safe in Leicester Towne,
Whither (if you please) we may withdraw vs

   Richm. What men of name are slaine on either side?
  Der. Iohn Duke of Norfolke, Walter Lord Ferris,
Sir Robert Brokenbury, and Sir William Brandon

   Richm. Interre their Bodies, as become their Births,
Proclaime a pardon to the Soldiers fled,
That in submission will returne to vs,
And then as we haue tane the Sacrament,
We will vnite the White Rose, and the Red.
Smile Heauen vpon this faire Coniunction,
That long haue frown'd vpon their Enmity:
What Traitor heares me, and sayes not Amen?
England hath long beene mad, and scarr'd her selfe;
The Brother blindely shed the Brothers blood;
The Father, rashly slaughtered his owne Sonne;
The Sonne compell'd, beene Butcher to the Sire;
All this diuided Yorke and Lancaster,
Diuided, in their dire Diuision.
O now, let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true Succeeders of each Royall House,
By Gods faire ordinance, conioyne together:
And let thy Heires (God if thy will be so)
Enrich the time to come, with Smooth-fac'd Peace,
With smiling Plenty, and faire Prosperous dayes.
Abate the edge of Traitors, Gracious Lord,
That would reduce these bloudy dayes againe,
And make poore England weepe in Streames of Blood;
Let them not liue to taste this Lands increase,
That would with Treason, wound this faire Lands peace.
Now Ciuill wounds are stopp'd, Peace liues agen;
That she may long liue heere, God say, Amen.

Exeunt.

FINIS. The Tragedy of Richard the Third: with the Landing of
Earle
Richmond, and the Battell at Bosworth Field.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: As Buckingham is led to his execution at Salisbury, he is told that Richard will not grant him an audience. He thinks of Henry VI, Henry's son Edward, Hastings, Rivers, Grey, Vaughan, and others who had died "By underhand corrupted foul justice." If from the other world they view his plight, he continues, let them mock his fate. It is All Souls' Day, and he recalls that on another such sacred day he had given Edward IV his pledge to remain at peace with the dying king's children and the queen's allies, inviting God's punishment if he broke that pledge. He then recalls Margaret's curse when he had scoffed at her warning. "Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame," he concludes. He is saying that this unjust death is only retribution for the unjust deaths he has been responsible for. Scene 2 shifts to Richmond's camp near Tamworth. Richmond, entering with drums and trumpets, addresses his "Fellows in arms" and "most loving friends," inciting them against Richard, "that wretched, bloody, and usurping boar," who has placed upon them the "yoke of tyranny" and has despoiled their "summer fields and fruitful vines." He acknowledges the receipt of good news from Lord Stanley and reports that Richard is at Leicester, only one day away. In God's name, he urges them on. Oxford and Herbert predict that all Richard's friends will desert him since they are only friends through fear. "All for our vantage," exclaims Richmond, and again invoking God's name, he commands them to march onward. On Bosworth Field, Richard, fully armed, enters with Norfolk, the Earl of Surrey, and others. He orders that their tents be pitched. When Richard chides Surrey for looking sad, the earl assures him that his heart is light. Then the king rallies Norfolk, who agrees that they must take blows as well as receive them. Richard states that he will rest here for the night; where he will rest tomorrow, he knows not. Philosophically he adds: "Well, all's one for that." He has reason to be confident, for he learns that his forces outnumber Richmond's three to one. With characteristic vigor, he gives commands preparatory to the battle and calls for men of competent leadership. On the other side of the field, Richmond enters, accompanied by several distinguished nobles. While some soldiers are pitching his tent, Richmond takes note of the sunset, which gives promise of a fair day tomorrow. Calling for ink and paper, he plans the deposition of his forces for the battle. Before parting from the rest, he sends Captain Blount off with an important message to Stanley, whose forces lie about half a mile south of the king's. As they withdraw into the tent to finish the battle plans, Richard, with Norfolk, Ratcliff, Catesby, and others, claim our attention. It is now nine o'clock and time for the evening's repast, but Richard decides not to sup. His thoughts are solely on the fight with Richmond. He calls for ink and paper; he asks if his armor is in readiness; he orders Norfolk to check the sentinels. Next, the king instructs Catesby to send a herald's officer to Stanley, ordering that lord to bring his regiment before morning unless he wants his son's head to be forfeit. He asks about the "melancholy Lord Northumberland" and is somewhat cheered to hear that the earl and Surrey have gone among the soldiers encouraging them. But Richard concedes that his own spirits lack alacrity and his mind its wonted cheerfulness. Therefore, he calls for a bowl of wine. Having instructed Ratcliff to come about the middle of the night to arm him, the king asks to be left alone. Now attention is attracted to Richmond, who is in his tent with various lords and attendants. Derby enters, and the two exchange greetings. Derby brings blessings from Richmond's mother, who prays constantly for her son's welfare. He counsels Richmond to put his fortunes to the test in tomorrow's battle but explains that in view of his son's plight, he cannot openly join the claimant's forces. Regretting that the encroaching battle prevents them from more time together, Stanley leaves. Richmond prepares himself for sleep, aware that he must be rested before he fights the good fight. Alone, he solemnly prays for God's good will, and to Him he commends his "watchful soul." As both Richard and Richmond sleep, they are visited by a procession of ghosts of those the king had killed. They come in order of their deaths -- Prince Edward, Henry VI, Clarence, Rivers, Grey, Vaughan, the little princes, Hastings, Lady Anne, and Buckingham. Each ghost appears to Richard as an image of retribution, indicting him for his crime and telling him to "despair and die." In the words of Anne, each fills his sleep with perturbations. In contrast, each ghost offers praise and words of comfort to the sleeping Richmond: let him "live and flourish," for good angels guard him and fight on his side. The ghost of Hastings especially urges him to "Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake!" And the two princes urge him to "Live, and beget a happy race of kings!" As the ghosts vanish, Richard starts out of his sleep. He has been dreaming of "bloody deeds and death." He cries out for a horse and for someone to bind his wounds. Realizing that he has been dreaming and that he is a victim of "coward conscience," he goes through a self-examination that ends in bitter condemnation of isolated and unpitied guilt. Ratcliff enters to rouse him for battle. Still unnerved, he tells Ratcliff his dream. Ratcliff tries to rally him, and Richard turns his mind to the question of his followers' loyalty. He leaves with Ratcliff to eavesdrop at their tent and see if any mean to shrink from him. Attention is now directed to Richmond's tent, where nobles enter to greet their leader. He has rested well, having enjoyed the "sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams." He tells the lords how the souls of Richard's victims had come to his tent and "cried in victory." Told that it is now four o'clock in the morning, Richmond replies that it is "time to arm and give direction." There follows his formal address to his soldiers. "God and our good cause fight on our side," he assures the troops, and adds that the "prayers of holy saints and wronged souls" stand before their faces. Even Richard's followers, he continues, want him to be defeated. Denouncing the king as "A bloody tyrant and homicide," Richmond urges his men to fight against God's enemies and their country's foes. Then may they expect to thrive in a prospering land, their wives and children free from danger. Richmond declares that he himself will fight unto death if necessary. If he wins, all will share in the gain. He calls for drums and trumpets to sound "boldly and cheerfully." And with the stirring cry, "God and Saint George! Richmond and victory!" he leads the way offstage. It is Richard's turn now to receive full attention. He asks what Northumberland has said of Richmond and is pleased to hear Ratcliff tell him that the earl thinks very little of Richmond's capacity as a soldier and that Surrey was no less pleased with Northumberland's opinion. Richard then asks the time of day. He takes notice of the weather and remarks that the sun should have risen an hour ago. At first Richard is dashed by the thought that the skies are lowering down on him, but he realizes that the sun is not shining on Richmond either. Aroused from these thoughts by Norfolk, Richard tells that noble his plan of battle. A vanguard of horse and foot is to be spread out in front, with archers in the midst. Norfolk and Surrey are to command the foot and horse. Richard will follow in the main battle, his power on each side well-winged with foot and horse. Norfolk approves all this but passes Richard a taunting note he has found on his tent that morning. Richard dismisses it from his mind and sends his captains to their commands. He is determined not to let "babbling dreams" disturb his soul nor his conscience to bother him. Strong arms will be his conscience and swords his law: "March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell -- / If not to Heaven, then hand in hand to Hell" . In his oration to the troops, Richard denounces the enemy as a pack of foreign vagabonds and robbers who threaten to devastate the land and attack wives and daughters. He makes much of their being French, reminding his soldiers that their fathers had beaten the French on French soil. He concludes with a stirring call to arms. At this moment, a messenger comes, saying that Stanley refuses to bring his forces in. Richard wants to have young George's head cut off at once but is persuaded to wait until after the battle since the enemy are already past the marsh. Crying "A thousand hearts are great within my bosom" and invoking the name of Saint George, the king charges into action. The battle is in progress. Catesby is crying to Norfolk to rescue the king, whose horse is slain and who continues to fight on foot. Richard enters, crying out for a horse. Catesby urges him to retire. He refuses, for he is determined to risk all. He leaves this part of the field, still crying for a horse and seeking Richmond. Richard and Richmond fight, and Richard is slain. Richmond retreats and returns, receiving the congratulation of his friends for the victory, which is now assured. Derby is carrying the crown, which he has taken from Richard. He places it on the head of Richmond. To the new king's question about young George Stanley , Derby replies that the youth is safe in Leicester. Richmond asks the names of nobles on both sides who have been slain and orders that they be buried "as becomes their births." In accordance with his wishes, all soldiers who have fled are to be pardoned if they return in submission to him. After taking the sacrament, he will marry Elizabeth of York, Edward IV's daughter, thus uniting the Yorkist and the Lancastrians. The harsh wars that have caused so much grief and injury, even among members of the same family, are now over. God willing, England will enter a reign of peace and prosperity. His concluding words are a prayer that traitors may perish and peace reign now that civil wounds are healed.