Richard III

Ely. In happie time, here comes the Duke himselfe   Rich. My Noble Lords, and Cousins all, good morrow:I haue beene long a sleeper: but I trust,My absence doth neglect no great designe,Which by my presence might haue beene concluded   Buck. Had you not come vpon your Q my Lord,William, Lord Hastings, had pronounc'd your part;I meane your Voice, for Crowning of the King   Rich. Then my Lord Hastings, no man might be bolder,His Lordship knowes me well, and loues me well.My Lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborne,I saw good Strawberries in your Garden there,I doe beseech you, send for some of themEly. Mary and will, my Lord, with all my heart.

Exit Bishop.

  Rich. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our businesse,And findes the testie Gentleman so hot,That he will lose his Head, ere giue consentHis Masters Child, as worshipfully he tearmes it,Shall lose the Royaltie of Englands ThroneBuck. Withdraw your selfe a while, Ile goe with you.

Exeunt.

  Darb. We haue not yet set downe this day of Triumph:To morrow, in my iudgement, is too sudden,For I my selfe am not so well prouided,As else I would be, were the day prolong'd.

Enter the Bishop of Ely.

  Ely. Where is my Lord, the Duke of Gloster?I haue sent for these Strawberries   Ha. His Grace looks chearfully & smooth this morning,There's some conceit or other likes him well,When that he bids good morrow with such spirit.I thinke there's neuer a man in ChristendomeCan lesser hide his loue, or hate, then hee,For by his Face straight shall you know his Heart   Darb. What of his Heart perceiue you in his Face,By any liuelyhood he shew'd to day?  Hast. Mary, that with no man here he is offended:For were he, he had shewne it in his Lookes.

Enter Richard, and Buckingham.

  Rich. I pray you all, tell me what they deserue,That doe conspire my death with diuellish PlotsOf damned Witchcraft, and that haue preuail'dVpon my Body with their Hellish Charmes   Hast. The tender loue I beare your Grace, my Lord,Makes me most forward, in this Princely presence,To doome th' Offendors, whosoe're they be:I say, my Lord, they haue deserued death   Rich. Then be your eyes the witnesse of their euill.Looke how I am bewitch'd: behold, mine ArmeIs like a blasted Sapling, wither'd vp:And this is Edwards Wife, that monstrous Witch,Consorted with that Harlot, Strumpet Shore,That by their Witchcraft thus haue marked meHast. If they haue done this deed, my Noble Lord   Rich. If? thou Protector of this damned Strumpet,Talk'st thou to me of Ifs: thou art a Traytor,Off with his Head; now by Saint Paul I sweare,I will not dine, vntill I see the same.Louell and Ratcliffe, looke that it be done:

Exeunt.

The rest that loue me, rise, and follow me.Manet Louell and Ratcliffe, with the Lord Hastings.  Hast. Woe, woe for England, not a whit for me,For I, too fond, might haue preuented this:Stanley did dreame, the Bore did rowse our Helmes,And I did scorne it, and disdaine to flye:Three times to day my Foot-Cloth-Horse did stumble,And started, when he look'd vpon the Tower,As loth to beare me to the slaughter-house.O now I need the Priest, that spake to me:I now repent I told the Pursuiuant,As too triumphing, how mine EnemiesTo day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd,And I my selfe secure, in grace and fauour.Oh Margaret, Margaret, now thy heauie CurseIs lighted on poore Hastings wretched Head   Ra. Come, come, dispatch, the Duke would be at dinner:Make a short Shrift, he longs to see your Head   Hast. O momentarie grace of mortall men,Which we more hunt for, then the grace of God!Who builds his hope in ayre of your good Lookes,Liues like a drunken Sayler on a Mast,Readie with euery Nod to tumble downe,Into the fatall Bowels of the DeepeLou. Come, come, dispatch, 'tis bootlesse to exclaime   Hast. O bloody Richard: miserable England,I prophecie the fearefull'st time to thee,That euer wretched Age hath look'd vpon.Come, lead me to the Block, beare him my Head,They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead.

Exeunt.

Enter Richard, and Buckingham, in rotten Armour, maruellous ill-fauoured.

Richard. Come Cousin,Canst thou quake, and change thy colour,Murther thy breath in middle of a word,And then againe begin, and stop againe,As if thou were distraught, and mad with terror?  Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deepe Tragedian,Speake, and looke backe, and prie on euery side,Tremble and start at wagging of a Straw:Intending deepe suspition, gastly LookesAre at my seruice, like enforced Smiles;And both are readie in their Offices,At any time to grace my Stratagemes.But what, is Catesby gone?  Rich. He is, and see he brings the Maior along.

Enter the Maior, and Catesby.

Buck. Lord MaiorRich. Looke to the Draw-Bridge thereBuck. Hearke, a DrummeRich. Catesby, o're-looke the WallsBuck. Lord Maior, the reason we haue sentRich. Looke back, defend thee, here are Enemies   Buck. God and our Innocencie defend, and guard vs.

Enter Louell and Ratcliffe, with Hastings Head.

Rich. Be patient, they are friends: Ratcliffe, and Louell   Louell. Here is the Head of that ignoble Traytor,The dangerous and vnsuspected Hastings   Rich. So deare I lou'd the man, that I must weepe:I tooke him for the plainest harmelesse Creature,That breath'd vpon the Earth, a Christian.Made him my Booke, wherein my Soule recordedThe Historie of all her secret thoughts.So smooth he dawb'd his Vice with shew of Vertue,That his apparant open Guilt omitted,I meane, his Conuersation with Shores Wife,He liu'd from all attainder of suspects   Buck. Well, well, he was the couertst sheltred TraytorThat euer liu'd.Would you imagine, or almost beleeue,Wert not, that by great preseruationWe liue to tell it, that the subtill TraytorThis day had plotted, in the Councell-House,To murther me, and my good Lord of Gloster   Maior. Had he done so?  Rich. What? thinke you we are Turkes, or Infidels?Or that we would, against the forme of Law,Proceed thus rashly in the Villaines death,But that the extreme perill of the case,The Peace of England, and our Persons safetie,Enforc'd vs to this Execution   Maior. Now faire befall you, he deseru'd his death,And your good Graces both haue well proceeded,To warne false Traytors from the like Attempts   Buck. I neuer look'd for better at his hands,After he once fell in with Mistresse Shore:Yet had we not determin'd he should dye,Vntill your Lordship came to see his end,Which now the louing haste of these our friends,Something against our meanings, haue preuented;Because, my Lord, I would haue had you heardThe Traytor speake, and timorously confesseThe manner and the purpose of his Treasons:That you might well haue signify'd the sameVnto the Citizens, who haply mayMisconster vs in him, and wayle his death   Ma. But, my good Lord, your Graces words shal serue,As well as I had seene, and heard him speake:And doe not doubt, right Noble Princes both,But Ile acquaint our dutious CitizensWith all your iust proceedings in this case   Rich. And to that end we wish'd your Lordship here,T' auoid the Censures of the carping World   Buck. Which since you come too late of our intent,Yet witnesse what you heare we did intend:And so, my good Lord Maior, we bid farwell.

Exit Maior.

  Rich. Goe after, after, Cousin Buckingham.The Maior towards Guild-Hall hyes him in all poste:There, at your meetest vantage of the time,Inferre the Bastardie of Edwards Children:Tell them, how Edward put to death a Citizen,Onely for saying, he would make his SonneHeire to the Crowne, meaning indeed his House,Which, by the Signe thereof, was tearmed so.Moreouer, vrge his hatefull Luxurie,And beastiall appetite in change of Lust,Which stretcht vnto their Seruants, Daughters, Wiues,Euen where his raging eye, or sauage heart,Without controll, lusted to make a prey.Nay, for a need, thus farre come neere my Person:Tell them, when that my Mother went with ChildOf that insatiate Edward; Noble Yorke,My Princely Father, then had Warres in France,And by true computation of the time,Found, that the Issue was not his begot:Which well appeared in his Lineaments,Being nothing like the Noble Duke, my Father:Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere farre off,Because, my Lord, you know my Mother liues   Buck. Doubt not, my Lord, Ile play the Orator,As if the Golden Fee, for which I plead,Were for my selfe: and so, my Lord, adue   Rich. If you thriue wel, bring them to Baynards Castle,Where you shall finde me well accompaniedWith reuerend Fathers, and well-learned Bishops   Buck. I goe, and towards three or foure a ClockeLooke for the Newes that the Guild-Hall affoords.

Exit Buckingham.

  Rich. Goe Louell with all speed to Doctor Shaw,Goe thou to Fryer Penker, bid them bothMeet me within this houre at Baynards Castle.

Enter.

Now will I goe to take some priuie order,To draw the Brats of Clarence out of sight,And to giue order, that no manner personHaue any time recourse vnto the Princes.

Exeunt.

Enter a Scriuener

   Scr. Here is the Indictment of the good Lord Hastings,Which in a set Hand fairely is engross'd,That it may be to day read o're in Paules.And marke how well the sequell hangs together:Eleuen houres I haue spent to write it ouer,For yester-night by Catesby was it sent me,The Precedent was full as long a doing,And yet within these fiue houres Hastings liu'd,Vntainted, vnexamin'd, free, at libertie.Here's a good World the while.Who is so grosse, that cannot see this palpable deuice?Yet who so bold, but sayes he sees it not?Bad is the World, and all will come to nought,When such ill dealing must be seene in thought.

Enter.

Enter Richard and Buckingham at seuerall Doores.

  Rich. How now, how now, what say the Citizens?  Buck. Now by the holy Mother of our Lord,The Citizens are mum, say not a word   Rich. Toucht you the Bastardie of Edwards Children?  Buck. I did, with his Contract with Lady Lucy,And his Contract by Deputie in France,Th' vnsatiate greedinesse of his desire,And his enforcement of the Citie Wiues,His Tyrannie for Trifles, his owne Bastardie,As being got, your Father then in France,And his resemblance, being not like the Duke.Withall, I did inferre your Lineaments,Being the right Idea of your Father,Both in your forme, and Noblenesse of Minde:Layd open all your Victories in Scotland,Your Discipline in Warre, Wisdome in Peace,Your Bountie, Vertue, faire Humilitie:Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose,Vntoucht, or sleightly handled in discourse.And when my Oratorie drew toward end,I bid them that did loue their Countries good,Cry, God saue Richard, Englands Royall King   Rich. And did they so?  Buck. No, so God helpe me, they spake not a word,But like dumbe Statues, or breathing Stones,Star'd each on other, and look'd deadly pale:Which when I saw, I reprehended them,And ask'd the Maior, what meant this wilfull silence?His answer was, the people were not vsedTo be spoke to, but by the Recorder.Then he was vrg'd to tell my Tale againe:Thus sayth the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferr'd,But nothing spoke, in warrant from himselfe.When he had done, some followers of mine owne,At lower end of the Hall, hurld vp their Caps,And some tenne voyces cry'd, God saue King Richard:And thus I tooke the vantage of those few.Thankes gentle Citizens, and friends, quoth I,This generall applause, and chearefull showt,Argues your wisdome, and your loue to Richard:And euen here brake off, and came away   Rich. What tongue-lesse Blockes were they,Would they not speake?Will not the Maior then, and his Brethren, come?  Buck. The Maior is here at hand: intend some feare,Be not you spoke with, but by mightie suit:And looke you get a Prayer-Booke in your hand,And stand betweene two Church-men, good my Lord,For on that ground Ile make a holy Descant:And be not easily wonne to our requests,Play the Maids part, still answer nay, and take it   Rich. I goe: and if you plead as well for them,As I can say nay to thee for my selfe,No doubt we bring it to a happie issue   Buck. Go, go vp to the Leads, the Lord Maior knocks.Enter the Maior, and Citizens.Welcome, my Lord, I dance attendance here,I thinke the Duke will not be spoke withall.

Enter Catesby.

  Buck. Now Catesby, what sayes your Lord to myrequest?  Catesby. He doth entreat your Grace, my Noble Lord,To visit him to morrow, or next day:He is within, with two right reuerend Fathers,Diuinely bent to Meditation,And in no Worldly suites would he be mou'd,To draw him from his holy Exercise   Buck. Returne, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke,Tell him, my selfe, the Maior and Aldermen,In deepe designes, in matter of great moment,No lesse importing then our generall good,Are come to haue some conference with his Grace   Catesby. Ile signifie so much vnto him straight.

Enter.

  Buck. Ah ha, my Lord, this Prince is not an Edward,He is not lulling on a lewd Loue-Bed,But on his Knees, at Meditation:Not dallying with a Brace of Curtizans,But meditating with two deepe Diuines:Not sleeping, to engrosse his idle Body,But praying, to enrich his watchfull Soule.Happie were England, would this vertuous PrinceTake on his Grace the Soueraigntie thereof.But sure I feare we shall not winne him to it   Maior. Marry God defend his Grace should say vsnay   Buck. I feare he will: here Catesby comes againe.

Enter Catesby.

Now Catesby, what sayes his Grace?  Catesby. He wonders to what end you haue assembledSuch troopes of Citizens, to come to him,His Grace not being warn'd thereof before:He feares, my Lord, you meane no good to him   Buck. Sorry I am, my Noble Cousin shouldSuspect me, that I meane no good to him:By Heauen, we come to him in perfit loue,And so once more returne, and tell his Grace.

Enter.

When holy and deuout Religious menAre at their Beades, 'tis much to draw them thence,So sweet is zealous Contemplation.

Enter Richard aloft, betweene two Bishops

   Maior. See where his Grace stands, tweene two Clergiemen   Buck. Two Props of Vertue, for a Christian Prince,To stay him from the fall of Vanitie:And see a Booke of Prayer in his hand,True Ornaments to know a holy man.Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince,Lend fauourable eare to our requests,And pardon vs the interruptionOf thy Deuotion, and right Christian Zeale   Rich. My Lord, there needes no such Apologie:I doe beseech your Grace to pardon me,Who earnest in the seruice of my God,Deferr'd the visitation of my friends.But leauing this, what is your Graces pleasure?  Buck. Euen that (I hope) which pleaseth God aboue,And all good men, of this vngouern'd Ile   Rich. I doe suspect I haue done some offence,That seemes disgracious in the Cities eye,And that you come to reprehend my ignorance   Buck. You haue, my Lord:Would it might please your Grace,On our entreaties, to amend your faultRich. Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian Land   Buck. Know then, it is your fault, that you resigneThe Supreme Seat, the Throne Maiesticall,The Sceptred Office of your Ancestors,Your State of Fortune, and your Deaw of Birth,The Lineall Glory of your Royall House,To the corruption of a blemisht Stock;Whiles in the mildnesse of your sleepie thoughts,Which here we waken to our Countries good,The Noble Ile doth want his proper Limmes:His Face defac'd with skarres of Infamie,His Royall Stock grafft with ignoble Plants,And almost shouldred in the swallowing GulfeOf darke Forgetfulnesse, and deepe Obliuion.Which to recure, we heartily soliciteYour gracious selfe to take on you the chargeAnd Kingly Gouernment of this your Land:Not as Protector, Steward, Substitute,Or lowly Factor, for anothers gaine;But as successiuely, from Blood to Blood,Your Right of Birth, your Empyrie, your owne.For this, consorted with the Citizens,Your very Worshipfull and louing friends,And by their vehement instigation,In this iust Cause come I to moue your Grace   Rich. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence,Or bitterly to speake in your reproofe,Best fitteth my Degree, or your Condition.If not to answer, you might haply thinke,Tongue-ty'd Ambition, not replying, yeeldedTo beare the Golden Yoake of Soueraigntie,Which fondly you would here impose on me.If to reproue you for this suit of yours,So season'd with your faithfull loue to me,Then on the other side I check'd my friends.Therefore to speake, and to auoid the first,And then in speaking, not to incurre the last,Definitiuely thus I answer you.Your loue deserues my thankes, but my desertVnmeritable, shunnes your high request.First, if all Obstacles were cut away,And that my Path were euen to the Crowne,As the ripe Reuenue, and due of Birth:Yet so much is my pouertie of spirit,So mightie, and so manie my defects,That I would rather hide me from my Greatnesse,Being a Barke to brooke no mightie Sea;Then in my Greatnesse couet to be hid,And in the vapour of my Glory smother'd.But God be thank'd, there is no need of me,And much I need to helpe you, were there need:The Royall Tree hath left vs Royall Fruit,Which mellow'd by the stealing howres of time,Will well become the Seat of Maiestie,And make (no doubt) vs happy by his Reigne.On him I lay that, you would lay on me,The Right and Fortune of his happie Starres,Which God defend that I should wring from him   Buck. My Lord, this argues Conscience in your Grace,But the respects thereof are nice, and triuiall,All circumstances well considered.You say, that Edward is your Brothers Sonne,So say we too, but not by Edwards Wife:For first was he contract to Lady Lucie,Your Mother liues a Witnesse to his Vow;And afterward by substitute betroth'dTo Bona, Sister to the King of France.These both put off, a poore Petitioner,A Care-cras'd Mother to a many Sonnes,A Beautie-waining, and distressed Widow,Euen in the after-noone of her best dayes,Made prize and purchase of his wanton Eye,Seduc'd the pitch, and height of his degree,To base declension, and loath'd Bigamie.By her, in his vnlawfull Bed, he gotThis Edward, whom our Manners call the Prince.More bitterly could I expostulate,Saue that for reuerence to some aliue,I giue a sparing limit to my Tongue.Then good, my Lord, take to your Royall selfeThis proffer'd benefit of Dignitie:If not to blesse vs and the Land withall,Yet to draw forth your Noble AncestrieFrom the corruption of abusing times,Vnto a Lineall true deriued courseMaior. Do good my Lord, your Citizens entreat youBuck. Refuse not, mightie Lord, this proffer'd loueCatesb. O make them ioyfull, grant their lawfull suit   Rich. Alas, why would you heape this Care on me?I am vnfit for State, and Maiestie:I doe beseech you take it not amisse,I cannot, nor I will not yeeld to you   Buck. If you refuse it, as in loue and zeale,Loth to depose the Child, your Brothers Sonne,As well we know your tendernesse of heart,And gentle, kinde, effeminate remorse,Which we haue noted in you to your Kindred,And egally indeede to all Estates:Yet know, where you accept our suit, or no,Your Brothers Sonne shall neuer reigne our King,But we will plant some other in the Throne,To the disgrace and downe-fall of your House:And in this resolution here we leaue you.Come Citizens, we will entreat no more.

Exeunt.

  Catesb. Call him againe, sweet Prince, accept their suit:If you denie them, all the Land will rue it   Rich. Will you enforce me to a world of Cares.Call them againe, I am not made of Stones,But penetrable to your kinde entreaties,Albeit against my Conscience and my Soule.

Enter Buckingham, and the rest.

Cousin of Buckingham, and sage graue men,Since you will buckle fortune on my back,To beare her burthen, where I will or no.I must haue patience to endure the Load:But if black Scandall, or foule-fac'd Reproach,Attend the sequell of your Imposition,Your meere enforcement shall acquittance meFrom all the impure blots and staynes thereof;For God doth know, and you may partly see,How farre I am from the desire of this   Maior. God blesse your Grace, wee see it, and willsay itRich. In saying so, you shall but say the truth   Buck. Then I salute you with this Royall Title,Long liue King Richard, Englands worthie KingAll. AmenBuck. To morrow may it please you to be Crown'dRich. Euen when you please, for you will haue it so   Buck. To morrow then we will attend your Grace,And so most ioyfully we take our leaue   Rich. Come, let vs to our holy Worke againe.Farewell my Cousins, farewell gentle friends.

Exeunt.

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 happieAnd 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 seethem   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 newesAnne. Despightfull tidings, O vnpleasing newes   Dors. Be of good cheare: Mother, how fares yourGrace?  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 murtherousStanley. Come, Madame, come, I in all haste was sent   Anne. And I with all vnwillingnesse will goe.O would to God, that the inclusiue VergeOf 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 heartGrossely 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 BedDid 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 meQu. Poore heart adieu, I pittie thy complainingAnne. No more, then with my soule I mourne for yoursDors. Farewell, thou wofull welcommer of glory   Anne. Adieu, poore soule, that tak'st thy leaueof 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.