90 The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, by William Shakespeare
ACT IV
SCENE I. London. Before the Tower
Enter Queen Elizabeth, the
Duchess of York and Marquess of Dorset, at one door; Anne Duchess of Gloucester with Clarence’s young Daughter at another door.
DUCHESS.
Who meets us here? My niece Plantagenet
Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?
Now, for my life, she’s wandering to the Tower,
On pure heart’s love, to greet the tender Prince.
Daughter, well met.
ANNE.
God give your Graces both
A happy and a joyful time of day.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
As much to you, good sister. Whither away?
ANNE.
No farther than the Tower, and, as I guess,
Upon the like devotion as yourselves,
To gratulate the gentle Princes there.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Kind sister, thanks; we’ll enter all together.
Enter Brakenbury.
And in good time, here the Lieutenant comes.
Master Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
How doth the Prince and my young son of York?
BRAKENBURY.
Right well, dear madam. By your patience,
I may not suffer you to visit them.
The King hath strictly charged the contrary.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
The King? Who’s that?
BRAKENBURY.
I mean the Lord Protector.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
The Lord protect him from that kingly title!
Hath he set bounds between their love and me?
I am their mother; who shall bar me from them?
DUCHESS.
I am their father’s mother. I will see them.
ANNE.
Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother.
Then bring me to their sights. I’ll bear thy blame,
And take thy office from thee, on my peril.
BRAKENBURY.
No, madam, no. I may not leave it so.
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.
[Exit.]
Enter Stanley.
STANLEY.
Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
And I’ll salute your Grace of York as mother
And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.
[To Anne.] Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,
There to be crowned Richard’s royal queen.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Ah, cut my lace asunder
That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,
Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news!
ANNE.
Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!
DORSET.
Be of good cheer, mother. How fares your Grace?
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
O Dorset, speak not to me; get thee gone.
Death and destruction dog thee at thy heels;
Thy mother’s name is ominous to children.
If thou wilt outstrip death, go, cross the seas,
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.
Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,
Lest thou increase the number of the dead,
And make me die the thrall of Margaret’s curse,
Nor mother, wife, nor England’s counted Queen.
STANLEY.
Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.
Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
You shall have letters from me to my son
In your behalf, to meet you on the way.
Be not ta’en tardy by unwise delay.
DUCHESS.
O ill-dispersing wind of misery!
O my accursed womb, the bed of death!
A cockatrice hast thou hatched to the world,
Whose unavoided eye is murderous.
STANLEY.
Come, madam, come. I in all haste was sent.
ANNE.
And I with all unwillingness will go.
O, would to God that the inclusive verge
Of golden metal that must round my brow
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brains.
Anointed let me be with deadly venom,
And die ere men can say “God save the Queen.”
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Go, go, poor soul; I envy not thy glory.
To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.
ANNE.
No? Why? When he that is my husband now
Came to me as I followed Henry’s corse,
When scarce the blood was well washed from his hands
Which issued from my other angel husband,
And that dear saint which then I weeping followed;
O, when, I say, I looked on Richard’s face,
This was my wish: “Be thou,” quoth I, “accursed
For making me, so young, so old a widow;
And when thou wedd’st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife, if any be so mad,
More miserable by the life of thee
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord’s death.”
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Within so small a time, my woman’s heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words,
And proved the subject of mine own soul’s curse,
Which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awaked.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick,
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining.
ANNE.
No more than with my soul I mourn for yours.
DORSET.
Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory.
ANNE.
Adieu, poor soul, that tak’st thy leave of it.
DUCHESS.
[To Dorset.] Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee.
[To Anne.] Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee.
[To Queen Elizabeth.] Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee.
I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me.
Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,
And each hour’s joy wracked with a week of teen.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower.
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
Whom envy hath immured within your walls—
Rough cradle for such little pretty one,
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
For tender princes, use my babies well.
So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. London. A Room of State in the Palace
The trumpets sound a sennet. Enter Richard in pomp, Buckingham,
Catesby, Ratcliffe, Lovell, a Page and others.
KING RICHARD.
Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham!
BUCKINGHAM.
My gracious sovereign!
KING RICHARD.
Give me thy hand.
[Here he ascendeth the throne. Sound trumpets.]
Thus high, by thy advice
And thy assistance is King Richard seated.
But shall we wear these glories for a day,
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
BUCKINGHAM.
Still live they, and for ever let them last!
KING RICHARD.
Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
To try if thou be current gold indeed.
Young Edward lives; think now what I would speak.
BUCKINGHAM.
Say on, my loving lord.
KING RICHARD.
Why, Buckingham, I say I would be King.
BUCKINGHAM.
Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord.
KING RICHARD.
Ha! Am I King? ’Tis so—but Edward lives.
BUCKINGHAM.
True, noble Prince.
KING RICHARD.
O bitter consequence,
That Edward still should live “true noble prince!”
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.
Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead,
And I would have it suddenly performed.
What sayst thou now? Speak suddenly, be brief.
BUCKINGHAM.
Your Grace may do your pleasure.
KING RICHARD.
Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness freezes.
Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?
BUCKINGHAM.
Give me some little breath, some pause, dear lord,
Before I positively speak in this.
I will resolve you herein presently.
[Exit.]
CATESBY.
[Aside.] The King is angry. See, he gnaws his lip.
KING RICHARD.
[Aside.] I will converse with iron-witted fools
And unrespective boys; none are for me
That look into me with considerate eyes.
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
Boy!
PAGE.
My lord?
KING RICHARD.
Know’st thou not any whom corrupting gold
Will tempt unto a close exploit of death?
PAGE.
I know a discontented gentleman
Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit.
Gold were as good as twenty orators,
And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything.
KING RICHARD.
What is his name?
PAGE.
His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.
KING RICHARD.
I partly know the man. Go, call him hither, boy.
[Exit Page.]
[Aside.] The deep-revolving witty Buckingham
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels.
Hath he so long held out with me, untired,
And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.
Enter Stanley.
How now, Lord Stanley, what’s the news?
STANLEY.
Know, my loving lord,
The Marquess Dorset, as I hear, is fled
To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.
KING RICHARD.
Come hither, Catesby. Rumour it abroad
That Anne my wife is very grievous sick;
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman,
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence’ daughter.
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.
Look how thou dream’st! I say again, give out
That Anne, my Queen, is sick and like to die.
About it, for it stands me much upon
To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.
[Exit Catesby.]
I must be married to my brother’s daughter,
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
Murder her brothers, and then marry her—
Uncertain way of gain! But I am in
So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin.
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
Enter Tyrrel.
Is thy name Tyrrel?
TYRREL.
James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.
KING RICHARD.
Art thou indeed?
TYRREL.
Prove me, my gracious lord.
KING RICHARD.
Dar’st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?
TYRREL.
Please you. But I had rather kill two enemies.
KING RICHARD.
Why then thou hast it; two deep enemies,
Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep’s disturbers,
Are they that I would have thee deal upon.
Tyrell, I mean those bastards in the Tower.
TYRREL.
Let me have open means to come to them,
And soon I’ll rid you from the fear of them.
KING RICHARD.
Thou sing’st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel.
Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear.
[Whispers.] There is no more but so. Say it is done,
And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.
TYRREL.
I will dispatch it straight.
[Exit.]
Enter Buckingham.
BUCKINGHAM.
My lord, I have considered in my mind
The late request that you did sound me in.
KING RICHARD.
Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to Richmond.
BUCKINGHAM.
I hear the news, my lord.
KING RICHARD.
Stanley, he is your wife’s son. Well, look unto it.
BUCKINGHAM.
My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise,
For which your honour and your faith is pawned:
Th’ earldom of Hereford, and the movables
Which you have promised I shall possess.
KING RICHARD.
Stanley, look to your wife. If she convey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.
BUCKINGHAM.
What says your Highness to my just request?
KING RICHARD.
I do remember me, Henry the Sixth
Did prophesy that Richmond should be King,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
A king perhaps—
BUCKINGHAM.
My lord—
KING RICHARD.
How chance the prophet could not at that time
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?
BUCKINGHAM.
My lord, your promise for the earldom—
KING RICHARD.
Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,
The Mayor in courtesy showed me the castle
And called it Rougemount, at which name I started,
Because a bard of Ireland told me once
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.
BUCKINGHAM.
My lord—
KING RICHARD.
Ay, what’s o’clock?
BUCKINGHAM.
I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind
Of what you promised me.
KING RICHARD.
Well, but what’s o’clock?
BUCKINGHAM.
Upon the stroke of ten.
KING RICHARD.
Well, let it strike.
BUCKINGHAM.
Why let it strike?
KING RICHARD.
Because that, like a jack, thou keep’st the stroke
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I am not in the giving vein today.
BUCKINGHAM.
Why then, resolve me whether you will or no.
KING RICHARD.
Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.
[Exit followed by all save
Buckingham.]
BUCKINGHAM.
And is it thus? Repays he my deep service
With such contempt? Made I him King for this?
O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone
To Brecknock while my fearful head is on!
[Exit.]
SCENE III. London. Another Room in the Palace
Enter Tyrrel.
TYRREL.
The tyrannous and bloody act is done,
The most arch deed of piteous massacre
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn
To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
Albeit they were fleshed villains, bloody dogs,
Melted with tenderness and mild compassion,
Wept like two children in their deaths’ sad story.
“O, thus,” quoth Dighton, “lay the gentle babes;”
“Thus, thus,” quoth Forrest, “girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms.
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
And in their summer beauty kissed each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay,
Which once,” quoth Forrest, “almost changed my mind.
But, O, the devil—” There the villain stopped;
When Dighton thus told on: “We smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature
That from the prime creation e’er she framed.”
Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse
They could not speak; and so I left them both
To bear this tidings to the bloody King.
Enter King Richard.
And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord.
KING RICHARD.
Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?
TYRREL.
If to have done the thing you gave in charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then,
For it is done.
KING RICHARD.
But didst thou see them dead?
TYRREL.
I did, my lord.
KING RICHARD.
And buried, gentle Tyrrel?
TYRREL.
The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them,
But where, to say the truth, I do not know.
KING RICHARD.
Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after-supper,
When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell till then.
TYRREL.
I humbly take my leave.
[Exit.]
KING RICHARD.
The son of Clarence have I pent up close;
His daughter meanly have I matched in marriage;
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom,
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother’s daughter,
And by that knot looks proudly on the crown,
To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.
Enter Ratcliffe.
RATCLIFFE.
My lord!
KING RICHARD.
Good or bad news, that thou com’st in so bluntly?
RATCLIFFE.
Bad news, my lord. Morton is fled to Richmond,
And Buckingham, backed with the hardy Welshmen,
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
KING RICHARD.
Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
Come, I have learned that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary;
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove’s Mercury, and herald for a king!
Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield.
We must be brief when traitors brave the field.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE IV. London. Before the Palace
Enter old Queen Margaret.
QUEEN MARGARET.
So now prosperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slily have I lurked
To watch the waning of mine enemies.
A dire induction am I witness to,
And will to France, hoping the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here?
[Retires.]
Enter Duchess of York and
Queen Elizabeth.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Ah, my poor Princes! Ah, my tender babes,
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air
And be not fixed in doom perpetual,
Hover about me with your airy wings
And hear your mother’s lamentation.
QUEEN MARGARET.
[Aside.] Hover about her; say that right for right
Hath dimmed your infant morn to aged night.
DUCHESS.
So many miseries have crazed my voice
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?
QUEEN MARGARET.
[Aside.] Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet;
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
When didst Thou sleep when such a deed was done?
QUEEN MARGARET.
[Aside.] When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.
DUCHESS.
Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost,
Woe’s scene, world’s shame, grave’s due by life
usurped,
Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
Rest thy unrest on England’s lawful earth,
[Sitting.] Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a grave
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat,
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.
[Sitting.] Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?
QUEEN MARGARET.
[Coming forward.]
If ancient sorrow be most reverend,
Give mine the benefit of seigniory,
And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society,
[Sitting down with them.]
Tell o’er your woes again by viewing mine.
I had an Edward, till a Richard killed him;
I had a husband, till a Richard killed him.
Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard killed him;
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him.
DUCHESS.
I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;
I had a Rutland too; thou holp’st to kill him.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard killed him.
From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death:
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood;
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls;
That foul defacer of God’s handiwork
Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.
O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
How do I thank thee that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother’s body,
And makes her pew-fellow with others’ moan!
DUCHESS.
O Harry’s wife, triumph not in my woes!
God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Bear with me. I am hungry for revenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that killed my Edward;
The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
Young York, he is but boot, because both they
Matched not the high perfection of my loss.
Thy Clarence he is dead that stabbed my Edward;
And the beholders of this frantic play,
Th’ adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely smothered in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell’s black intelligencer,
Only reserved their factor to buy souls
And send them thither. But at hand, at hand
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end.
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,
To have him suddenly conveyed from hence.
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to say “The dog is dead.”
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
O, thou didst prophesy the time would come
That I should wish for thee to help me curse
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-backed toad!
QUEEN MARGARET.
I called thee then, vain flourish of my fortune;
I called thee then, poor shadow, painted queen,
The presentation of but what I was,
The flattering index of a direful pageant;
One heaved a-high to be hurled down below,
A mother only mocked with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou wast; a garish flag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot;
A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers?
Where are thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy?
Who sues, and kneels, and says, “God save the Queen?”
Where be the bending peers that flattered thee?
Where be the thronging troops that followed thee?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art:
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For Queen, a very caitiff crowned with care;
For she that scorned at me, now scorned of me;
For she being feared of all, now fearing one;
For she commanding all, obeyed of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheeled about
And left thee but a very prey to time,
Having no more but thought of what thou wast
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burdened yoke,
From which even here I slip my weary head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.
Farewell, York’s wife, and Queen of sad mischance.
These English woes shall make me smile in France.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
O thou well skilled in curses, stay awhile,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the days;
Compare dead happiness with living woe;
Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were,
And he that slew them fouler than he is.
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse.
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
My words are dull. O, quicken them with thine!
QUEEN MARGARET.
Thy woes will make them sharp and pierce like mine.
[Exit.]
DUCHESS.
Why should calamity be full of words?
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Windy attorneys to their clients’ woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries,
Let them have scope, though what they do impart
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.
DUCHESS.
If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me,
And in the breath of bitter words let’s smother
My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smothered.
[A trumpet sounds.]
The trumpet sounds. Be copious in exclaims.
Enter King Richard and his
Train, including Catesby, marching.
KING RICHARD.
Who intercepts me in my expedition?
DUCHESS.
O, she that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her accursed womb,
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Hid’st thou that forehead with a golden crown
Where should be branded, if that right were right,
The slaughter of the Prince that owed that crown,
And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children?
DUCHESS.
Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence,
And little Ned Plantagenet his son?
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?
DUCHESS.
Where is kind Hastings?
KING RICHARD.
A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums!
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord’s anointed. Strike, I say!
[Flourish. Alarums.]
Either be patient and entreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
DUCHESS.
Art thou my son?
KING RICHARD.
Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.
DUCHESS.
Then patiently hear my impatience.
KING RICHARD.
Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
That cannot brook the accent of reproof.
DUCHESS.
O, let me speak!
KING RICHARD.
Do then, but I’ll not hear.
DUCHESS.
I will be mild and gentle in my words.
KING RICHARD.
And brief, good mother, for I am in haste.
DUCHESS.
Art thou so hasty? I have stayed for thee,
God knows, in torment and in agony.
KING RICHARD.
And came I not at last to comfort you?
DUCHESS.
No, by the Holy Rood, thou know’st it well
Thou cam’st on earth to make the earth my hell.
A grievous burden was thy birth to me;
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy school-days frightful, desp’rate, wild, and furious;
Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous;
Thy age confirmed, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred.
What comfortable hour canst thou name
That ever graced me with thy company?
KING RICHARD.
Faith, none but Humphrey Hower, that called your Grace
To breakfast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your eye,
Let me march on and not offend you, madam.
Strike up the drum.
DUCHESS.
I prithee, hear me speak.
KING RICHARD.
You speak too bitterly.
DUCHESS.
Hear me a word,
For I shall never speak to thee again.
KING RICHARD.
So.
DUCHESS.
Either thou wilt die by God’s just ordinance
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror,
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish
And never more behold thy face again.
Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse,
Which in the day of battle tire thee more
Than all the complete armour that thou wear’st.
My prayers on the adverse party fight;
And there the little souls of Edward’s children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies
And promise them success and victory.
Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end.
Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.
[Exit.]
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse
Abides in me, I say amen to her.
KING RICHARD.
Stay, madam, I must talk a word with you.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
I have no more sons of the royal blood
For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard,
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens,
And therefore level not to hit their lives.
KING RICHARD.
You have a daughter called Elizabeth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
And must she die for this? O, let her live,
And I’ll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty,
Slander myself as false to Edward’s bed,
Throw over her the veil of infamy.
So she may live unscarred of bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward’s daughter.
KING RICHARD.
Wrong not her birth; she is a royal princess.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
To save her life I’ll say she is not so.
KING RICHARD.
Her life is safest only in her birth.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
And only in that safety died her brothers.
KING RICHARD.
Lo, at their births good stars were opposite.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
No, to their lives ill friends were contrary.
KING RICHARD.
All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
True, when avoided grace makes destiny.
My babes were destined to a fairer death,
If grace had blessed thee with a fairer life.
KING RICHARD.
You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Cousins, indeed, and by their uncle cozened
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction.
No doubt the murd’rous knife was dull and blunt
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys
Till that my nails were anchored in thine eyes,
And I, in such a desp’rate bay of death,
Like a poor bark of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.
KING RICHARD.
Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise
And dangerous success of bloody wars,
As I intend more good to you and yours
Than ever you or yours by me were harmed!
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
What good is covered with the face of heaven,
To be discovered, that can do me good?
KING RICHARD.
Th’ advancement of your children, gentle lady.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads.
KING RICHARD.
Unto the dignity and height of fortune,
The high imperial type of this earth’s glory.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Flatter my sorrows with report of it.
Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou demise to any child of mine?
KING RICHARD.
Even all I have—ay, and myself and all
Will I withal endow a child of thine;
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs
Which thou supposest I have done to thee.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness’ date.
KING RICHARD.
Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
My daughter’s mother thinks it with her soul.
KING RICHARD.
What do you think?
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul.
So from thy soul’s love didst thou love her brothers,
And from my heart’s love I do thank thee for it.
KING RICHARD.
Be not so hasty to confound my meaning.
I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And do intend to make her Queen of England.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?
KING RICHARD.
Even he that makes her Queen. Who else should be?
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
What, thou?
KING RICHARD.
Even so. How think you of it?
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
How canst thou woo her?
KING RICHARD.
That would I learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humour.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
And wilt thou learn of me?
KING RICHARD.
Madam, with all my heart.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave
“Edward” and “York.” Then haply will she weep.
Therefore present to her—as sometimes Margaret
Did to thy father, steeped in Rutland’s blood—
A handkerchief, which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brothers’ body,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;
Tell her thou mad’st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers, ay, and for her sake
Mad’st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
KING RICHARD.
You mock me, madam; this is not the way
To win your daughter.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
There is no other way,
Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,
And not be Richard, that hath done all this.
KING RICHARD.
Say that I did all this for love of her?
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
KING RICHARD.
Look what is done cannot be now amended.
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends I’ll give it to your daughter.
If I have killed the issue of your womb,
To quicken your increase I will beget
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.
A grandam’s name is little less in love
Than is the doting title of a mother;
They are as children but one step below,
Even of your mettle, of your very blood;
Of all one pain, save for a night of groans
Endured 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 loss you have is but a son being King,
And by that loss your daughter is made Queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would;
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity.
The King, that calls your beauteous daughter wife,
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;
Again shall you be mother to a king,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repaired with double riches of content.
What, we have many goodly days to see.
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
Shall come again, transformed to orient pearl,
Advantaging their loan with interest
Of ten times double gain of happiness.
Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go.
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer’s tale;
Put in her tender heart th’ aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys,
And when this arm of mine hath chastised
The petty rebel, dull-brained Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror’s bed;
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar’s Caesar.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
What were I best to say? Her father’s brother
Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle?
Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honour, and her love
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
KING RICHARD.
Infer fair England’s peace by this alliance.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Which she shall purchase with still-lasting war.
KING RICHARD.
Tell her the King, that may command, entreats.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
That at her hands, which the King’s King forbids.
KING RICHARD.
Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
To vail the title, as her mother doth.
KING RICHARD.
Say I will love her everlastingly.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
But how long shall that title “ever” last?
KING RICHARD.
Sweetly in force unto her fair life’s end.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?
KING RICHARD.
As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
As long as hell and Richard likes of it.
KING RICHARD.
Say I, her sovereign, am her subject low.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.
KING RICHARD.
Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.
KING RICHARD.
Then plainly to her tell my loving tale.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
KING RICHARD.
Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
O no, my reasons are too deep and dead—
Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.
KING RICHARD.
Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break.
KING RICHARD.
Now, by my George, my Garter, and my crown—
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Profaned, dishonoured, and the third usurped.
KING RICHARD.
I swear—
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
By nothing, for this is no oath.
Thy George, profaned, hath lost his lordly honour;
Thy Garter, blemished, pawned his knightly virtue;
Thy crown, usurped, disgraced his kingly glory.
If something thou wouldst swear to be believed,
Swear then by something that thou hast not wronged.
KING RICHARD.
Now, by the world—
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
’Tis full of thy foul wrongs.
KING RICHARD.
My father’s death—
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Thy life hath that dishonoured.
KING RICHARD.
Then, by myself—
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Thyself is self-misused.
KING RICHARD.
Why, then, by God—
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
God’s wrong is most of all.
If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him,
The unity the King my husband made
Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died.
If thou hadst feared to break an oath by Him,
Th’ imperial metal circling now thy head
Had graced the tender temples of my child,
And both the Princes had been breathing here,
Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust,
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now?
KING RICHARD.
The time to come.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
That thou hast wronged in the time o’erpast;
For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past wronged by thee.
The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughtered,
Ungoverned youth, to wail it in their age;
The parents live whose children thou hast butchered,
Old barren plants, to wail it with their age.
Swear not by time to come, for that thou hast
Misused ere used, by times ill-used o’erpast.
KING RICHARD.
As I intend to prosper and repent,
So thrive I in my dangerous affairs
Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound!
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!
Day, yield me not thy light, nor, night, thy rest!
Be opposite all planets of good luck
To my proceeding if with dear heart’s love,
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,
I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter.
In her consists my happiness and thine;
Without her follows to myself and thee,
Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul,
Death, desolation, ruin, and decay.
It cannot be avoided but by this;
It will not be avoided but by this.
Therefore, dear mother—I must call you so—
Be the attorney of my love to her;
Plead what I will be, not what I have been;
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve.
Urge the necessity and state of times,
And be not peevish found in great designs.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
KING RICHARD.
Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Shall I forget myself to be myself?
KING RICHARD.
Ay, if your self’s remembrance wrong yourself.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Yet thou didst kill my children.
KING RICHARD.
But in your daughter’s womb I bury them,
Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed
Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?
KING RICHARD.
And be a happy mother by the deed.
QUEEN ELIZABETH.
I go. Write to me very shortly,
And you shall understand from me her mind.
KING RICHARD.
Bear her my true love’s kiss; and so, farewell.
[Kissing her. Exit Queen Elizabeth.]
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!
Enter Ratcliffe.
How now, what news?
RATCLIFFE.
Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast
Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
Unarmed, and unresolved to beat them back.
’Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;
And there they hull, expecting but the aid
Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.
KING RICHARD.
Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk.
Ratcliffe, thyself, or Catesby. Where is he?
CATESBY.
Here, my good lord.
KING RICHARD.
Catesby, fly to the Duke.
CATESBY.
I will my lord, with all convenient haste.
KING RICHARD.
Ratcliffe, come hither. Post to Salisbury.
When thou com’st thither—
[To Catesby.] Dull, unmindful villain,
Why stay’st thou here, and go’st not to the Duke?
CATESBY.
First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness’ pleasure,
What from your Grace I shall deliver to him.
KING RICHARD.
O, true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight
The greatest strength and power that he can make,
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.
CATESBY.
I go.
[Exit.]
RATCLIFFE.
What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?
KING RICHARD.
Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?
RATCLIFFE.
Your Highness told me I should post before.
KING RICHARD.
My mind is changed.
Enter Stanley Earl of Derby.
Stanley, what news with you?
STANLEY.
None good, my liege, to please you with the hearing;
Nor none so bad but well may be reported.
KING RICHARD.
Hoyday, a riddle! Neither good nor bad.
What need’st thou run so many miles about
When thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way?
Once more, what news?
STANLEY.
Richmond is on the seas.
KING RICHARD.
There let him sink, and be the seas on him!
White-livered runagate, what doth he there?
STANLEY.
I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
KING RICHARD.
Well, as you guess?
STANLEY.
Stirred up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,
He makes for England, here to claim the crown.
KING RICHARD.
Is the chair empty? Is the sword unswayed?
Is the King dead? The empire unpossessed?
What heir of York is there alive but we?
And who is England’s King but great York’s heir?
Then tell me, what makes he upon the seas?
STANLEY.
Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.
KING RICHARD.
Unless for that he comes to be your liege,
You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.
Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.
STANLEY.
No, my good lord; therefore mistrust me not.
KING RICHARD.
Where is thy power, then, to beat him back?
Where be thy tenants and thy followers?
Are they not now upon the western shore,
Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?
STANLEY.
No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.
KING RICHARD.
Cold friends to me. What do they in the north,
When they should serve their sovereign in the west?
STANLEY.
They have not been commanded, mighty King.
Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave,
I’ll muster up my friends, and meet your Grace
Where and what time your Majesty shall please.
KING RICHARD.
Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond.
But I’ll not trust thee.
STANLEY.
Most mighty sovereign,
You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful.
I never was nor never will be false.
KING RICHARD.
Go then, and muster men, but leave behind
Your son George Stanley. Look your heart be firm,
Or else his head’s assurance is but frail.
STANLEY.
So deal with him as I prove true to you.
[Exit.]
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER.
My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
As I by friends am well advertised,
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate,
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,
With many more confederates, are in arms.
Enter another Messenger.
SECOND MESSENGER.
In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in arms,
And every hour more competitors
Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.
Enter another Messenger.
THIRD MESSENGER.
My lord, the army of great Buckingham—
KING RICHARD.
Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of death?
[He strikes him.]
There, take thou that till thou bring better news.
THIRD MESSENGER.
The news I have to tell your Majesty
Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham’s army is dispersed and scattered,
And he himself wandered away alone,
No man knows whither.
KING RICHARD.
I cry thee mercy.
There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.
Hath any well-advised friend proclaimed
Reward to him that brings the traitor in?
THIRD MESSENGER.
Such proclamation hath been made, my lord.
Enter another Messenger.
FOURTH MESSENGER.
Sir Thomas Lovell and Lord Marquess Dorset,
’Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
But this good comfort bring I to your Highness:
The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest.
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks
If they were his assistants, yea or no?—
Who answered him they came from Buckingham
Upon his party. He, mistrusting them,
Hoised sail, and made his course again for Brittany.
KING RICHARD.
March on, march on, since we are up in arms,
If not to fight with foreign enemies,
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.
Enter Catesby.
CATESBY.
My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken.
That is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford
Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.
KING RICHARD.
Away towards Salisbury! While we reason here
A royal battle might be won and lost.
Someone take order Buckingham be brought
To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.
[Flourish. Exeunt.]
SCENE V. A Room in Lord Stanley’s house
Enter Stanley Earl of Derby and
Sir Christopher Urswick.
STANLEY.
Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:
That in the sty of the most deadly boar
My son George Stanley is franked up in hold;
If I revolt, off goes young George’s head;
The fear of that holds off my present aid.
So get thee gone. Commend me to thy lord;
Withal say that the Queen hath heartily consented
He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
But tell me, where is princely Richmond now?
CHRISTOPHER.
At Pembroke, or at Ha’rfordwest in Wales.
STANLEY.
What men of name resort to him?
CHRISTOPHER.
Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;
Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James 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 withal.
STANLEY.
Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand.
My letter will resolve him of my mind.
Farewell.
[Exeunt.]