# The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

## Part 164

Book page: https://www.cyberlibrary.org/en/books/the-complete-works-of-william-shakespeare-100/index.md

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._]

ACT V

SCENE I. Salisbury. An open place

Enter Sheriff and Halberds, with Buckingham, led to execution.

BUCKINGHAM. Will not King Richard let me speak with him?

SHERIFF. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.

BUCKINGHAM. Hastings, and Edward’s children, Grey, and Rivers, Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward, Vaughan, and all that have miscarried By underhand, corrupted foul injustice, If that your moody discontented souls Do through the clouds behold this present hour, Even for revenge mock my destruction. This is All-Souls’ day, fellow, is it not?

SHERIFF. It is.

BUCKINGHAM. Why, then All-Souls’ day is my body’s doomsday. This is the day which, in King Edward’s time, I wished might fall on me when I was found False to his children and his wife’s allies. This is the day wherein I wished to fall By the false faith of him whom most I trusted. This, this All-Souls’ day to my fearful soul Is the determined respite of my wrongs. That high All-Seer which I dallied with Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head And given in earnest what I begged in jest. Thus doth He force the swords of wicked men To turn their own points in their masters’ bosoms. Thus Margaret’s curse falls heavy on my neck: “When he,” quoth she, “shall split thy heart with sorrow, Remember Margaret was a prophetess.” Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame; Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

[_Exit with Officers._]

SCENE II. Plain near Tamworth

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

RICHMOND. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny, Thus far into the bowels of the land Have we marched on without impediment; And here receive we from our father Stanley Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, That spoiled your summer fields and fruitful vines, Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough In your embowelled bosoms—this foul swine Is now even in the centre of this isle, Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn. From Tamworth thither is but one day’s march. In God’s name, cheerly on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

OXFORD. Every man’s conscience is a thousand men, To fight against that guilty homicide.

HERBERT. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us.

BLUNT. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear, Which in his dearest need will fly from him.

RICHMOND. All for our vantage. Then in God’s name, march. True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE III. Bosworth Field

Enter King Richard in arms, with Norfolk, Ratcliffe and the Earl of Surrey with others.

KING RICHARD. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth field. My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

SURREY. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.

KING RICHARD. My lord of Norfolk.

NORFOLK. Here, most gracious liege.

KING RICHARD. Norfolk, we must have knocks, ha, must we not?

NORFOLK. We must both give and take, my loving lord.

KING RICHARD. Up with my tent! Here will I lie tonight. But where tomorrow? Well, all’s one for that. Who hath descried the number of the traitors?

NORFOLK. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.

KING RICHARD. Why, our battalia trebles that account. Besides, the King’s name is a tower of strength Which they upon the adverse faction want. Up with the tent! Come, noble gentlemen, Let us survey the vantage of the ground. Call for some men of sound direction; Let’s lack no discipline, make no delay, For, lords, tomorrow is a busy day.

[_The tent is now ready. Exeunt._]

Enter Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, Herbert, Blunt, and others who pitch Richmond’s tent.

RICHMOND. The weary sun hath made a golden set, And by the bright track of his fiery car Gives token of a goodly day tomorrow. Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. Give me some ink and paper in my tent; I’ll draw the form and model of our battle, Limit each leader to his several charge, And part in just proportion our small power. My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir William Brandon, And you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me. The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment.— Good Captain Blunt, bear my goodnight to him, And by the second hour in the morning Desire the Earl to see me in my tent. Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me. Where is Lord Stanley quartered, do you know?

BLUNT. Unless I have mista’en his colours much, Which well I am assured I have not done, His regiment lies half a mile at least South from the mighty power of the King.

RICHMOND. If without peril it be possible, Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him, And give him from me this most needful note.

BLUNT. Upon my life, my lord, I’ll undertake it; And so God give you quiet rest tonight.

RICHMOND. Good night, good Captain Blunt.

[_Exit Blunt._]

Come, gentlemen, Let us consult upon tomorrow’s business; Into my tent. The dew is raw and cold.

[_Richmond, Brandon Herbert, and Oxford withdraw into the tent. The others exeunt._]

Enter to his tent, King Richard, Ratcliffe, Norfolk and Catesby with Soldiers.

KING RICHARD. What is’t o’clock?

CATESBY. It’s supper time, my lord. It’s nine o’clock.

KING RICHARD. I will not sup tonight. Give me some ink and paper. What, is my beaver easier than it was? And all my armour laid into my tent?

CATESBY. It is, my liege, and all things are in readiness.

KING RICHARD. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; Use careful watch; choose trusty sentinels.

NORFOLK. I go, my lord.

KING RICHARD. Stir with the lark tomorrow, gentle Norfolk.

NORFOLK. I warrant you, my lord.

[_Exit._]

KING RICHARD. Catesby!

CATESBY. My lord?

KING RICHARD. Send out a pursuivant-at-arms To Stanley’s regiment. Bid him bring his power Before sunrising, lest his son George fall Into the blind cave of eternal night.

[_Exit Catesby._]