The laft was I that felt thy tyranny.

O in the battle think on Buckingham,
And die in terror of thy guiltinefs.

Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death;
Fainting, defpair; defpairing yield thy breath.
-I dy'd for hope ere I could lend thee aid;

[To Richm. But cheer thy heart, and be thou not difmay'd: God and good angels fight on Richmond's fide, And Richard fall in height of all his pride.

[The Ghofts vanish. [K. Richard Starts out of his dream. K. Rich. Give me another horse-bind up my wounds

Have mercy Jefu.Soft, I did but dream.
O coward Confcience, how dost thou afflict me?
The lights burn blue is it not dead midnight?
Cold fearful drops ftand on my trembling flesh.
What? do I fear myfelf? there's none elle by;
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.

Is there a murd'rer here? no-yes, I am.
Then fly-what, trom myfelf? Great reafon; why?
Left I revenge. What? myself on myself?
I love myself. Wherefore, for any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
O, no. Alas, I rather hate myself,
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not.

Fool, of thyfelf fpeak well-Fool, do not flatter.
My confcience hath a thousand several tongues,
And ev'ry tongue brings in a several tale,
And ev'ry tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury in high'ft degree,
Murder, ftern murder in the dir❜ft degree,
All feveral fins, all us'd in each degree,
Throng to the bar, all crying, guilty! guilty!
I fhall defpair-there is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no foul fhall pity me.

Nay, wherefore fhould they? fince that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myfelf.

Methought the fouls of all that I had murder'd
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

Rat. My Lord,

Enter Ratcliff.

K. Rich. Who's there!

Rat. Ratcliff, my Lord.

The early village-cock

Hath twice done falutation to the morn;

Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. K. Rich Ratcliff, I fear, I fear

Rat. Nay, good my Lord, be not afraid of fhadows.

K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, fhadows to-night Have ftruck more terror to the foul of Richard, Than can the fubftance of ten thousand foldiers Armed in proof, and led by fhallow Richmond. It is not yet near day: come, go with me; Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, To hear if any mean to fhrink from me.

[Exeunt K. Richard and Ratcliff.

Enter the Lords to Richmond, fitting in his tent.

Lords. Good morrow, Richmond.

Rich. 'Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentlemen, That you have ta'en a tardy fluggard here. Lords. How have you flept, my Lord?

Rich. The fweeteft fleep and faireft-boding dreams That ever enter'd in a drowsy head,

Have I fince your departure had, my Lords.
Methought their fouls, whofe bodies Richard mur-
Came to my tent, and cry'd-On! Victory! [der'd,
I promise you my heart is very jocund

In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
How far into the morning is it, Lords?
Lords. Upon the ftroke of four.

Rich. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direc-
More than I have faid, loving countrymen, [tion.
The leifure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell on; yet remember this,
God and our good caufe fight upon our fide,
The pray'rs of holy faints and wronged fouls,
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, ftand before our faces.

Richard except, thofe whom we fight against,
Had rather have us win than him they follow.
For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen,
A bloody tyrant, and a homicide,

One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
One that made means to come by what he hath,
And flaughter'd thofe that were the means to help him.
A bafe foul stone, made precious by the foil*
Of England's chair, where he is falsely fet;
One that hath ever been God's enemy;
Then if you fight against God's enemy,
God will in juftice 'ward you as his foldiers.
If you do fweat to put a tyrant down,
You fleep in peace, the tyrant being flain :
If you do fight against your country's foes,
Your country's fat fhall pay your pains the hire:
If you do fight in fafeguard of your wives,
Your wives thall welcome home the conquerors:
If you do free your children from the fword,
Your childrens' children quit it in your age.
Then, in the name of God, and all these rights,
Advance your standards; draw your willing fwords.
For me, the ranfom of my bold attempt,
Shall be this cold corps on the earth's cold face:
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
The leaft of you thall fhare his part thereof.
Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly, chearfully;
God and St George! Richmond, and victory!

SCENE VII.

Enter King Richard, Ratcliff, and Catefby.
K. Rich. What faid Northumberland, as touching
Richmond?

Rat. That he was never trained up in arms.
K. Rich He laid the truth; and what faid Surrey

then?

Rat. He imil'd and said, the better for our purpose. K. Rich. He was i' th' right, and fo indeed it is.

*The leaf (fextille) or thin plate of metal in which the ftone is fet. Johnjon.

-Tell the clock there-[Clock ftrikes.]-Give me a

kalendar.

Who faw the fun to-day?

Rat. Not I, my Lord.

K. Rich. Then he difdains to fhine; for, by the He fhould have brav'd the east an hour ago. [book, A black day it will be to fome body.

Ratcliff.

Rat. My Lord?

&

K. Rich. The fun will not be feen to-day; The fky doth frown and lour upon our army. I would thefe dewy tears were from the ground. -Not fhine to-day? Why, what is that to me More than to Richmond? for the felf-fame, heaven That frowns on me, looks fadly upon him.

Enter Norfolk.

Nor. Arm, arm, my Lord, the foe vaunts in the field.
K. Rich. Come, buftle, buftle,-caparifon my horfe.
-Call up Lord Stanley; bid him bring his power;
I will lead forth my foldiers to the plain,
And thus my battle fhall be ordered:

My forward fhall be drawn out all in length,
Confifting equally of horfe and foot;
Our archers fhall be placed in the midft;
John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of the foot and horfe..
They thus directed, we ourfelf will follow
In the main battle, which on either fide
Shall be well winged with our chiefeft horfe.
This, and St George to boot!-What think'st thou,
Norfolk?

Nor. A good direction, warlike Sovereign.

-This paper found I on my tent this morning.

[Giving a feroll.

Focky of Norfolk, be not so bold, [Reads.
For Dickon thy mafter is bought and fold.

K. Rich. A thing devised by the enemy.
-Go, gentlemen; go, each man to his charge..
Let not our babbling dreams afright our fouls..
Confcience is but a word that cowards use,
I i

VOL. VI.

Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe :
Our strong arms be our confcience, fwords our law.
March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell,
If not to heav'n, then hand in hand to hell.
What fhall I fay more than I have inferr'd?
Remember whom you are to cope withal;
A fort of vagabonds, of rafcals, runaways;
A fcum of Britons, and bafe lackey-pealants,
Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth
To defperate adventures and deftruction.
You fleeping fafe, they bring you to unrest:
You having lands, and blefs'd with beauteous wives,.
They would diftrain the one, diftain the other.
And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,
Long kept in Bretagne at his mother's coft?
A milk-fop, one that never in his life
Felt fo much cold as over fhoes in fnow.
Let's whip thefe ftragglers o'er the feas again,
Lafh hence thefe over-weening rags of France,
Thefe famifl'd beggars, weary of their lives;
Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves.
If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us,

And not those bastard Britons, whom our fathers
Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd and thump'd;
And on record left them the heirs of fhame.
Shall these enjoy our lands? ly with our wives?
Ravish our daughters?-Hark, I hear their drum.
[Drum afar off.
Fight, gentlemen of England; fight, bold yeomen!
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head;
Spur your proud horfes hard, and ride in blood,
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
Enter a Meffenger.

What fays Lord Stanley, will he bring his power?
Me My Lord, he doth deny to come.
K. Rich. Off with his fon George's head.
Nor. My Lord, the enemy hath past the marfh;
After the battle let George Stanley die.

K. Rich. A thoufand hearts are great within my Advance our standards, fet upon our foes; [bofom.