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The last was I that felt thy tyranny.
[The Ghosts vanish. [K. Richard starts out of his dream. K. Rich. Give me another horse-bind up my
woundsHavề mercy Jefu.– Soft, I did but dream. O coward Conscience, how dost thou afflict me? The lights burn bluem-is it not dead midnight? Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling filem. What? do I fear myself? 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, from myself? Great reason; 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 thyself speak well-Fool, do not flatter. My conscience 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'st degree, Murder, stern murder in the dir's degree, All several sins, all usd in each degree, Throng to the bar, all crying, guilty! guilty ! I Mall despair—there is no creature loves me; And if I die, no soul shall pity me.. Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself. Methought the fouls of all that I had murder'd Game to my tent, and every one did threat To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
Rat. Ratcliff, my Lord. The early village-cock
K. Rich Ratcliff, I fear, I fear
[Exeunt K. Richard and Ratcliff.
S CE N E 'Enter the Lords to Richmond, sitting in his tent. Lords. Good morrow, Richmond.
Rich. 'Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentlemen, That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.
Lords. How have you slept, my Lord ?
Rich. The sweeten sleep and fairest-boding dreams That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, Have I since your departure had, my Lords. Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murCaine 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 stroke of four.
Rich. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direcMore than I have said, loving countrymen, [tion. The leisure and enforcement of the rime Forbids to dwell on; yet remember this, God and our good cause figlit upon our side, The pray’rs of holy fainis and wronged souls, Like high-rear'd bulwarks, ftand before our faces.
Richard except, those whom we fight against,
you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
S CE N E VII.
Richmond ? Rat. That he was né:er trained up in arins. K. Rich He said the truth ; and what said Surrey
then ? Rat. He imild and said, the better for our purpose. K. Rich. He was i'ch' righi, and so indeed it is.
The leaf (fereille) or thin plate of metal in which the stone is set. jur. njoilo
-Tell the clock there--[Clock strikes.]-Give me a
kalendar. Who saw the fun to-day? · Rat. Not I, my Lord.
K. Rich. Then he disdains to shine; for, by the He should have brav'd the east an hour ago. [book, A black day it will be to some body. Ratcliff.
Rat. My Lord ?
K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day; The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. I would these dewy tears were from the ground. -Not thine to-day? Why, what is that to me More than to Richmond ? for the self-fame, heaven That frowns on me, looks fadly upon himn.
Enter Norfolk. Nor. Arm, arm, my Lord, the foe vaunts in the field.
K. Rich. Come, bustle, bustle, -caparison my horse.
[Giving a scroll. Focky of Norfolk, be not so bold,
[Reads. For Dickor thy master is bought and sold. K. Rich. A thing devised by the enemy. -Go, gentlemen ; go, each man to his charge.. Let not our babbling dreams afright our fouls. Conscience is but a word that cowards use, Vol. VI.
Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe :
[Drum afar off. Fight, gentlemen of England; fight, bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head; Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood, Amaze the welkin with your broken staves !..
Enter a Merenger. What fays Lord Stanley, will he bring his power?
Mell. My Lord, he doth deny to come. K. Řich. 'Off with his fon George's head. Nor. My Lord, the enemy hath past the marsh; After the battle let George Stanley die.
K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within my. Adrance our standards, set upon our foes ; [bosom.