 | Richard III |  |
The Scene, before Richard's Tent: Richard, Ratcliff, Norfolk and Catesby.
RICHARDCatesby!
CATESBY
Here, my Lord.
RICHARD
Send out a Pursuivant at Arms
To Stanley's Regiment: Bid him 'fore Sun-rise,
Meet me with his Power, or young George's Head
Shall pay the forfeit of his cold delay.
What, is my Beaver easier than it was?
And all my Armour laid into my Tent?
CATESBY
It is, my Liege: All is in readiness.
RICHARD
Good Norfolk, hye thee to thy Charge;
Use careful Watch: Chuse trusty Centinals.
NORFOLK
Doubt not, my Lord.
RICHARD
Be stirring with the Lark, good Norfolk.
NORFOLK
I shall, my Lord. [Exit Duke of Norfolk.
RICHARD
Saddle White Surrey for the Field to morrow.
Is Ink and Paper ready?
CATESBY
It is, my Lord.
RICHARD
An hour after Midnight, come to my Tent,
And help to Arm me. A good night, my Friends. (Exit.
RATCLIFF
Methinks the King has not that pleas'd Alacrity
Nor Cheer of Mind that he was wont to have.
CATESBY
The meer effect of business —
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When you shall see him with his Beavour up,
Ready to mount his Neighing Steed, with whom
He smiling, seems to have some wanton talk,
Clapping his pamper'd sides to hold him still;
Then, with a motion swift, and light as Air,
Like fiery Mars he Vaults him to the saddle;
Looks Terror to the Foe, and Courage to his Soldiers.
RATCLIFF
Good night to Richmond then; for, as I hear,
His numbers are so few, and those so sick
And famish'd in their march, if he dares fight us —
He jumps into the Sea to cool his Feaver.
But come, 'tis late: Now let's to our Tents,
We've few hours good before the Trumpet wakes us. (Ex.
[_]
(Ed. note: In the 1718 edition the assignment of these final lines between Catesby and Ratcliff is reversed.)
RICHARD
'Tis now the dead of Night, and half the World
Is with a lonely solemn darkness hung;
Yet I (so coy a dame is sleep to me)
With all the weary Courtship of
My Care-tir'd thoughts can't win her to my Bed;
Tho' ev'n the Stars do wink as 'twere, with over watching —
I'll forth, and walk a while — The Air's refreshing.
And the ripe Harvest of the new mown Hay
Gives it a sweet and wholesome Odour:
'How awful is this gloom — and hark from Camp to Camp
'The humm of either Army stilly sounds:
That the fixt Centinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other watch.
'Steed threatens Steed in high and boastful neighings,
'Piercing the nights dull Ear. Hark from the Tents,
The Armourers accomplishing the Knights,
'With clink of hammers closing rivets up
Give Dreadful note of Preparation; while some
'Like sacrifices by their fires of watch,
'With patience sit, and inly ruminate
'The mornings danger. By yon Heav'n my stern
'Impatience chides this tardy-gated night,
'Who, like a foul and ugly Witch, does limp
So tediously away: I'll to my Couch,
And once more try to sleep her into morning. (lies down.
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Ha! What means that dismal voice? Sure 'tis
The Eccho of some yawning Grave,
That teems with an untimely Ghost. — 'Tis gone!
'Twas but my Fancy, or perhaps the Wind
Forcing his entrance thro' some hollow Cavern;
No matter what — I feel my eyes grow heavy. (Sleeps.
The Ghost of Henry VI. rises
KING HENRY'S GHOST
O thou, whose unrelenting thoughts, not all
The hideous Terrours of thy Guilt can shake,
Whose Conscience with thy Body ever sleeps:
Sleep on, while I by Heavens high Ordinance
In dreams of horror wake thy frighted Soul:
Now give thy thoughts to me, let 'em behold
These gaping Wounds, which thy Death-dealing hand
Within the Tower gave my Anointed Body,
Now shall thy own devouring Conscience gnaw
Thy heart, and terribly revenge my Murder.
The Ghosts of the young Princes rise.
PRINCES' GHOSTS
Richard, dream on; and see the wandring spirits
Of thy young Nephews, murder'd in the Tower:
Cou'd not our Youth, our Innocence perswade
Thy cruel heart to spare our harmless lives?
Who, but for thee, alas, might have enjoy'd
Our many promis'd years of Happiness.
No Soul, save thine, but pitties our misusage:
O! 'twas a cruel deed! therefore alone,
Unpittying, unpittied shalt thou fall. (Vanish.
The Ghost of Ann his Wife rises.
ANN'S GHOST
Think on the wrongs of wretched Ann thy Wife,
Ev'n in the Battles heat remember me,
And edgeless fall they Sword — Despair, and Die.
KING HENRY'S GHOST
The mornings dawn has summon'd me away:
Now Richard wake in all the Hells of Guilt,
And let that wild despair which now does prey
Upon thy mangled thoughts, allarm the World.
Awake Richard, awake! To guilty minds
A terrible Example. — (sinks (Rich. starts out of his sleep.
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Give me another Horse: Bind up my wounds!
'Have mercy, Heaven. Ha! -soft! -'Twas but a dream:
But then so terrible, it shakes my Soul.
Cold drops of sweat hang on my trembling Flesh,
My blood grows chilly, and I freze with horror.
O Tyrant Consciene! how dost thou aflict me!
When I look back, 'tis terrible Retreating:
I cannot bear the thought, nor dare repent:
I am but Man, and Fate, do thou dispose me.
Who's there?
Enter Catesby.
CATESBY
'Tis I, my Lord; the Village Cock
Has thrice done salutation to the morn:
Your Friends are up, and buckle on their Armour.
RICHARD
'O Catesby! I have had such horrid dreams. —
CATESBY
'Shadows, my Lord, below the Soldier's heeding.
RICHARD
Now, by my this days hopes, shadows to night
Have struck more terror in the Soul of Richard,
Than can the substance of ten Thousand Soldiers
Arm'd all in Proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
CATESBY
'Be more your self, my Lord: Consider, Sir:
'Were it but known a dream had frighted you,
'How wou'd your animated Foes presume on't.
RICHARD
Perish that thought: No, never be it said,
That Fate it self could awe the Soul of Richard.
Hence, Babling dreams, you threaten here in vain:
Conscience avant; Richard's himself again.
Hark! the shrill Trumpet sounds, to Horse: Away!
My Soul's in Arms, and eager for the Fray. [Exeunt.
Enter Richmond, Oxford, Soldiers, etc. Marching.
RICHMOND
Halt.— (Soldiers halt, halt, etc.)
How far is it into the morning, Friends?
OXFORD
Near four, my Lord.
RICHMOND
'Tis well: I'm glad to find we are such early stirers.
OXFORD
Methinks the Foe's less forward than we thought 'em.
Worn as we are, we brave the Field before 'em.
RICHMOND
Come, there looks life in such a cheerful haste:
'If dreams should animate a Soul resolv'd,
'I'm more than pleas'd with those I've had to night.
'Methought that all the Ghosts of them, whose Bodies
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'And rous'd me to revenge 'em.
OXFORD
A good Omen, Sir: Hark! the Trumpet of
The Enemy. It speaks them on the march.
RICHMOND
'Why, then let's on, my Friends, to face 'em:
'In Peace there's nothing so becomes a Man
'As mild behaviour and humility:
'But when the blast of War blows in our ears,
'Let us be Tygers in our fierce deportment.
For me, the ransome of my bold attempt
'Shall be this Body, on the Earth's cold Face:
But, if we thrive, the Glory of the Action
The meanest here shall share his part of.
'Advance your Standards, draw your willing Swords:
'Sound, Drums and Trumpets, boldly and cheerfully.
The Word's Saint George, Richmond, and Victory. (Exeunt.
Enter Richard, Catesby, marching.
RICHARD
Who saw the Sun to day?
CATESBY
He has not yet broke forth, my Lord.
RICHARD
Then he disdains to shine; For, by the Clock,
He should have brav'd the East an hour ago.
Not shine to day? — Why, what is that to me,
'More than to Richmond? For the self-same Heaven
'That frowns on me, looks lowring upon him.
Enter Norfolk with a Paper.
NORFOLK
Prepare, my Lord, the Foe's in the Field.
RICHARD
Come, bustle, bustle; Caparison my Horse:
Call forth Lord Stanley; bid him bring his Power.
My self will lead the Soldiers to the Plain. (Exit Catesby.
Well, Norfolk, what thinkst thou now?
NORFOLK
That we shall Conquer, Sir; but on my Tent
This morning early was this Paper found.
RICHARD
[reads.]
Jockey of Norfolk be not too bold,
For Dickon thy Master is bought and sold.
'A weak invention of the Enemy.
'Come, Gentlemen, now each man to his Charge.
What shall I say more than I have infer'd:
Remember whom you are to Cope withal,
A scum of Britains, Rascals, Run-aways;
Whom their o'er cloy'd Country vomits forth
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If we be Conquer'd, let Men Conquer us,
And not these Bastard Britains, whom our Fathers
'Have in their own Land, beaten, spurn'd, and trod on.
And left 'em on Record, the Heirs of shame;
Are these Men fit to be the Heirs of England?
Enter Catesby.
What says Lord Stanley: Will he bring his Power?
CATESBY
He does refuse, my Lord: He will not, Sir.
RICHARD
Off with his Son Georges head. (Trumpet sounds.
NORFOLK
My Lord, the Foe's already past the Marsh:
After the Battle let young Stanley die.
RICHARD
Why, after be it then —
A thousand hearts are swelling in my bosom.
'Draw Archers, draw your Arrows to the head,
'Spur your proud Horses hard, and ride in blood:
And thou, our Warlike Champion, thrice Renown'd
St. George inspire me with the Rage of Lyons —
Upon 'em! Charge! —Follow me — (Exeunt.
An Allarm is heard: Richard re-enters alone.
RICHARD
What, ho! young Richmond, ho! 'tis Richard calls.
I hate thee, Harry, for thy blood of Lancaster;
'Now if thou dost not hide thee from my Sword,
'Now while the angry Trumpet sounds Allarms,
'And dead mens groans transpierce the wounded Air.
'Richmond, I say, come forth, and single face me:
'Richard is Hoarse with Daring thee to Arms.
The Allarm continues: Enter Catesby,
and the D. of Nor. in disorder.
CATESBY
Rescue! rescue! my Lord of Norfolk, haste.
The King Enacts more wonders than a Man,
Daring an opposite to every danger:
His Horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of Death.
'Nay, haste, my Lord: the day's against us. (Exeunt.
Enter Richard and Ratcliff in disorder.
RICHARD
A Horse! a Horse! my Kingdom for a Horse!
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'This way, this way, my Lord; below yon thicket
'Stands a swift Horse, Away, ruin pursues us.
'Withdraw, my Lord, for only flight can save you.
RICHARD
Slave, I have set my Life upon a Cast
And I will stand the hazard of the Dye.
I think there be six Richmonds in the Field;
Five have I slain to day, instead of him.
An Horse! an Horse! my Kingdom for an Horse. (Ex.
Re-enter Richard, and Richmond meeting.
RICHARD
'Of one, or both of us the time is come.
RICHMOND
Kind Heaven I thank thee, for my Cause is thine;
If Richard's fit to live let Richmond fall.
RICHARD
Thy Gallant bearing, Harry, I cou'd plaud,
But that the spotted Rebel stains the Soldier.
RICHMOND
Nor shou'd thy Prowess, Richard, want my praise,
But that thy cruel deeds have stampt thee Tyrant.
So thrive my Sword as Heaven's high Vengeance draws it.
RICHARD
'My Soul and Body on the Action both.
RICHMOND
A dreadful lay: Here's to decide it. (Allarm, fight.
RICHARD
Perdition catch thy Arm. The chance is thine: (Richard is wounded.
But oh! the vast Renown thou hast acquired
In Conquering Richard, does afflict him more
Than even his Bodies parting with its Soul:
'Now let the World no longer be a Stage
'To feed contention in a lingring Act:
'But let one spirit of the First-born Cain
'Reign in all bosoms, that each heart being set
'On bloody Actions, the rude Scene may end,
'And darkness be the Burier of the Dead. (Dies.
RICHMOND
Farewel, Richard, and from thy dreadful end
May future Kings from Tyranny be warn'd;
Had thy aspring Soul but stir'd in Vertue
With half the Spirit it has dar'd in Evil,
How might thy Fame have grac'd our English Annals:
But as thou art, how fair a Page thou'st blotted.
Hark! the glad Trumpets speak the Field our own.
Enter Oxford and Lord Stanley: Soldiers follow with Richard's Crown.
O welcome, Friends: My Noble Father welcome.
Heaven and our Arms be prais'd the day is ours.
See there, by Lords, stern Richard is no more.
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Victorious Richmond well hast thou acquitted thee:
— And see, the just reward that Heaven has sent thee.
'Among the Glorious spoils of Bosworth Field,
'We've found the Crown, which now in right is thine:
'Tis doubly thine by Conquest, and by Choice.
'Long Live Henry the Seventh, King of England. (Shouts here.
RICHMOND
Next to Just Heaven, my Noble Countrymen,
I owe my thanks to you, whose love I'm proud of,
And Ruling well shall speak my Gratitude.
But now, my Lords, what Friends of us are missing?
Pray tell me; Is young George Stanley living?
STANLEY
He is, my Liege, and safe in Leicester Town,
Whither, if you please, we may withdraw us.
Enter Blunt.
BLUNT
My Lord, the Queen and fair Elizabeth,
Her beautious Daughter, some few miles of, are
On their way to Gratulate your Victory.
RICHMOND
Ay, there indeed my toil's rewarded.
Let us prepare to meet 'em, Lords, and then,
As we're already bound by solemn Vows;
'We'll twine the Roses red and white together,
'And both from one kind stalk shall flourish:
England has long been mad, and scarr'd her self.
'The Brother blindly shed the Brother's blood:
'The Father rashly slaughter'd his own Son:
'The bloody Son compell'd, has kill'd his Sire.
'O! Now let Henry and Elizabeth,
The true Successors of each Royal House
'Conjoyn'd together, heal those deadly wounds:
'And be that wretch of all mankind abhor'd,
'That wou'd reduce those bloody days again:
'Ne'er let him live to taste our Joys encrease,
'That wou'd with Treason wound fair England's Peace.
F I N I S
| Richard III | |