Richard III

the Sheriff, and Buckingham, with halberds, 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, Rivers, Grey,
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, fellows, is it not?

Sheriff It is, my lord. Buckingham

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

Scene II

The camp 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 march’d on without impediment; And here receive we from our father Stanley Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, That spoil’d your summer fields and fruitful vines, Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough In your embowell’d bosoms, this foul swine Lies 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 swords, To fight against that bloody homicide.
Herbert	I doubt not but his friends will fly to us.
Blunt	He hath no friends but who are friends for fear, Which in his greatest need will shrink 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, the Earl of Surrey, and others.
King Richard	Here pitch our tents, 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 gracious lord.
King Richard	Up with my tent there! here will I lie to-night; But where to-morrow? Well, all’s one for that. Who hath descried the number of the foe?
Norfolk	Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.
King Richard	Why, our battalion trebles that account: Besides, the king’s name is a tower of strength, Which they upon the adverse party want. Up with my tent there! Valiant gentlemen, Let us survey the vantage of the field; Call for some men of sound direction: Let’s want no discipline, make no delay; For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. Exeunt.
	Enter, on the other side of the field, Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and others. Some of the Soldiers pitch Richmond’s tent.
Richmond	The weary sun hath made a golden set, And by the bright track of his fiery car, Gives signal of a goodly day to-morrow. 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 strength. 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 good-night to him, And by the second hour in the morning Desire the earl to see me in my tent: Yet one thing more, good Blunt, before thou go’st, Where is Lord Stanley quarter’d, dost thou 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, Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him, And give him from me this most needful scroll.
Blunt	Upon my life, my lord, I’ll undertake it; And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!
Richmond	Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come gentlemen, Let us consult upon to-morrow’s business: In to our tent; the air is raw and cold. They withdraw into the tent.
	Enter, to his tent, King Richard, Norfolk, Ratcliff, Catesby, and others.
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 to-night. 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 to-morrow, 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. Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch. Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. Ratcliff!
Ratcliff	My lord?
King Richard	Saw’st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?
Ratcliff	Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself, Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop Went through the