That I myself have done unto myself?
O, no. Alas, I rather hate myself,
For hateful deeds committed by my self.
I am a villain; yet I lye, I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well-Fool, do not flatter.
My confcience hath a thousand sev'ral tongues,
And ev'ry tongue brings in a fev'ral tale,
And ev'ry tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury in high'st degree,
Murder, stern 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 myself.
Methought, the fouls of all that I had murder'd
Came to my tent; and every one did threat
To morrow's vengence on the head of Richard.
Enter Rateliff
RAT. My lord.
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 shrink from me.
[Exeunt King Richard and Ratcliff.
SCENE VI. Enter the lords to Richmond, fitting in his tent.
LORDS. Good morrow, Richmond.
RICHM. 'Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,
you have ta'en a tardy fluggard here.
LORDS. How have you flept, my lord?
RICHM. The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams, That ever enter'd in a drowsy head,
Have I fince your departure had, my lords.
Methought, their fouls, whose bodies Richard murder'd,
Came to my tent, and cry'd-On! Victory!
Í 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.
RICHM. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction. More than I have faid, loving countrymen,
The leisure 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 base foul stone, made precious by the foil
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set,
One, that hath ever been God's enemy;
Then if you fight against God's enemy,
God will in justice 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 fhall welcome home the conquerors.
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 ransom 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 least of you shall share his part
Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly, cheerfully;
God, and St. George, Richmond, and victory,
VII. Enter King Richard, Ratcliff and
K. RICH. What faid Northumberland, as touching Richmond?
RAT. That he was never trained up in arms.
K. RICH. He faid the truth; and what faid Surrey then?
RAT. He fmil'd and faid, the better for our purpose.
K. RICH. He was i'th'right, and fo, indeed, it is.
Tell the clock there-give me a kalendar. [Clock ftrikes. Who faw the fun to-day?
K. RICH. Then he disdains to shine: for, by the book, He should have brav'd the east an hour ago.
A black day it will be to fomebody.
K. RICH. The fun will not be feen to day;
The fky doth frown and lowre upon our army.
I would thefe dewy tears were from the ground.
-Not shine to day? why what is that to me
More than to Richmond? for the felf-fame heav'n
That frowns on me, looks fadly upon him.
NOR. Arm, arm, my lord, the foe vaunts in the field.
K. RICH. Come, bustle, bustle-caparison my horse.
-Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power;
I will lead forth my foldiers to the plain,
And thus my battle shall be ordered.
My forward shall be drawn out all in length,
Confifting equally of horfe and foot;
Our archers shall be placed in the midft;
John duke of Norfolk, Thomas earl of Surry,
Shall have the leading of the foot and horse.
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.
"Jocky of Norfolk, be not so bold,
"For Dickon thy master 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 affright our fouls;
Confcience is but a word that cowards use,
Devis'd at firft to keep the strong in awe :
Our strong arms be our conscience, 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 shall 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 base lackey-peasants,
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 bieft 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 these ftragglers o'er the feas again,
Lafh hence these over-weening rags of France,
These famish'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 thofe baftard Britons, whom our fathers
|