[ Dramatic music plays ] ♪♪♪ [ Choir vocalizing ] ♪♪♪ [ Indistinct conversations ] [ Ominous music plays ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ [ Indistinct conversations ] ♪♪♪ They said it should be buried here.

[ Indistinct conversations ] ♪♪♪ This may be a historic day here in Leicester.

An astonishing discovery under a car park.

We are waiting to confirm that the individual found here is indeed Richard III, the last Plantagenet king of England.

[ Indistinct conversations ] ♪♪♪ Look, it's here.

It pops out, and it's curved like that.

Well, you've got to be sure.

There's a bit inside there.

[ Indistinct conversations ] ♪♪♪ Just go down there.

Okay.

[ Indistinct conversation ] ♪♪♪ If you could pass me that.

[ Hammering ] ♪♪♪ [ Indistinct conversation ] Oh, God!

Right there.

I found something!

You gotta come see this, come see this.

That's it.

[ Indistinct conversation ] ♪♪♪ [ Horses whinnying ] [ Swords clanging ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ [ Cheers and applause ] ♪♪♪ [ People shouting and laughing ] [ Dramatic music playing ] [ Laughter ] Man: Lord save the king!

[ Laughter ] ♪♪♪ Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty to strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, deformed, Unfinish'd, sent before my time into this breathing world, Scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, About a prophecy, which says that "G" Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.

Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes.

Brother, good day; what means this armed guard That waits upon your grace?

His majesty, tendering my person's safety, Hath appointed this conduct to convey me to the Tower.

Upon what cause?

Because my name is George.

Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should, for that, commit your godfathers.

But what's the matter, Clarence?

may I know?

Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest as yet I do not: but, as I can learn, he hearkens after prophecies and dreams.

And says a wizard told him that by 'G" His issue disinherited should be; And, for my name of George begins with "G," It follows in his thought that I am he.

Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women: 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower: My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she that tempers him to this extremity.

Was it not she and that Brother Rivers That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is deliver'd?

We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

By heaven, I think there's no man is secure But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore.

Heard ye not what a humble suppliant Lord hastings was to her for his delivery?

Humbly complaining to her deity Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.

I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother.

Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speak no treason, man: we say the king is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks: How say you sir?

Can you deny all this?

With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

Naught to do with Mistress Shore!

I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, were best he do it secretly, alone.

What one, my lord?

Her husband, nave.

Wouldst thou betray me?

I beseech your grace to pardon me -- We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.

I will unto the king; And whatsoever you will employ me in, I will perform it to enfranchise you.

Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; Meantime, have patience.

I must perforce.

Farewell.

Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.

Simple, plain Clarence!

I do love thee so, that I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands.

But who comes here?

the new-deliver'd Hastings?

Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

As much unto my good lord chamberlain!

Well are you welcome to the open air.

How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks that were the cause of my imprisonment.

No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

What news abroad?

No news so bad abroad as this at home; The King is sickly, weak and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily.

Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.

O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.

What, is he in his bed?

He is.

Go you before, and I will follow you.

He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.

I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, And, if I fail not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in!

For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.

What though I kill'd her husband... [ Audience laughs ] And his father.

But yet I run before my horse to market: Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns: When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

[ Dramatic music plays ] [ Choir singing in Latin ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ Set down, set down your honorable load, If honor may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.

Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!

Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!

Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!

Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these holes!

Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!

Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!

More direful hap betide that hated wretch, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads.

If ever he have child, abortive be it, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect may fright the hopeful mother at the view!

If ever he have wife, let her he made More miserable by the death of him Than I am made by my young lord and thee!

Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there.

Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

What black magician conjures up this fiend?

Villains, set down the corpse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corpse of him that disobeys.

My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

Unmanner'd dog!

Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

What, do you tremble?

are you all afraid?

Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!

Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.

Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.

If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.

O, gentlemen, see, see!

Dead Henry's wounds open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh!

Blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, Where no blood dwells.

Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

More wonderful, when angels are so angry.

Divine perfection of a woman, let me have some patient leisure to excuse myself.

Diffused infection of a man, thou canst make no excuse current, but to hang thyself.

By such despair, I should accuse myself.

And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

Say that I slew them not?

Then say they were not slain; But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee.

I did not kill your husband.

Why, then he is alive.

Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

Queen Margaret saw thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; And didst thou not kill this king?

I grant ye, yea.

Dost grant me, hedgehog?

then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!

O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!

The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.

He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

Let him thank me, that helped to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth.

And thou unfit for any place but hell.

Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

Some dungeon.

Your bed-chamber.

Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

So will it, madam till I lie with you.

I hope so.

I know so.

But, gentle Lady Anne, to leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall something into a slower method, Is not the causer of the timeless deaths As blameful as the executioner?

Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect.

Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might rest one hour in your sweet bosom.

If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

These eyes could never endure thy beauty's wreck; You should not blemish it, if I stood by: As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life.

Black night o'er shade thy day, and death thy life!

Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both.

I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth you.

It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that slew my husband.

He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband.

His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

He lives that loves thee better than he could.

Name him.

Plantagenet.

Why, that was he.

The selfsame name, but one of better nature.

Where is he?

Here.

[ Spits ] Why dost thou spit at me?

Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!

Never came poison from so sweet a place.

Never hung poison on a fouler toad.

Out of my sight!

Thou dost infect my eyes.

Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!

I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death.

Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, My tongue could never learn sweet soothing words; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

Teach not thy lips such scorn, For they were made for kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom.

And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.

Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

Take up the sword again, or take up me.

Arise, dissembler.

Though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner.

Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

I have already.

Tash!

That was in thy rage.

Speak it again, and, even with the word, This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love; To both their deaths thou shalt be accessory.

I would I knew thy heart.

'Tis figured in my tongue.

I fear me both are false.

Then never was man true.

Well, well, put up your sword.

Say, then, my peace is made.

That shall you know hereafter.

But shall I live in hope?

All men, I hope, live so.

Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

To take is not to give.

Look, how this ring encompasseth finger.

Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.

And if thy poor devoted suppliant may But beg one favor at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

What is it?

That it would please thee leave these sad designs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby Place; Where, after I have solemnly interr'd At Chertsey monastery this noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you: Grant me this boon.

With all my heart; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent.

Bid me farewell.

'Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already.

Sirs, take up the corse.

Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming.

Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?

Was ever woman in this humour won?

I'll have her; but I will not keep her long.

What!

[ Audience laughs ] I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I nothing to back my suit at all, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!

Ha!

And I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvelous proper man.

I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain some score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favor with myself, Will maintain it with some little cost.

But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; And then return lamenting to my love.

Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass.

[ Dramatic music plays ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ Have patience, sister.

There's no doubt his majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse: For God's sake, Mother, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry eyes.

If he were dead, what would betide of me?

No other harm but loss of such a lord.

The loss of such a lord includes all harm.

The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son, To be your comforter when he is gone.

Oh, he is young and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

Is it concluded he shall be protector?

It is determined, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

Man: Here come the lords of Buckingham and Stanley.

Good time of day unto your royal grace!

God make your majesty joyful as you have been!

Saw you the king to-day, my Lord Stanley?

But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Came forth from visiting his majesty.

What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully.

God grant him health!

Did you confer with him?

Madam, we did.

He desires to make atonement Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And betwixt you and my good lord of Hastings; And sent to warn you to his royal presence.

I fear our happiness is at the height.

Richard: They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: Who are they that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not?

By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumors.

Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abused By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

To whom in all this presence speaks your grace?

To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.

When have I injured thee?

When done thee wrong?

Or thee?

Or thee?

Or any of your faction?

A plague upon you all!

His royal person -- whom God preserve better Than you would wish -- Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter.

The king, of his own royal disposition, And not provoked by any suitor else; Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, Which in your outward actions shows itself Against my kindred, brother, and myself, Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it.

I cannot tell; the world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.

Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester; You envy my advancement and my friends': God grant we never may have need of you!

Meantime, God grants that we have need of you: Our brother is imprison'd by your means.

By Him that raised me to this careful height, I never did incense his majesty against the Duke of Clarence, But have been an earnest advocate to plead for him.

You may deny that you were not the cause Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment.

She may, my lord, for-- She may, Lord Rivers!

Why, who knows not so?

She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, What may she not?

She may, yea, marry, may she -- What, marry, may she?

What, marry, may she!

Marry with a king, a bachelor, a handsome stripling too: No doubt your grandam had a worser match.

My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty With those gross taunts I often have endured.

What!

Threat you me with telling of the king?

Tell him and spare not.

I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.

'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot.

Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs; A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends: To royalize his blood, I spilt my own.

In all which time you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And, Rivers, so were you.

Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain?

Poor Clarence did forsake his father-in-law To fight on Edward's party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up.

My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king: So should we you, if you should be our king.

If I should be!

I'd rather be a peddler.

Far be it from my heart, the thought of it!

As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country's king, As little joy may you suppose in me.

That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.

Woman: A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless.

Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill'd from me!

Which of you trembles not that looks on me?

Ah-ah-ah-ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!

Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight?

A husband and a son thou owest to me; And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance: The sorrow that I have, by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.

The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-- His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed.

So just is God, to right the innocent.

O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

No man but prophesied revenge for it.

Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

What were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me?

Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?

Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!

If not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king!

Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's death; And see another, as I see thee now, Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!

Long die thy happy days before thy death; And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!

Rivers and Grey, you -- you were standers by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him, that none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag!

And leave out thee?

Stay, dog, for you shalt hear me.

The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul!

No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!

Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!

Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell!

Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb!

Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!

Thou rag of honor!

Thou detested-- Margaret.

Richard!

Ha!

I call thee not.

Then I cry thee mercy, for I had thought That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.

Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply.

O, let me make the period to my curse!

'Tis done by me, and ends in "Margaret."

Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.

Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune!

Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?

Fool, fool!

Thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.

The day will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad.

False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.

Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.

Peace, master marquess, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honor is scarce current.

They that stand high have many blasts to shake them; And if they fall, dash themselves to pieces.

Good counsel, Mary.

Learn it, learn it, marquess.

It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me.

Yea, and much more, but I was born so high, Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.

And turns the sun to shade; Alas!

Alas!

Witness my son, now in the shade of death; Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity.

It's neither shame nor charity to me.

Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd.

My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage.

Have done, have done.

O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!

Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him, beware of him.

Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him.

What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?

Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

What?

Dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel?

And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?

O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say poor Margaret was a prophetess!

Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God's!

My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.

And so doth mine.

I wonder she's at liberty.

I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her.

I never did her any, to my knowledge.

But you have all the vantage of her wrong.

Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid, He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains.

God pardon them that are the cause of it!

A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us.

Madam, his majesty doth call for you, And for your grace; and you, my noble lords.

Catesby, we come.

Lords, will you go with us?

Madam, we will attend your grace.

I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.

Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls Namely, to Hastings, Stanley, Buckingham; And say it is the queen and her allies That stir the king against the duke my brother.

Now, they believe it; and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Dorset, Grey: But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil.

My Lord.

But, soft!

Here come my executioners.

How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates!

Are you now going to dispatch this deed?

We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant That we may be admitted where he is.

Well thought upon; I have it here about me.

But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity if you mark him.

Tush!

Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues.

Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like you, lads; about your business straight; [ Dramatic music plays ] ♪♪♪ [ Waves lapping ] [ Clinking ] ♪♪♪ [ Keys jingling ] [ Door opens ] [ Door closes ] Why looks your grace so heavily today?

O, I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days.

What was your dream?

I long to hear you tell it.

Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloucester; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk upon the hatches.

As we paced along upon the giddy footing Of the hatches, methought that Gloucester stumbled; and in stumbling, struck me that sought to stay him, overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main.

Lord, Lord!

methought, what -- what pain it was to drown!

And what ugly sights of death within mine eyes!

Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.

Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?

Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast and wandering air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

Awaked you not with this sore agony?

No.

No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul, I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

See, there came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud, "Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury; Seize on him, Furies, take him to thy torments!"

With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me about, and howled in my ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling waked, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made the dream.

No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you; I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it.

O Brakenbury, I have done those things, Which now bear evidence against my soul.

For Edward's sake; See how he requites me!

[ Crying ] I pray thee, gentle keeper, just stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

I will, my Lord.

God give your grace good rest!

[ Sighs ] ♪♪♪ [ Sighs ] ♪♪♪ [ Door opens, closes ] ♪♪♪ [ Lock clicks ] In God's name what are you, and how came you hither?

I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.

Yea, are you so brief?

O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious.

Show him our commission; talk no more.

I am, in this, commanded to deliver The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands: I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.

Here are the keys.

[ Keys jingle ] There lies the duke asleep: I'll to his majesty; and certify his grace That thus I have resign'd my charge to you.

Do so.

It is a point of wisdom.

♪♪♪ What, shall we stab him as he sleeps?

[Stammeig] No; he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

When he wakes!

Why, fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day.

The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind of remorse in me.

What, art thou afraid?

Not to kill him, having a warrant.

But to be damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us.

Go back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so.

I pray thee, stay a while.

I hope my holy humour will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.

How dost thou feel thyself now?

'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.

Remember our reward, when the deed is done.

Soon, he dies: I had forgot the reward.

Oh, and where is thy conscience now?

In the Duke of Gloucester's purse.

[ Laughter ] Come, shall we fall to this work?

[ Sighs ] [ Keys jingling ] [ Door opens ] [ Door closes ] Hark!

He stirs: Shall I strike?

No, first let's reason with him.

Where art thou, keeper?

Give me a cup of wine.

You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.

In God's name, what art thou?

A man, as you are.

But not, as I am, royal.

Nor you, as we are, loyal.

Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.

Wherefore come you hither?

To, to, to-- To... To murder me?

Both: Ay, ay.

You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.

Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

Offended us you have not, but the king.

I shall be reconciled to him again.

Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.

Are you call'd forth from out a world of men To slay the innocent?

What is my offense?

Where are the evidence that do accuse me?

Before I be convicted by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful.

I charge you, as you hope to have redemption That you depart and lay no hands on me.

The deed you undertake is damnable.

What we will do, we do upon command.

And he that hath commanded is the king.

Well, the great King of kings hath in the tables of his law commanded that thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then, spurn at his edict and fulfill a man's?

Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands.

The same vengeance doth he throw on thee, For false forswearing and for murder too.

And, like a traitor to the name of God, Thou unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son.

Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend.

How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us, When thou hast broke it in so dear degree?

Alas!

For whose sake did I that ill deed?

For Edward, for my brother, for his sake.

For thy brother's love, the devil, and thy fault, Have brought us hither now to murder thee.

Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me.

I am his brother, and I love him well.

Look, if you be hired for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you.

No, he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go you to him from me.

Ay, so we will.

Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.

Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep.

O, do not slander him, for he is kind.

Right, as a snow in harvest.

Though decieveth thyself.

'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee.

It cannot be; for when I parted with him, He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery.

Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven.

Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.

Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed.

What shall we do?

Relent, and save your souls.

Relent!

'Tis cowardly and womanish.

Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.

Ah, oh, my friend, I spy some pity in thy looks: Come thou on my side, and entreat for me.

[ All shouting ] -[ Shouts ] [ Both grunting ] ♪♪♪ [ Men panting ] And if this will not serve... [ Grunting ] [ Water splashes ] Why dost thou not help me?

By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art!

I would he knew that I had saved his brother!

Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say.

For I repent me that the duke is slain.

So do not I: Go, coward as thou art.

And when I have my fee, I must away; For this will out, and here I must not stay.

[ Dramatic music plays ] [ Choir singing in Latin ] ♪♪♪ [ Screams ] [ Gasping, panting ] So now have I done a good day's work: You peers, continue this united league: I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have set my friends at peace on earth.

Rivers, Hastings, take each other's hand; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.

By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate: And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.

So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!

Take heed you dally not before your king; Lest he that is the supreme King of kings Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other's end.

So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!

And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!

Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, Nor your sons, Dorset, Grey, Buckingham, nor you; You have been factious one against the other, Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand.

Here, Hastings; I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!

This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon our part shall be unviolable.

And so swear I, my lord.

Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife's allies, And make me happy in your unity.

Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate On you or yours, but with all duteous love Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love!

There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here To make the perfect period of this peace.

Now, in good time, here comes the noble duke.

Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen: And, princely peers, a happy time of day!

Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.

Brother, we done deeds of charity; Made peace enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege: 'Tis death to me to be at enmity; I hate it, and desire all good men's love.

First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service; Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, If ever any grudge were lodged between us; Of you, Lord Rivers, Dorset, Grey, of you; That without desert have frown'd on me.

I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds More than the infant that is born to-night I thank my God for my humility.

A holy day shall this be kept hereafter: I would to God all strifes were well compounded.

My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this To be so bouted in this royal presence?

Who knows not that the noble duke is dead?

You do him injury to scorn his corpse.

Who knows not he is dead!

Who knows he is?

All seeing heaven, what a world is this!

Look I so struck, Lord Dorset, as the rest?

Ay, my lord; and no one in this presence But his red color hath forsook his cheeks.

Is Clarence dead?

The order was reversed.

But he, poor soul, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear: Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!

I prithee peace; my soul is full of sorrow.

I will not rise, unless your highness grant.

Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st.

A pardon, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall the same give pardon to a slave?

My brother slew no man; his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was cruel death.

Who sued to me for him?

Who, in my rage, kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised?

Who spake of brotherhood?

Who of love?

Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, And said, "Dear brother, live, and be a king?"

But when your carters or your waiting-vassals Have done a drunken slaughter, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; And I unjustly too, must grant it you But for my brother not a man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself for him, poor soul.

O God, I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this!

Come, Hastings, help me to my closet.

Oh, poor Clarence!

This is the fruit of rashness!

Mark'd you not how that the guilty kindred of the queen look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death?

O, they did urge it still unto the king!

God will revenge it.

But come, let us in, to comfort Edward with our company.

We wait upon your grace.

[ Choir singing in Latin ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ Clarence!

My unhappy son!

-I'll join with blackness!

-Come forward, dear mother!

Oh!

Who shall hinder me to wail and weep.

What means this scene of rude impatience?

[Crying] Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead.

If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; [ Crying ] Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left thee.

But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms, And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs, Edward and Clarence.

Give me no help in lamentation.

[ Sobbing ] For my husband, for my dear lord Edward!

Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son: send straight for him Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives.

Sister, have comfort: all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can cure their harms by wailing them.

Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee I crave your blessing.

God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

Amen; and make me die a good old man!

That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing: I marvel why her grace did leave it out.

You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, Now cheer each other with each other's love Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son.

Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to be crown'd our king.

Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham?

Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd: I hope the king made peace with all of us And the compact is firm and true in me.

And so in me; and so, I think, in all.

Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged: And so we say with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince.

And so say I.

Then be it so; And go we to determine who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.

Madam, and you, my mother, will you go To give your censures in this weighty business?

With all our harts.

My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, For God's sake, let not us two stay behind; For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, And preface to the story we late talk'd of, To part the queen's proud kindred from the king.

My other self, my counsel's consistory, My oracle, my prophet!

My dear cousin, I, like a child, will go by thy direction.

Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind.

[ Bell tolling ] ♪♪♪ Sister, well met: whither away so fast?

I promise you, I scarcely know myself: Heard you the news abroad?

Aye, that the king is dead.

Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better: I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world.

Good morrow, neighbors.

Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death?

It doth.

Oh, then, sisters, look to see a troublous world.

No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign.

Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child!

In him there is a hope of government, That will in his youth council under him, And in him his full and ripen'd years himself.

So stood the state when Henry the Sixth Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old.

Stood the state so?

No, friends; For then, the king had virtuous uncles to protect his grace.

Why, so hath this, both by mother and father.

Better it were they all came by the father, Or by the father there were none at all; [ Crow cawing ] O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!

And the queen's sons and brothers haught and proud.

Come, come, we fear the worst; all shall be well.

All may be well; if God sort it so, 'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.

Ye cannot almost reason with a man That looks not heavily and full of fear.

Aye, the waters swell before a boisterous storm.

Well, leave it all to God.

Whither away?

I am sent for to the justices.

Why, so was I: I'll bear you company.

[ Laughter ] Go, soldier, go!

[ Laughter ] Last night, I hear, they lay at Northampton; At Stony-Stratford do they rest to-night: To-morrow, or next day, they will be here.

I long with all my heart to see the prince: I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.

But I hear, no; they say my son of York Hath almost overta'en him in his growth.

Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.

Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow.

Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper, My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow more than my brother: '"Ay," quoth my uncle Gloucester, "Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:" [ Laughter ] Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold In him that did relate the same to thee; He was the wretched'st thing when he was young, So long a-growing and so leisurely, That, if this were a true rule, he should be gracious.

Why, madam, so, no doubt, he is.

I hope so too; but yet let mothers doubt.

Grandam, they say my uncle grew so fast That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old I pray thee, brother York, who told thee so?

His nurse.

His nurse!

Why, she was dead ere thou wert born.

If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.

Boy, go to, you are too shrewd.

Good madam, be not angry with the child.

Pitchers have ears.

Here comes your son.

What news, lord marquess?

Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold.

How fares the prince?

Well, mother, and in health.

What is thy news then?

Lord Rivers and my brother, Grey, are sent to Pomfret, prisoners.

Who hath committed them?

The mighty dukes Gloucester and Buckingham.

For what offense?

Why or for what they were committed Is all unknown to me.

The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind; I see, as in a map, the end of all.

Accursed and unquiet wrangling days, How many of you have mine eyes observed!

My husband lost his life to get the crown; And often up and down my sons were toss'd, Outrage; blood against blood, Self against self: O, let me die, to look on death no more!

Come, come, children; we will to sanctuary.

Stay.

I will go with thee.

You have no cause.

My gracious lady, go; And thither bear your treasure and your goods.

For my part, I'll resign unto your grace The king's seal I keep: and so betide to me As well I tender you and all of yours!

Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary.

[ Choir singing in Latin ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ Man: Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber.

Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign The weary way hath made you melancholy.

No, uncle; but the news along the way Has made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy I want more uncles here to welcome me.

Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years Hath not yet dived into the world's deceit Those uncles which you want were dangerous; Man: Aye.

Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, But look'd not on the poison of their hearts: God keep you from them, and from such false friends!

God keep me from false friends!

But they were none.

[ Trumpet fanfare plays ] My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you.

God bless your grace with health and happy days!

I thank you, good my lord; and thank you all.

I thought my mother, and my brother York, Would long ere this have met us on the way.

Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he haste not To tell us whether they will come or no!

[ Laughter ] Now, in good time, here comes the sweating lord.

Welcome, my lord.

What, will our mother come?

On what occasion, God he knows, not I, The queen your mother, and your brother York, Have taken sanctuary.

The tender prince would fain have come with me to meet your grace.

But by his mother was perforce withheld.

Fie, what an indirect and peevish course is this of hers!

Lord archbishop, will your grace Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York Unto his princely brother presently?

If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him, And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.

My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory Can from his mother win the Duke of York, Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate to mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid we should infringe the holy privilege Of blessed sanctuary!

Not for all this land would I be guilty of so deep a sin.

You are too senseless -- obstinate, my lord, Too ceremonious and traditional.

Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, You break not sanctuary in seizing him.

The benefit thereof is always granted To those whose dealings have deserved the place, And those who have the wit to claim the place: This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserved it; And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it.

Oft have I heard of sanctuary men; But sanctuary children ne'er till now.

[ Laughter ] My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once.

Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?

I go, my lord.

Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.

Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come, Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?

Where it seems best unto your royal self.

If I may counsel you, some day or two Your highness shall repose you at the Tower: Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit For your best health and recreation.

I do not like the Tower, of any place.

Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?

He did, my gracious lord, begin that place; Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.

Is it upon record, or else reported Successively from age to age, he built it?

Upon record, my gracious lord.

But say, my lord, it were not register'd, Methinks the truth should live from age to age, As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, Even to the general all-ending day.

That Julius Caesar was a famous man; Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; For now he lives in fame, though not in life.

I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham -- Buckingham: What, my gracious lord?

And if I live until I be a man, I'll win our ancient right in France again, Or die a soldier, as I lived a king.

So wise so young, they say, do never live long.

What say you, uncle?

I say without character, fame lives long.

Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York.

Edward, Edward!

Richard!

How fares our loving brother?

Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now.

Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours.

How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?

I thank you, gentle uncle.

O, my lord, you said that idle weeds are fast in growth The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.

He hath, my lord.

And therefore is he idle?

O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.

Then is he more beholding to you than I.

He may command me as my sovereign; But you have power in me as in a kinsman.

I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.

My dagger, little cousin?

With all my heart.

Would you have my weapon, little lord?

I would, that I might thank you as you call me.

How?

Little.

[ Laughter ] My Lord of York will still be cross in talk.

Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.

You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me: Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me; Because that I am little, like an ape...

He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.

Oh!

[ Laughs ] [ Imitates monkey ] My lord, will't please you pass along?

Myself and my good cousin Buckingham will to your mother, to entreat of her to meet you at the Tower and welcome you.

What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?

My lord protector needs will have it so.

I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.

Why, what should you fear?

Marry, my uncle Clarence's angry ghost: My grandam told me he was murdered there.

I fear no uncles dead.

Nor none that live, I hope.

And if they live, I hope I need not fear.

But come, my lord; with a heavy heart...

Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.

[ Trumpet fanfare plays ] ♪♪♪ Think you, my lord, this little prating York Was not incensed by his subtle mother To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?

No doubt, no doubt; O, 'tis a parlous boy; bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable.

He is all the mother's, from the top to toe.

Well, let them rest.

Come hither, Catesby.

Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way.

What think'st thou?

Is it not an easy matter To make William Lord Hastings of our mind, For the instalment of this noble duke In the seat royal of this famous isle?

He for his father's sake so loves the prince, That he will not be won to aught against him.

What think'st thou, then, of Stanley?

what will he?

He will do all in all as Hastings doth.

Well then, no more of this: go, gentle Catesby, And, as it were far off sound thou Lord Hastings, How he stands affected to our purpose; If he be tractable, Encourage him, And show him all our reasons: If he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling, Be thou so too; and so break off your talks, And give us notice of his inclination: For we to-morrow hold divided councils, Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd.

Commend me to Lord William: tell him, Catesby.

His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle; And bid my friend, for joy of this good news, Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.

Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly.

My good lords both, with all the heed I may.

Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?

You shall, my lord.

At Crosby Place, there shall you find us both.

Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?

Chop off his head, man; somewhat we will do: and, look, when I am king, Claim thou of me the earldom of Hereford, and the moveables whereof the king my brother stood possess'd.

I'll claim that promise at your grace's hands.

And look to have it yielded with all kindness.

Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards We may digest our complots in some form.

♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ My lord!

My lord!

Man: Who's there?

A messenger from Lord Stanley.

What is't o'clock?

Upon the stroke of four.

Cannot thy father sleep these tedious nights?

So it should seem by that I have to say.

First, he commends him to your noble lordship.

And then?

And then he sends you word He dreamt to-night the boar had razed his helm: Besides, he says there are two councils held; And that may be determined at the one which may make you and him to rue at the other.

Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure, If presently you will take horse with him, And with all speed post with him toward the north, To shun the danger that his soul divines.

Go, George, go, return unto thy lord; Bid him not fear the separated councils.

His honor and myself are at the one, And at the other is my good friend Catesby Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us Whereof I shall not have intelligence.

Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting instance: And for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers To fly the boar before the boar pursues, Were to incense the boar to follow us And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.

Go, bid thy father rise and come to me And we will both together to the Tower, Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.

My gracious lord, I'll tell him what you say.

Many good morrows to my noble lord!

Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring.

What news, what news, in this our tottering state?

It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord; And I believe twill never stand upright Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.

How!

Wear the garland!

Dost thou mean the crown?

Ay, my good lord.

I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders Ere I will see the crown so foul misplaced.

But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?

Ay, on my life, my lord; and hopes to find you forward Upon his party for the gain thereof: And thereupon he sends you this good news, That this same very day your enemies, The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret.

Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, Because they have been still mine enemies: But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side, To bar my master's heirs in true descent, God knows I will not do it, to the death.

God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!

But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence, That they who brought me in my master's hate I live to look upon their tragedy.

I tell thee, Catesby-- What, my lord?

Ere a fortnight make me elder, I'll send some packing that yet think not on it.

'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, When men are unprepared and look not for it.

O monstrous, monstrous!

and so falls it out With Rivers and with Grey: and so 'twill do With some men else, who think themselves as safe As thou and I.

Man: My lord.

Morrow.

Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?

Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?

[ Making boar noises ] [ Laughter ] Good morrow, Catesby: You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, I do not like these several councils, I. Stanley, I hold my life as dear as you do yours; And never in my life, I do protest, Was it more precious to me than 'tis now.

Think you, but that I know our state secure, I would be so triumphant as I am?

The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London, Were jocund, and supposed their state was sure, And they indeed had no cause to mistrust; But yet, you see how soon the day o'ercast.

This sudden stag of rancour I misdoubt: Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward!

Come, my lord, shall we to the Tower?

I'll go.

But stay.

Hear you not the news?

This day, those men you talked of are beheaded.

They, for their truth, might better wear their heads Than some that have accused them wear their hats.

But come, let us away.

Go you before; I'll follow presently.

This unlit time of day is made of glass.

Tread light, my lord, and keep a level head.

♪♪♪ [ Men screaming and shouting ] ♪♪♪ [ Man gasping ] Ratcliffe, let me tell you this -- To-day shalt thou behold a subject die For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.

God keep the prince from all the pack of you!

[ Crying ] Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads, For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.

Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed she Buckingham, Then cursed she Richard.

O, remember, God to hear her prayers for them, as now for us Come, come.

Dispatch.

The limit of your lives is out!

[ Men screaming ] ♪♪♪ My lords, at once the cause why we are met Is to determine of the coronation.

In God's name, say, when is this royal day?

Are all things fitting for that royal time?

They are, and wants but nomination.

To-morrow, then, I guess a happy time.

Who knows the lord protector's mind herein?

Who is most inward with the noble duke?

You, my lord; methinks that should soonest know his mind.

Who, I, my lord?

We know each other's faces, But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine, Than I of yours; Nor I no more of his, than you of mine.

Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.

I thank his grace, I know he loves me well; But, for his purpose in the coronation.

I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd His gracious pleasure any way therein: But you, my noble lords, may name the time; And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice, Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part.

Now in good time, here comes the duke himself.

My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow.

I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope My absence doth neglect no great designs, Which by my presence might have been concluded.

Had not you come upon your cue, my lord, William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part -- I mean, your voice -- for crowning of the king.

Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder; His lordship knows me well, and loves me well.

I thank your grace.

My lord of Ely!

My lord?

When I was last in Holborn, I saw good strawberries in your garden there.

I do beseech you send for some of them.

I go, my lord.

Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.

Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, And finds the testy gentleman so hot, That he will lose his head ere give consent His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it, Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.

Withdraw you hence, my lord, I'll follow you.

We have not yet set down this day of triumph.

To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden; For I myself am not so well provided As else I would be, were the day prolong'd.

Where is my lord protector?

I have sent for the strawberries.

His grace looks cheerfully and smooth to-day; There's some conceit or other likes him well, When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit.

I think there's never a man in Christendom That can lesser hide his love or hate than he; For by his face straight shall you know his heart.

What of his heart perceive you in his face By any likelihood he shows to-day?

Marry, that with no man here he is offended; For, by his -- if he were, he would had shown it in his looks.

I pray God he be not, I say.

I pray you all, what do they deserve That do conspire my death with devilish plots Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd Upon my body with their hellish charms?

The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, Makes me most forward in this noble presence To doom the offenders, whatsoever they be.

I say, my lord, they have deserved death.

Then be your eyes the witness of their evil: See how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up: And this is that Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore, That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.

If they have done this thing, my gracious lord-- If I thou protector of this damned strumpet-- Tellest thou me of "ifs?"

Thou art a traitor: Treason!

Off with his head!

Now, by Saint Paul I will not dine to-day, I swear, until I see the same.

Some see it done: The rest, that love me, come and follow me.

♪♪♪ Woe, woe for England!

Not a whit for me; for I, too fond, might have prevented this.

I thought myself secure in grace and favor.

O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head!

Dispatch, my lord; the duke would be at dinner: Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.

O momentary state of worldly men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of Heaven!

Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head.

They smile at me that shortly shall be dead.

♪♪♪ Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change thy color, As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror?

Tut, fear not me: I can counterfeit the deep tragedian; Ghastly looks are at my service, like enforced smiles; And both are ready in their offices.

Catesby: My lord of Gloucester!

Here comes the mayor.

Let me not entertain him.

Look to the drawbridge there!

My lord mayor -- [ All shouting ] Catesby, o'erlook the walls.

O'erlook the walls!

[ All shouting ] Look back, defend thee, here are enemies.

God and our innocency defend and guard us!

Be quiet, it is Catesby.

\Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.

[ All groan ] So dear I loved the man, that I must weep.

I took him for the plainest harmless creature That breathed upon this earth a Christian.

Would you have imagined, or almost believed, That this subtle traitor had this day in the council-house Plotted to murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester?

What, had he so?

What, think you we would against the form of law, Proceed thus rashly to the villain's death, But that the extreme peril of the case, The peace of England and our persons' safety, Enforced us to this execution?

Now, fair befall you!

He deserved his death; and you my good lords, Both have well proceeded, To warn false traitors from the like attempts.

[ Chuckles, shouts ] I never look'd for better at his hands, After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.

Yet had not we determined he should die, Until your lordship came to see his death; Which now the loving haste of these our friends, Somewhat against our meaning, have prevented.

Because, my lord, we would have had you heard the traitor speak, And timorously confess the manner and the purpose of his treason.

That you might well have signified the same Unto the citizens, who haply may Misconstrue us in him and wail his death.

But, my good lord, your grace's word shall serve, As well as I had seen and heard him speak And doubt you not, right noble princes both, But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens With all your just proceedings in this cause.

And to that end we wish'd your lord-ship here.

And so, my good lord mayor, adieu.

After, after, cousin Buckingham.

The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post: There, at your meet'st advantage of the time, Infer the bastardy of Edward's children: His bestial appetite in change of lust; Which stretched to their servants, daughters, wives, Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person: Tell them that Edward was not true begot.

Which well appeared in his lineaments, Being nothing like the noble duke my father: But touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off, Because you know, my lord, my mother lives.

Fear not me, I'll play the orator As if the golden fee for which I plead Were for myself.

If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's Castle; Where you shall find me well accompanied With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops.

About three or four o'clock, Look to hear what news Guildhall affords.

And so, my lord, farewell.

Now, to give notice, that no manner of person At any time have recourse unto the princes.

♪♪♪ This is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings; Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd, That it may be this day read over in Paul's.

And mark how well the sequel hangs together: Eleven hours I spent to write it over, For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me; The original was full as long a-doing: And yet within these five hours lived Lord Hastings, Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty Here's a good world the while!

Why who's so gross, but cannot see this palpable device?

Yet who's so bold, but says he sees it not?

Bad is the world; and all will come to nought, When such bad dealings must be seen only in thought.

[ Dramatic music plays ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ How now, my lord, what say the citizens?

The citizens are mum and speak not a word.

Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children?

I did; with his own bastardy, As being got, your father then in France, Withal I did infer your lineaments, Being the right idea of your father, Both in your form and nobleness of mind; Laid open all your victories in Scotland, Your bounty, virtue, fair humility: Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose.

And when mine oratory grew to an end I bid them that did love their country's good Cry "God save Richard, England's royal king!"

Ah!

and did they so?

No, so God help me; But, like dumb statues and breathing stones, Gazed each on other, and look'd deadly pale.

What tongueless blocks were they!

Would not they speak?

No, by my troth, my lord.

Will not the mayor then and his bretheren come?

Go!

The mayor is here at hand.

Pretend some fear; be not you spoke with, But by mighty suit: And get you a prayer-book in your hand, And stand betwixt two churchmen, good my lord; Play the maid's part -- say no, but take it.

Fear me not.

Get you up to the roof.

Now, my lord mayor; I dance attendance here; I think the duke will not be spoke withal.

Here comes his servant: how now, Catesby, what says he?

My lords: he doth entreat your grace; To visit him to-morrow or next day: No.

He is within, with two right reverend fathers, Divinely bent to meditation; Return, good Catesby, to thy lord again; Tell him, myself, the mayor and citizens, Are come to have some conference with his grace.

All: Aye.

I'll tell him what you say, my lord.

Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!

He is not lolling on a lewd love bed, But praying, to enrich his watchful soul: Happy were England, would this gracious prince Take on himself the sovereignty thereof: But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it.

Marry, God forbid his grace should say us nay!

I fear he will.

How now, Catesby, what says your lord?

My lord, he wonders to what end you have assembled; My lord, he fears you mean no good to him.

By heaven, I come in perfect love to him; And so once more return and tell his grace.

When holy and devout religious men Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence, So sweet is zealous contemplation.

See, where he stands between two clergymen!

Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, Lend favorable ears to our request; And pardon us the interruption of thy devotion And right Christian zeal.

My lord, there needs no such apology: What is your grace's pleasure?

Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above, And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.

I do suspect I have done some offense That seems disgracious in the city's eyes, And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.

You'll have, my lord: and would it might please your grace, At our entreaties, to amend that fault!

Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?

Then know, it is your fault that you resign The supreme seat, the throne majestical, The lineal glory of your royal house, To the corruption of a blemished stock: Which to recure, we heartily solicit Your gracious self to take on you the sovereignty Of this noble isle.

Not as protector, steward, substitute, But as successively from blood to blood, Your right of birth, your empery, your own.

And in this just suit come I to move your grace.

I know not whether to depart in silence, Or bitterly to speak in your reproof.

Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert Unmeritable shuns your high request.

And so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, [ Crowd murmuring ] But, God be thank'd, there's no need of me.

The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, Will well become the seat of majesty.

On him I lay what you would lay on me, The right and fortune of his happy stars; Which God defend that I should wring from him!

My lord, this argues conscience in your grace; But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, All circumstances well considered.

You say that Edward is your brother's son: So say we too, but not by Edward's wife; For first he was contract to Lady Lucy -- And afterward by substitute betroth'd To Bona, sister to the King of France.

These both put by A care-crazed mother of a many children, A beauty-waning and distressed widow, Elizabeth seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts To base declension and loathed bigamy.

[ Crowd agreeing ] By her, in his unlawful bed, he got This Edward, whom our manners term the prince.

Then, good my lord, take to your royal self This proffer'd benefit of dignity; If not to bless us and the land withal, Yet to draw out your royal stock From the corruption of abusing times, Unto a lineal true-derived course.

[ Crowd shouting ] Alas, alas, why would you heap these cares on me?

I am unfit for state and dignity; I do beseech you, take it not amiss; I cannot nor I will not yield to you.

If you refuse it, as in love and zeal, Loath to depose the child, your brother's son; Yet whether you accept our suit or no, Your brother's son shall never reign our king; But we will plant some other in the throne, To the disgrace and downfall of your house: And in this resolution here we leave you.

Come, citizens: 'zounds!

I'll entreat no more.

O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.

Call them again, my lord, and accept their suit.

Accept their suit.

Do, good my lord, lest all the land do rue it.

Would you enforce me to a world of care?

Well, call them again.

[ Indistinct conversations ] I am not made of stone, But penetrable to your kind entreats, Albeit against my conscience and my soul.

Cousin of Buckingham, and sage, grave citizens, Since you will buckle fortune on my back, To bear her burden, whether I will or no, I must have patience to endure the load: But God he knows, and you may partly see, How far I am from the desire thereof.

God bless your grace!

We see it, and will say it.

[ Crowd agrees ] In saying so, you shall but say the truth.

Then I salute you with this kingly title: Long live Richard, England's royal king!

To-morrow will it please you to be crown'd?

Even when you will, since you will have it so.

[ All cheering ] To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace.

Farewell, gentle friends.

Farewell.

Farewell.

[ Laughter ] ♪♪♪ [ Crowd applauds ] [ Bells tolling ] ♪♪♪ [ Choir singing in Latin ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ Who meets us here?

Ah, my niece Plantagenet.

Sister, well met.

Whither away so fast?

No farther than the Tower; To gratulate the tender princes there.

Kind sister, thanks: we'll enter all together.

And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.

Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, How fares the prince?

Well, madam, and in health.

But by your leave, I may not suffer you to visit him; The king hath straitly charged the contrary.

The king!

Why, who's that?

[ Audience laughs ] I cry you mercy: I mean the lord protector.

Lord protect him from that kingly title!

Hath he set bounds betwixt their love and me?

I am their mother; who should bar me from them?

I am their father's mother; I will see them.

I am bound by oath; I may not do it.

Bring e to them.

I'll bear the blame and take thy office from thee, on my peril.

No, madam, no.

I pray you pardon me.

Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, And I'll salute your grace of York as mother, And reverend looker on, of two fair queens.

Come, madam, you must go with me to Westminster, There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

I swoon with this dead-killing news!

Despiteful tidings!

Madam, have comfort: Oh, how fares your grace?

O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee hence!

Death and destruction dog thee at the heels; Thy mother's name is ominous to children.

If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.

Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house, Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.

Take all the swift advantage of the time; You shall have letters from me to my son on your behalf To meet you on the way.

Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

O my accursed womb, the bed of death!

A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world.

Come, madam; I in all haste was sent.

And I in all unwillingness will go.

Anointed let me be with deadly venom, And die, ere men can say, God save the queen!

Alas, poor soul, I envy not thy glory to feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.

No!

My heart grossly grew captive to his honey words And proved the subject of my own soul's curse, Which ever since hath kept my eyes from sleep; For never yet one hour in his bed Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep, But have been waked by his timorous dreams.

[ Laughs ] Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick; And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee!

Go thou to Richard, and good angels guard thee!

Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee!

I'll to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!

Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower.

Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes.

Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!

Rude ragged nurse, use my babies well!

So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.

♪♪♪ [ Choir singing, trumpet fanfare playing ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ Cousin of Buckingham!

Give me thy hand.

Thus high, by thy advice and thy assistance, Is King Richard seated; Stand all apart.

And shall we wear these honours for a day?

Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

Still live they, and for ever may they last!

O Buckingham, now do I play the touch, To try if thou be current gold indeed.

Young Edward lives: think now what I would say.

Say on, my gracious sovereign.

Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king.

Why, so you are, my thrice renowned liege.

Ha!

am I king?

Tis so: but Edward lives.

[ Laughs ] True, noble prince.

O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live!

"True, noble prince!"

Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull: Shall I be plain?

I wish the bastards dead; And I would have it suddenly perform'd.

What sayest thou?

speak suddenly; be brief.

Your grace may do your pleasure.

Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezeth.

Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?

Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord Before I positively speak herein: I will resolve your grace immediately.

The king is angry: see, he bites his lip.

I will converse with iron-witted fools and unrespective boys: None are for me that look into me with considerate eyes: High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.

My lord?

Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold Would tempt unto a close exploit of death?

My lord, I know a discontented gentlewoman, Whose humble means match not her haughty mind: Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will, no doubt, tempt her to any thing.

What is her name?

Her name, my lord, is Tyrrel.

Go, bring her hither presently.

The deep-revolving witty Buckingham No more shall be the neighbor to my counsel: Hath he so long held out with me untired, And stops he now for breath?

How now!

What news with you?

My lord, I hear Marquis Dorset's fled to Richmond, Catesby!

My lord?

Rumor it abroad that Anne, my wife, Is sick and like to die: I will take order for her keeping close.

Look, how thou dream'st!

I say again, give out That Anne my wife is sick and like to die.

I must be married to my brother's daughter, Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.

Murder her brothers, and then marry her!

Uncertain way of gain!

But I am in so far in blood that sin will pluck on sin: Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.

Is thy name Tyrrel?

Jane Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.

Art thou, indeed?

Prove me, my gracious sovereign.

Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

Ay, my lord; but I had rather kill two enemies.

Why then, thou hast it: two deep enemies, Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep's disturbers Are they that I would have thee deal upon: Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

Let me have open means to come to them, And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.

Thou sing'st sweet music.

Come hither, Tyrrel Go, by that token: lend thine ear.

There is no more but so.

Say it is done, and I will love thee, and prefer thee too.

'Tis done, my gracious lord.

Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep?

Ye shall, my Lord.

My Lord, I have consider'd in my mind The late demand That you did sound me in.

Well, let that pass.

Dorset is fled to Richmond.

I hear that news, my lord.

Stanley, he is your wife's son well, look to it.

My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise, For which your honor and your faith is pawn'd; The earldom of Hereford and the moveables The which you promised I should possess.

Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

What says your highness to my just demand?

As I remember, Henry the Sixth Did prophesy that Richmond should be king, When Richmond was a little peevish boy.

A king, perhaps, perhaps -- My lord!

How chance the prophet could not at that time have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

My lord, your promise for the earldom!

A bard of Ireland told me once I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

My Lord!

Ay, what's o'clock?

I am thus bold to put your grace in mind of what you promised me.

Yes, but what's o'clock?

Upon the stroke of ten.

Well, let it strike.

Why let it strike?

Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.

I am not in the giving vein to-day.

May it please you to resolve me in my suit.

Tut, tut, thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.

Is it even so?

Rewards he my true service with such deep contempt made I him king for this?

O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on!

[ Choir singing ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ The tyrannous and bloody deed is done.

The most arch act of piteous massacre That ever yet this land was guilty of.

Dighton and Forrest, whom I did contract [laughs] To do this ruthless piece of butchery, Although they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, Melted with tenderness and kind compassion Wept like two children in their deaths' sad stories.

"Lo, thus," quoth Dighton, "lay those tender babes:" "Thus, thus," quoth Forrest, girdling one another within their innocent alabaster arms: Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.

A book of prayers on their pillow lay; "Which once," quoth Forrest, "almost changed my mind;" But O!

The devil!

♪♪♪ We smothered the most replenished sweet work Of nature, that from the prime creation e'er she framed.

Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse; They could not speak; and so I left them both, To bring this tidings to the bloody king.

And here he comes.

All hail, my sovereign liege!

Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?

If to have done the thing you gave in charge Beget your happiness, be happy then, for it is done, my lord.

But didst thou see them dead?

I did, my lord.

And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; But how or in what place I do not know.

Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper, And thou shalt tell the process of their death.

Meantime, but think how I may do thee good, And be inheritor of thy desire.

Farewell till then.

The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.

Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the crown, To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer.

My lord!

Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly?

Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Richmond; And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

Ely with Richmond troubles me more near than Buckingham And his rash-levied army.

Come, must amend: my counsel is my shield; We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

[ Woman singing in Latin ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ So, now prosperity begins to mellow And drop into the rotten mouth of death.

Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd, To watch the waning of mine enemies.

But who comes here?

[ Crying ] Ah, my young princes!

My tender babes!

My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!

If yet your gentle souls fly in the air Hover about me with your airy wings.

So many miseries have crazed my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue lies mute and dumb.

Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs, And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?

When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?

Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, Unlawfully made drunk with innocents' blood!

O, that thou wouldst as well afford a grave As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!

[ Sobbing ] O, who hath any cause to mourn but I?

If ancient sorrow be most reverend, Give mine the benefit of seniory.

If sorrow can admit society, Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine: I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; I had a Harry, till a Richard kill'd him: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him; I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.

Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him.

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death: O upright, just, and true-disposing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur Preys on the issue of his mother's body, And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!

O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes!

God witness with me, I have wept for thine.

Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it.

Richard yet lives, but at hand, at hand ensues his piteous and unpitied end: Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray To have him suddenly convey'd from hence.

Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, That I may live and say, the dog is dead!

O, thou didst prophesy the time would come That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad!

I call'd thee then vain flourish of my fortune; I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen; A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.

Where is your husband now?

Where be your brothers?

Where be thy two sons?

Wherein dost thou, joy?

Who sues and kneels and says "God save the queen?"

Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?

Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?

Decline all this, and see what now thou art: For happy wife, a most distressed widow; For joyful mother, one that wails the name; For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care; Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about, And left thee but a very prey to time; Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd yoke; From which even here I slip my weary head, And leave the burthen of it all on thee.

Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance: These English woes shall make me smile in France.

O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile, And teach me how to curse mine enemies!

Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were, And he that slew them fouler than he is: Bettering thy losses makes the bad causer worse: Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine!

Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.

Why should calamity be full of words?

Let them have scope: though what they do impart help not all, Yet do they ease the heart.

If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me.

And in the breath of bitter words Let's smother my damned son, That thy two sweet sons smother'd.

I hear his drum!

Be copious in exclaims.

[ Drums beating ] Who intercepts my expedition?

[ Sighs ] She that might have intercepted thee, By strangling thee in her accursed womb From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!

Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?

Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence?

Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, and Grey?

A flourish, trumpets!

Drums!

Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord's enointed: strike, I say!

[ Fanfare plays ] Either be patient, and entreat me fair, Or thus will I drown your exclamations.

Art thou my son?

Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.

Then patiently hear my impatience.

Mother, I have a touch of your condition, Which cannot brook the accent of reproof.

I will be mild and gentle in my speech.

And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.

Art thou so hasty?

I have stay'd for thee, God knows, In agony, pain and anguish.

And came I not at last to comfort you?

Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell.

A grievous burthen was thy birth to me; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; Thy school-days desperate, wild, proud, and furious, Thy age confirm'd, proud, bloody, subdued, treacherous.

If I be so disgracious in your sight, Let me march on, and not offend your grace.

Oh, hear me speak; for I shall never see thee more.

So.

Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance, Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish And never look upon thy face again.

Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse; My prayers on the adverse party fight; And there the little souls of Edward's children Whisper the spirits of thine enemies And promise them success and victory.

Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end; Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.

Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse Abides in me; I say amen to all.

Stay, madam; I must speak a word with you.

I have no more sons of the royal blood for thee to slaughter: You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

And must she die for this?

O, let her live, And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty; I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.

Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.

To save her life, I'll say she is not so.

Her life is only safest in her birth.

And only in that safety died her brothers.

You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.

Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.

Madam, I intend more good to you and yours, Than ever you or yours were by me wrong'd!

What good is there under the face of heaven, To be discover'd, that can do me good?

The advancement of your children, mighty lady.

Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?

No, to the dignity and height of honor.

Flatter my sorrows with report of it; Tell me what state, what dignity, what honor, Canst thou demise to any child of mine?

Even all I have; yea, and myself and all.

Be brief.

Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter And do intend to make her queen of England.

Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

Even he that makes her queen who should be else?

What, thou?

Ay, even I.

What think you of it, madam?

How canst thou woo her?

That would I learn of you, As one that are best acquainted with her humour.

And wilt thou learn of me?

Madam, with all my heart.

Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers, A pair of bleeding-hearts; thereon engrave Edward and York.

If this inducement force her not to love, Send her a story of thy noble acts.

Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence, Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake, Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.

Come, come, you mock me; this is not the way to win your daughter.

There is no other way Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, And not be Richard that hath done all this.

Look, what is done cannot be now amended: Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after hours give leisure to repent.

What were I best to say?

Her father's brother would be her lord?

Or shall I say, her uncle?

Say, I will love her everlastingly.

But how long shall that title "ever" last?

Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.

But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?

So long as heaven and nature lengthens it.

So long as hell and Richard likes of it.

Madam, your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

O no, my reasons are too deep and dead; Two deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.

Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.

Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break.

Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown, I swear -- Profaned, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.

I swear -- By nothing; for this is no oath: If something thou wilt swear to be believed, Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

Now, by the world-- 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

My father's death-- Thy life hath that dishonour'd.

Then, by myself-- Thyself thyself misusest.

Why then, by God-- God's wrong is most of all.

If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him, The imperial metal circling now thy brow, Had graced the tender temples of my child, And both the princes had been breathing here.

Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust, Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.

What canst thou swear by now?

As I intend to prosper and repent, So thrive I in my dangerous attempt of hostile arms!

Myself myself confound!

Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!

Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!

If, with pure heart's love, I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter!

In her consists my happiness and thine; Without her, follows to this land and me, To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul, Sad desolation, ruin and decay: It cannot be avoided but by this; It will not be avoided but by this.

Therefore, good mother, I must call you so-- Be the attorney of my love to her: Plead what I will be, not what I have been; Not my deserts, but what I will deserve: Urge the necessity and state of times, And be not peevish-fond in great designs.

Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.

Shall I forget myself to be myself?

Ay, if yourself's remembrance wrong yourself.

But thou didst kill my children.

But in your daughter's womb I bury them: Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.

Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

And be a happy mother by the deed.

I go.

Write to me very shortly.

Bear her my true love's kiss.

Farewell.

Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!

My gracious sovereign, on the western coast Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back: 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; And there they hull, expecting but the aid of Buckingham To welcome them ashore.

Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk: Ratcliffe, thyself, or Catesby; where is he?

Catesby: Here, my lord.

Sign to the duke: Post thou to Salisbury.

When thou comest thither-- Dull, unmindful villain, Why stand'st thou still, and go'st not to the duke?

First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind, What from your grace I shall deliver to him.

O, true, good Catesby: Bid him levy straight the greatest strength and power He can make, and meet me presently at Salisbury.

What is't your highness' pleasure I shall do at Salisbury?

Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?

Your highness told me I should post before.

My mind is changed, sir, my mind is changed.

Man: My lord.

How now, what news with you?

None good, my lord, to please you with the hearing; Nor none so bad, but it may well be told.

Hoyday, a riddle!

Neither good nor bad!

Why dost thou run so many mile about, When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way?

Once more, what news?

Richmond is on the seas.

There let him sink, and be the seas on him!

White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?

I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess?

Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely, He makes for England, there to claim the crown.

Is the chair empty?

Is the sword unsway'd?

Is the king dead?

The empire unpossess'd?

What heir of York is there alive but we?

And who is England's king but great York's heir?

Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea?

Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.

Unless for that he comes to be your liege, You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.

Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.

No, mighty sovereign; therefore mistrust me not.

Where is thy power, then, to beat him back?

Where be thy tenants and thy followers?

Are they not now upon the western shore, Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships!

No, my good lord, our friends are in the north.

Cold friends to Richard: what do they in the north, When they should serve their sovereign in the west?

They have not been commanded, mighty sovereign.

Please it your majesty to give me leave, I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace Where and what time your majesty shall please.

Ay, ay.

Thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond: I will not trust you, sir.

Most mighty sovereign, you have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful: I never was nor never will be false.

Well, go muster men; but, hear you, Leave behind your son, George Stanley: Look your heart be firm.

Or else his head's assurance is but frail.

So deal with him as I prove true to you.

My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty Bishop of Exeter With many more confederates, are in arms.

My liege, in Kent the Guildfords are in arms; And every hour more competitors flock to their aid, And still their power increaseth.

My lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham-- Out on you, owls!

nothing but songs of death?

Take that, until thou bring me better news.

Your grace mistakes: the news I bring is good.

My news is that by sudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd; And he himself fled, no man knows whither.

O, I cry thee mercy: I did mistake.

Ratcliffe, reward him for the blow I gave him, And then he will advise his friends given out rewards for him that brings in Buckinham.

Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.

Sir James Blunt and Lord Marquis Dorset, 'Tis said, my liege, are up in arms.

Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace, Richmond's navy is dispersed by tempest: March on, march on, since we are up in arms; If not to fight with foreign enemies, Then to beat down these rebels here at home.

My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken!

Ah!

That is the best news: That the Earl of Richmond is with a mighty power landed At Milford, is colder tidings, yet they must be told.

Away towards Salisbury!

While we reason here, A royal battle might be won and lost.

Some one take order Buckingham be brought To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.

♪♪♪ Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me: That in the sty of this most bloody boar My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold: If I revolt, off goes young George's head; The fear of that withholds my present aid.

But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?

At Pembroke, or at Harford-west, in Wales.

And towards London they do bend their course, If by the way they be not fought withal.

Return unto thy lord; commend me to him: Tell him the queen hath heartily consented He shall marry Elizabeth her daughter.

These letters will resolve him of my mind.

Farewell.

♪♪♪ Will not King Richard let me speak with him?

No, my lord; therefore be patient.

This is All-Souls' day, fellow, is it not?

It is, my lord.

Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday.

This is the day that, in King Edward's time, I wish't 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.

Now is Margaret's curse is fallen upon my head; "When he," quoth she, "shall split thy heart with sorrow," Remember Margaret was a prophetess.

Come, sir, convey me to the block of shame; Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

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, Lies now even in the centre of this isle.

Near to the town of Leicester, as we learned.

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.

Every man's conscience is a thousand swords, To fight against that bloody homicide.

I doubt not but his friends will fly to us.

He hath no friends but who are friends for fear.

Which in his greatest need will shrink from him.

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.

Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.

Why how now, Catesby, why lookst thou so sad?

My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.

Come hither, Norfolk -- Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha, must we not?

We must both give and take, my gracious lord.

Up with my tent there!

Here will I lie tonight; but where to-morrow?

Well, all's one for that.

Who hath descried the number of the foe?

Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.

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.

Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, dost thou know?

His regiment lies half a mile at least south From the mighty power of the king.

If without peril it be possible, sweet Blunt, Make some good means to speak with him And give him from me this most needful note.

Upon my life, my lord, I'll under-take it.

Farewell, good Captain Blunt.

Give me some ink and paper in my tent.

I'll draw the form and model of our battle, And part in just proportion our small strength.

Come.

Let's consult upon tomorrow's business.

Into our tent.

The air is raw and cold.

[ Thunder crashing ] Richard: What is the clock?

It is 8 o'clock.

Full supper time.

I will not sup tonight.

Get me some ink and paper.

What, is my armor laid into my tent?

If is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.

Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.

I go, my lord.

Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.

I warrant you, my lord.

Catesby!

My lord?

If Stanley bring his power before sunrising, lest his son George fall into the blind cave of eternal night.

Fill me a bowl of wine.

Give me a watch.

Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.

And look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.

Ratcliffe!

My lord?

Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

Much about twilight, from troop to troop, he went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.

So, I am satisfied.

I have not that alacrity of spirit, Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have.

Is ink and paper ready?

It is, my lord.

Bid my guard watch; leave me.

Ratcliffe, about the mid of night come to my tent And help to arm me.

Leave me, I say.

[ Thunder crashing ] Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!

All comfort that the dark night can afford be to thy person, Noble father-in-law!

Tell me, how fares our loving mother?

I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother Who prays continually for Richmond's good: So much for that.

In brief -- for so the season bids us be -- Prepare thy battle early in the morning, And I will aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms: But on thy side I may not be too forward Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, Be executed in his father's sight.

Farewell.

Adieu: be valiant, and speed well!

Good Blunt, conduct him to his regiment: I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap.

O Thou, whose captain I account myself, Put in our hands thy bruising irons of wrath, That they may crush down with a heavy fall The usurping helmets of our adversaries!

To thee I do commend my watchful soul.

[ Thunder crashes ] ♪♪♪ Ghost: Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!

Poor Clarence by thy guile betrayed to death!

To-morrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!

♪♪♪ Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow, Rivers that died at Pomfret!

Despair, and die!

♪♪♪ Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair!

Let fall thy lance: despair, and die!

♪♪♪ Edward and Richard: Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the Tower: Let us be led within thy bosom, Richard, And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!

Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die!

♪♪♪ Hastings: Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, And in a bloody battle end thy days.

Think on Lord Hastings.

Despair and die!

[ Thunder crashes ] ♪♪♪ Anne: Richard, thy wife, That wretched Anne, thy wife, That never slept a quiet hour with thee, Now fills thy sleep with perturbations.

To-morrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!

♪♪♪ Buckingham: The first was I that helped thee to the crown; The last was I that felt thy tyranny: O, in the battle think, on Buckingham, And die in terror of thy guiltiness!

Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death: Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!

Overlapping voices: Despair, die!

♪♪♪ Richard: Give me another horse!

Bind up my wounds.

Have mercy, Jesu!

[ Sighs ] Soft!

I did but dream.

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!

Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.

What do I fear?

Myself?

There's none else by: Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.

Is there a murderer here?

No.

Yes, I am.

Then fly.

What, from myself?

Great reason why: lest I revenge.

What, myself upon myself?

Alack.

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 every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain.

Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree, Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree; All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty!

Guilty!

I shall 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?

My lord!

'Zounds!

Who is there?

Ratcliffe, my lord; 'tis I.

Your friends are up, and buckle on their armor.

O Ratcliffe, I have dream'd a fearful dream!

What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true?

No doubt, my lord.

O Ratcliffe, I fear, I fear -- Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.

By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.

It is not yet near day.

Come, go with me; Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, To see if any mean to shrink from me.

Man: Good morrow, Richmond!

Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.

How have you slept, my lord?

The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, Have I since your departure had, my lords.

How far into the morning is it ?

Upon the stroke of four.

Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction.

More than I have said, The leisure and enforcement of the time forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this, For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt The least of you shall share his part thereof.

What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?

That he was never trained up in arms.

He said the truth: and what said Surrey then?

He smiled and said "The better for our purpose. "

He was in the right; and so indeed it is.

Who saw the sun to-day?

Not I, my lord.

Then he disdains to shine; for by the book He should have braved the east an hour ago.

A black day will it be to somebody.

Ratcliffe.

My lord.

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 shine to-day!

Why, what is that to me more than to Richmond?

For the selfsame heaven that frowns on me Looks sadly upon him.

Arm, arm, my lord!

The foe vaunts in the field.

Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse.

Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power: I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, And thus my battle shall be ordered: My foreward shall be drawn out all in length, Consisting equally of horse and foot; Our archers shall be placed in the midst.

What think'st thou, Norfolk?

A good direction, warlike sovereign.

This found I on my tent this morning.

Aye?

"Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold, For Dicken, thy master is bought and sold."

A thing devised by the enemy.

Go, gentleman, each man unto his charge.

Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls: Conscience is but a word that cowards use, Devised at first to keep the strong in awe: Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.

Hark!

I hear their drum.

What says Lord Stanley?

Will he bring his power?

My lord, he doth deny to come.

Off with his son George's head!

My lord, the enemy is past the marsh After the battle, let George Stanley die.

A thousand hearts are great within my bosom: March on!

Join bravely!

Let us to it pell mell, If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.

[ All shouting ] [ Soldiers shouting, swords clashing ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ [ Men shouting, horse whinnying ] Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!

The king enacts more wonders than a man.

His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.

Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!

A horse!

A horse!

My kingdom for a horse!

Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to a horse.

Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die: I think there be six Richmonds in the field; Five have I slain to-day instead of him.

A horse!

A horse!

My kingdom for a horse!

♪♪♪ [ Gasps ] ♪♪♪ [ Choking ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ [ Gurgling ] ♪♪♪ God and your arms be praised, victorious friends, The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.

Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee.

Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty From the dead temples of this bloody wretch Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal: Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.

Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!

But, tell me, is young George Stanley living?

He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town; Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.

What men of name are slain on either side?

John, Duke of Norfolk, and Sir Robert Brakenbury.

Inter their bodies as becomes their births.

Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled.

That in submission will return to us.

Together: We will unite the white rose and the red.

Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction.

That long have frown'd upon their enmity!

What traitor hears me, and says not amen?

All: Amen.

England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire.

All this divided York and Lancaster, Divided in their dire division, O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, The true successors of each royal house... By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!

Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce us these bloody days again, And make poor England weep in streams of blood!

Let them not live to taste this land's increase That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!

Now civil wounds are stopp'd... Peace lives again.

That she may long live here, God say amen!

Amen.

All: Amen.

[ Bell tolls ] ♪♪♪ Richard: My bones, scripted in light, upon cold soil, a human braille.

My skull, scarred by a crown, emptied of history.

Describe my soul as incense, votive, vanishing; Your own the same.

Grant me the carving of my name.

♪♪♪ [ Applause ] [ Orchestral music plays ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ [ Applause continues ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ [ Dramatic music plays ] [ Choir singing ] ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪ ♪♪♪