Classic Audiobook Collection - Richard III by William Shakespeare ~ Full Audiobook [tragedy]

Episode Date: May 3, 2025

Richard III by William Shakespeare audiobook. Genre: tragedy In this gripping historical drama, England is still reeling from civil war when Richard, Duke of Gloucester, steps out of the shadows with a ruthless plan to seize the crown. Twisted in body and sharpened in mind, Richard turns the royal court into a chessboard, using charm, intimidation, and calculated deception to pit allies against one another. As King Edward IV's health falters, the line of succession becomes dangerously uncertain, and Richard exploits every fear and ambition around him to climb closer to power. Caught in his wake are a web of nobles, relatives, and grieving women, including the formidable Queen Elizabeth and the haunted Lady Anne, each forced to navigate a world where loyalty can be bought and truth can be rewritten. With a chorus of ominous prophecies, public pageantry masking private violence, and a kingdom teetering on collapse, the play builds toward a tense confrontation between tyranny and legitimacy. Richard III is a masterclass in political manipulation and moral corrosion, examining how charisma can disguise cruelty and how a nation pays the price when power becomes the only goal. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 0 (00:03:34) Chapter 1 (01:03:17) Chapter 2 (01:26:34) Chapter 3 (02:12:02) Chapter 4 (03:01:26) Chapter 5 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

act one of richard a third by william shakespeare act one scene one london a street enter now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of york and all the clouds that lowed 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 have smoothed 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 stamped and want love's majesty to strut before a wanton ambling nymph, I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, cheated of feature by dissembling nature,

deformed, unfinished, 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 discount on mine own deformity. And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover to entertain these farewell-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 libel 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 mewed 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. Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brackenbury. Brother, good day. What means this armoured 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 oh belike his majesty hath some intent that you should be new christened in the tower 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 harkens after prophecies and dreams and from the cross-row plucks the letter g and says a wizard told him that by g he he his issue disinherited should be and for my name of george begins with g it follows in his thought that i am he these as i learn and such like toys as these hath moved his highness to commit me now 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 in that good manner of worship, Anthony Woodville, her brother there, that made him send Lord Hastings to the tower from whence this present day he is delivered.

We are not safe, Clarence. We are not safe. By heaven, I think there is no man is secure, but the Queen's kindred, a night-walking heralds that trudge betwixt the king and mistress shore. Heard you not what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery? Humbly complaining to her deity got my lord Chamberlain his liberty. I'll tell you what. I think it is our way if we will keep in favour with the king to be her men and wear her livery.

The jealous or worn widow and herself since that our brother dubbed them gentle women are mighty gossips in our monarchy. I beseech your graces both to pardon me. His majesty has straightly given in charge that no man shall have private conference of what degree so ever with your brother. Even so, and please your worship, Brackenbury, you may partake of anything 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 Shaw's wife have 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 naught to do naught to do with mistress shaw i tell thee fellow he that do naught with her excepting one were best to do it secretly alone what one my lord her husband knave wouldst thou betray me i do beseech your grace to pardon me and withal forbear your conference with the noble duke we know thy charge brackenbury and will obey we are the queen's abjects and must obey. Brother, farewell, I will unto the king, and whatsoever you will employ me in, were it to call King Edward's widow's sister, 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. I will deliver or else lie for you. Meantime, have patience. I must perforce. Farewell. Exie and Clarence, Brackenbury and Guard. 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 delivered Hastings. Enter Hastings. A good time of day unto my gracious Lord. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain.

Well are you welcome to the open air. How have your lordship brooked 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 prevailed as much on him as you.

More pity that the eagles should be mued whilst kites and buzzards pray 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 St. Paul, that news is bad indeed. Oh, 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. Exit Hastings. He cannot live, I hope, and must not die till George be packed with post-horse up to heaven. I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence with lies well steeled with weighty arguments,

and if I fail not in my deep intent, Clarence have 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 killed her husband and her father, the readiest way to make the wench amends is to become her husband and her father, the which will I,

not all so much for love as for another secret close intent by marrying her which I must reach unto. 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 exit scene two london another street enter the corpse of king henry the sixth born in an open coffin gentleman bearing halberds to guard it and lady anne's mourner Set down. Set down your honourable load. If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, whilst I, a while 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 invicate thy ghost To hear the lamentations of poor Anne Wife to thy Edward to thy slaughtered son Stabbed by the self-same hand that made these wounds Lo! In these windows that let forth thy life I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes Oh, cursed be the hand that made these holes Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it

"'Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence. "'More direful hap betide that hated wretch "'that makes us wretched by the death of thee, "'than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, "'or any creeping venom thing that lives. "'If ever he have child, abortive be it, "'prodigious and untimely brought to light, "'whose ugly and unnatural aspect may fright the hope

mother at the view, and that be heir to his unhappiness. If ever he have wife, let her be 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, and still as you are weary of this weight, rest you, whilst I lament King Henry's call. The bearers take up the corpse and advance. Enter Gloucester. Stay, you that bear the corpse and set it down. What black magician conjures up this fiend to stop devoted charitable deeds?

Villains, set down the corpse, or by St. Paul I'll make a corpse of him that disobeys. My lord, stand back and let the coffin pass. Unmannered dog! Stand thou when I command! Advance thy halberd higher than my breast or by St. Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot and spurn upon thee beggar for thy boldness. The bearer sat down the coffin. What do you tremble? Are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal, and mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. A vaunt 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 cursed.

Foul devil, for God's sake, hence and trouble us not, for thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, filled 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 conscience, moungiled mouths and bleed afresh blush blush thou lump of foul deformity for tis thy presence that exhales this blood from cold and empty veins where no blood dwells thy deeds inhuman and unnatural provokes this deluge most unnatural O God which this blood mates revenge his death, O earth which this blood drinks revenge his death,

Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth gape open wide and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood which his hell-governed arm hath butchered. Lady, you know no rules of charity, which renders good for bad, Blessings for curses. Phelan 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.

Oh, wonderful when devils tell the truth! More wonderful when angels are so angry. Vouch safe. Divine perfection of a woman. Of these supposed crimes to give me leave by circumstance but to acquit myself. Vouch safe diffused infection of a man, of these known evils but to give me leave by circumstance to accuse thy cursed self. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have some patient leisure to excuse myself.

Fowler than heart can think thee, thou canst make no excuse current but to hang thyself. By such despair I should accuse myself. And by despairing shalt thou stand excused, for doing worthy vengeance on thyself that 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. In thy foul throat thou liest, Queen Margaret saw thy murderous falchens smoking in his blood, the witch thou once did spend against her breast, but that thy brothers beat aside the point. I was provoked by her slithes, thunderous tongue that laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind that never dreamt on aught but butcheries.

Didst thou not kill this king? I grant ye. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then God grant me too thou mayest be damned for that wicked deed. O he was gentle, mild and virtuous. The better for the king of heaven that have him. He is in heaven where thou shalt never come. Let him thank me that hope 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 bedchamber? 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 of these plantagenets Henry and Edward, as blameful as the executioner?

The hell was the cause and most accursed effect? Your beauty was the cause of that effect. Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep to undertake the death of all the world so I might live 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 not endure that beauty's wreck. You should not blemish 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 or shade thy day, and death thy life. Curse not thy life. Myself, 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 thee? It is a quarrel just and reasonable to be revenged on him that killed 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 self-same name, but one of better nature. Where is he? Here! 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 fowler toad. Out of my sight, thou dost infect mine 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, shamed their aspects with store of childish drops. These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, no, when my father York and Edward wept to hear the piteous moan that Rutland made when black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him, nor when thy warlike father, like a child told the sad story of my father's death, and twenty times made pause to sob and weep that all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, like trees bedashed with rain. In that sad time, my manly eyes did scorn an humble tear. And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,

Thy beauty have, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to friend nor enemy. My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word. But now thy beauty is proposed my fee. My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. She looks scornfully at him. Teach not thy lip such scorn. For it was made for kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, lo, I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword. which, if thou please to hide in this true breast 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. He lays his breast open, she offered at it with his sword. But twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch, twas I, that stabbed young Edward. She again offered at his breast.

But twas thy heavenly face that set me on. She lets fall the sword. Take up the sword again, or take up me. Arise, dissembler. Though I wish thy death, I will not be thy executioner. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. I have already! 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 shall thou be accessory i would i knew thy heart tis figured in my tongue i fear me both are force there never was man true well well put up your sword say then my peace is made that shalt thou know hereafter but shall i live in hope or men i hope lives so. Fout safe to wear this ring. To take is not to give. She puts on the ring. Look how this ring encompasses thy finger. Even so thy breast encloses my poor heart.

Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted servant may but beg one favour at thy gracious hand, thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. What is it? that it may please you leave these sad designs to him that has most cause to be a mourner, and presently repair to Crosby Place, where, after I have solemnly interred at Chertsey Monastery this noble king and wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will, with all expedient duty, see you. For diverse unknown reasons I beseech you. Grant me this boon. With all my heart, and much it joys me too to see you are becoming.

so penitent. Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. Bid me farewell? Tis more than you deserve. But since you teach me how to flatter you, imagine I have said farewell already. Exeunt Lady Anne, Tress and Burke. Says, take up the corpse. Toward Jersey, noble lord? No, to Whitefriars. There attend my coming.

Exie and the rest with the corpse. Was ever a woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman? in this humor one? I'll have her, but I will not keep her long. What? I that killed her husband and his father? To take her in her heart's extremist hate,

with curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, the bleeding witness of her hatred by? Having got her conscience at these bars against me, and I no friends to back my suit withal, but the plain devil and dissembling looks, and yet to win her? All the world to nothing! Ha!

Hath she forgot already that brave Prince Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, stabbed in my angry mood at Tewkesbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman framed in the prodigality of nature, young, valiant, wise, and no doubt right royal, the spacious world cannot again afford? And will she yet abase her eyes on me, that cropped the golden prime of this sweet prince, and made her widow to a woeful bed? me who's all not equals edward's moiety on me that halt and am misshapen thus my dukedom to a beggarly denier i do mistake my person all this while upon my life she finds although i cannot myself to be a marvellous proper man i'll be at charges for a looking-glass and entertain a score or two of tailors to study fashions to adorn my body since i am crept in favour with myself i will maintain it with some little cost but

But first, I'll turn yon fellow in his grave, and then return, lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair son, till I have bought a glass, that I may see my shadow as I pass. Exit. Scene 3. London, a room in the palace. Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers and Lord Grey. Have patience, madam. There's no doubt his majesty will soon recover his accustomed health.

In that you broke it ill. It makes him worse. Therefore, for God's sake, and in good comfort, and cheer is grace with quick and merry eyes. If he were dead, what would be tied on me? No other harm but loss of such a lord? The loss of such a lord includes all harms. The heavens have blessed you with a good lesson, to be your comforter when he is gone.

Ah, he is young, and his minority is put into 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. Enter Buckingham and Stanley. 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. The Countess Richmond, good my lord of Stanley, to your good prayer will scarcely say amen.

Yet Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife, and loves not me, be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance. I do beseech you either not believe the envious slanders of her false accusers, or if she be accused on true report. bear with her weakness which I think proceeds from wayward sickness and no grounded malice. Saw you the king today, my lord of Stanley? But now the Duke of Buckingham and I are come 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? I, madam. He desires to make atonement between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, and between them and my lord chamberlain, and sent to warn them to his royal presence. Would all were well, but that will never be. I fear our happiness is at the height. Entered Loster, Hastings and Orset.

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 rumours. Because I cannot flatter and look fair, smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy.

Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, but thus his simple truth must be abused with silken, sly, insinuating jacks? To who in all this present? and spix your grace. To thee that hath not 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 grace, 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, on his own royal disposition, and not provoked by any suitor else, aiming belike at your interior hatred

that in your outward action shows itself against my children, brothers 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 has grown so bad that wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.

Since every jack became a gentleman, there's many a gentleman. person made a jack. 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 imprisoned by your means, myself disgraced, and a nobility held in contempt,

while great promotions are daily given to ennoble those that scarce some two days since were worth ennoble. By him that raised me to this careful height from that contented hap which I enjoyed, I never did incense his majesty against the Duke of Clarence, but have been an earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. You may deny that you were not the mean 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, and lay those honours on your high dessert. What, may she not? She may. I marry, may she.

What, marry, may she? What marry, may she? Marry with a king, a bachelor, and a handsome stripling, too. I wish your Grandam had a worse a match. My lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne your blunt upbraiding's and your bitter scoffs. By heaven I will acquaint his majesty of those gross taunt that oft I haven't endured. I had rather be a country servant-maid than a great queen with this condition to be so baited, scorned and stormed at.

Enter old Queen Margaret behind. Small joy have I in being England's queen. and lessened be that small God I beseech him. Thy honour state and seat is due to me. What? Threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him and spare not. Look, what I have said, I will avouch in presence of the king. I dare adventure to be sent to the tower.

It is time to speak. My pains are quite forgot. Out, devil. I do remember them. Well, thou killed'st my husband Henry in the tower, and Edward, my poor son at Chooksbury. Ere you were queen, I or your husband king, I was a packhorse in his great affairs, a weeder out of his proud adversaries, a liberal rewarder of his friends. To royalise his blood, I spelt mine own.

Aye, and much better blood than his or thine. In all which time you and your husband Gray were factious for the House of Lancaster, and Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband in Margaret's battle at St. Orban's slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, what you have been ere this and what you are, with all what I have been and what I am. A murderous villain, and so still thou art.

Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick, I, and forsore himself, which Jesus pardon. Which God revenge. To fight on Edward's party for the crown, And for his need, poor lord, he is mewed up. I would to God my heart were flint like Edwards, Or Edward's soft and pitiful like mine. I am too childish foolish for this world.

I thee to hell for shame and leave this world, thou, Kakodemon. There thy kingdom is. My lord of Gloucester, in those busy days, which here you urge to prove us enemies, we followed then our lord, our sovereign 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 thereof. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose you should enjoy, were you this country's king, as little joy you may suppose in me that I enjoy being the queen thereof.

As little joy enjoys the queen thereof, for I am she and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. Advancing. Hear me, you wrangling pirates that fall out in sharing that which you have pilled from me. Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not that I am queen, you bow like subjects, yet that by you deposed you quake like rebels, Our gentle villain do not turn away. Foul, wrinkled witch, what makes thou in my sight?

But repetition of what thou hast marred, that will I make before I let thee go. Wirt thou not banished on pain of death? I was, but I do find more pain in banishment than death can yield to you. me here by my abode. A husband and a son thou owes to me, and thou a kingdom. All of you allegiance. This 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 gazed the Duke a clout, steeped in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland.

His curses, then, from bitterness of soul denounced against thee, are all fallen upon thee, and God, not we, have plagued thy bloody deed. So just is God to right the innocent. Oh, t'was the foulest deed to slay that babe, and the most merciless it air was heard of. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. No man hath 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? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven that Henry's death, my lovely edwards death their kingdoms loss my woeful banishment should all but answer for that peevish brat can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven why then give way dull clouds to my quick curses though not by war by surfeit die your king as ours by murder to make him a king Edward thy son that now is Prince of Wales, for Edward our son that was Prince of Wales, die in his use by like untimely violence.

Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, outlive thy glory like my wretched self. Long mayest thou live to wail thy children's death, and see another as i see thee now decked in thy rights as thou art stalled in mine long die thy happy days before thy death and after many length and hours of grief die neither mother wife nor england's queen rivers and dorset you were standers-by and so wast thou lord hastings when my son was stabbed with bloody daggers god i pray him that none of you may live his natural age but by some unlooked accident cut off have done thy charm thou hateful withered hag and leave out thee stay dog for thou shalt hear me if heaven have any grievous vague in store, exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, and then hurl down their indignation on thee, the troubler of the poor

world's peace. The worm of conscience still be nor thy soul. Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, and take deep traitors for thy friends. No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, unless it be while some tormenting dream affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils. Thou elvish-marked abortive rooting hawk. Thou that wast sealed 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 honour, thou detested Margaret. Richard!

I call thee not. I cry thee mercy then, for I did think thou hadst called me all these bitter names. Why, so I did, but looked for no reply. Oh, let me make the period to my curse. It is done by me and ends in. Margaret. Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself? Poor painted queen vain flourish of my fortune.

Why strewst thou sugar on that bottled spider, whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! Thou wets a knife to kill thyself. The day will come that thou shalt wish for me to help thee curse this poisonous bunchbacked toad. False boding woman, end thy frantic curse lest to thy harm thou move our patience. Foul shame upon you, you have all moved mine.

Were you well served? You would be taught your duty. To serve me well, you all should do me duty. Teach me to be your queen and you my subjects. Oh, serve me well and teach yourselves that duty. Dispute not with her. She is a lunatic. Peace, Master Marquis, you are Malapert. Your fire news stamp of honour is scarce current. Oh, that your young nobility could judge what twere to lose it and be miserable.

They that stand high have many blasts to shake them, and if they fall they dash themselves to pieces. Good counsel, Mary. Learn it, learn it, Marquis. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. I and much more. But I was born so high, our airy buildeth in the cedar's top, and dallyes with the wind, and scorns the sun. And turned the sun to shade, alas, alas! Witness my son now in the shade of death,

whose bright outshining beams thy cloudy wrath hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your eyrie buildeth in our iry's nest. O God that seized it, do not suffer it, as it is one with blood, lost be it so. Peace, peace for shame, if not for charity. Urge neither charity nor shame to me. uncharitably with me have you dealt and shamefully my hopes by you are butchered

my charity is outrage life my shame and in that shame still live my sorrow's rage Have done, have done Oh Princeley Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand In sign of league and amity with deed

now fair before thee and thy noble house thy garments are not spotted with our blood nor thou within the compass of my curse nor no one here for curses never pass the lips of those that breathe them in the air i will not think but they ascend the sky and there awake god's gentle sleeping peace oh buckingham take heed of yonder dog look when he forms 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 does she say, my lord of Buckingham? Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. What, does thou scorn me for my gentle counsel,

and soothe the devil that I warn thee from? oh 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 gods exit exit my hair does stand on end to hear her curses and so doth mine i muse why she's at liberty I cannot blame her. By God's holy mother, she have had too much wrong, and I repent my part thereof that I have done to her. I never did her any, to my knowledge. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.

I was too hot to do somebody good, that is too cold in thinking of it now. Mary, as for Clarence, he is well repaid, he is franked up to fatting for his pains. God pardon them that are the cause thereof. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, to pray for them that hath done scath to us. So do I ever being well advised. Aside.

For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself. Anta Catesby. Madam, His Majesty dideth call for you, and for your grace, and you, my noble Lord, Catesby I come. Lords, will you go with me? We wait upon your grace. Axie and all but Gloucester. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.

The secret mischiefs that I set a broach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, whom I indeed have cast in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls, namely to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham, and tell them, tis the queen and her allies that stir the king against the Duke my brother. Now they believe it, and withal, wets me to be revenged on rivers, vaughan grey. But then I sigh, and with a piece of scripture tell them that God bids us too good for evil. And thus I clothe my naked villainy with odd old ends stolen forth of holy writ, and seem a saint when most I play the devil. But soft, here come my executioners.

Enter two murderers. How now, my hardy, stout, resolved mates, are you now going to dispatch this thing? 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. Gives the warrant. When you have done, repair to Crosby Place, but sirs, be sudden in the execution. With all, obdurate, do not hear him plead. For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps may move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. T-Tut, my lord, we will not stand to prate.

Talkers are no good doers. Be assured we go to use our hands and not our tongues. Your eyes drop millstones when fools' eyes fall tears. I like you, lads, about your business straight. Go, go, dispatch. We will, my noble lord. Exeunt Scene 4. London.

A room in the tower. Enter Clarence and Brackenbury. Why looks your grace so heavily today? Oh, I have passed a miserable night, so full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, that as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, though twere to buy a world of happy days, so full of dismal terror was the time. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me. "'Bethoughts that I had broken from the tower, "'and was embarked to cross to Burgundy, "'and in my company my brother Gloucester,

"'who from my cabin tempted me to walk upon the hatches. "'Thence we looked toward England "'and sighted up a thousand heavy times "'during the wars of York and Lancaster "'that had befallen us. "'As we paced along upon the giddy footing of the hatches, "'we thought that Bloster stumbled, "'and in falling struck me

"'that thought to stay him overboard "'into the tumbling building, of the main. O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown, what dreadful noise of waters in my ears, what sights of ugly death within my eyes. Me thoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks, a thousand men that fishes gnawed upon, wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, all scattered in the bottom of the sea. some lay in dead men's skulls and in the holes where eyes did once inhabit there were crept as twere in scorn of eyes reflecting gems that wooed the slimy bottom of the deep and mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by had you such leisure in the time of death to gaze upon these secrets of the deep they thought i had and often did i strive to yield the ghost but still the envious flood stopped in my soul and would not let it

forth to find the empty vast and wandering air, but smothered it within my panting bulk, who almost burst to belch it in the sea. O'ake you not in this sore agony? No, no, my dream was lengthened after life. Oh, then began the tempest to my soul. I passed me thought the melancholy flood, with that grim fairieman which poets write of, unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger's soul was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, who spake aloud, What scourge for perjury can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? And so he vanished.

Then came wandering by a shadow like an angel, with bright hair, dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud, Clarence has come, false-fleeting, perjured Clarence, that stabbed me in the field by Tewkesbury. Seas on his. him furies take him to your torments with that methought a legion of foul fiends environed me and howled in mine 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 my dream no marvel lord though it affrighted you i am afraid methinks to hear you tell it ah brackenbury i have done these things that that now give evidence against my soul for Edward's sake, and see how he requites me. O God, if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, but thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, yet execute thy wrath in me alone. Oh, spare my gildless wife and my poor children.

Keeper, I pray thee sit by me a while. My soul is heavy, and I fain wouldst be yewere. sleep. I will, my lord. God give your grace good rest. Clarence reposes himself on a chair. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours. Makes the night morning and the noontide night. Princes have but their titles for their glories, an outward honor for an inward toil. And for unfelt imaginations they often feel a world of restless cares. So that between their titles and low name, There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

Enter the two murderers. Who? Who's here? What wouldst thou, fellow? And how came'st thou hither? I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. What, so brief? Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let him see our commission and talk no more. A paper is delivered to Brackenbury, who reads it.

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. There lies the Duke asleep, and there the keys. I'll to the king and signify to him that thus I have resigned to you, my charge. You may, sir. Tis a point of wisdom. Fair you will. Exit Brackenbury. What? Shall we stab him as he sleeps?

No. He'll say twas done cowardly when he wakes. When he wakes. Why, fool, he shall never wake until the Great Judgment Day. Why, then he'll say we stabbed him sleeping. The urging of that word judgment has spread a kind of remorse in me. What, are thou afraid? Not to kill him, having a warrant for it, but to be damned for killing him, from the witch no warrant can defend me.

I thought thou hadst been resolute. So I am, to let him live. I'll back to the Duke of Gloucester, and tell him so. Nay, I pray thee, stay a little. I hope my holy humor will change. It was one to hold me, but while one tells twenty. How dost thou feel thyself now? Face, some certain drags of conscience are yet within me.

Remember our reward when the deed's done. Zounds, he dies. I had forgot the reward. Where's thy conscience now? Oh, in the Duke of Gloucester's purse. So when he opens his purse, to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out? Tis no matter, let it go. There's few or none will entertain it. What if it come to thee again?

I'll not meddle with it. It makes a man coward. A man cannot steal, but it accuses him. A man cannot swear, but it checks him. A man cannot lie with his neighbor's wife, but it detects him. It is a blushing, shame-faced spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom. It fills a man full of obstacles. It made me once restore a purse of gold that by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it. It is turned out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing. And every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and live without it. Zounds, tis even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not, he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh. I am strong-framed. He cannot prevail with me. Spoke like a tall man that respects their reputation. Come, shall we fall to work? Take him on the custard with the hilts of thy sword, and then throw him in the malmsey butt in the next room. Oh, excellent device, and make a sup of him.

soft he wakes strike no we'll reason with him oh where art thou keeper give me a cup of wine you shall have wine enough my lord a nun 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 my voice is now the kings my looks mine own how darkly and how deadly dost thou speak your eyes do menace me why look you pale who sent you hither wherefore do you come to to to murder me 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 drawn forth among a world of men to slay the innocent? What is my offense? Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up unto the frowning judge, or who pronounce the bitter sentence of poor Clarence's death? 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 by Christ's dear blood shed for

our grievous sins, 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 has commanded is our king. Erroneous vassals, the great king of kings hath in the table of his law commanded that thou thou shalt do no murder. Will you then spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? Take heed, for he holds vengeance in his hand to hurl upon their heads that break his law. And that same vengeance does he hurl on thee, for false for swearing and for murder too. Thou didst receive the sacramental fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster. And like a traitor to the name of God, didst break that vow,

and with thy treacherous blade unrippest the bowels of thy sovereign son. Whom thou was sworn to cherish and defend. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us, when thou hast broke it on such a dear degree? Alas, for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake. He sends you not to murder me for this, for in that sin he is as deep as I. If God will be avenged for the deed, O know you yet, he doth it publicly.

Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm. He needs no indirect or lawless, course to cut off those that have offended him. Who made thee then a bloody minister? When gallant springing brave plantagenet, that princely novice was struck dead by thee? My brother's love, the devil, and my rage! Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy faults.

Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. If you do love my brother, hake not me. I am his brother, and I love him well. If you are hired for me, to 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. Oh, no. He loves me, and he holds me dear. Go you to him from me. Aye, so we will. Tell him when that our princely father York blessed his three sons with his victorious arm and charged us from his soul to love each other,

he little thought of this divided friendship. Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. Ah, in millstones, as he had lessened us to weep. Oh, do not slander him, for he is kind. Right, as snowing harvest. Come, you deceive yourself. Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. It cannot be, for he bewept my fortune, and hugged me in his arms,

and swore with sobs that he would labour my delirre. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you, from this earth thraldom to the joys of heaven. Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord. Have you that holy feeling in your souls to counsel me to make my peace with God, and are you yet to your own souls so blind that you will war with God by murdering me? Oh, sirs, consider, they 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. Which of you, if you were a prince's son, being pent from liberty as I am now, if two such murderers as yourselves came to you, would not intrigue for life? My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks. O, if thine I be not a flatterer,

come thou on my side, and entreat for me. As you would beg, were you in my distress? A begging prince, what beggar pity's? not. Look behind you, my lord. Stabbs him. Take that, and that! If all this will not do, I'll drown you in the monsy butt within. Exit with the body.

A bloody deed and desperately dispatched. How fain like Pilard would I wash my hands of this most grievous murder. Reenter first murderer. How now? What meanest thou that thou helpest me not? By heavens the Duke shall know how slack you have been. I wotty 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. Exit. So do not I. Go, coward, as thou art. Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole, till that the Duke give order for his burial. And when I have my mead, I will away, for this will out,

and then I must not stay. Exit. End of Act 1. Act 2 of Richard III by William Shakespeare. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Act 2, Scene 1

London, A Room in the Palace Enter King Edward, Ladin's Tick, Queen Elizabeth, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Buckingham, Grey, and others. Why so, now I have done a good day's work, You peers continue this United League, I every day expect an ambusage, From my redeemer to redeem me hence, And more at peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have made my friends at peace on earth.

Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand, Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. By heaven, my soul is purged from God, 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 is not exempt from this, nor you son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you. You have been factious one against the other. Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand, and what you do, do it unfauntily. There, Hastings, I will never more remember our former hatred. So thrive I and mine.

Dorset embrace him. Hastings, love Lord Marquis. This interchange of love, I hear protest. Upon my part shall be inviolable. And so swear I. Embraces Dorset. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league, With thy embracements to my wife's lives,

And make me happy in your unity. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate upon your grace, To the queen. But with all dutious love, doth cherish you and yours. God punish me with hate, in those where I expect most love. When I have most need to employ a friend, and most assured that he is a friend,

deep, hollow, treacherous and full of guile be he unto me. This do I beg of heaven when I am curled in love to you or yours. Embracing rivers, etc. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, is this thy vow unto my sickly heart? There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here. to make the blessed period of this peace. And in good time, here comes the noble duke.

Enter Gloucester. Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen, and princely peers, a happy time of day. Happy indeed as we have spent the day. Gloucester we have done deeds of charity. Make peace of enmity, fair love of hate, between these swelling wrong incensed peers. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord.

among this princely heap, if any here, by false intelligence or wrong surmise, hold me a foe, if I unwittingly or in my rage have aught committed that it is hardly born to any in this presence, I desire to reconcile me to his friendly peace. It is 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 duty as service. Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, if ever any grudge were lodged between us, of you and you, Lord Rivers and of Dorset, that all without dessert have frowned on me. Of you, Lord Woodville, and Lord Scales of you, dukes, earls, lords gentlemen, indeed of all. I do not know that Englishman.

alive with whom my soul is any jot at odds more than the infant that is born tonight. 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 lord, I do beseech your highness to take our brother Clarence to your grace. Why, madam, have I offered love for this to be so flouted in this royal presence? Who knows not that the gentle duke is dead? They all start.

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 pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest? Aye, my good lord, and no man in the presence but his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. Is Clarence dead? The order was reversed. But he, poor man, by your first order died, and that a winged mercury did bear, some tardy cripple bore the countermand that came too lag to see him buried.

God grant that some less noble and less loyal, nearer in bloody thoughts and not in blood, deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did and yet go current from suspicion. Anta Stanley. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done? I prithee peace. My soul is full of sorrow. I will not rise unless your highness hear me. Then say at once, what is. visit thou requestest.

The forfeit sovereign of my servant's life, who slew today a riotous gentleman, lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. Have I a tongue to do my brother's death, and shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? My brother killed no man. His fault was thought, and yet his punishment was bitter death.

Who sued to me for him, who in my wrath, kneeled at my feet and bid me be advised. Who spoke of brotherhood, who spoke of love, Who told me how the poor soul did forsake, The mighty Warwick and did fight for me. Who told me in the field at Chooksbury? When Oxford had me down, he rescued me,

And said, Dear Brother, live and be a king. Who told me, when we both lay in the field, Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me, even in his garments, and did give himself, all thin and naked to the numb-cold night, all this from my remembrance brutish wrath, sinfully plucked and not a man of you, had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters or your waiting vassals have done a drunken slaughter and defaced the precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straighter 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, The proudest of you all, Have been beholding to him in his life, Yet none of you would once beg for his life. O God I fear thy justice will take hold, on me, on you and mine and yours for this.

Come Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence! Axi and King, Queen, Hastings, Rivers, Dorset, and Grey. This is the fruit of rashness. Marked you not how that the guilty kindred of the Queen looked pale when they did hear of Clarence's death? Oh, they did urge it still unto the King. God will revenge it.

Come, lords, will you go? go to comfort Edward with our company. We wait upon your grace. Excient. Scene 2. Another room in the palace. Enter the Duchess of York with a son and daughter of Clarence. Good, Grandam, tell us, is our father dead? No, boy.

Why do you weep so oft and beat your breast and cry, O Clarence, my unhappy son? Why do you look on us and shake your head and call us orphans, wretches, cast away, if that our noble father were alive. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both. I do lament the sickness of the king, as loath to lose him, not your father's death.

It will lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead. The king, my uncle, is to blame for this. God will revenge it, whom I will import in with earnest prayers all to that effect. And so will I. Peace, children, peace.

the king doth love you well incapable and shallow innocence you cannot guess who caused your father's death grandam we can for my good uncle gloucester told me the king provoked to it by the queen devised impeachments to imprison him and when my uncle told me so he wept and pitted me and kindly kissed my cheek bade me rely on him as on my father and he would love me dearly as his child oh that deceit should steal such just gentle shape and with a virtuous vizard high deep vice he is my son ay and therein my shame yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit thank you my uncle did disamble grandam ay boy i cannot think it hark what noise is this and to queen elizabeth distractedly rivers and dorset following her ah who shall hinder me to wail and weep to chide my fortune and toment myself. I'll join with black despair against my soul and to myself become an enemy. What means the scene of rude impatience? To make an act of tragic violence. Edward, my lord, thy son, our king is dead. Why grow the branches when the root is gone? Why wither not the leaves that want their sap? If you will live,

If die be brief, that our swift-winged souls may catch the kings, or like obedient subjects, Follow him to his new kingdom of perpetual rest. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow, as I had title in thy noble husband. I have bewebbed a worthy husband's death, and lived by looking on his images. But now two mirrors of his princely semblance are cracked in pieces by malignant death, and I for comfort have but one false glass that grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother,

and hast the comfort of thy children left. But death hath snatched my husband from mine arms and plucked two crutches from my feeble hands, Clarence and Edward. O what cause have vye, thine being but a moiety of my moan, to overgo thy woes and drown thy cries. Ah, aunt, you wept.

not for our father's death. How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Our fatherless distress was left unmoaned. Your widow, dole, likewise, be unwept. Give me no help in lamentation. I am not barren to bring forth complaints. All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, that I, being governed by the watery moon,

may send forth plenteous tears to drown the world. Ah, for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward! Ah, for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence. What stay had I but Edward, and he's gone? What stay had we but Clarence, and he's gone? What stays had I but they, and they are gone? Was ever widow had so dear a loss?

Whenever orphans had so dear a loss. Was never mother had so dear a loss? Alas, I am the mother of these griefs. Their woes are parceled, mine is general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I. I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she. These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I. I for an Edward weep, so do not they.

Alas, you three on me, threefold distressed, pour all your tears. I am your sorrows nurse. and I will pamper it with lamentation. Comfort, dear mother, God is much displeased that you take with unthankfulness his doing. In common worldly things, tis called ungrateful, with done unwillingness to repay a debt with which a bountious hand was kindly lent,

much more to be thus opposite with heaven, for it requires the royal debt it lent you. Madam, bethink you like a careful mother, of the young prince your son, send straight for him let him be crowned in him your comfort lives drown desperate sorrow in dead edward's grave and plant your joys in living edward's throne enter gloucester buckingham stanley hastings redcliff and others sister have comfort all of us have cause to wail the dimming of our shining star but none can help our 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 breast, love, charity, obedience, and true duty. Amen. Aside. And make me die a good old man. That is the butt end of a mother's blessing. I marvel that her grace did leave it out. You cloudy princes and heart-sooring pairs that bear this heavy mutual load of moan. now cheer each other in each other's love though we have spent our harvest of this king we are to reap the harvest of his son the broken rancour of your high-sworn hearts but lately splintered knit and joined together must gently be preserved cherished and kept

me seemeth good that with some little train forthwith from ludlow the young prince be fetched hither to london to be crowned our king why with some little train my lord of buckingham marry my lord lest by a multitude the new-heeled wound of malice should break out which would be so much the more dangerous by how much the estate is green and yet ungoverned where every horse bears his commanding reign and may direct his course as please himself, as well the fear of harm as harm apparent, in my opinion, ought to be prevented. 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, happily by much company, might be urged. Therefore, I say, with noble Buckingham, that it is meat, so few should fetch the prince.

And so say I. Then be it so, and go we to determine who they shall be that strait shall post to Ludlow. Madam, and you, my mother, will you go to give your censures in this business? Agnesant Olberg, Buckingham and Gloucester. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince, for God's sake, let not us too stay at home. For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, as indexed to the story we late to, talked of, to part the Queen's proud kindred from the Prince. My other self, my counsel's consistory, my oracle, my prophet,

my dear cousin, I as a child, will go by thy direction. Toward Ludlow, then, for we'll not stay behind. Exeunt Scene 3, London, a street. Enter two citizens, meeting. Good morrow, neighbor, wither away so fast. I promise you, I scarcely know myself. Hear you the news abroad?

Yes, that the king is dead. Ill news by your lady. Seldom comes the better. I fear. I fear it will prove a giddy world. Enter, sir, citizen. Neighbors, Godspeed. Give you good morrow, sir.

Does the news hold of good King Edward's death? Yes, sir, it is too true. God help the while. Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. No, no, by God's good grace, his sun shall reign. Woe to that land that's governed by a child. In him there's a hope of government, which in his knowledge counsel under him, and in his full and ripened years himself, no doubt, shall then and till then govern well.

So stood the state when Henry VI was crowned in Paris, but at nine months old. Stood the state so? No, no, good friends. God what, for then this land was famously enriched with politic grave counsel. Then the king had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. Why, so hast this, both by his father and mother. Better it were they all came by his father, or by his father there were none at all. For emulation, who shall now be nearest will touch us all too near if God prevent not.

Oh, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester. And the queen's sons and brothers haught and proud, and were they to be ruled in not to rule, the sickly land might solace as before. Come, come, we fear the worst. All will be well. When clouds are seen, wise men put on their cloaks. When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand. When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?

Untimely storms make men expect a dearth. All may be well, but if God sort it so, tis more than we deserve or I expect. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear. You cannot reason almost with the man. that looks not heavily and full of dread. Before the days of change, still is it so. By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust ensuing danger, as by proof we see the water swell before a boisterous storm.

But leave it all to God. Wither away. Mary, we were sent forth to the justices. Then so was I. I'll bear you company. Exeunt Scene 4. London. A room in the palace. Enter the Archbishop of York. the young duke of york queen elizabeth and the duchess of york last night i hear they at northampton lay and at stony stradford they do 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 here know they say my son of york has almost overtain him in his growth i mother but i would not have it so why my good cousin it is good to grow

Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper, my uncle Rivers talked how I did grow more than my brother. I, quoth my uncle Gloucester, small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace, and since methinks I would not grow so fast, because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold in him that did object the same to thee. He was the wretchedest thing when he was young, so long a-growing and, so leisurely that if his rule were true he should be gracious. And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam. I hope he is.

But yet let mother's doubt. Now by my troth, if I had been remembered, I could have given my uncle's grace a flout to touch his growth nearer than he touched mine. How, my young York, I prithee, let me hear it. Mary, they say my uncle grew so fast that he could not a crust at two hours old. "'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.

"'Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.' "'I pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this?' "'Grandam, his nurse.' "'His nurse? "'Why, she was dead ere thou wast born.' "'If twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.' "'A parlous boy! "'Go too, you are too shrewd.'

"'Good, madam. Be not angry with the child.' "'Pitchers have ears.' "'Here comes a messenger. Enter a messenger. What news? Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report. How doth the prince? Well, madam, and in health.

What is thy news? Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to Pomford. With them, Sir Thomas Vaughn. Prisoners. Who hath committed them? The mighty dukes, Gloucester, and Buckingham. For what offence? The sum of all I can I have disclosed.

Why, or for what, the nobles were committed, is all unknown to me, my gracious lady. Ah, me. I see the ruin of my house. The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind. Insulting tyranny begins to jet upon the innocent and all as thrown. Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre. I see, as in a map, the end of all. A cursed and unquiet, wrangling days, how many of you have mine eyes beheld? My husband lost his life to get the crown, and often up and down my son. sons were tossed for me to joy and weep their gain and loss, and being seated and domestic broils clean overblown, themselves the conquerors make war upon themselves, brother to brother, blood to blood, self against self, O preposterous and frantic outrage,

end thy damnate spleen, or let me die to look on death no more. Come, come, my boy, we will to sanctuary. Madam, farewell. Stay, I will go with you. You have no cause. To the Queen. My gracious lady, go, and thither bear your treasure and your goods. For my part, I'll resign unto your grace, the seal I keep,

and so be tied to me as well I tender you and all of yours. Go, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. Exeunt End of Act 2 Act 3 of Richard III by William Shakespeare This is a Libravax recording All Libravax recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer

Please visit Libravax.org Act 3, Scene 1 London A Street The trumpet's sound Enter the Prince of Wells Gloucester, Buckingham, Cadesby Cardinal Bershier and others

Welcome, sweet prince To London, to your chamber. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts sovereign. The weary way have made you melancholy. No, uncle, but our crosses on the way have made it tedious, wearisome and heavy. I want more uncle's here to welcome me. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years have not yet dived into the world's deceit. Nor more can you distinguish of a man than of his outward show.

which, God he knows, seldom nor never jumpeth with the heart. Those uncles which you want were dangerous. Your grace attended to their sugared words but looked 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 numb. My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you. Enter the Lord Mayor and his train. God bless your grace with health and happy days.

I thank you, good, my Lord, and thank you all. Exeunt Mayor, etc. I thought my mother and my brother York would long ere this have met us on the way. Fri, what a sluggiest Hasting, that he comes not to tell us whether they will come or no. And in good time, here comes the sweating, Lord. Enter Hastings. 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 fire what an indirect and peevish course is this of hers lord cardinal will your grace persuade the queen to send the duke of york unto his princely brother presently if she did i 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, 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 claimed it nor deserved it, and therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it. then taking him from thence that is not there you break no privilege nor charter there oft i have heard of sanctuary men but sanctuary children ne'er till now my lord you shall o'erule 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 axiant cardinal and hastings Say, Uncle Gloucester, if our brother come, where shall we sojourn to 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 reedified. 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 registered. Methinks the truth should live from age to age, as to were retailed to all posterity, even to the general all-ending day. Aside. So wise, so young, they say, do, never live long. What say you, uncle?

I say, without characters, fame lives long. Aside. Thus, like the formal vice, iniquity, I moralise two meanings in one word. That Julius Caesar was a famous man. With what his valour did enrich his wit, his wit set down to make his valour live. Death makes no conquest of this conqueror. For now he lives in fame. but not in life.

I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham. What, my gracious Lord? And if I live until I be a man, I'll win our ancient rite in France again, or die a soldier as I lived a king. Aside, Short summers lightly have a forward spring. And now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York.

Enter York, Hastings and a cardinal. Richard of York. How fair is our loving brother? Well, my dread lord, so must I call you now? Aye, brother, to our grief as it is yours. Too late he died that might have kept that title, which by his death has lost much majesty. How fairs our cousin, noble Lord of York?

I thank you, gentle uncle. Oh, my lord, you said that idle weeds are fast in growth, the prince my brother hath outgrow me far. He have, my lord. And therefore is he idle? O my fair cousin, I must not say so. Then he is 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. A beggar, brother? Of my kind uncle that I know will give, and being but a toy, which is no grief to give. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin. A greater gift? Oh, that's the sword to it.

My gentle cousin, were it light enough? Oh, then, I see you apart with but light gifts. In weightier things, you'll say a beggar, nay. It is too heavy for your grace to wear. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. What? Would you have my weapon, little lord? I would, that I might thank you as you call me. How?

Little. 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. With what a sharp provided wit he reasons.

To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, he prettily and aptly taunts himself. So cunning and so young is wonderful. My lord, will 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 on to the tower, my lord?

My lord, protector, Meads will have it so. I shall not sleep and quiet at the tower. Why? What should you fear? Mary, my uncle Clarence's angry ghost. My grandam told me he was murdered there. I fear no uncle's dead. Nor none that live, I hope. And if they live, I hope I need not fear.

But come, my lord, and with a heavy heart, thinking on them go i unto the tower senate axi and prince york hastings cardinal and attendance thank you my lord this little creating york was not incensed by his subtle mother to taunt and scorn you thus approbriously no doubt no doubt oh tis a parlous boy bold quick ingenious forward capable he is all the mothers from the top to toe well let them rest. Come hither, Kate's-be. Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend, as closely to conceal what we impart. Thou knowest 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 installment 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 one to odd against him. What think'st thou then of Stanley will not he?

He will do all in all as Hastings doth? Well, there no more but this. Go, gentle Catesby. And as it were far off, sound thou, Lord Hastings, how he dost stand affected to our purpose, and summon him tomorrow to the tower to sit about the coronation. If thou dost find him tractable to us, encourage him, and tell him all our reasons. if he be leaden icy cold unwilling be thou so too and so break off the talk and give us notice of his inclination for we to-morrow hold divided councils wherein thyself shall highly be employed commend me to lord william tell him katesby his ancient knot of dangerous adversaries to-morrow are let blood at pomfret castle and bid my lord for joy of this good news give mistress shaw well gentle kiss the more. Good Catesby go. Effect this business soundly.

My good Lord's both, with all the heat I can. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep? You shall, my lord. At Crosby Place, there shall you find us both. Exit Catesby. And now, my lord, what shall we do if we perceive that Lord Hastings will not yield to our compots? Chop off his head, man!

Somewhat we will do. And look, when I am king, Claim thou of me the earldom of Hereford, and all the movables whereof the king my brother was possessed. I'll claim that promise at your grace's hand. And look to have it yielded with all kindness. Come, let us sup betimes that afterwards we may digest our complots in some form. Exeunt Scene two, before Lord Hastings' house.

Enter a messenger. My lord, my lord! knocking within who knocks one from the lord stanley within what is it a clock upon the stroke of four enter hastings cannot my lord stanley sleep these tedious nights so it appears by that i have to say First, he commends him to your noble self. What then? Then certifies your lordship that this night he dreamt the boar had raised off 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 you will presently take horse with him, and with all speed post with him toward the north to shun the danger that his soul divines. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord. Did him not fear the separated counsels, his honour and myself are at the one, and at the other is my good friend, Katsby, where nothing can proceed that toucheth us, whereof I shall not have intelligence. Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance, and for his dreams I wonder he's so simple to trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers, to fly the boar before the boar pursues were to incense the bore to follow us, and make pursuit where he did mean no chase.

Go, bid thy master rise and come to me, And we will both together to the tower Where he shall see, the bore will use us kindly. I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say. Exit. Enter Catesby. Many good morrows to my noble lord. Good morrow, Catsby.

You are, early staring. What news? What news in this our tottering state? It is a reeling world indeed, my lord, And I believe we'll never stand upright till Richard wear the garland of the realm. How? Where the garland? Dost thou mean the crown?

I'm a good lord. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders before I'll see the crown so foul misplaced. But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? Aye, on my life, and hopes to find you forward upon his party for the game thereof. And thereupon he sends you this good news, that this same very day your enemies,

the kindred of the queen, must die at Pompfret. Indeed, I'm no mourner for that news, because they have been still my adversary. but that I'll give my voice on Richard's side to bar my master's heirs and 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 which brought me in my master's hate I live to look upon their tragedy Well, Katsby, ere a fortnight make me older 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 oh monstrous monstrous and so falls it out with rivers vaughan grey and so twill do with some men else that think themselves as safe as thou and i who as thou knowest are dear to princely richard and to buckingham the princes both make i account of you aside for they count his head upon the bridge i know they do and i have well deserved it and to stanley come on come on where is your boar spearman fare you the boar and go so unprovided

"'My lord, good-morrow, and good-morrow, Catesby. "'You may jest on, but by the holy rude, "'I do not like these several councils, I?' "'My lord, I hold my life as dear as you do yours, "'and never in my days I do protest, "'was it so precious to me as tis now, "'think you but that I know our state secure, "'I would be so triumphant as I am.'

"'The lords at Pompfret, when they rode from London, "'were jocund, and supposed their states was sure, "'and they indeed had no cause to mistrust, but yet you see how soon the day o'er cast this sudden stab of rancour i misdoubt pray god i say i prove a needless coward what shall we toward the tower the days spent come come have with you what you want my lord today the lords you talk of are beheaded they for their truth might better wear their heads than some that have accused them wear their hats but come my lord let's away enter a persevent go on before i'll talk with this good fellow axion stanley and cadesby how now sirrah how goes the world of thee the better that your lordship please to ask i tell thee man tis better with me now than when thou metst me last when now we meet then i was going prisoner to the tower by the suggestion of the queen's allies but now i tell thee keep it to thyself this day those enemies are put to death and i in better state than ere i was god hold her to your honour's good content.

Grammassy, fellow, there, drink that for me. Throwing him his purse. Thank you, Your Honor. Exit. Enter a priest. Well met, my lord. I am glad to see your honour. I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart. I am in your debt for your last exercise.

Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. Enter Buckingham. What, talking with a priest, Lord Chamberlain? Your friends at Pompfrette, they do need the priest. Your honour hath no striving work in hand. Good faith, and when I met this holy man, the man you talk of came into my mind. What, you go toward the tower? I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there.

I shall return before your lordship thence. Nay, like enough for I stay dinner there. Aside. And supper, too, although thou know'st it not, come, will you go? I'll wait upon your lordship. Excient Scene three. before the castle.

Enter Radcliffe with guard, conducting Rivers, Grey and Woan to execution. Sir Richard Radcliffe, let me tell thee this. Today shall thou behold, a subject die for truth, for duty, and for loyalty. God bless the prince from all the back of you. Can not you are of damned blood-sackers. You live that shall cry, that shall cry wool for this hereafter. Dispatch. The limit of your life's is out.

O Pamphret! Pamphrit! O thou, bloody prison! Fatal and ominous to noble peers! Within the guilty closure of thy walls, Richard II here was hacked to death, and, for more slander to thy dismal seat, we give to thee our guiltless blood to drink. Now Margaret's curse is fallen up on our heads. When she exclaimed on Hastings, Sue and I, was standing by when Richard stabbed her son. Then cursed she, Richard. Then cursed she Buckingham.

Then cursed she Hastings. Oh, remember God to hear her prayer for them as now for us. and, for my sister and her princely sons, be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, which as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt. Make haste, the hour of death is expired. Come, grey, come, Vaughan. Let us here embrace.

Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. scene four london a room in the tower buckingham stanley hastings the bishop of ely redcliffe lovel and others sitting at the table officers of the council attending now noble peers the cause why we are met is to determine of the coronation in god's name speak when is the royal day are all things ready for that royal time they are and what but nomination to-morrow then i judge's a happy day. Who knows the Lord protector's mind herein? Who is most inward with the noble duke? Your grace, we think. Should soonest know his

mind? We know each other's faces. For our hearts, he knows no more of mine than I of yours. Or I of his, my lord, 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 and the coronation

I have not sounded him, nor he delivered his gracious pleasure any way therein. But to you, my honourable 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. In happy time! Here comes the Duke himself. Enter Gloucester. Oh, my noble lords and cousins all good morrow. I have been long a sleeper. But I trust my absence does neglect no great design by which my presence might have been concluded. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord? William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part, I mean your voice, for crowning of the king.

Then my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder. His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. My lord of Ely, when I was last in Hoburn, I saw good strawberries in your garden there. I do beseech you. Send for some of them. Mary, and will, my lord, with all my heart. Exit. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. Takes him aside. Caseby has 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 yourself a while. I'll go with you. Axie and Closter and Buckingham. We have not yet set down this day of triumph. "'Tomorrow, in my judgment, is too sudden,

"'for I myself am not so well provided, "'as else I would be, were the day prolonged.' "'Reenter Bishop of Ely. "'Where is, my lord, the Duke of Gloucester? "'I have sent for these strawberries.' "'His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this morning. "'There's some conceit or other likes him well "'when that he bids good-morrow with such spirits.

"'I think there's near a man in Christendom "'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 livelihood he showed today? Marry that with no man here he is offended, for were he he had shown it in his looks.

Reenter Gloucester and Buckingham. I pray you all, Tell me what they deserve that do conspire my death with devilish plots of damned witchcraft, and that have prevailed upon my body with their hellish charms. The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, makes me most forward in this princely presence, to doom the offenders whoso'er they be.

I say, my lord, they have deserved death. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil. Look how I am bewitched. Behold! Mine arm is like a blasted sapling withered up. And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, consorted with that harlot strumpet sure

that by their witchcraft thus have marked me. If they have done this deed, my noble lord. If? Thou protector of this damned strumpet, talks thou to me of ifths? Thou art a traitor! Off with his head! Now! By St. Paul, I swear I will not die in until I see the same. Lovell and Ratcliffe, look that at me done. The rest, that love me, rise, and follow me.

Exciant all except Hastings, Lovell and Ratcliffe. Woe, woe for England, not a wit for me, for I too fond might have prevented this. Stanley did dream the board and raise his helm, and I did scorn it, and disdain to fly. Three times to-day, my foot-clothed horse did stumble, and started when he looked upon the tower, as loath

to bear me to the slaughter-house. Oh, now I need the priest that spake to me, I now repent, I told the persevent, as too triumphing, how my enemies today at Pompfort bloodily were butchered, and I myself secure and grace in favour, oh, Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse, is lighted on poor Hastings, wretched head.

Come, come, dispatch. The Duke would be at dinner. Make a short shrift. He longs to see your head. Oh, momentary grace of mortal men, which we more hunt for than the grace of God, who builds his hope in air of your good looks, lives like a drunken sailor and a mast,

ready with every nod to tumble down into the fatal bowels of the deep. Come, come, dispatch, tis bootless to exclaim. oh bloody richard miserable england i prophesy the fearfullest time to thee that ever wretched age hath looked upon come lead me to the block bear him my head they smile at me who shortly shall be dead Exxient. Scene 5. London. The Tower Walls. Enter Gloucester and Buckingham in rusty armour, marvellous ill-favoured. Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change thy colour, murder thy breath in middle of a word, and then begin again, and stop again, as if thou wert distraught and mad with terror? Todd, I can counterfeat the deep tragedian. Speak and look back, and pry. on every side, tremble and start at wagging of a straw, intending deep suspicion.

Gastly looks are at my service, like enforce its smiles, and both are ready in their offices at any time to grace my stratagems. But what, is Katesby gone? He is, and see, he brings the mayor along. Enter the Lord Mayor, and Katesby. Lord Mayor. Look to the drawbridge there! Hark! A drum! Kate Spear, oh look the walls. Lord Mayor, the reason we have sent.

Look back, defend thee. Here are enemies. God and our innocency defend and guard us. Oh, be patient. They are friends. Ratcliffe and Lovell. Enter Lovell and Ratcliffe with Hastings' head. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, the dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. So dear I loved the man that I must weep.

I took him for the plainest, harmless creature that breathed upon the earth a Christian, made him my book wherein my soul recorded the history of all her secret thoughts. So smooth he daubed his vice with show of virtue, that his apparent open guilt omitted, I mean his conversation with Shaw's wife, he lived from all attainder of suspects. Well, well, he was the covertest sheltered traitor that ever lived. Would you imagine or almost believe? Wirt not that by great preservation we live to tell it you,

that the subtle traitor this day had plotted in the council house to murder me and my good lord of Gloucester? Had he done so? What? Think you we are Turks or infidels? Or that we would against the form of law proceed thus rashly in the villain's death? but that the extreme peril of the case, the peace of England, and our person's safety enforced us to this execution. Now fair befall you. He deserved his death, and your good graces both have well proceeded to warn false traitors from the like attempts. I never looked for better at his hands after he once fell in with Mistress Shore.

Yet had we not determined he should die until your lordship came to see his end, which now, the loving haste of these our friends, something against our meanings have prevented, because, my lord, we would have had you heard the traitor speak, and timorously confess the manner and the purpose of his treasons, that you might well have signified the same unto the citizens, who happily may misconsture 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 do not doubt right noble princes both, but I'll acquaint our deutious citizens

with all your just proceedings in this case. And to that end we wished your lordship here to avoid the censures of the carping world. But since you come too late of our intent, yet witness what you hear we did intend, and so my good Lord Mayor, we bid farewell. Exit Lord Mayor. Go after, after Cousin Buckingham.

The mayor, towards Gildhall, hies him in all post. There, at your midst advantage of the time, infer the bastardy of Edward's children. Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen only for saying he would make his son heir to the crown, meaning indeed his house, which by the sign thereof was termed so. Moreover, urge his hateful luxury and bestial appetite in change of lust, which stretched unto their servants, daughters, wives, even where his raging eye or savage heart without control listed to make a prey. Nay, for a need, thus far, come near my person. Tell them, when that my mother went with child of that insatiate Edward, noble York, my princely father, then

had wars in France, and by true computation of the time found that the issue was not his begot, which well appeared in his lineaments being nothing like the noble duke my father yet touch this sparingly as twere far off because my lord you know my mother lives Doubt not, my lord, I'll play the orator as if the golden fee for which I plead were for myself. And so, my lord, adieu. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's castle, where you shall find me well-accompanied with reverent fathers and well-learned bishops. I go, and towards three or four o'clock, look for the news that the Guildhall affords. Exit. Go, Lovell, with all speed, Dr. Shaw.

Go thou to Catesby. To Friar Pinker, bid them both meet me within this hour at Bainard's Castle. Exxiant Lovell and Catesby. Now will I in to take some privy order to draw the Brats of Clarence out of sight, and to give order that no man a person have any time recourse under the princes. Exit. Scene 6. London. A street. Enter a scrivener.

Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings. which in a set hand fairly is engrossed, that it may be today red ore and poles, and mark how well the sequel hangs together. Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, for yesternight by Catesby was it sent me. The precedent was full as long a-doing, and yet within these five hours Hastings lived, untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty. Here's a good world the while Who is so gross that cannot see this palpable device

Yet who so bold but says he sees it not Bad is the world And all will come to naught When such ill-dealing must be seen in thought Exit Scene 7 London Court of Bainyard's Castle Enter Gloucester and Buckingham meeting

How now, how now? Now, what say the citizens? Now by the holy mother of our lord, the citizens of mum, say not a word. Touched you the bastardy of Edward's children? I did, with his contract with Lady Lucy, and his contract by deputy in France, the insatiate greediness of his desires, and his enforcement of the city wives,

his tyranny for trifles his own bastardy, as being got your father then in France, and his resemblance, being not like the Duke, with all 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 discipline in war, wisdom in peace, your bounty, virtue, fair humility, indeed left nothing fitting for your purpose, touched or slightly handled in discourse, and when mine oratory drew to an end, I bid them that did love their country's good cry, God save Richard, England's royal king. And did they so? No, so God help me they spake not a word, but like dumb statues or breathing stones, stared each on other and looked deadly pale, which when I saw I reprehended them and asked the what meant this willful silence. His answer was,

The people were not used to be spoke to, but by the recorder. Then he was urged to tell my tale again. Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferred, but nothing spoke in warrant from himself. When he had done, some followers of mine own, at lower end of the hall, hurled up their caps, and some ten voices cried, God save King Richard. And thus I took the vantage of those few. Thanks, gentle citizens and friends, quoth I.

This general applause and cheerful shout argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard. And even here break off and came away. What tongueless blocks were they? Would they not speak? Well, not the mayor then in his brethren come? The mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear. Be not you, speak.

spoke with, but by mighty suit, and look you get a prayer book in your hand, and stand between two churchmen, good my lord, for on that ground I'll make a holy desk hand, and be not easily one to our requests.

Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. I go, and if you plead as well for them as I can say nay to thee for myself, no doubt we bring it to a happy issue. Go, go, go. up to the leads the lord mayor knocks exit cluster enter the lord mayor alderman and citizens welcome my lord i d'n't dance attendance here i think the duke will not be spoke withal

enter from the castle catesby now catesby what says your lord to my request he doth entreat your grace my noble lord to visit him to-morrow or next day he is within with two right reverend fathers divinely bent to meditation, and in a worldly suit would he be moved to draw him from his holy exercise? Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke. Tell him, myself, the mayor, and aldermen, in deep designs, in matter of great moment, no less importing that our general good are come to have some conference with his grace. I'll signify so much unto him straight. Exit. Aha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward. He is not. He is not. Not lolling on a lewd day-bed, but on his knees at meditation. Not dallying with a brace of courtesans, but meditating with two deep divines.

Not sleeping to engross his idle body, but praying to enrich his watchful soul. Happy war England would this virtuous prince take on his grace the sovereignty thereof. But sure, I fear, we shall not win him. him to it. Mary, God defend His grace should say us nay. I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again. Reenter Catesby.

Now, Catesby, what says his grace? He wonders to what end do have assembled such troops of citizens to come to him. His grace not being warned thereof before he fears, my lord. You mean no good to him. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should suspect me, that I mean no good to him. By heaven we come to him in perfect love. And so once more return and tell his grace. Exit, Catesby.

When holy and devout religious men are at their beads, tis much to draw them thence. So sweet is zealous contemplation. Enter Gloucester in a gallery above, between two bishops. Catesby returns. See where his grace stands between two clergymen. Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, to stay him from the fall of vanity,

and see a book of prayer in his hand. True ornaments to know a holy man. Famous plantagenet, most gracious prince, lend favorable ear to our requests, and pardon us the interruption of thy devotion and right Christian zeal. My lord, there needs no such apology. I rather do beseech you pardon me,

who, earnest in the service of my God, deferred the visitation of my friends. But leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure? Even that I hope which pleaseth God above, and all good men of this ungoverned isle. I do suspect I have done some offence that seems disgraceous in the city's eye, and that you come to reprehend my ignorance. You have, my lord. Would it might please your grace on our entreaties to amend your fault?

Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land? No, then. It is your fault that you resign this. supreme seat, the throne majestical, the sceptred office of your ancestors, your state of fortune, and your due of birth, the linole glory of your royal house, to the corruption of a blemished stock. Whilst in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, which here we waken to our country's good, the noble isle that thwart her proper limbs, her face defaced with scars of infamy, her royal stock grafted with ignoble plants and almost sheltered in the swallowing gulf of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion which to recur we heartily solicit your gracious self to take on you the charge and kingly government of this your land

Not as protector, steward, substitute, or lowly factor for another's gain, but as successively from blood to blood, your right of birth, your empery, your own. For this, consorted with the citizens, your very worshipful and loving friends, and, by their vehement instigation, in this just cause come I to move your grace. I cannot tell if, to depart in silence, or bitterly to speak in your reproof, best fiteth my degree, or your condition. If not to answer, you might happily think tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded, to bear the golden yoke of sovereignty which fondly you would here impose on me. If to reprove you for this suit of yours, so seasoned with your faithful love to me, then on the other other, side, I checked my friends. Therefore, to speak and to avoid the first, and then in speaking not to incur the last, definitively thus I answer you. Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert unmeritable shuns your high request. First, if all obstacles were cut away and that my path

were even to the crown, as the ripe revenue in due of birth, yet so much is my poverty of spirit, so mighty and so many my defence, that I would rather hide me from my greatness, being a bark to brook no mighty sea, than in my greatness covet to be hid, and in the vapour of my glory smothered. But, God be thanked, there is no need of me, and much I need to help you were there need. The royal tree have left us royal fruit, which mellowed by the stealing hours of time will well become the seat of majesty, and make no doubt us happy by his reign. On him I lay that you would lay on me, the right and fortune of his happy stars, which God defend that I should ring 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 was he contract to lady lucy your mother lives a witness to his vow and afterward by substitute betrothed to bona sister to the king of france these are both put off a poor petitioner a care-craise mother to a many sons. A beauty-waning and distressed widow, even in the afternoon of her best days, made prize and purchase of his wanted eye, seduced the

pitch and height of his degree to base declension and loathed bigamy. By her, in his unlawful bed he got this Edward, whom our manners call the prince. More bitterly could I expostulate, save that

for reverence to some alive, I give a sparing limit to my tongue. Then, good my lord, take to your royal self this proffered benefit of dignity. And if not to bless us and the land with all, yet to draw forth your noble ancestry from the corruption of abusing time unto a lineal true derivit course. Do, good my lord, your citizens entreat you. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffered love. Oh, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit.

Alas, why would you heap those cares on me? I am unfit for state and majesty. 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, as well we know your tenderness of heart, and gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, which we have noted in you to your kindred,

and equally indeed to all estates, yet know where 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, we will entreat no more. The mayor and citizens retiring.

Call them again, sweet prince, accept their suit. If you deny them, all the land will ruin. Will you enforce me to a world of cares? Call them again. Catesby goes to the mayor, etc., and then exit. I'm not made of stone, but penetrable to your kind entreaties, albeit against my conscience and my soul. Re-enter Buckingham and Cadesby, Mayor, etc., coming from.

forward. Cousin of Buckingham, and sage grave men, since you will buckle fortune on my back, to bear her burden where I will or know, I must have patience to endure the load. But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach attend the sequel of your imposition, your mere enforcement shall acquittance me from all the impure blots and stains thereof. For God doth know, and you may partly see, how far, I am from the desire of this. God bless your grace. We see it and will say it.

In saying so, you shall but say the truth. Then I salute you with this royal title. Long live King Richard, England's worthy king. Amen. Tomorrow, may it please you to be crowned? Even when you please, for you will have it so. Tomorrow then, we will attend your grace, and so most joyfully we take our leave.

To the bishops. Come, let us to our holy work again. Farewell, my cousin, farewell, gentle friends. Exeunt. End of Act 3. Act 4 of Richard III by William Shakespeare. This is a Libravox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, Please visit Libravag's.org. Act 4, scene 1. London. Before the Tower. Enter, on one side, Queen Elizabeth, Duchess of York, and Markey of Dorset.

On the other, Anne Duchess of Gloucester, leading Lady Margaret Plantagenet, Clarence's young daughter. Who meets us here? My niece, Plantagenet, led in the hand of her kind, aunt of Gloucester?

Now, for my life, she's wandering to the tower, on pure heart's love to greet the tender princes daughter well met God give your graces both a happy and a joyful time of day As much to you good sister

Whither away No farther than the tower And as I guess upon the like Devotioners yourselves To gratulate the gentle princes there Kind sister thanks We'll enter all together And in good time

Here the lieutenant comes Enter Brackenbury Master Lieutenant, pray you by your leave, how doth the prince and my young son of York? Right well, dear madam. By your patience, I may not suffer you to visit them. The king hath strictly charged the contrary. The king? Who's that? I mean the Lord protector.

The Lord protect him from that kingly title. Hath he set bounds between their love and me? I am their mother, who shall bow. me from them. I am their father's mother. I will see them. There aren't I am in law, in love their mother, then bring me to their sights. I'll bear thy blame and take thy office from thee on my peril. No, madam, no. I may not leave it so. I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. Exit. Anta Stanley. 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. To the Duchess of Bloster. Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster, there to be crowned Richard's royal queen. Oh, cut my lace asunder, that my pent heart may have some scope to beat, or else I swoon with this dead-killing news. Despiteful tidings, oh, unpleasing news! Be of good cheer, mother, how fair is your grace? O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone. Death and destruction, Dog thee at thy heels. Thy mother's name is ominous to children. If thou wilt out strip death, go cross the seas, and live with Richmond from the reach of hell. Go, hide thee, hide thee from

this slaughterhouse, lest thou increase the number of the dead, and make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. Full of wise care, is this your counsel, madam? Take all the swift advantage of the hours. You shall have letters from me to my son, in your behalf, to meet you on the way. Be not ten tardy by unwise delay. O ill-dispersing wind of misery! O my accursed womb the bed of death! A coquatress hast thou hatched to the world, whose unavoided eye is murderous.

Come, madam, come! I in all haste were sent. And I, with all unwillingness will go. Oh, would to God that the inclusive verge of golden metal that must round my brow were red-hot steel to sear me to the brain. Anointed let me be with deadly venom and die air men can say God save the queen. Go, go, poor soul. I envy not thy glory. To feed my humour wish thyself no harm. No? Why? When he, that is my husband now, came to me, as I followed Henry's course,

when scarce the blood was well washed from his hands which issued from my other angel husband, and that dear saint which then I weeping followed, O when I say I looked on Richard's face this was my wish, Be thou, quoth I, a curse for making me so young, so old a widow. And when thou wets, let sorrow haunt thy bed, And be thy wife, if any be so mad, More miserable by the life of thee than thou hast made me, by my dear Lord's death.

Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, within so small a time my woman's heart grossly grew captive to his honey words, and proved the subject of mine own soul's curse,

which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest. For never yet one hour in his bed did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, but with his timorous dreams were still awake. Besides, he hates me

for my father Warwick, and will no doubt shortly be rid of me. Poor heart, adieu, I pity thy complaining. No more than with my soul I mourn for yours. Farewell thou waltful, welcomeer of glory. Adieu, poor soul, that takes thy leave of it. To Dorset. Go thou to Richmond and good fortune guide thee.

To Anne. Go thou to Richard and good angels tend thee. To Queen Elizabeth. Go thou to sanctuary and good thoughts possess thee. I to my grave Where peace and rest lie with me Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen And each hour's joy wrecked with a week of teen

Stay yet Look back with me unto the tower Pity, you ancient stones Those tender babes whom envy hath amured Within your walls Rough cradle for such little pretty ones Rude, ragged nurse old sullen playfellow for tender princes,

Use my baby's well. So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell. Xient Scene 2. London A room of state in the palace. Flourish of trumpets, Richard as king upon his throne. Buckingham, Cadesby, Radcliffe, Lovell, a page and others.

Stand all apart. cousin of buckingham my gracious sovereign give me thy hand assaanced a throne thus high by thy advice and thy assistance is king richard seated but shall we wear these glories for a day or shall they last and we rejoice in them still live they and forever let them last ah buckingham now do i play the touch, to try if thou be current gold indeed. Young Edward lives. Think now what I would speak. Say on, my loving lord. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be king. Why, so you are my thrice renowned lord. Huh? Am I king? Tis so, but Edward lives. True noble, Prince. Oh, bitter consequence that Edward still should live. True noble prince!

Cousin! Thou wast not wont to be so dull. Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead! And I would have it suddenly performed! What say'st thou now? Speak suddenly. Be brief! Your grace may do your pleasure! Tut-t-tut! Thou art all ice. Thy kindness freezes. Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die? Give me some little breath, some pause, dear Lord, before I positively speak in this. I will resolve your grace immediately. Exit.

Aside. The king is angry, see? He gnaws his lip. I will converse with iron-witted fools and unrespective boys. Descends from his throne. None are for me that look into me with considerate, eyes. High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. Boy!

My lord? Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold will tempt unto a close exploit of death? I know a discontented gentleman whose humble means match not his haughty spirit. Gold were as good as twenty orators, and will, no doubt, tempt him to anything. What is his name? His name, my lord, is Tyrell. Lord is Tyrell. I partly know the man. Go, call him hither, boy.

Exit page. The deep revolving witty Buckingham no more shall be the neighbour to my councils. Has he so long held out with me untired and stops he now for breath? Well, be it so. Enter Stanley. How now, Lord Stanley, what's the news? No, my loving lord, the Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled to Richmond in the parts where he abides. Come hither, Catespeare, rumour it abroad, that Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick.

I will take order for her keeping close. Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman, whom I will marry straight to Clarence's daughter. The boy is foolish, and I fear him not. Look how thou dreamst, I say again give out that Anne my queen is sick and like to die, about it, for it stands me much upon to stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. Exit Catesby. 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 so far in blood that sin will pluck on sin.

Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. Re-enter Page with Thirrell Is thy name Tyrell? James Tyrell, in your most obedient subject Art thou, indeed? Prove me, my gracious Lord. Dares thou resolve to kill

a friend of mine? Please you, but I'd 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? Terrell, 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. Hark, come hither, Terrell, go, by this token, rise, and lend thine ear. Whispers. There is no more but so. Say it is done, and I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. I will dispatch it straight. Exit Re-enter Buckingham

My lord, I have considered in my mind The late request that you did sound me in Well, let that rest, Dorset is fled to Richmond I hear the news, my lord Stanley, here's your wife's son, well, look to it My lord, I claim the gift My due by promise For which your honour and your faith is pawned

The elder of Hereford And the movables which you have promised at I shall possess. Stanley, look to your wife. If she convey letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. What says, Your Highness, to my just request? I do remember me. Henry the Sixth did prophesy that Richmond should be king, when Richmond was a little peevish boy. A king? 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 eltham!

Richmond. When last I was at Exeter, the mayor, in courtesy, showed me the castle and called it Rougmont, at which name I started, because a bard of Ireland told me once, I should not live long after I saw Richmond. My lord! Aye, what's the clock? I am thus bold to put your grace in my mind. of what you promised me.

Well, but what's the clock? Upon the stroke of ten. Well, let it strike. Why let it strike? Because that like a jack, thou keeps to the stroke betwixt thy begging and my meditation. I am not in the giving vein today. Why, then, resolve me whether you will or no.

Thou troublest me. I am not in the vein. Excient King Richard and train. and is it thus repays he my deep service with such contempt made i him king for this oh let me think on hastings and be gone to breck-nock while my fearful head is on exit scene three london another room in the palace enter tyrol the tyranness and bloody act is dut the most starch deed of piteous man that ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn to do this piece of ruthless buttery,

albeit they were fleshed villains, bloody dogs, melted with tenderness and mild compassion, wept like two children in their death's sad story. Oh, thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes. Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another within their alabasteriness and arms. Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,

and in their summer beauty kissed each other. A book of prayers on their pillow lay, which once, quoth Forrest, almost changed my mind. But, oh, the devil! There the villain stopped, when Dighton thus told on, We smothered the most replenished sweet work of nature That from the prime creation ever she framed. Hence both are gone, with conscience and remorse they could not speak,

And so I left them both to bear this tidings to the bloody king. and here he comes Enter King Richard O health my sovereign lord Kind Tyrell 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 But didst thou see them dead I did my lord And buried, gentle Tyrell The chaplain of the tower has buried them But where to say the truth I do not know Come to me Tyrell soon At After Supper

when 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. I humbly take my leave. Exit. The son of Clarence have I pent up close, his daughter meanly have I matched in marriage,

the sons of Edward's sleep in Abraham's bosom, and Anne my wife have bid the world good-night. Now, for I know, the Breton Richmond aims at young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, and by that not looks proudly on the crown, to her go I, a jolly, thriving wooer. Enter Ratcliffe, my lord. Good or bad news that comes in so bluntly? Bad news, my lord. Morton is fled to Richmond, and Buckingham, backed with a hardy Welshman,

is in the field, and still his power increases. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near than Buckingham and his rash-leaved strength. Come, I have learned that fearful commenting is leaden servitor to dull delay. Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary. Then fiery expedition be my wing, Jove's Mercury and Herald for a king. Go, must a men, my counsel is my shield. We must be brief when true. Traitors brave the field.

Exeunt Scene 4. London. Before the palace. Enter Queen Margaret. So, now prosperity begins to mellow and drop into the rotten mouths of death. Here in these confines, slyly have I lurked to watch the waning of mine enemies. A dire induction. am I witness to and will to France,

hoping the consequence will prove as bitter, black and tragical. Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here? Retires. Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York. Oh, my poor princes, ah, my tender babes, my unblown flowers, new appearing sweets, If yet your gentle zoles fly in the air and be not fixed in doom perpetual, hover about me with your airy wings, and hear your mother's lamentation.

Hover about her. Say that right for right hath dimmed your infant mourn to aged night. So many miseries have crazed my voice that my woe-weary tongue is still and mute. Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? Plantagenet does quit Plantagenet. Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. Will't thou, oh God, fly from such dental lambs and throw them in the entrails of the wolf? When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?

When Holy Harry died and my sweet son. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost, woes seen world shame graves due by life usurped brief abstract and record of tedious days rest thy unrest on england's lawful earth unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood sitting down ah that thou wouldst as soon afford a grave as thou canst yield a melancholy seat then would i hide my bones not rest them here ah who hath any cause to mourn but we Sitting down by her. Coming forward. If ancient sorrow be most reverent, give mine the benefit of scenery, and let my griefs frown on the upper hand.

Sitting down with them. If sorrow can admit society, tell all your woes again by viewing mine. I had an Edward till a Richard killed him. I had a Henry till a Richard killed him. "'Thou hadst an Edward till a Richard killed 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 hopes to kill him.'

"'Thou hadst a Clarence, too, and Richard killed him. "'From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept a hellhound "'that doth hunt us all to death.' That dog that had his teeth before his eyes to worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, That foul defacer of God's handiwork, That excellent grand tyrant of the earth, That reigns in gaulyed eyes of weeping souls, Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.

O upright, just and true disposing God, How do I thank thee That this carnal cur Praise on the issue of his mother's body And makes her a 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 Thy Edward he is dead That killed my Edward the other Edward dead to quit my Edward. Young York he is but boot because both they match not the high perfection

of my loss. Thy Clarence he is dead that stabbed my Edward. And the beholders of this frantic play the adulterate Hastings rivers vaughan grey untimely smothered in their dusky graves. richard yet lives hell's black intelligence only reserve their factor to buy souls and send them but at hand at hand ensues his piteous and unpityed end earth gapes hell burns fiends raw saints pray to have him suddenly convey from hence. Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, that I may live to 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 bunchbacked toad. I called thee then vain flourish of my fortune. I called thee then poor shadow, painted queen. The presentation of but what I was, the flattering index of a direful pageant. One heaved a high to be hurled down below. A mother only mocked with two fair babes. A dream of what thou wast,

a garish flag to be the aim of ever, every dangerous shot. A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble, a queen in jest only to fill the scene. Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers? Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy? Who soos and kneels and says God save the queen?

Where be the bending piers that flattered thee? Where be the thronging troops that followed 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 one being sued to one that humbly sues. For queen, a very cative crown. with care. For a she that scorned at me now scorned of me, for she being feared of all now,

fearing one, for she commanding all obeyed of none. Thus hath the course of justice wheeled about and left thee but a very prey to time. Having no more but thought of what thou wast, to torture thee the more Being what thou art. Thou didst usurp my place And dost thou not usurp The just proportion of my sorrow? Now thy proud neck

bears half my burdened yoke From which even here I slip my weary head And leave the burden of it all on thee. Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance. These English woes shall make me smile in France. Oh, thou well-skilled in curses stay a while, and teach me how to curse mine enemies.

Forbear to sleep the night and fast the day. Compare dead happiness with living woe. Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were, and he that slew them fowler than he is. Bettering thy loss makes the bad cause are worse. Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. My words are dull, oh, quicken them with thine. Thy woes will make them sharp and pierce like mine.

Exit. Why should calamity be full of words? Windy attorneys to their client woes, airy succeeders of intestate joys, poor breathing orators of miseries, Let them have scope. Though what they do in part help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. If so, then be not tongue-tied.

Go with me, and in the breath of bitter words let smother my damned son that thy two sweet sons smothered. Drum within. I hear his drum, be copious and exclaims. Enter King Richard and his train marching. Who intercepts me in my expedition? O she that might have intercepted thee By strangling thee in her accursed womb

From all the slaughterer's wretch that thou hast done Hidst thou that forehead with a golden crown Where should be branded if that right were right The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers Tell me thou villain's slave Where are my children? Thou toad, thou toad

Where is thy brother Clarence and little Ned Plantagenet his son. Where is the gentle rivers, vaughan, grey? Where is kind hastings? A flourish, trumpets, strike alarum, drums. Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women rail on the Lord's anointed. Strike, I say! Flourish, alarums.

Either be patient and entreat me fair, or with the clamorous report of war, thus will I drown your exclamations. Art thou, my son? I, I thank God my father and yourself. Then patiently hear my impatience. Madam, I have a touch of your condition that cannot brook the accent of reproof. Oh, let me speak. Do then, but I'll not hear.

I will be mild and gentle in my words. And brief, good mother, for I am in haste. Art thou so hasty? I have stayed for thee, God knows, in torment and in agony. And came I not at last to comfort you? No, by the whole. holy rude, thou know'st it well. Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.

A grievous burden was thy birth to me, tetchy and wayward was thy infancy, thy school days frightful, desperate, wild and furious, thy prime of manhood daring, bold and venturous, thy age confirmed, proud, subtle, sly and bloody, more mild but yet more harmful, kind in hatred. What comfortable hour canst thou name that ever graced me with thy company. Faith none but Humphrey hour that called your grace to breakfast once

forth of my company. If I be so disgraceous in your eye, let me march on and not offend you, madam. Strike up the drum. I prithee, hear me speak. You speak too bitterly. Hear me a word, for I shall never speak to thee again. So, either thou wilt die by God's just ordinance, ere from this war thou turn a conqueror, or I, with grief and extreme aid, shall perish, and never more behold thy face again. Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse, which in the day of battle tire thee more than all the complete armour that thou wearest.

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. Exit. Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse abides in me, I say amen to her.

Going. Stay, madam. I must talk a word with you. I have no more sons of the royal blood for thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard, they shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens. and therefore level not to hit their lives. You have a daughter called Elizabeth, virtuous and fair, royal and gracious?

And must she die for this? Oh, let her live, and I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty, slander myself as false to Edward's bed, throw over her the veil of infamy, so she may live unscarred of bleeding slaughter, 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 safest, only in her birth. And only in that safety died her brothers. Lo, at their birth's good stars were opposite. No, to their lives' bad friends were contrary. All unavoid is the doom of destiny. Oh, true, when avoided grace makes destiny. My babes were destined to a fairer death if grace had blessed thee with a fairer life. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.

Cousins indeed! And by their uncle, cousin of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life, Whose hands soever lanced their tender hearts, thy head all indirectly gave direction? No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt till it was wetted on thy stone hard heart To revel in the entrails of my lambs. But that still use of grief makes me, wild grief, ta'e, my tongue should to thy ears not name my boy as till that my nails were anchored in thine eyes, and I in such a desperate bay of death like a poor bark of sails and tackling raft rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise and dangerous success of bloody wars, as I intend more good to you and yours than ever you or yours by me were harmed. What good is covered with the face of heaven to be discovered that can do me good. Advancement of your children, gentle lady. Up to some scaffold there to lose their heads. Unto the dignity and height of honour, the high imperial type of this earth's glory.

Flatter my sorrows with the port of it. Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour canst thou demise to any child of mine? Even all I have. I and myself, and all will I with all endoward. a child of thine. So in the leathy of thy angry soul thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs which thou supposest I have done to thee.

Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness last longer telling than thy kindness date. Then know that from my soul I love thy daughter. Oh, my daughter's mother thinks it with her soul. What do you think? That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul. So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers, and from my heart's love I do thank thee for it. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning.

I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter, and do intend to make her queen of England. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be her king? Even he that makes her queen, who else should be? What? Thou? I, even I. What think you of it, madam?

How canst thou woo her? That would I learn of you as one being 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. Then happily will she weep. will she weep. Therefore present to her, as sometimes Margaret did to thy father steeped in Rutland's

blood, a handkerchief, which say to her did drain the purple sap from her sweet brother's bodies, and bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. If this inducement move her not to love, send her her a letter of thy noble deeds. Tell her thou maids to weigh her uncle Clarence, her uncle rivers. I, and for her sake made'st quick conveyance with her good Aunt Anne. You mock me, madam, 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 richer that hath done all this. Say that I did all this, for love of her.

Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee, having bought love with such a bloody spoil. Look, what is done cannot be now amended. Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, which after hours gives leisure to repent. If I did take the kingdom from your sons, to make amends, I'll give it to your daughter. If I have killed the issue of your womb, to quicken your increase, I will beget mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. A grandam's name, is little less in love than is the doting title of a mother? They are as children but one step below. Even of your metal, of your very blood, of all one pain, save for a night of groans endured of her for whom you bid like sorrow. Your children were vexation to your youth, but mine shall be a comfort

to your age. The loss you have is but a son being king, and by that loss your daughter is made queen. I cannot make you what amends I would, therefore accept such kindness as I can. Dorset, your son, that with a fearful soul leads discontented steps in foreign soil, this fair alliance quickly shall call home to high promotions and great dignity. The king that calls your beauteous daughter, wife, familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother. Again you shall be mother to a king, and all the ruins of distressed. successful times repaired with double riches of content. What, we have many goodly days to see!

The liquid drops of tears that you have shed shall come again transformed to Orient Pearl, Advantageing their loan with interest of ten times double gain of happiness. Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go, make bold her bashful years with your experience, Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale, put in her tender heart the aspiring flame of golden sovereignty, acquaint the princess with the sweet silent hours of marriage joys. And when this arm of mine hath chastised the petty rebel dull-brained Buckingham, bound with triumphant garlands will I come, and lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed, to whom I will retail my conquest one, and she shall be sole victorious.

Caesar's Caesar. What were I best to say? Her father's brother would be her lord, or shall I say her uncle, or he that slew her brothers and her uncles. Under what title shall I woo for thee, that God the law my honour and her love can make seem pleasing to her tender years? Infer Fair England's peace by this alliance. which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

Tell her the king that may command entreats. That at her hands which the king's king forbids. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen. To wail the title as her mother duff. Say I will love her everlastingly. But how long shall that title ever last? Sweetly enforce unto her fair life's end. But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?

As long as heaven and nature lengthens it. As long as hell and Richard likes of it. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject loathe such sovereignty. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. An honest tale speeds best being plainly told. Then plainly to her tell my loving tale. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style. Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.

O no, my reasons are too deep and dead, too deep and dead poor infants in their graves. Harp not on that string, madam, that is past. Harp on it still shall I till heartstrings break. Now by my George, my garter, and my crown! Profaneed, dishonoured, and the third usurped. I swear! By nothing, for this is no oath. Thy George profaned hath lost his lordly honour,

Thy garter blemished, pawned his knightly virtue. My crown usurped, disgraced his kingly glory. If something thou wouldst swear to be believed, swear then by something that thou hast not wronged. Now by the world! Tis full of thy foul wrongs. My father's death! Thy life hath that dishonoured. Then by myself.

Thyself is self-misused. Right then, by God! God's wrong is most of all. If thou hadst feared to break an oath by him, Unity the king thy brother made had not been broken, nor my brother slain. If thou hadst feared to break an oath by him, the imperial metal circling now thy head 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 had made a prey for worms.

What canst thou swear by now? The time to come. That thou hast wronged in the time or past. For I myself have many tears to wash here after time, for time passed wronged by thee. The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughtered, ungoverned youth to wail it in their age, the parents live whose children thou hast butchered, old barren plants to wail it with their age. Swear not by time to come, for that thou hast misused, air used by times ill-used or past. 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, be opposite all planets of good luck to my proceeding. If, with pure heart's love, immaculate devotion, holy thoughts I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter. In her consists my happiness and thine. Without her follows to thyself and thee, herself, the land, and many a christian.

soul, death, desolation, ruin, and decay. It cannot be avoided but by this. It will not be avoided but by this. Therefore, dear 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 desserts, but what I will deserve, urge the necessity and state of times, and be not peevish found in great designs. of the devil thus. I, if the devil tempt you to do good. Shall I forget myself to be myself? I, if yourself's remembrance wrong yourself.

Yet 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 reconfurture. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? And be a happy mother by the deed. I go. Write to me very shortly, and you shall understand from me her mind.

Bear her my true lads kiss, and so, farewell. Kissing her, exit Queen Elizabeth. Relenting fool and shallow-changing woman. Enter Redcliffe, Cates be following. How now? What news? sovereign. On the western coast, rideth a pucent navy, to the shore throng many doubtful, hollow-hearted friends, unarmed and unresolved to beat them back. This thought that Richmond is their admiral, and there they hull, expecting but the aid of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

Some lightfoot friend posed to the Duke of Norfolk, Vatcliff, thyself or Catespeare, where is he? Here, my good lord. Catesby, fly to the Duke. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste. Radcliffe, come hither. Post to Salisbury. When thou comst thither... To Catesby.

Dahl unmindful villain, why stays thou here and ghost not to the Duke? First, mighty liege, tell me your highness pleasure what, from your grace I shall deliver to him. Oh, true, good Catesby. Bid him, levy straight the greatest strength and power that he can make and meet me suddenly at Salisbury. I go. Exit. What may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury? Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?

Your Highness told me I should post before. Enter Stanley. My mind is changed. Stanley, what news with you? None good, my liege, to please you with the hearing, but not so bad, but well may be reported. Hoyday, a riddle, neither good nor bad. What needs thou run so many miles about when thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way?

Once more, what news? Richmond is on the seas. There let him sink and be the seas on him. White-livered runagate, what doth he there? I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. Well, as you guess. Sturred up by Dorset, Buckingham and Morton, he makes for England here to claim the crown.

Is the chair empty? Is the sword unswayed? Is the king dead? The empire unpassed. What air of York is there alive? but we, and who is England's king but great York's heir? Then tell me, what makes he upon the seas? 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 liege, 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 waltz? western shore, safe-conducting the rebels from their ships? No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. Cold friends to me! What do they in the north, when they should serve their sovereign in the west? They have not been commanded, mighty king. Pleaseeth your majesty to give me leave, I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace,

where and what time your majesty shall please. Aye, aye, thou wouldst be gone, to join with Richmond, but I'll not trust thee. Most mighty sovereign, you have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful. I never was nor never will be false. Go then, and muster men, but 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. Exit. Enter a messenger. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, as I by friends am well advertised, Sir Edward Courtney and the haughty prelate Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, with many more confederates, are in arms.

Enter a second messenger. In Kent, my liege, the Gilford's are in arms, and every hour more competitors flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. Enter a third messenger. My lord, the army of Great Buckingham. Out on you! Nothing but songs of death! He strikes him.

There, take thou that till thou bring better news. The news I have to tell, Your Majesty, is that by sudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham's army is dispersed and scattered, and he himself wandered away alone. No man knows whither. I cry you mercy. There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. Have any well-advised friend proclaimed reward to him that brings the traitor in? much proclamation has been made, my liege.

Enter a fourth messenger. Sir Thomas Lovell and Lord Marquis Dorset, Tiss said my liege in Yorkshire, are in arms. But this good comfort bring I to your highness, the Britain navy is dispersed by Tempest. Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a boat onto the shore to ask those on the banks if they were his assistance, yea or no,

who answered him, they came from Buckingham upon his party. He mistrusting them, hoist sail and made his course again for Britain. March on, march on, since we are up in arms. If not to fight with foreign enemies, yet to beat down these rebels here at home. Reenter Catesby. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken. That's the best news, that the Earl of Richmond is where the mighty power landed at Milford, is Calder tidings, yet they must be told.

Away towards Salisbury. While we reason here a royal battle might be won and lost. Someone take order Buckingham be brought to Salisbury, the rest, march on with me. Flourish, Axiand. Scene 5 A room in Lord Stanley's house Enter Stanley and Sir Christopher Olswick

Sir Christopher Olswick Sir Christopher tell Richmond This from me That in the sty of the most deadly bore My son George Stanley is fracked up in hold If I revolt Off goes young George's head The fear of that holds off my present aid

So get thee gone Commend me to thy lord Withal say that the queen hath heartily consented he should espouse Elizabeth her daughter. But tell me, where is princely Richmond now? At Penbroke, or at Harford West in Wales. What men of name resort to him?

Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier, Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley, Oxford, redoubted Penbroke Sir James Blunt, and Rice App Thomas, with a valiant crew, and many other of great name and worth. And toward London do they bend their power, if, by the way, they be not fought withal. Well, hide thee to thy lord.

I kiss his hand. My letter will resolve him of my mind. Farewell. Gives papers to Sir Christopher, Exxient. End of Act 4. Act 5 of Richard III by William Shakespeare. This is a Librebox record. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Act 5, Scene 1. Salisbury, an open place. Enter the Sheriff and Guard with Buckingham, led to execution. Will not King Richard let me speak with him? No, my good lord. Therefore be patient. Hastings! And Edward's children grey and rivers! rivers. Holy King Henry and thy fair son, Edward, Vaughan, and all that have miscarried by underhand, corrupted foul injustice, if that your moody, discontented souls, do through the clouds

behold this present hour, even for revenge, mock my destruction. This is all souls day, fellow, is it not? It is, my lord. Why, then all souls day is my body's doomsday. This is the day which in King Edward's time I wished might fall on me when I was found forced to his children and his wife's allies. This is the day wherein I wish to fall by the false faith of him whom I most trusted. This this old soul's day to my fearful soul is the determined respite of my wrongs. That high orseer which I dallied with hath turned my feigned prayer on my head. and given in earnest what i begged in jest thus doth he force the swords of wicked men to turn their own points in their master's bosoms thus margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck when he quoth she shall split thy heart with sorrow remember margaret was a prophetess come lead me officers to the block of shame wrong hath but wrong and blame the due

of blame. Excient. Scene two. Plain and near Tamworth. Enter with drum and colours, Richmond, Oxford, Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, and others, with forces marching. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny, thus far into the bowels of the land have we marched on without impediment, and here receive we from our father Stanley, lines of fair comfort and encouragement. The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar that spoiled your summer fields and fruitful vines, swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough in your embelled bosoms, this foul swine lies now even in the center of this isle, near to the town of Leicester, as we learn. From Tamworth thither is but one

day's march, in God's name cheerly on, courageous friends, to reap the harvest of perpetual peace by this one bloody trial of sharp war. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords to fight against that bloody homicide. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear,

which, in his dearest need, will fly from him. All for our vantage, that in God's name, March. True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings. Kings it makes gods and meaner creatures kings. Exe end. Scene 3. Bosworthfield. Enter King Richard and forces. The Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Surrey, and others. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth Field. My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. My lord of Norfolk. Here, most gracious liege.

Norfolk, we must have nox, huh? Must we not? We must both give and take, my loving lord. Up with my tent? Here will I lie tonight. Soldiers begin to set up the king's tent. But where tomorrow? Well, all's one for that.

Who have described the number of the traitors? 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 faction, want. Up with the tent! Come, noble gentlemen, let us survey the vantage of the ground. Call for some men of sound direction. Let's lack no discipline, make no delay, for the lords.

Tomorrow is a busy day. Exeunt. Enter on the other side of the field. Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford and other lords. Some of the soldiers pitch Richmond's tent. The weary son hath made a golden set, and by the bright tract of his fiery car gives token of a goodly day tomorrow. Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. Give me some ink and paper in my tent.

I'll draw the form and model of our battle, limit each leader to his several charge and part in just proportion our small power. My lord of Oxford, you, Sir William Brandon, and you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me. The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment. Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him, and by the second hour in the morning desire the Earl to see me in my tent. Yet one thing more good captain do for me. Where is Lord Stanley quartered, do you know? Unless I have misdain his colors much,

which well I am assured I have not done, his regiment lies half a mile at least, south from the mighty power of the king. 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 undertake it, and so God give you quiet rest to-night. Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come, gentlemen, let us consult upon tomorrow's business. Into my tent, the air is raw and cold. David row into the tent.

Enter to his tent, King Richard, Norfolk, Radcliffe and Catesby. What is the clock? It's supper time, my lord, at six o'clock. I will not sup tonight. Give me some ink and paper. What? Is my beaver easier than it was and all my arbor laid into my tent? It is my liege, and all things are in readiness. Good Norfolk, highly to thy charge.

Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. I go, my lord. Stir with the lark, tomorrow, gentle Norfolk. I warrant you, my lord. Ratcliffe, my lord. Send out a persivant at arms to Stanley's regiment, but him 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 tomorrow.

Look that my staves be sound and not too heavy. Radcliffe! My lord. Sawest thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland? Thomas of Earl of Surrey and himself. Much about Cuckshut time. from troop to troop went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. So I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine! I have not that alacrity of spirit nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.

Set it down! 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. King Richard retires into his tent. Axie and Ratcliffe and King Rathcliffe and King.

Axie and Ratcliffe and Catesby. Richmond's tent opens, and discovers him and his officers, etc. 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. The silent hours steal on, and flaky darkness breaks within

yeast. In brief, for so the season bids us be, prepare thy battle early in the morning, and put thy fortune to the arbitrament of bloody strokes and mortal staring war. I, as I may, that which I would I cannot. With best advantage will deceive the time, and aid thee in this doubtful stroke of arms, but on thy side I may not be too forward, less being seen thy brother tender George be executed in his father's sight. Farewell, the leisure and the fearful time cuts off the ceremonious vows of love, an ample interchange of sweet discourse

which so long-sundered friends should dwell upon. God give us leisure for these rights of love. Once more, adieu, be valiant and speed well. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment. I'll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap, lest lead and slumber pies me down tomorrow when I should mount with wings of victory. Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. Exient lords, etc. with Stanley.

O thou whose captain I account myself, look on my forces with a gracious eye. Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, that they may crush down with a heavy fall the usurping helmets of our adversaries. Make us thy ministers of chastisement, that we may praise thee and thy victory to thee i do commend my watchful soul ere i let fall the windows of mine eyes sleeping and waking o defend me still sleeps the ghost of prince edward son to henry the sixth rises between the two tents to king richard let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow think how thou stepst me and my primor youth at Tewkesbury despair therefore and die to Richmond be cheerful Richmond for the wrong souls of bachelor princes fight in thy behalf King Henry's issue Richmond comforts

the ghost of Henry the sixth rises to King Richard when I was mortal my anointed body by thee was punched full of deadly holes. Think on the tower and me, despair and die. Harry the Six bids thee despair and die. The Richmond. Virtuous and holy be thou, conqueror. Harry, the prophecy thou shouldst be king, doth comfort thee in thy sleep, live and flourish. The ghost of Clarence rises. To King Richard. thy soul to-morrow i that was washed to death with fulsome wine poor clarence by thy guile betrayed to death to-morrow in the battle think on me and fall thy edgeless sword despair and die to richmond thou offspring of the house of lancaster the wronged airs of york to pray for thee good angels guard thy battle live and flourish

The ghosts of rivers, grey and Vaughan rise. To King Richard. Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow. Rivers that died at Pumphrit, despair and die. Think upon grey and let thy soul despair. Think upon Vaughn, and with guilty fear, let fall thy lance, despair and die. To Richmond. Awake and think our wrongs in Richard's volume, we'll conquer him.

Awake and win the day. The ghost of Hastings rises. To King Richard. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, and in a bloody battle end thy days. Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die. To Richmond. Quiet, untroubled soul.

Awake, awake! Arm, fight and conquer for fair England's sake. The ghost of the two young princes rise. To King Richard. Dream on thy cousins smothered in the tower. Let us be led within thy bosom, Richard, and weigh thee down to ruin, shame and death. Thy nephew's souls bid thee despair and die.

To Richmond. Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace and wake in joy. Good angels guard thee from the board. annoy. Live and begat a happy race of kings. Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. The ghost of Queen Anne arises. To King Richard. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife that never slept a quiet hour with thee, now fills thy sleep with perturbations. Tomorrow in the battle think on me, and for thy edgeless sword, despair and die. To Richmond.

Thou quiet, soul. Sleep thou a quiet sleep. Dream of success and happy victory. Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. The ghost of Buckingham rises. To King Richard. The first was I that helped thee to the crown. The last was I that felt thy tyranny. Oh, 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. To Richmond. I died for hope ere I could send thee aid, But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismayed. God and good angels fight on Richmond's side, And Richard falls in height of all his pride. The ghosts vanish.

King Richard starts out of his dream. Give me another horse. Bide up my wounds. Have mercy, Jesusu! Soft! I did but dream. Oh, coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me? The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. 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 have done unto myself oh no alas i rather hate myself for hate 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 have a thousand several tongues, and every tongue brings in a several tale, and every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury in the highest 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 will pity me and wherefore should they since that I myself find in myself no pity to myself we thought the souls of all that I had murdered came to my tent and everyone did threat tomorrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

Enter Ratcliffe, my lord. Who's there? Radcliffe, my lord, Tisai, the early village cock hath twice done salutation to the morn. Your friends are up and buckle on their armour. Oh, Radcliffe, I have dreamed a fearful dream. What thinks thou? Will our friends prove all true?

No doubt, my lord. Oh, Radcliffe, I fear. I fear. Nay, good, my lord. Be not afraid of shadows. By the Apostle Paul. Shadows, tonight, have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers armoured in proof

and led by shallow Richmond. It is not yet near day. Come, go with me. Under our tents, I'll play the eavesdropper to see if any mean to shrink from me. Axi and King Richard and Ratcliffe. Richmond wakes, enter Oxford and others. "'Cry, Richmond. "'Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,

"'that you have taken a tardy sluggard here. "'How have you slept, my lord?' "'The sweetest sleep and fairest boating dreams "'that ever entered in a drowsy head "'have I since your departure had, my lords. "'Me thought their souls whose bodies Richard murdered "'came to my tent and cried on victory. "'I promise you, my heart is very jocund

"'in the remembrance of so fair a dream. "'How far into the morning is it, Lord? Upon the stroke of four. Why, then tis time to arm and give direction. He advances to the troops. More than I have said, loving countrymen, the leisure and enforcement of the time forbids to dwell on. Yet remember this.

God and our good cause fight upon our side. The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls, like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our faces. Richard except, those whom we fight against had rather have us win than him they follow. But what is he they follow? Truly gentlemen, a bloody tyrant and a homicide. One raised in blood, and one in blood established, one that made means to come by what he hath, and slaughtered those that were the means to help him. A base foul stone, made precious by the foil of England's chair, where he is falsely set. One that hath ever been

God's enemy. Then, if you fight against God's enemy, God will, injustice, ward you as his soldiers. If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, you sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain. If you do fight against your country's foes, your country's fat shall pay your pains the higher. If you do fight and safeguard of your wives, your wives shall welcome home the conquerors. If you do free your children from the sword. Your children's children quitted in your age. Then, in the name of God and all these rights, advance your standards, draw your willing swords. 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. Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully,

God and St. George, Richmond and Victory. Axiand. Reenter King Richard, Redcliffe, attendants and forces. 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.

Clock strikes. Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar. Who saw the sun today? 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 today.

The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. I would these dewy tears were from the ground, not shine today? Why, what is that to me more than to Richmond? For the self-same heaven that frowns on me looks sadly upon him. enter norfolk arm arm my lord the foe vaunts in the field come bustle bustle comparison my horse call up lord stanley bid him bring his power i will leave forth my soldiers to the plain and thus my battle shall be ordered my forward shall be drawn out all in length consisting equally of horse and foot our archers shall be placed it in the midst john duke of norfolk thomas earl of surrey shall have the leading of this foot and horse they thus directed we shall follow in the main battle whose puissance on either side shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. This and St. George de Boot, what think'st thou, Norfolk?

A good direction warlike sovereign. This found I on my tent this morning. Giving a scroll reads. Jockey of Norfolk be not too bold for Dickon thy master is bought and sold? A thing devised by the enemy! Go, gentlemen, every 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 lore. March on, join bravely, let us to it pell-mell. If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. What shall I say more than I have inferred? Remember whom you are to cope with all. A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways. A scum of Bretons and base lackey peasants, whom their Eurcloid country vomits forth to desperate adventures and assured destruction. You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest.

You having lands and blessed with beauteous wives, they would restrain the one, disdain the other. And who does lead them? But a paltry fellow, long kept in Brittany at our mother's cost. A milksop, one that never in his life felt so much cold as overshoes in snow. Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again, lash hence these overweening rags of France, these famished beggars weary of their lives, who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit for want of means poor rats had hanged themselves. If we be conquered, let men conquer us, and not these bastard brittons whom our fathers have in their own land beaten, bobbed and thumped, and on record

left them the airs of shame. Shall these enjoy our lands? Lie with our wives? Ravish our daughters? Hark! I hear their drum. Drum afar off. Fight, gentlemen of England. Fight, bold yeoman. Draw archers, draw your arrows to the head. Spur your proud horses hard and ride in blood.

Amaze the welkin with your broken staves! Enter a messenger. What says Lord Sandler? 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.

Advance our standards set upon our foes. Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George, inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons. Upon them! Victory sits on our helms! Exeunt Scene 4. Another part of the field.

Alarum. Excursions. Antenarfon. To him, Catesby. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue! The king enacts more wonders than a man, daring and opposite to every danger. 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.

Alarum, enter King Richard. 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 horse! cast and I will stand the hazard of the die. I think there be six richments in the field. Five have I slain today instead of him. A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse! Xient Scene five, another part of the field.

Alarums. Enter from opposite side. King Richard and Richmond, and Eccient fighting. Retreat and flourish. Then re-enter Richmond, with Stanley bearing the crown, and divers other lords and forces. 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, unsurped royalty from the dead temples of this bloody wretch, have I plucked off to grace thy brows with all. 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, Walter Lord Ferrer's, Sir Richard Brackenbury, and Sir William Brandon. Enter their bodies as becomes their births. Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled that in submission

will return to us. And then, as we have taken the sacrament, we will unite the white rose and the red. Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction that long have frowned upon their enmity. What traitor hears me and says not, amen? England hath long been mad and scarred herself. The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, The father rashly slaughtered his own son, the son, compelled, been butcher to the sire. All this divided York and Lancaster, divided in their dire division. Oh, now let Richmond and Elizabeth, the true successors of each royal house, by God's fair ordinance, conjoined together, and let their heirs, God, if I will be so,

enriched the time to come with smooth-faced peace, with smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days. Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, that would reduce 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 stopped,

peace lives again, that she may long live here, God say, Amen. Excient. End of Act 5. End of Richard III by William Shakespeare.