Richard III (1983) - full transcript

[upbeat music]

[drums beating]

[voices chanting]

[gentle music]

[men laughing]

Now is the winter of our discontent

made glorious summer by this sun of York.

And all the clouds that
lowered upon our house

in the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Now are our brows bound
with victorious wreaths.

Our bruised arms hung up for monuments.



Our stern alarums changed
to merry meetings.

Our dreadful marches
to delightful measures.

Grim-visaged war hath
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 descant on my own deformity.

And therefore, since I
cannot prove a lover,

to entertain these fair well-spoken days,

I am determined to prove a villain

and hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,

by drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,

to set my brother Clarence and the king

in deadly hate the one against the other.

And if King Edward be as true and just

as I am subtle, false and treacherous,

this day should Clarence
closely be 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.

Brother, good day.

What means this armed guard
that waits upon your grace?

His majesty, tendering my person's safety,

hath appointed this conduct
to convey me to the Tower.

[Gloucester] 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.

What's the matter Clarence, may I know?

Yea Richard, when I know.

For I protest as yet I do not.

But as I can learn he hearkens
after prophecies and dreams.

And from the cross-row plucks the letter G

and says a wizard told him that by G

his issue disinherited should be.

And for my name of George begins with G,

it follows in his thought that I am he.

These, as I learn and
such like toys as these,

have 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 and that
good man of worship,

Anthony Woodville, her brother there,

that made him send Lord
Hastings to the Tower,

from whence this present
day he's delivered?

We are not safe, Clarence.

We are not safe.

By heaven I think there is no man secure

but the queen's kindred

and 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 favor with the king,

to be her men and wear her livery.

The jealous o'er worn widow and herself,

since that our brother
dubbed them gentlewomen,

are mighty gossips in our monarchy.

I beseech your graces both to pardon me.

His majesty hath straitly given in charge

that no man shall have private conference

of what degree so ever with his 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 Shore's
wife hath a pretty foot,

a cherry lip, a bonny eye,
a passing pleasing tongue,

and that the queen's kindred
are made gentle folk.

How say you sir?

Can you deny all this?

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

Nought with Mistress Shore!

I tell thee fellow, he
that doth nought 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 what's where you will employ me in,

were it to call King
Edward's widow 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 you or else lie for you.

Meantime have patience.

I must perforce.

Farewell.

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

Simple, plain Clarence!

I do love thee so

that I will shortly
send thy soul to heaven.

If heaven will take the
present at our hands.

But who comes here, the
new-delivered Hastings.

Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

[Gloucester] As much unto
my good lord chamberlain!

Well are you welcome to the open air.

How hath 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 eagle should be mewed

while kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

What news abroad?

No news so bad abroad as this at home.

The King is sickly, weak, melancholy,

and his physicians fear him mightily.

Now by Saint John 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.

Where is he, in his bed?

He is.

Go before and I will follow you.

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 hath not another day to live.

Which done, God take
King Edward to his mercy,

and leave the world for me to bustle in.

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

What though I 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.

[rhythmic music]

Set down, set down your honorable load.

If honor may be shrouded in a hearse.

Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament

the untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.

Poor key cold figure of a holy king.

Pale ashes of the House of Lancaster.

Thou bloodless remnant
of that royal blood.

Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost

to hear the lamentations of poor Anne,

wife to thy Edward, to
thy 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 venomed 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 hopeful 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.

[Gloucester] Stay you that
bear the corse and set it down.

What black magician conjures up this fiend

to stop devoted charitable deeds?

Villains set down the
corse or by Saint Paul

I'll make a corse 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 Saint Paul I'll
strike thee to my foot

and spurn upon thee
beggar for thy boldness.

What?

Do you tremble?

Are you all afraid?

Alas, I blame you not for you are mortal

and mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.

Avaunt thou dreadful minister of hell!

Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,

his soul thou canst not
have, therefore be gone.

Sweet saint, for charity,
be not so 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.

Oh gentlemen, see, see!

Dead Henry's wounds open
their congealed 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 deed, inhuman and unnatural,

provokes this deluge most unnatural.

Oh God, which this blood
madest, revenge his death!

Oh earth, which this blood
drink'st, 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.

Villain thou know'st
no law of God nor man.

No beast so fierce but
know some touch of pity.

But I know none and therefore am no beast.

Oh wonderful when devils speak the truth!

More wonderful when angels are so angry.

Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,

of these supposed crimes, to
give me leave by circumstance

but to acquit myself.

Vouchsafe defused 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.

Fouler 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 shouldst
thou stand excused

for doing worthy vengeance on thyself

that didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

Say that I slew them not?

They say they were not
slain but dead they are

and devilish slayed 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 falchion

smoking in his blood,

the which thou once didst
bend against her breast.

But that thy brothers
beat aside the point.

I was provoked by her slanderous 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, yay.

Dost grant me, hedgehog?

Then God grant me too thou mayst be damned

for that wicked deed!

Oh he was gentle, mild and virtuous!

[Gloucester] The better
for the King of heaven

that hath him.

He is in heaven where
thou shalt never come.

Let him thank me that
help to send him thither

for he was fitter for
that place than earth.

And thou unfit for any place but hell.

[Gloucester] Yes one place else

if you'll hear me name it.

Some dungeon.

Your bed chamber.

Ill rest betide the
chamber where thou liest!

So will it, madam, till I lie with you.

-I hope so.
-I know so.

But gentle Lady Anne,

to leave this keen encounter of our wits

and fall something into a slower method.

Is not the causer of the timeless deaths

of these Plantagenets Henry and Edward,

as blameful as the executioner?

Thou wast 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 it, if I stood by.

As all the world is cheered
by the sun so I by that,

it is my day, my life.

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

[Gloucester] Curse not
thyself fair creature,

thou art both.

I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

It is a quarrel most unnatural,
to be revenged on him

that loveth 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.

[Gloucester] He lives that loves thee

better than he could.

-Name him.
-Plantagenet.

Why that was he.

The selfsame name but
one of better nature.

[Anne] Where is he?

Here.

Why dost thou spit at me?

Would it were mortal poison for thy sake.

[Gloucester] Never came
poison from so sweet a place.

Never hung poison on a fouler 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!

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 aspect 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 20 times made pause to sob and weep

that all the standers-by
had wet their cheeks

like trees be-dashed with rain.

In that sad time my manly
eyes did scorn an humble tear

and what these sorrows
could not thence exhale

thy beauty hath 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.

Teach not thy lips such scorn,

for it was made for kissing,
lady, not for such contempt.

If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,

lo, here I lend thee
the sharp-pointed sword,

which if thou please to
hide in this true breast

and lay the soul forth that adoreth thee.

I lay it naked to the deadly stroke

and humbly beg the death upon my knee.

Nay, do not pause, for
I did kill King Henry,

but 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.

Nay, now dispatch, 'twas I
that stabbed young Edward,

but 'twas thy heavenly
face that set me on.

Take up the sword again or take up me.

Arise, dissembler.

Though I wish thy death I
will not be 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
shalt thou be accessary.

I would I knew thy heart.

'Tis figured in my tongue.

I fear me both are false.

Then never was men true.

Well.

Well put up your sword.

Say then my peace is made.

Thou shalt know hereafter.

But shall I live in hope?

All men, I hope, live so.

Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

To take is not to give.

Look how my ring encompasses thy finger.

Even so thy breast
encloseth my poor heart.

Wear both of them for
both of them are thine.

And if thy poor devoted
servant may but beg one favor

at thy gracious hand,

thou dost confirm his happiness forever.

What is it?

That it may please you
leave these sad designs

to him that hath 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 become 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.

Sirs take up the corse.

Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

No to White-Friars.

There attend my coming.

Was ever woman in this humor wooed?

Was ever woman in this humor won?

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 extremest hate,

curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,

the bleeding witness of her hatred by.

Having God, her conscience
and these bars against me.

And I no friends to back my suit at all

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 debase her eyes on me

that cropped the golden
prime of this sweet prince

and made her widow to a woeful bed?

On me whose all not
equals Edward's moiety?

On me who halts 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 marvelous 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 favor with myself

I will maintain it at some little cost.

But first I'll turn
yon fellow in his grave

and then return lamenting to my love.

Shine out, fair sun, till
I have bought a glass

that I might see my shadow as I pass.

[drums beating]

Have patience sister.

There's no doubt his
majesty will soon recover

his accustomed health.

In that you brook it
ill it makes him worse,

therefore for God's sake
entertain good comfort

and cheer his grace with
quick and merry eyes.

If he were dead, what would betide on me.

No other harm but loss of such a lord.

The loss of such a lord includes all harm.

The heavens have blessed
you with a goodly son,

to be your comforter when he is gone.

Oh he is young and his
minority is put unto the trust

of Richard Gloucester,
a man who loves not me

nor none of you.

Is it concluded he shall be protector?

[Elizabeth] It is
determined, not concluded yet

but so it must be if the king miscarry.

Here come the lords of
Buckingham and Derby.

Good time of day unto your royal grace.

God make your majesty
joyful as you have been.

The Countess Richmond,
good my Lord of Derby,

to your good prayer
will scarcely say amen.

Yet Derby, 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 Derby?

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?

Ay 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.

They do me wrong and I will not endure it.

Who is it that complains unto the king,

that I, forsooth, am
stern and love them not?

By holy Paul, they love
his grace but lightly

that fill his ears with
such dissentious rumors.

Because I cannot flatter, 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
presence speaks your grace?

To thee that hast nor honesty nor grace.

When have I injured thee?

When done thee wrong?

Or thee, or thee?

Or any of your faction?

A plague upon you all!

His royal 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 actions shows itself

against my children, brothers and myself,

makes him to send.

That he may learn the
ground of your ill will

and thereby to 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 gentle 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 the nobility held in contempt,

while great promotions are daily given

to ennoble those that
scarce, some two days since,

were worth a noble.

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--

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 honors on your high deserts.

What may she not?

She may, ay, 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 worser match.

My Lord of Gloucester,
I have too long borne

your blunt upbraidings
and your bitter scoffs.

By heaven I will acquaint his
majesty of those gross taunts

that oft I have endured.

I had rather be a country servant maid

than a great queen with this condition.

To be so beated, scorned and stormed at.

Small joy have I in being England's queen.

And lessened be that
small, God, I beseech him.

Thy honor, state and seat are 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.

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

Out, devil!

I remember them too well.

Thou kill'st my husband Henry in the Tower

and Edward, my poor son, at Tewkesbury.

Ere you were queen, I
or your husband king.

I was a pack-horse in his great affairs.

A weeder-out of his proud adversaries.

A liberal rewarder of his friends.

To royalize his blood I spent mine own.

Ay and much better
blood than his or thine.

Let me put in your minds if you forget

what you have been ere
this and what you are.

Withal what I have been and what I am.

A murderous villain and so still thou art.

Poor Clarence did forsake
his father, Warwick.

Ay and forswore himself,
which Jesu pardon.

Which God revenge!

To fight on Edward's party for the crown

and for his meed, poor
lord, he is mewed up.

I would to God my heart
were flint, like Edward's

or Edward's soft and pitiful like mine.

I am too childish, foolish for this world.

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.

Ay little joy enjoys the queen thereof.

For I am she and altogether joyless.

I can no longer hold me patient.

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.

Oh gentle villain, do not turn away.

Foul wrinkled witch, what
makest thou in my sight?

But repetition of what thou hast marred.

That will I make before I let thee go.

[Gloucester] Wert thou not
banished on pain of death?

I was.

But I do find more pain in banishment

than death can yield me here by my abode.

A husband and a son thou ow'st 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,
gavest 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, hath
plagued thy bloody deed.

So just is God to right the innocent.

Oh it was the foulest
deed to slay that babe

and the most merciless
that e'er was heard of!

Tyrants themselves wept
when it was reported.

No man but prophesied revenge for it.

Northumberland, then
present, wept to see it.

What?

Were you snarling all before I came,

ready to catch each other by the throat

and turn you all your hatred now on me?

Did York's dread curse
prevail so much with heaven

that Henry's death, my
lovely Edward's death,

their kingdom's 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 my son that
was Prince of Wales,

die in his youth by
like untimely violence.

Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,

outlive thy glory like my wretched self.

Long mayst 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 lengthened 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 plague in store

exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,

oh 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 gnaw thy soul.

Thy friends suspect for
traitors while thou livest

and take deep traitors
for thy dearest friends.

No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine

unless it be whilst some tormenting dream

a-frights thee with a hell of ugly devils.

Thou elvish marked abortive, rooting hog.

Thou that was sealed in thy nativity,

the slave of nature and the son of hell.

A slander of thy heavy mother's womb.

Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins.

Thou rag of honor, thou detested--

-Margaret.
-Richard!

I call thee not.

I cry thee mercy then for I did think

that 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.

'Tis done by me and ends in Margaret.

[laughing]

Thus have you breathed your
curse against yourself.

Poor painted queen.

Vain flourish of my fortune.

Why strew'st thou sugar
on that bottled spider

whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?

Fool, fool!

Thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.

The day will come that
thou shalt wish for me

to help thee curse that
poisonous bunch-backed toad.

False-boding woman end thy frantic curse.

As 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.

It would serve me well
and teach yourselves,

that do you take.

Peace peace for shame, if not for charity.

It's 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 princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand

in sign of league and amity with thee.

Now fair befall 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 that they ascend the sky

and there await God's
gentle, sleeping peace.

Oh Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog.

Look when he fawns he bites

and when he bites his venom
tooth will rankle to the death.

Have not to do with him, beware of him.

Sin, death and hell have
set their marks on him

and all their ministers
they attend on him.

[Gloucester] What doth she
say, my Lord of Buckingham?

Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

What?

Dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel?

And soothe the devil
that I warn thee from?

Oh remember this another day.

When he shall split thy
very heart with sorrow

and say poor Margaret was a prophetess.

Live each of you the subjects to his hate

and he to yours and all of you to God's.

My hair doth stand on
end to hear her curses.

And so doth mine.

I muse why she's at liberty.

I cannot blame her.

By God's holy mother she
hath had too much wrong

and I repent my part thereof
that I have done to her.

I never did her any, to my knowledge.

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.

Marry, 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
have done scathe to us.

So do I ever.

Being well-advised for had I
cursed now, I'd cursed myself.

Madam, his majesty doth call for you

and for your grace and
you, my gracious lords.

Catesby I come.

Lords will you go with me?

We wait upon your grace.

I do the wrong and first begin to brawl.

The secret mischiefs that I set abroach

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 Derby, 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 whet me

to be revenged on Rivers, Dorset, Grey.

But then I sigh and with a
piece of scripture tell them

that God bids us do good for evil.

And thus I clothe my naked villany

with odd old ends stolen
forth of holy writ

and seem a saint, when
most I play the devil.

[gentle knocking]

But soft, here come my executioners.

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.

When you have done repair to Crosby Place.

But sirs, be sudden in the execution.

Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead.

For Clarence is well-spoken and
perhaps may move your hearts

to pity if you mark him.

Tut tut my lord, we
will not stand to prate.

Talkers are no good doers.

Be assured we go to use
our hands 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.
-We will.

[Brakenbury] Why looks your
grace so heavily today?

Oh I passed a miserable night.

So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights.

But as I am a Christian faithful man

I would not spend another such a night

though it were 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.

Me thoughts that I had
broken from the Tower

and was embarked across 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 cited 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

me thought that Gloucester
stumbled and in falling

struck me, that thought
to stay him, overboard

into the tumbling billows of the main.

Oh 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 thought I saw a
thousand fearful wrecks,

10,000 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
t'were 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?

Methought 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,

which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

Awaked you not in this sore agony?

No no, my dream was lengthened after life.

Oh then began the tempest to my soul.

I passed, methought, the melancholy flood,

with that sour ferryman
which poets write of,

unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

The first that there did
greet my stranger soul

was my great father-in-law
renowned Warwick

who spoke 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 is come,

"false, fleeting, perjured Clarence

"that stabbed me in the
field by Tewkesbury.

"Seize on him, furies,
take him unto torments!"

With that me thoughts
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.

Keeper, keeper I have done these things

that now give evidence against my soul

for Edward's sake and
see how he requites me.

Oh 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 guiltless
wife and my poor children.

Keeper I pray thee sit by me a while.

My soul is heavy and I fain would sleep.

I will, my lord.

God give your grace good rest.

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.

[Man] Ho, who's here?

What wouldst though fellow?

How came thou hither?

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

[Brakenbury] What?

So brief.

It is better sir than to be tedious.

Let him see our commission
and talk no more.

I am in this commanded to deliver

the noble Duke of Clarence to your hands.

I will not reason what is meant hereby

because I will be
guiltless from the meaning.

There lies the duke asleep.

Here are 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.

Fare ye well.

What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?

No.

For he'll say it was done
cowardly when he wakes.

Why he shall never wake
until the great judgment day.

Why then he'll say we
stabbed him sleeping.

The urging of that word judgment

hath bred a kind of remorse in me.

What, art thou afraid?

Not to kill him, having a warrant,

but to be damned for killing him,

from the which no warrant can defend me.

[Man] I thought thou hadst been resolute.

So I am.

To let him live.

[Man] Well back to the Duke
of Gloucester and tell him so.

Hey I pray thee, stay a little.

I hope this passionate
humor of mine will change.

It was wont to hold me
but while one tells 20.

One, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine, 10

11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18,

19.

20.

How dost thou feel thyself now?

Some certain dregs 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?

In the Duke of Gloucester's purse.

When he opens his purse
to give us our reward

thy conscience flies out.

There's 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 a coward.

A man cannot steal but it accuseth him.

A man cannot swear but it checks him.

A man cannot lie with his neighbor's wife,

but it detects him.

'Tis a blushing shamefaced
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

endeavors to trust to
himself and live without it.

Zounds it is even now at my elbow

persuading me not to kill the duke.

Take the devil in thy
mind and relieve him not.

He would insinuate with
thee but to make thee sigh.

Tut, I am strong-framed,
he cannot prevail with me.

Spoke like a tall man that
respects our reputation.

Come, shall we fall to work?

Take him on the costard
with the hilts of thy sword

and then throw him in the
malmsey-butt in the next room.

Oh excellent devise!

And make a sop of him.

Hark!

He wakes.

[Man] Strike now?

We'll reason with him.

[Clarence] Where art thou, keeper?

Give me a cup of wine.

[Man] You shall have wine
enough my lord, anon.

In God's name, what art thou?

[Man] 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
king's, 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?

[Man] To.

To.

To.

[Clarence] 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.

[Clarence] 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 pronounced the bitter sentence

of poor Clarence's death?

Before I be convict 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 hath commanded is our king.

Erroneous vassals!

The great King of kings hath
in the tables of his law

commanded that thou shalt do no murder.

Will you then spurn at his
edict and fulfill a man's?

Take heed, for he holds
vengeance in his hands

to hurl upon their heads
that break his law.

And that same vengeance
doth he hurl on thee

for false forswearing and for murder too.

Thou didst receive the sacrament

to 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

unripped'st the bowels
of thy sovereign's son.

Whom thou were sworn
to cherish and defend.

How can thou urge God's dreadful law to us

when thou hast broke
it in such 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 this deed

oh 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 fault

provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

Oh if you love my brother hate not me.

I am his brother and I love him well.

If you are hired for meed, go back again

and I will send you to
my brother Gloucester

who shall reward you better for my life

than Edward will for tidings of my death.

You are deceived, your
brother Gloucester hates you.

Oh no he loves me and he holds me dear.

Go you to him from me.

Ay, 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.

Ay millstones.

As he lessoned us to weep.

[Clarence] Oh do not
slander him for he is kind.

Right, as snow in harvest.

Come, you deceive yourself.

'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.

It cannot be.

He be'wept my fortune
and hugged me in his arms

and swore with sobs that
he would labor my delivery.

Why, so he doth, when he delivers you

from this here's 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 your own soul so blind

that you will war with
God by murdering me?

Oh sirs, consider.

He that set you on to do this deed

will hate you for the deed.

What shall we do?

[Clarence] Relent and save your souls.

Relent!

No!

'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 entreat for life?

Ah you would beg were you in my distress.

My friend I spy some pity in thy looks.

Oh if thine eye be not a
flatterer come now on my side

and intrigue for me.

A begging prince, what beggar pities not.

[Man] Look behind you my lord.

Take that!

And that!

And if all this will not do

I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.

[Clarence screaming]

[water splashing]

A bloody deed and desperately dispatched.

How fain, like Pilate,
would I wash my hands

of this most grievous murder.

What mean'st thou that help'st me not?

The duke shall know how
slack you have been.

Would he know I saved his brother!

Take thou the fee and tell him what I say

for I repent me that the duke is slain.

No coward as thou art!

Well.

I'll go hide the body in some hole.

Until that the duke give
order for his burial.

And when I have my meed I will away.

For this will out and
then I must not stay.

♪ Amen ♪

♪ Amen ♪

♪ Amen ♪

Why so, now have I done a good day's work.

You peers continue this united league.

I every day expect an
embassage from my redeemer

to redeem me hence,

and more in 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 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.

Yourself madam 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 unfeignedly.

There, Hastings.

I will never more remember
our former hatred,

so thrive I and mine.

[Edward] Dorset embrace him.

Hastings, love Lord Marquess.

This interchange of love, I here protest,

upon my part shall be unviolable.

And so swear I.

Princely Buckingham, seal thou this league

with thy embracements to my wife's allies

and make me happy in your unity.

Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate

upon your grace, but with all duteous 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 God when
I am cold in love to yours.

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 Sir Richard Ratcliff

and the duke.

Good morrow to my
sovereign king and queen.

And princely peers, a happy time of day.

Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.

Gloucester.

We have done deeds of charity.

Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,

between these swelling
wrong-incensed peers.

A blessed labor, 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 is hardly borne

by any in this presence,

I desire to reconcile me
to his friendly peace.

'Tis death to me to be
at enmity, I hate it,

and desire all good men's love.

First madam, I entreat true peace of you

which I will purchase
with my duteous service.

Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,

if ever any grudge were lodged between us.

Of you, Lord Rivers and Lord Grey of you,

that all without desert
have frowned on me.

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?

You do him injury to scorn his corse.

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?

Ay my good lord and no man in the presence

but his red color 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,
but not in blood,

deserve not worse than
wretched Clarence did

and yet go current from suspicion.

A boon, my sovereign, for my service done.

I pray thee peace, my
soul is full of sorrow.

[Derby] I will not rise
unless your highness hear me.

Then say at once what is it thou demands.

The forfeit, sovereign,
of my servant's life

who slew today a righteous gentleman

lately attendant of the Duke of Norfolk.

Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death

and shall that tongue
give pardon to a slave?

My brother killed no man.

His fault was thought.

Yet his punishment was bitter death.

Who sued to me for him?

Who, in my wrath, kneeled at my feet

and bade 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 Tewkesbury,

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.

Oh but when your carters
or your waiting vassals

have done a drunken slaughter

oh you're straight there 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.

Oh!

Oh God, I fear thy justice
will take hold on me and you

and mine and yours for this.

Come Hastings.

Help me to my closet.

Oh poor Clarence.

This is the fruits 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 to
comfort Edward with our company.

We wait upon your grace.

[drums beating]

Good grandam tell us.

Is our father dead?

No boy.

Why do you weep so oft
and beat your breast

and cry "Oh Clarence, my unhappy son."

Why do you look on us and shake your head

and call us orphans, wretches, castaways,

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 were lost sorrow to
wail one that's lost.

Then you conclude my grandam.

He is dead.

The king, mine uncle, is to blame for it.

God will revenge it whom I will importune

with earnest prayers all to that effect.

And so will I!

Peace, children, peace!

The king doth love you well.

Incapable and shallow innocents,

you cannot guess who
caused your father's death.

Grandam we can.

For my good uncle
Gloucester told me the king,

provoked by the queen, devised
impeachments to imprison him.

And when my uncle told me so he wept

and pitied me and kindly kissed my cheek.

Bade me rely on him as on my father.

That he would love me dearly as a child.

Oh that deceit should
steal such gentle shapes

and with a virtuous vizard hide deep vice!

He is my son, ay and herein my shame.

Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?

Ay, boy.

I cannot think it.

-[screaming]
-Hark!

What noise is this?

[Elizabeth] Oh who shall
hinder me to wail and weep,

to chide my fortune and torment myself?

I'll join with black
despair against my soul

and to myself become an enemy.

What means this 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 lament, if die be brief,

that our swift-winged
souls may catch the king's.

Or like obedient subjects,
follow him to his new kingdom

of ne'er changing night.

Ah so much interest have I in thy sorrow

as I had title in thy noble husband.

I have bewept a worthy husband's death

and lived with 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.

Oh what cause have I, thine
being but a moiety of my moan

to overgo thy woes and drown thy cries!

Aunt you wept not for our father's death.

How can we aid you with our kindred tears?

Our fatherless distress
was left un-moaned.

Your widow dolor 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.

Oh for my husband, for
my dear lord Edward.

[Both] Oh 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.

[Both] What stay had we but Clarence?

And he's gone.

What stays had I but
they and they are gone.

Was never widow had so dear a loss.

[Both] Were never 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 sorrow's nurse

and I will pamper it with lamentations.

[children sobbing]

Comfort, dear mother.

God is much displeased

that you take with
unthankfulness his doing.

In common worldly things
'tis called ungrateful,

with dull unwillingness to repay a debt

which with a bounteous
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.

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 your 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.

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-sorrowing peers

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 rancor of
your high swollen hates,

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 healed 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 rein

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 haply by much
company might be urged.

Therefore I say with noble Buckingham

that it is meet so few
should fetch the prince.

And so say I.

Then be it so and go we to
determine who they shall be

that straight shall post to Ludlow.

Madam, and you my sister, will
you go to give your censures

in this business?

With all our hearts.

Now my lord whoever
journeys to the Prince,

for God's sake let not
us two stay at home.

For, by the way, I'll sort occasion

as index to the story we late 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.

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

[drums beating]

[dramatic music]

[Man] 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 our lady
seldom comes the better.

I fear, I fear 'twill prove a giddy world.

[Man] Neighbors, God speed!

Give you good morrow sir.

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

Ay 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 son shall reign.

Woe to that land that's
governed by a child!

In him there is a hope of government

which, in his nonage council 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 the Sixth

was crowned in Paris
but at nine months old.

Stood the state so?

No, no, good friends, God wot.

For then this land was famously enriched

with politic grave counsel.

Then the king had virtuous
uncles to protect his grace.

Why so hath this, both
parties' 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 and not to rule,

this 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 makes 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 a 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 waters swell

before a boisterous storm.

But leave it all to God, whither away.

Marry I was sent for to the justices.

Yea so was I.

I'll bear you company.

[dramatic music]

Last night I hear they
lay at stony Stratford

and at Northampton they do rest tonight.

Tomorrow, or next day, they will be here.

I long, with all my
heart, to see the prince.

I hope he is much grown
since last I saw him.

But I hear no, they say my son of York

hath almost overtaken him in his growth.

Ay 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.

"Ay," 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 wretched'st
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 mothers doubt.

Now, by my troth, if I had been remembered

I could've given my uncle's grace a flout

to touch his growth nearer
than he touched mine.

How, my young York, I
pray thee, let me hear it.

Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast

that he could gnaw 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 was born.

If t'were not she, I
can't tell who told me.

Parlous boy go to, you are too shrewd.

Good madam, be not angry with the child.

Pitchers have ears.

Here is a messenger.

What news?

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

How art the prince?

[Messenger] Well madam and in health.

What is thy news?

Lord Rivers and Lord
Grey are sent to Pomfret

and with them Sir Thomas
Vaughan, prisoners.

Who hath committed them?

[Messenger] The mighty dukes
Gloucester and Buckingham.

For what offense?

The sum of all I can, I have disclosed.

Why or for what these
nobles were committed

is all unknown to me, my gracious lord.

Ay me.

I see the ruin of my house.

The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind.

Insulting tyranny begins
to jut upon the innocent

and aweless throne.

Welcome destruction, blood and massacre.

I see, as in a map, the end of all.

Accursed 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 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.

Oh preposterous and frantic
outrage, end thy damned spleen

or let me die to look on earth no more.

Come, come my boy.

We will to sanctuary.

-Madam, farewell.
-Stay.

I will go with you.

[Elizabeth] You have no cause.

My gracious lady, go and
thither bear your treasure

and your goods.

For my part I'll resign unto your grace

the seal I keep and so betide to me

as well I tender you and all of yours.

Go.

I'll conduct you to the sanctuary.

Welcome sweet prince to
London, to your chamber!

Welcome dear cousin,
my thoughts' sovereign.

The weary way has made you melancholy.

No uncle.

But our crosses on the
way have made it tedious,

wearisome and heavy.

I want more uncles here to welcome me.

Sweet prince, the untainted
virtue of your years

hath not yet dived into
the world's deceit,

nor more can you distinguish of a man

than of his outward show
which, God he knows,

seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.

Those uncles which you
want were dangerous.

Your grace attended to their sugared words

but look not on the
poison of their hearts.

God keep you from them and
from such false friends.

God keep me from false friends.

But they were none.

My lord, the Mayor of
London comes to greet you.

God bless your grace with
health and happy days!

I thank you good my
lord and thank you all.

I thought my mother and my brother York

would long ere this
have met us on the way.

Fie, what a slug is Hastings,

that he comes not to tell us
whether they will come or no.

And in good time here
comes the sweating lord.

[Edward] Welcome, my lord.

What will our mother come?

On what occasion, God he knows, not I,

the queen, your mother
and your brother York,

have taken sanctuary.

The tender prince would
fain have come with me

to meet your grace but by his
mother was perforce withheld.

Fie.

What an indirect and peevish
course is this of hers.

Lord Cardinal, will your
grace persuade the queen

to send the Duke of York

unto his princely brother presently?

If she deny, Lord Hastings go with him

and from her jealous
arms pluck him perforce.

My Lord of Buckingham.

If my weak oratory can from his
mother win the Duke of York,

anon expect him here.

But if she be obdurate to mild entreaties,

God in heaven forbid we should
infringe the holy privilege

of blessed sanctuary!

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

You are too senseless obstinate, my lord.

Too ceremonious and traditional.

Weigh it but with the
grossness of this age.

You break not sanctuary in seizing him.

The benefit thereof is always granted

to those whose dealings
have deserved the place

and those who have the
wit to claim the place.

This prince has 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 have I heard of sanctuary men.

But sanctuary children?

[laughing]

Never till now.

My lord.

You shall o'er rule my mind for once.

Come on Lord Hastings,
will you go with me?

I go my lord.

Good lords, make all the
speedy haste you may.

Say Uncle Gloucester.

If our brother come where shall we sojourn

till our coronation?

Where it seems best unto your royal self.

If I may counsel you, some day or two

your highness shall
repose you at the Tower.

Then where you please and
shall be thought most fit

for your best health and recreation.

I do not like the tower of any place.

Did Julius Caesar build
that place, my lord?

He did, my gracious
lord, begin that place,

which since succeeding
ages have re-edified.

Is it upon record or else
reported successively

from age to age, he built it?

Upon record, my gracious lord.

But say, my lord, it were not registered,

methinks the truth should
live from age to age,

as t'were retailed to all posterity.

Even to the general all ending day.

So wise, so young, they
say do ne'er live long.

What say you uncle?

I say without characters, fame lives long.

That Julius Caesar was a famous man.

With what his valor did enrich his wit,

his wit set down to make his valor live.

Death makes no conquest of this conqueror.

For now he lives in
fame though not in life.

I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham.

What my gracious lord?

And if I live until I be a man,

I'll win our ancient
right in France again.

Or die a soldier as I lived a king.

Short summers lightly
have a forward spring.

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

[Edward] Richard of York!

How fares our loving brother?

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

Ay, brother.

To our grief as it is yours.

Too late he died that
might have kept that title

which by his death hath lost much majesty.

How fares 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 outgrown me far.

He hath my lord.

And therefore is he idle?

[laughing]

Oh 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.

Ay gentle cousin, were it light enough.

Oh then I see you will
but part with 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 it please you pass along?

Myself and my good cousin Buckingham

will to your mother, to entreat of her

to meet you at the Tower and welcome you.

What?

Will you go unto the Tower my lord?

My lord protector needs will have it so.

I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.

Why, what should you fear?

Marry, my Uncle Clarence's angry ghost.

My grandam told me he was murdered there.

I fear no uncle's dead.

Nor none that live, I hope.

And if they live I hope I need not fear.

But come my lord.

With a heavy heart, thinking
on them, go I unto the Tower.

Think you, my lord,
this little prating York

was not incensed by his subtle mother

to taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?

No doubt, no doubt.

Oh 'tis a parlous boy.

Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable.

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

Well let them rest.

Come hither Catesby.

Thou art sworn as deeply
to effect what we intend

as closely to conceal what we impart.

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 won
to aught against him.

What think'st thou then
of Stanley, will not he?

[Catesby] He will do all
in all as Hastings doth.

Well then, no more but this.

Go, gentle Catesby, and as it were far off

sound thou Lord Hastings,
how he doth 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 tomorrow hold divided councils

wherein thyself shall highly be employed.

Commend me to Lord Hastings.

Tell him, Catesby, his ancient
knot of dangerous adversaries

tomorrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle.

And bid my lord for joy of this good news.

Give Mistress Shore one
gentle kiss the more.

Good Catesby.

Go, effect this business soundly.

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

Shall we hear from you
Catesby, ere we sleep?

You shall, my lord.

At Crosby Place, there
shall you find us both.

Now my lord.

What shall we do if we perceive

Lord Hastings will not
yield to our complots?

Chop off his head man.

Somewhat we will do.

And look, when I am king claim thou of me

the earldom of Hereford and
all the moveables whereof

the king my brother was possessed.

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

And look to have it
yielded with all kindness.

Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards

we may digest our complots in some form.

[Messenger] My lord!

My lord!

[Hastings] Who knocks?

[Messenger] One from the Lord Stanley.

What is't o'clock?

Upon the stroke of four.

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.

And what then?

Then certifies your lordship

that this night he dreamt the
boar had razed off his helm.

Besides he says there
are two councils kept

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

and shun the danger that his soul divines.

[laughing]

Go fellow, go.

Return unto thy lord.

Bid him not fear the separated council.

His honor and myself are at the one

and at the other is my good friend Catesby

where nothing can proceed that toucheth us

whereof I shall not have intelligence.

Tell him his fears are
shallow, without instance.

And for his dreams, I wonder he so simple

to trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers.

To fly the boar before the boar pursues

were to incense the boar to follow us

and make pursuit where
he did mean no chase.

Go, bid thy master rise and come to me.

And we will both together to the Tower

where he shall see the
boar will use us kindly.

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

Ah many good morrows to my noble lord!

Good morrow Catesby!

You're early stirring

What news?

What news, in this our tottering state?

It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord.

And I believe will never stand upright

till Richard wear the
garland of the realm.

How wear the garland?

Well dost thou mean the crown?

Ay, my 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?

Ay, on my life,

and hopes to find you
forward upon his party

for the gain thereof.

And thereupon he sends you this good news

that this same very day your enemies,

the kindred of the queen,
must die at Pomfret.

Indeed I am no mourner for this news.

[laughing]

Because they have been
still mine adversaries.

But that I'll give my
voice on Richard's side

to bar my master's heirs in true descent.

God knows I will not do it, to the death.

God keep your lordship
in that gracious mind.

But I shall laugh at this a 12 month hence

that they which brought
me in my master's hate

I live to look upon their tragedy.

Oh Catesby 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

who think themselves
as safe as thou and I.

Who, as thou know'st, are
dear to princely Richard

and to Buckingham.

The princes both make high account of you

for they account his head upon the bridge.

I know they do and I
have well deserved it.

Come on, come on.

Where's your boar spear, man?

Fear you the boar and go so unprovided?

My lord, good morrow.

Morrow, Catesby.

You may jest on but by the holy rood

I do not like these several councils, I.

My lord.

I hold my life as dear as you

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 Pomfret, when
they rode from London,

were jocund and supposed
their states were sure.

And they, indeed, had
no cause to mistrust.

And yet you see how
soon the day o'er cast.

This sudden stab of rancor I misdoubt.

Pray God I say I prove a needless coward.

What shall we towards the
Tower, the night is spent.

Come come, have with you.

Wot you what, my lord?

Today the lords you
talked of are beheaded.

They, for their truth, might
better wear their heads

than some that have accused
them wear their hats.

Come my lord, let's away.

Go on before, I'll talk
with this good fellow.

Well met Hastings.

How goes the world with thee?

Better that your lordship please to ask.

I tell thee man, 'tis better with me now

than when I met thee last.

Where now we meet then was I
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 er I was.

God hold it to your honor's good content!

Gramercy!

Hastings, there.

Drink that for me.

[Man] I thank your honor.

Well met, my lord.

I'm glad to see your honor.

I thank thee kindly good Sir John.

I'm in your debt for your last exercise.

Come the next Sabbath I will content you.

[Buckingham] What, talking with a priest

lord chamberlain?

Your friends at Pomfret,
they do need the priest.

Your honor hath no shriving work in hand.

Good faith.

And when I met this holy
man the men you talked of

came into my mind.

What go you towards the Tower?

I do, my lord, but long
I cannot stay there.

I shall return before
your lordship thence.

Hey like enough for I stay dinner there.

And supper too although
thou know'st it not.

I'll wait upon your lordship.

Come, shall we go.

I'll wait upon your lordship.

Sir Richard Ratcliff,
let me tell thee this.

Today shalt thou behold a subject die

for truth, for duty and for loyalty.

God bless the prince
from all the pack of you!

A knot you are of damned blood-suckers!

You live that shall cry
woe for this hereafter.

Dispatch, the limit of your lives is out.

[sobbing]

Oh Pomfret.

Pomfret!

Oh thou bloody prison.

Fatal and ominous to noble peers.

Within the guilty closure of thy walls

Richard the Second 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 upon our heads

when she exclaimed on Hastings, you and I

for 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 spilled.

Make haste.

The hour of death is expiate.

Come Grey.

Come, Vaughan.

Let us here embrace.

Farewell until we meet again in heaven.

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?

Is all things ready for the royal time?

It is and wants but nomination.

Tomorrow then I judge 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 in the coronation

I have not sounded him.

Nor he delivered his gracious
pleasure any way therein.

But you, my honorable
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.

Ah in happy time, here
comes the duke himself.

My noble lords and
cousins all, good morrow.

I have been long a sleeper

but I trust my absence doth
neglect no great design

which by 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.

Than 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 Holborn

I saw good strawberries
in your garden there.

I do beseech you send for some of them.

Marry and will, my
lord, with all my heart.

Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.

Catesby 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.

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.

Where is my lord the Duke of Gloucester.

I have sent for these strawberries.

[laughing]

His grace looks cheerfully
and smooth today.

There's some conceit
or other likes him well

when that he bids good
morrow with such spirit.

I think there's never 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.

I pray God he be not, I say.

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, whatsoe'r they be.

I say, my lord, they have deserved death.

Then be your eyes the
witness of their evil.

See 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 Shore,

that by their witchcraft
thus have marked me.

If they have done this
deed, mine noble lord--

If thy protector of this damned strumpet

talks doubt of me of ifs?

Thou art a traitor.

Off with his head!

Now by Saint Paul I swear I will not dine

until I see the same.

Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done.

The rest that love me rise and follow me.

Oh woe.

Woe for England!

Not a whit for me.

For I, too fond, might
have prevented this.

Stanley did dream the
boar did raze his helm

and I did scorn it and disdain to fly.

Three times today my
foot-cloth horse did stumble

and started when he looked upon the Tower

as loath to bear me to the slaughterhouse.

Oh now I need the priest that spake to me.

I now repent I told the pursuivant

as too triumphing how mine
enemies today at Pomfret

bloodily were butchered,

and I myself secure in grace and favor.

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 on a mast,

ready with every nod to tumble down

into the fatal bowels of the deep.

Come come, dispatch.

'Tis bootless to exclaim.

Bloody Richard!

Miserable England.

I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee

that ever wretched age it looked upon.

Come, lead me to the block.

Bear him my head.

They smile at me who
shortly shall be dead.

[tense music]

Come cousin, canst thou
quake and change thy color,

murder thy breath in middle of a word

and then again begin and stop again

as if thou were distraught
and mad with terror?

Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian.

Speak and look back, pry on every side.

Tremble and start at wagging of a straw

intending deep suspicion.

Ghastly looks are at my
service, like enforced smiles.

And both are ready in
their offices at any time

to grace my stratagems.

What is Catesby gone?

He is.

And see, he brings the mayor along.

Lord mayor!

[Gloucester] Look to the drawbridge there!

Hark, a drum!

[Gloucester] Catesby, o'er look the walls.

Lord mayor, the reason we have sent--

Look back, defend thee, here are enemies.

God and our innocence defend and guard us!

Be patient, they are
friends, Ratcliff and Lovel.

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 his secret thoughts.

So smooth he daubed his
vice with show of virtue

that his apparent open guilt omitted,

I mean his conversation with Shore's wife.

He lived from all attainder of suspect.

Well well, he was the
covert'st sheltered traitor.

Would you imagine, or almost believe,

were it not that by great preservation

we live to tell it, 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 persons' 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
meaning, have prevented,

because, my lord, we
would have had you heard

the traitor speak and timorously confess

the manner and the purpose of his treason,

that you might well
have signified the same

into the citizens,

who haply may misconstrue us
in him and wail his death.

But my good lord, your grace's
word shall serve as well

as I had seen and heard him speak.

And do not doubt right noble princes both,

but I'll acquaint our duteous citizens

with all your just
proceedings in this cause.

And to that end we
wished your lordship here

to avoid the censures
of the carping world.

Which since you came to late of our intent

yet witness what you hear we did intend.

And so, my good lord
mayor, we bid farewell.

Go after, after cousin Buckingham.

The mayor towards Guildhall
hies him all in post.

There at your meet'st
advantage of the time

infer the bastardy of Edward's children.

Moreover urge his hateful
luxury and bestial appetite

in change of lust

which stretched unto their
servants, daughters, wives,

even where his raging eye and savage heart

without control lusted to make a prey.

Nay, for a need, thus
far come near my person.

Tell them, when that
my mother went of 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 t'were far off

because, my lord, you
know, my mother lives.

Thou 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 will find me well accompanied

with reverend fathers
and well-learned bishops.

I go and towards three or four o'clock

look for the news that
the Guildhall affords.

Go Lovel, with all speed to Dr. Shaw.

Go thou to Friar Penker,
bid them both meet me

within this hour at Baynard's Castle.

Now will I go to take some privy order

to draw the brats of
Clarence out of sight.

And to give notice that no
manner person have any time

recourse unto the princes.

Ratcliff.

Here is the indictment
of the good Lord Hastings

which in a set hand fairly is engrossed

that it may be today read o'er in Paul's.

And mark how well the
sequel hangs together.

11 hours I have spent to write it over

for yester night 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 is so bold but
says he sees it not?

Bad is the world and
all will come to nought

when such ill dealing
must be seen in thought.

[tense music]

How now, how now, what say the citizens?

Now by the holy mother of our Lord

the citizens are 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 desire

and his enforcement of the city wives.

His tyranny for trifle, his
own bastardy as being got,

your father then in France

and his resemblance
being not like the duke.

Withal I did infer your lineaments

being the right idea of your father,

both in your form and nobleness of mind.

Laid open all your victories in Scotland,

your discipline in war,
your wisdom in peace,

your bounty, virtue, fair humility.

Indeed left nothing
fitting for your purpose

untouched or slightly
handled in discourse,

and when mine oratory grew to an end

I bid them that did love
their countries 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 mayor what
meant this wilful silence.

His answer was the people were
not used to being 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 spake 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 10 voices cried
"God save King Richard!"

Thus I took the vantage of those few.

"Thanks, gentle citizens
and friends," quoth I.

"This general applause and cheerful shout

"argues your wisdom and
your love to Richard."

And even here break off and came away.

What tongueless blocks were
they, would they not speak?

Will not the mayor then
and his brethren come?

The mayor is here at hand.

Intend some fear.

Be not you 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
build a holy descant

and be not easily won to our request.

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 up to the leads,
the lord mayor knocks.

Welcome my lord.

I dance attendance here.

I think the duke will not be spoke withal.

Well now Catesby, what says
your lord to my request?

He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord,

to visit him tomorrow or next day.

He is within, with two
right reverend fathers,

divinely bent to meditation

and in no 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 a matter of great moment,

no less importing than our general good,

are come to have some
conference with his grace.

I'll signify so much unto him straight.

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

He is not lolling on a lewd love 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 were England would
this virtuous prince

take on his grace the sovereignty thereof.

But, sure I fear we
shall not win in to it.

Marry, God defend his
grace should say us nay!

I fear he will.

Here Catesby comes again.

Now Catesby, what says his grace.

He wonders to what end you 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.

[All] Ay, ay.

And so return and tell his grace.

When holy and devout religious
men are at their beads,

'tis much to draw them thence,

so sweet is zealous contemplation.

See where his grace stands
'tween 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 request

and pardon us the interruption

of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.

My lord there needs no such apology,

I do beseech your grace to 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 offense

that seems disgracious 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?

Know then it is your fault

that you resign the supreme
seat, the throne majestical,

the sceptered office of your ancestors

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 doth want her proper limb.

Her face defaced with scars of infamy.

Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants

which to re-cure 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,

am I to move your grace.

I cannot tell if to depart in silence

or bitterly to speak in your reproof

best fitteth my degree or your condition.

If not to answer, you might haply 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 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 and due of birth,

yet so much is my poverty of spirit.

So mighty and so many my defects

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 vapor 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 hath 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 wring from him.

My lord.

This argues conscience in your grace

but the respects thereof
are nice and trivial,

all circumstances well considered it.

You say that Edward is your brother's son.

So say we too.

[crowd murmuring]

But not by Edward's wife.

For first was he contract to Lady Lucy.

Your mother lives a witness to his vow

and afterwards, by substitute,

betrothed to Bona, sister
to the King of France.

These both put off a poor petitioner,

a care-crazed mother to her many sons.

A beauty waning and distressed widow

even in the afternoon of her best days,

made prize and purchase of his wanton 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.

Therefore good my lord,
take to your royal self

this proffered benefit of dignity,

if not to bless us and the land withal

yet to draw forth your noble ancestry

from the corruption of abusing times

unto a lineal true-derived 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 these care 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 no where you accept our suit or no,

your brother's son shall
never reign our king.

But we shall plant some
other in the throne

to the disgrace and
downfall of your house.

And with this resolution
here we leave you.

Come citizens.

Zounds!

I'll entreat no more.

Oh do not swear, my Lord of Buckingham.

Call them again, sweet prince.

Accept their suit.

If you deny them all the land will rue it.

Will you enforce me to a world of cares?

Call them again!

I am not made of stones

but penetrable to your kind entreaties.

Albeit against my conscience and my soul.

Cousin of Buckingham and sage, grave men.

Since you will buckle fortune on my back

to bear her burden where I will or no,

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 Richard, England's worthy king!

[All] 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.

Come, let us to our holy work again.

Farewell my cousin.

Farewell, gentle friends.

[tense music]

Who meets us here?

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 devotion as yourselves,

to gratulate the gentle princes there.

Kind sister, thanks.

We'll enter all together.

And in good time here
the lieutenant comes.

Master lieutenant, pray you by your leave,

how 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 has 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 bar me from them?

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

Their aunt, 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.

Let me but greet you ladies one hour hence

and I'll salute your
grace of York as mother

and reverend looker on of two fair queens.

Come madam, you must
straight to Westminster

there to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

Oh cut my laces sunder

that my pent heart may
have some scope to beat,

or else I swoon with
this dead-killing news.

Be of good cheer mother.

How fares your grace?

Oh Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone.

Death and destruction
dogs thee at thy heels,

thy mother's name is ominous to children.

If thou wilt outstrip
death, go cross the seas

and live with Richmond
from the reach of hell.

Go, hie thee, hie thee
from this 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

on your behalf to meet you on the way.

Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

Oh ill-dispersing wind of misery!

Oh my accursed womb, the bed of death!

A cockatrice hast thou
hatched to the world

whose unavoided eye is murderous.

Come madam, come, I in all haste was 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 brains.

Anointed let me be with deadly venom

and die, ere men can
say, God save the queen.

Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory.

To feed my humor, wish thyself no harm.

No.

Why?

When he that is my husband now came to me,

as I followed Henry's corse,

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.

Oh when I say I looked on Richard's face,

this was my wish.

"Be thou," quoth I, "accursed,

"for making me so young, so old a widow.

"And when thou wed'st,
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 hither to 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 awaked.

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 woeful welcomer of glory.

Adieu poor soul, that
takest thy leave of it.

Go thou to Richmond and
good fortune guide thee.

Go thou to Richard and
good angels tend thee.

Go thou to sanctuary and
good thoughts possess thee.

I to my grave, where peace
and rest lie with me.

Stay, yet look back
with me unto the Tower.

Pity, you ancient stones,
those tender babes

whom envy hath immured within your walls.

Rough cradle for such little pretty ones.

Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow

for tender princes.

Use my babies well.

So foolish sorrow bids
your stones farewell.

[tense music]

Stand all apart.

Cousin of Buckingham.

[Buckingham] My gracious sovereign.

Give me thy hand.

[trumpets sounding]

Thus high, by thy advice
and thy assistance,

is King Richard seated.

[trumpets sounding]

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.

[Gloucester] Why Buckingham,
I say I would be king.

Why so you are my thrice renowned lord.

Am I king?

'Tis so, but Edward lives.

True, noble prince.

Oh bitter consequence that
Edward still should live

a true and noble prince.

Cousin, thou was not wont to be so dull.

Shall I be plain?

I wish the bastards dead

and I would have it suddenly performed.

What sayest thou now,
speak suddenly, be brief.

Your grace may do your pleasure.

Tut 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 you herein presently.

The king is angry.

See he gnaws his lip.

I will converse with iron-witted fools

and unrespective boys.

None are for me that look
into me with considerate eyes.

High-reaching Buckingham
grows circumspect.

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 20 orators

and will, no doubt, tempt him to anything.

What is his name?

His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.

I partly know the man.

Go call him hither.

The deep-revolving witty Buckingham

no more shall be the
neighbor to my counsels.

Hath he so long held out with me untired

and stops he now for breath?

Well be it so.

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 Catesby.

Rumor 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's foolish and I fear not him.

Look how thou dream'st.

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.

I must be married to my brother's daughter

or else my kingdom
stands on brittle glass.

Murder her brothers and then marry her.

Uncertain way of gain.

But I am in so far in blood
that sin will pluck on sin.

Tear falling pity dwells not in this eye.

Is thy name Tyrrel?

James Tyrrel and your
most obedient subject.

Art thou indeed?

Prove me, my gracious lord.

[Richard] Darest thou resolve
to kill a friend of mine?

Please you but I had
rather kill two enemies.

Why then thou hast it.

Two deep enemies, foes to my rest

and my sweet sleep's disturbers

are they that I would have thee deal upon.

Tyrrel I mean those bastards in the Tower.

Let me have open means to come to them

and soon I'll rid you
from the fear of them.

Thou sing sweet music.

Hark, come hither Tyrrel.

Go by this token.

Rise and lend thine ear.

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.

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, he is your wife's son.

Well look unto it.

My lord I claim the gift.

My due by promise

for which your honor and
your faith is pawned.

The earldom of Hereford and the moveables

which you have promised 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 demand?

I do remember me Henry
the Sixth did prophesy

that Richmond should be king

when Richmond was a little peevish boy.

A king, perhaps, perhaps.

My lord?

How chance the prophet
could not, at that time,

have told me I being by,
that I should kill him.

My lord your promise for the earldom.

Richmond!

When last I was at Exeter, the
mayor in courtesy showed me

the castle there and called it Rougemont.

At which name I started

because a bard of Ireland told me once

I should not live long
after I saw Richmond.

My lord!

[Richard] Ay, what's o'clock?

I am thus bold to put your grace in mind

of what you promised me.

Well but what's o'clock?

Upon the stroke of 10.

-Then let it strike.
-Why let it strike?

Because I'd like a Jack
thou keep'st the stroke

between thy begging and my meditation.

I am not in the giving vein today.

May it please you to
resolve me in my suit.

Thou troublest me.

I am not in the vein.

[trumpets sounding]

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 Brecknock while my fearful head is on.

[dramatic music]

The tyrannous and bloody act is done.

The most arch deed of piteous massacre

that ever yet this land was guilty of.

Deighton and Forrest, who I did suborn

to do this piece of ruthless butchery,

albeit they were fleshed
villains, bloody dogs,

melted with tenderness
and mild compassion.

Wept like two children in
their deaths' sad story.

"Oh thus," quoth Deighton,
"lay the gentle babes."

"Thus, thus," quoth Forrest,
"girdling one another

"within their alabaster innocent 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 Deighton thus told on.

"We smothered the most
replenished sweet work of nature

"that from the prime
creation e'er 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.

All health my sovereign lord.

Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news.

If to have done the
thing you gave in charge

beget your happiness, be happy then.

For it is done.

But didst thou see them dead?

[Tyrrel] I did, my lord.

And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them

but where to see the truth I do not know.

Come to me Tyrrel, 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.

The son of Clarence have I pent up close.

His daughter meanly have
I matched in marriage.

The sons of Edward
sleep in Abraham's bosom

and Anne my wife hath bid
this world good night.

Now for I know the Breton Richmond aims

at young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,

and by that knot looks
proudly on the crown.

To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.

My lord!

[Richard] Good news or bad

that thou comest in so bluntly?

Bad news, my lord.

Ely has fled to Richmond

and Buckingham, backed
with the hardy Welshmen,

is in the field and still
his power increaseth.

Ely with Richmond troubles me more near

than Buckingham and his
rash-levied strength.

Come, I have learned
that fearful commenting

is leaden servitor to dull delay.

Go muster men.

My counsel is my shield.

We must be brief when
traitors brave the field.

So now prosperity begins to mellow

and drop into the rotten mouth 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?

Ah my poor princes.

Ah my tender babes.

My unblown flowers, new appearing sweets.

If yet your gentle souls 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 morn

to aged night.

So many miseries have crazed my voice

that my woe-wearied
tongue is still and mute.

Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead.

Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet.

Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

Wilt thou, oh God, fly
from such gentle lambs

and throw them in the
entrails of the wolf?

When didst thou sleep
when such a deed was done?

When holy Harry died and my sweet son.

Dead life, blind sight.

Poor mortal living ghost.

Woe's scene, world's shame,
grave's 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.

Oh 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.

Oh who hath any cause to mourn but we?

If ancient sorrow be most reverend,

give mine the benefit of seniory

and let my griefs frown on the upper hand.

If sorrow can admit society

tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine.

I had an Edward, till
a Richard killed him.

I had a husband, 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 hell-hound 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 excellent grand tyrant of the earth

that reigns in galled
eyes of weeping souls,

that foul defacer of God's handiwork

thy womb let loose to
chase us to our graves.

Oh upright, just and true disposing God

how do I thank thee that this carnal cur

preys on the issue of his mother's body

and makes her pew fellow
with others' moan.

Oh 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 me holding it.

Thy Edward he is dead
that killed my Edward.

Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward.

Young York, well 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 to the beholders of that frantic play,

the adulterate Hastings,
Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,

untimely smothered in their dusky graves.

Richard yet lives, hell's
black intelligencer.

Only reserved their factor to buy souls

and send them thither, but at hand.

At hand ensues his
piteous and unpitied end.

Earth gapes, hell burns,
fiends roar, saints pray

to have him suddenly conveyed from hence.

Cancel his bond of life, dear God,

I pray that I may live
and say the dog is dead.

Oh thou didst prophesy the time would come

that I should wish for
thee to help me curse

that bottled spider, that
foul bunch-backed 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 was.

A garish flag to be the aim
of every dangerous shot.

A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.

Where is thy husband now?

Where be thy brothers?

Where are thy two sons?

Wherein dost thou joy?

Who sues and kneels and
says God save the queen?

Where be the bending
peers 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 caitiff
crowned with care.

For 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 whirled about

and left thee but a very prey to time.

Having no more but
thought of what thou was

to torture thee the more,
being what thou art.

Thou didst usurp my place.

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 wearied 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.

[Elizabeth] Oh thou well
skilled in curses stay awhile

and teach me how to curse mine enemies.

Forbear to sleep the
nights and fast the days.

Compare dead happiness with living woe.

Think that thy babes were
sweeter than they were

and he that slew them fouler than he is.

Bettering thy loss will
make the bad causer worse.

Revolving this will
teach thee how to curse.

[Elizabeth] My words are dull,
oh quicken them with thine!

Thy woes will make them
sharp and pierce like mine.

Why should calamity be full of words?

Windy attorneys to their client's woes.

Poor breathing orators of
miseries, let them have scope.

Though what they will
impart help nothing else

yet they do ease the heart.

If so then be not tongue-tied.

Go with me and in the
breath of bitter words

let's smother my damned son

that thy two sweet sons smothered.

[trumpets sounding]

The trumpet sounds, be
copious in exclaims.

[drums beating]

Who intercepts me and my expedition?

Oh she that might have intercepted thee

by strangling thee in her accursed womb

from all the slaughters,
wretch, that thou hast done!

Tell me thou villain slave,
where are my children.

Thou toad, thou toad, where
is thy brother Clarence

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 telltale women

rail on the Lord's anointed.

Strike, I say!

[drums beating and trumpets sounding]

Either be patient and entreat me fair

or with the clamorous report of war

thus will I drown your exclamations.

Art thou my son?

Ay, I thank God, my father and yourself.

[Duchess] Then patiently
hear my impatience.

Madam I have a touch of your condition

that cannot brook the accent of reproof.

[Duchess] 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 holy rood thou know'st it well.

Thou camest 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.

If I be so disgracious 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 age 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
armor that thou wear'st.

My prayers on the adverse party fight

and there the little
souls of Edward's children

whisper the spirits of thine enemies

and promise them success and victory.

Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end.

Shame serves thy life and
doth thy death attend.

Though far more cause yet
much less spirit to curse

abides in me, I say amen to her.

[Richard] 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 a royal princess.

[Elizabeth] 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 good
stars were opposite.

[Elizabeth] No to their lives
ill friends were contrary.

All unavoided is the doom of destiny.

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 cozened
of comfort, kingdom,

kindred, freedom, life.

Whose hand so ever lanced
their tender hearts,

thy head, all indirectly, gave direction.

No doubt the murderous
knife was dull and blunt

till it was whetted on
thy stone hard heart

to revel in the entrails of my lambs.

But that still use of grief
makes wild grief tame.

My tongue should to thy
ears not name my boys

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 reft,

rush all to pieces on my 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?

[Richard] The advancement of
your children, gentle lady.

Up to some scaffold,
there to lose their heads.

Unto the dignity and height of fortune,

the high imperial type
of this earth's glory.

Flatter my sorrows with report of it.

Tell me what state,
what honor, what dignity

canst thou demise to any child of mine.

Even all I have, ay and myself and all,

will I withal endow a child of thine.

So in the Lethe 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.

[Elizabeth] 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?
-Even so.

How think you of it?

[Elizabeth] How canst thou woo her?

That would I learn of you,

as one being best
acquainted with her humor.

[Elizabeth] 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 haply 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 body.

And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.

If this inducement move her not to love

send her a letter of thy noble deed.

Tell her thou madest
away her Uncle Clarence,

her Uncle Rivers, ay, and for her sake

madest 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
Richard 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 give 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 mettle, 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 shall you be mother to a king.

And all the ruins of distressful 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,

advantaging their loan with interest

of 10 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 won

and she shall be sole
victress, 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 honor and her love

can make seem pleasing
to her tender years.

Infer fair England's
peace by this alliance.

[Elizabeth] Which she shall purchase

with still lasting war.

Tell her the king that
which may command entreats.

That at her hands which
the king's King forbids.

Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.

To veil the title as her mother doth.

Say I will love her everlastingly.

But how long shall that title ever last?

Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.

But how long fairly shall
her sweet life last?

As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.

As long as hell and Richard likes of it.

Say I, her sovereign, am her subject love.

But she, your subject,
loathes such sovereignty.

Be eloquent in my behalf to her.

An honest tale speeds
best being plainly told.

Then plainly to her tell my loving tales.

Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.

Your reasons are too
shallow and too quick.

Oh no, my reasons are too deep and dead.

Too deep and dead, poor
infants, in their grave.

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

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

Now by my George, my garter and my crown--

Profaned, dishonored
and the third usurped.

I swear--

By nothing for this is no oath!

Thy George, profaned,
hath lost his holy honor.

Thy garter, blemished,
pawned his knightly virtue.

The crown, usurped,
disgraced his kingly glory.

If something that would
swear to be believed

swear then by something
that thou hast not wronged.

Now by the world--

[Elizabeth] 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.

My father's death--

Thy life hath that dishonored.

Then by myself--

[Elizabeth] Thyself is self misused.

Why then, by God--

God's wrong is most of all.

If thou didst fear to
break an oath with God,

the unity, the king, my husband made

thou hadst not broken
nor my brothers died.

If thou hadst feared to
break an oath with 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 hath
made thy prey for worms.

What canst thou swear by now?

The time to come.

That thou hast wronged
in the time o'er past.

For I myself have many tears
to wash hereafter time,

for times past 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 ere used

by times ill-used o'er past.

As I intend to prosper and repent

so thrive I in my dangerous
affairs of hostile arms.

Myself, myself confound!

God 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 dear heart's love,

immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,

I tender not your beauteous
princely daughter.

In her consists my happiness and thine.

Without her follows to myself 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 deserts but what I will deserve.

Urge the necessity and state of times

and be not peevish found in great designs.

Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.

Shall I forget myself to be myself?

Ay if yourselves
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 will breed selves of
themselves to your recomforture.

Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?

And be a happy mother by the deed.

I go.

Write to me very shortly

and you shall understand from me her mind.

Bear her my true love's kiss.

And so farewell.

Relenting fool and
shallow, changing woman!

How now, what news?

Most mighty sovereign,
from the western coast

rideth a puissant navy.

To our shores throng many
doubtful hollow-hearted friends,

unarmed and unresolved to beat them back.

It is thought that
Richmond is their admiral.

And there they hull, expecting
but the aid of Buckingham

to welcome them ashore.

Some lightfoot friend post
to the Duke of Norfolk.

Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby.

-Where is he?
-Here my good lord.

[Richard] Catesby fly to the duke.

I will my lord, with all convenient haste.

Ratcliff come hither.

Post to Salisbury, when
thou comest thither.

Dull, unmindful villain,

Why stayst thou here and
goes not to the duke?

First mighty least 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.

[Catesby] I go.

What may it please you
shall I do at Salisbury?

Why wouldst thou do there before I go?

Your highness told me
I should post before.

My mind is changed.

Stanley what news with you?

None good, my liege, to
please you with the hearing.

Nor none so bad, but well may be reported.

Hoyday, a riddle!

Neither good nor bad!

What needst 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?

[Stanley] I know not, mighty
sovereign, but by guess.

Well as you guess.

Stirred up by Dorset, Buckingham and Ely

he makes for England,
here to claim the crown.

Is the chair empty?

Is the sword unswayed?

Is the king dead?

The empire unpossessed.

What heir 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 my good lord,
therefore mistrust me not.

Where is thy power then to beat him back?

Where be thy tenants and thy followers?

Are they not now upon the western shore

safe-conducting the
rebels from their ships?

No, my good lord.

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.

Please if your majesty to give me leave

I'll muster up my friends
and meet your grace

where and what time your
majesty shall please.

Ay.

Ay thou wouldst be gone
to join with Richmond.

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.

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.

My liege, in Kent the
Guildfords are in arms.

And every hour more competitors

flock to the rebels and
their power grows strong.

My lord, the army of great Buckingham--

Out on you, owls, nothing
but songs of death!

There take thou that till
thou bring me 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 thee mercy.

There is my purse to
cure that blow of thine.

If any well-advised friend
proclaim reward to him

that brings the traitor in.

Such proclamation hath been made, my lord.

Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset

'tis said, my liege, in
Yorkshire are in arms.

But this good comfort
bring I to your highness.

The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest.

Richmond, in Dorsetshire,
sent out a boat unto the shore

to ask those on the banks
if they were his assistants,

yea or no.

Who answered him, they
came from Buckingham

upon his party.

He, mistrusting them, hoist sail

and made his course again for Brittany.

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.

My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken.

[men cheering]

That is the best news
that the Earl of Richmond

is with a mighty power landed at Milford,

is colder tidings yet they must be told.

Away towards Salisbury!

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

Someone take order that Buckingham
be brought to Salisbury.

The rest march on with me.

[dramatic music]

Sir Christopher, tell
Richmond this from me.

That in the sty of the most deadly boar

my son George Stanley
is franked up in hold.

If I revolt off goes young George's head.

'Tis fear of that holds
off my present aid.

So get thee gone.

Commend me to thy lord.

Withal say that the queen
had heartily consented

he should espouse Elizabeth, her daughter.

Tell me where is princely Richmond now?

At Pembroke or at Harford-west in Wales

with many other of great name and worth.

And towards London do
they bend their power if,

by the way, they be not fought with all.

Hide thee to that order, kiss his hand.

My letter will resolve him of my mind.

Farewell.

[drums beating]

[Buckingham] Will not King
Richard let me speak with him?

No, my good lord.

Therefore be patient.

Hastings and Edward's children.

Grey and 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?

[Man] It is.

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 false to his children

and his wife's allies.

This is the day wherein I wished to fall

by the false faith of
him whom most I trusted.

This, this All-Souls'
Day to my fearful soul,

is the determined respite of my wrongs.

That high all-seer 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
on their masters' 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 Ratcliff, lead me
to the block of shame.

Wrong hath but wrong and
blame the due of blame.

[drums beating]

[trumpets sounding]

[man shouting]

[trumpet fanfare]

[drums beating]

[man shouting]

[trumpets sounding]

[man shouting]

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 embowelled bosoms.

This foul swine is 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 men

to fight against this guilty 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.

Then in God's name march.

True hope is swift and
flies with swallow's wings.

Kings it makes gods and
meaner creatures kings.

[trumpets sounding]

Here pitch our tent, even
here in Bosworth field.

My Lord of Surrey why look you so sad?

My heart is 10 times
lighter than my looks.

My Lord of Norfolk.

Here most gracious liege.

Norfolk, we must have
knocks, ha, must we not.

We must both give and take my loving lord.

Up with my tent!

Here will I lie tonight.

But where tomorrow?

Well all's one for that.

Who hath descried the
number of the traitors?

Six or 7000 is their utmost power.

Why our battalia 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 lords, tomorrow is a busy day.

[trumpets sounding]

The weary sun hath made a golden set

and by the bright track 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 Dorset you,
Sir William Brandon,

and you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me.

The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment.

Good Captain Blunt, bear
my goodnight 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 mistaken 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 news to speak with him

and give him from me
this most needful note.

Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it.

So God give you quiet rest tonight.

Good night good Captain Blunt.

Come gentlemen, let us consult
upon tomorrow's business.

Into my tent, the dew is raw and cold.

What is't o'clock?

It's suppertime, my lord.

It's nine o'clock.

I will not sup tonight.

Give me some ink and paper.

What is my armor easier than it was?

It is my liege and all
things are in readiness.

Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge.

Use careful watch,
choose trusty sentinels.

[Norfolk] I go, my lord.

Stir with the lark
tomorrow, gentle Norfolk.

I warrant you, my lord.

Catesby!

[Catesby] My lord?

Send out a pursuivant at
arms to Stanley's regiment.

Bid him bring his power before sun-rising,

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.

Ratcliff.

My lord?

Saw'st thou the melancholy
Lord Northumberland?

Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself,

much about cock-shut
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.

Ratcliff.

About the mid of night come
to my tent and help to arm me.

Leave me, I say.

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 the east.

In brief, for so the season bids us be,

prepare thy battle early in the morning,

and put thy fortune to the arbitraments

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 shock of arms.

But on thy side I may not be too forward

lest being seen thy
brother, tender George,

be executed in his father's sight.

Farewell.

The leisure and the fearful time

cuts off the ceremonious vows of love

which so long sundered
friends should dwell upon.

God give us leisure for
these rites 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 leaden slumber peise me down tomorrow

when I should mount with wings of victory.

Once more good night,
kind lords and gentlemen.

Oh 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 in the victory.

To thee I do commend my watchful soul

ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes.

Sleeping and waking, oh defend me still.

[wind howling]

[Duchess] 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, thy day will be thy end.

Shame serves thy life and
doth thy death attend.

[gentle music]

Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow.

Think how thou stabs me in my
prime of youth at Teweksbury.

Despair, therefore and die!

Be cheerful, Richmond.

For the wronged souls of butchered princes

fight in thy behalf.

King Henry's issue,
Richmond, comforts thee.

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 Sixth bids thee despair and die!

Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror.

Harry that prophesied
thou shouldst be king

doth comfort thee in thy sleep.

Live and flourish!

Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow.

I that was washed to
death with fulsome wine.

Poor Clarence, by thy
guile betrayed to death.

Tomorrow in the battle think on me

and fall thy edgeless sword.

Despair and die!

Thou offspring of the House of Lancaster

the wronged heirs of
York do pray for thee.

Good angels guard thy battle.

Live and flourish!

Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow.

Rivers that died at Pomfret.

Despair and die.

Think upon Grey and let thy soul despair.

Think upon Vaughan and with guilty fear

let fall thy lance.

Despair and die.

[All] Awake and think our
wrongs in Richard's bosom

will conquer him.

Awake and win the day!

Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake.

And in a bloody battle end thy days.

Think on Lord Hastings.

Despair and die.

Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!

Arm, fight and conquer,
for fair England's sake!

[Princes] 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 nephews' souls bid
thee despair and die.

Sleep, Richmond.

Sleep in peace and wake in joy.

Good angels guard thee
from the boar's annoy.

Live and beget a happy race of kings.

Edward's unhappy sons
do bid thee flourish.

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 fall thy edgeless sword.

Despair and die!

Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep.

Dream of success and happy victory.

Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.

The first was I that
helped thee to the crown.

The last was I that felt thy tyranny.

Oh in the battle think of Buckingham

and die in terror of thy guiltiness.

Dream on, dream on, of
bloody deeds and death.

Fainting, despair,
despairing, yield thy breath.

I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid.

But cheer thy heart and
be thou not dismayed.

God and good angels
fight on Richmond's side

and Richard fall in
height of all his pride.

Give me another horse!

Bind up my wounds!

Have mercy, Jesu!

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 and I.

Is there a murderer here?

No, yes, I am.

Then fly.

What, from myself?

Great reason why lest I revenge.

What, myself upon myself?

Alack I love myself.

Wherefore, for any good that I
myself have done unto myself?

Oh no, alas I rather hate myself

for hateful deeds committed by myself.

I am a villain, yet I lie I am not.

Fool of thyself speak
well, fool do not flatter.

My conscience hath a
thousand several tongues

and every tongue brings in a several tale

and every tale condemns me for a villain.

Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree.

Murder, stem 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.

None wherefore should they,

since that I myself find in
myself no pity to myself.

Methought the souls of
all that I had murdered

came to my tent and every one did threat

tomorrow's vengeance
on the head of Richard.

-My lord!
-Zounds, who is there?

[Ratcliff] Ratcliff, my lord, 'tis I.

The early village cock
hath twice done salutation

to the morn.

Your friends are up and
buckle on their armor.

Ratcliff I have dreamed a fearful dream.

What thinkest thou, will
our friends prove all true?

No doubt, my lord.

Oh Ratcliff, 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 1000 soldiers

armed in proof and led
by shallow Richmond.

It is not yet near day.

Come go with me.

Under our tents I'll play the eavesdropper

to see if any mean to shrink from me.

Good morrow my lord.

Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen

that you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.

[Man] How have you slept, my lord?

The sweetest sleep and
fairest-boding dreams

that ever entered in a drowsy head

have I since your departure had, my lords.

Methought their souls, whose
bodies Richard murdered,

came to my tent and cried on victory.

I promise you, my soul is very jocund

in the remembrance of so fair a dream.

How far into the morning is it lords?

Upon the stroke of four.

Why then 'tis time to
arm and give direction.

More than I have said, loving countrymen,

the leisure and enforcement of the time

forbids to dwell upon.

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.

For 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.

Abase foul stone, made
precious by the foil

of England's chair,
where he is falsely set.

One that hath ever been God's enemy.

Then, if you fight against God's enemy,

God will in justice ward
you as his 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 hire.

If you do fight in safeguard of your wives

your wives shall welcome
home the conquerors.

If you do free your
children from the sword

your children's children
quits it 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 Saint George!

Richmond and victory!

[All] Richmond and victory!

And 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 chiming]

Toll 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.

-Ratcliff.
-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 selfsame heaven that frowns on me

looks sadly upon him.

Arm, arm, my lord.

The foe vaunts in the field.

Come bustle, bustle.

Caparison my horse.

Call up Lord Stanley,
bid him bring his power.

I will lead forth my
soldiers to the plain.

And thus my battle shall be ordered.

My forward shall be
drawn out all at length,

consisting equally of horse and foot.

Our archers shall be placed in the midst.

John Duke of Norfolk,
Thomas Earl of Surrey,

shall have the leading
of this foot and horse.

They thus directed, we will
follow in the main battle,

whose puissance on either side

shall be well winged
with our chiefest horse.

This and Saint George to boot!

What think'st thou, Norfolk?

A good direction, warlike sovereign.

This I found on my tent this morning.

Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold,

for Dickon thy master is bought and sold.

A thing devised by the enemy.

Go gentleman, 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 law.

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 withal.

A sort of vagabonds, rascals and runaways.

A scum of Bretons and base lackey peasants

whom their o'er cloyed
country vomits forth

to desperate adventures
and assured destruction.

You sleeping safe, they
bring to you unrest.

You having lands and blessed
with beauteous wives,

they would restrain the
one, disdain the other.

And who doth lead them
but a paltry fellow.

A milk-sop, one that never in his life

felt so much cold as overshoes in snow.

[men laughing]

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

[men cheering]

and not these bastard Bretons

whom our fathers have, in their own land,

beaten, bobbed and thumped,

and in record, left
them the heirs of shame.

Shall these enjoy our lands?

[Men] No!

[Richard] Lie with our wives?

[Men] No!

[Richard] Ravish our daughters?

[Men] No!

[drums beating]

Hark I hear their drum.

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.

What says Lord Stanley,
will he bring his power?

My lord he doth deny to come.

Off with his son George's head!

My lord the enemy is past the marsh

After the battle let George Stanley die.

A thousand hearts are
great within my bosom.

Advance our standards, set upon our foes.

Our ancient word of
courage, fair Saint George,

inspire us with the
spleen of fiery dragons.

Upon them victory sits on our helms.

[men cheering]

Rescue!

My Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!

The king enacts more wonders than a man,

daring an opposite to every danger.

His horse is slain and
all on foot he fights,

seeking for Richmond
in the throat of death.

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

A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!

[Catesby] Withdraw, my lord,
I'll help you to a horse.

Slave!

I have set my life upon a cast

and I will stand the hazard of the die.

I think there be six
Richmonds in the field.

Five have I slain today instead of him.

A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!

[men shouting]

[Richard shouting]

[men shouting]

[Richard screaming]

God and your arms be
praised, victorious friends.

The day is ours.

The bloody dog is dead.

Courageous Richmond, well
hast thou acquit thee.

Lo here this long-usurped royalty.

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 will now withdraw us.

Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled

that in submission will return to us.

And then as we have ta'en 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?

[Men] 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 succeeders of each royal house,

by God's fair ordinance conjoin together.

And let their heirs,
God, if thy will be so,

enrich 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.

[wind howling]

[woman laughing]

[dramatic music]