Great Performances

-Next on "Great Performances"... -Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York... -Join us in Central Park for Shakespeare under the stars, with Danai Gurira in a tour de force performance as one of the bard's most indelible villains, Richard III.

-I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol'n forth from Holy Writ, And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

-Stay tuned for a chilling portrayal of a ruthless tyrant who attempts to charm and murder his way to the throne.

-I am in So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin.

-The Public Theater's free Shakespeare in the Park production of "Richard III" is next.

-I bid them cry "God save Richard, England's royal king!"

-And did they so?!

-No!

[ Laughter ] Major funding for "Great Performances" is provided by... ...and by contributions to your PBS station from viewers like you.

Thank you.

[ Slow drumming ] Major fund [ Fanfare ] [ EDM playing ] [ Cheers and applause ] [ Rapid hoofbeats, swords clashing ] [ Panting ] [ Exhales, coughs, chuckles ] [ Labored breathing ] [ Laughs, drum beating ] [ Groans ] -No, no!

No!

Guard!

Guard!

[ Groans ] [ Gasping ] No!

No, no, no -- [ Grunting ] [ Gasping, choking ] [ Groans, breathing stops ] -What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground?

I thought it would have mounted.

See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death.

O, may such purple tears be always shed From those that wish the downfall of our house.

If any spark of life be yet remaining, Down, down to hell, and say I sent thee thither -- I'll throw thy body in another room, And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.

[ Ethereal music ] Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York, And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Now are our brows bound in victorious wreaths, Our bruisd 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 barbd steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasings 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 see my shadow in the sun And descant at mine own deformity.

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover I am determined to prove a villain.

Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, To set my brother Georgie 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 Georgie closely be mewed up About a prophecy which says "G" Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.

Dive, thoughts, down in my soul.

Here Georgie comes.

Brother, good day.

What means this armd guard That waits upon your Grace?

-His Majesty, Tend'ring my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

-Upon what cause?

-Because my name is George.

-Alack, my lord, that is no fault of yours.

He should, for that, commit your godfathers.

But what's the matter?

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 crossrow 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.

-We are not safe, Georgie; we are not safe.

-I beseech Your Graces both to pardon me.

His Majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with your brother.

I do beseech Your Grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

-We know thy charge, Ratcliffe, and will obey.

-We are the Queen's abjects and must obey.

Brother, farewell.

I will unto the King, Your imprisonment shall not be long.

I will deliver you or else lie for you.

Meantime, have patience.

-I must, perforce.

Farewell.

[ Laughter ] -Go tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.

Simple, plain Georgie, I do love thee so That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, Ah, but who comes here?

The new-delivered Hastings?

-Good time of day unto my gracious lord.

-As much unto my good Lord Hastings.

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.

What news?

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

-Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed.

Where is he, in his bed?

-He is.

-Go you before, and I will follow.

[ Ominous music, laughter ] He cannot live, I hope, and must not die Till Georgie be packed up with post-horse to heaven.

I'll in to urge his hatred more to George With lies well steeled in weighty arguments, And, if I fail not in my deep intent, George 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; But yet I run before my horse to market.

Georgie still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns.

When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

-Come now towards Chertsey with your holy load.

-Stay, you that bear that corpse, and set it down.

-What black magician conjures up this fiend To stop devoted charitable deeds?

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

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

-Unmannered dog, stand thou when I command!

I'll strike thee to thy 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 curst.

-Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.

O, 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.

O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!

O 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 butcherd.

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

-Villain, thou know'st nor law of God nor man.

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

-But I know none, therefore am no beast.

-O, wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

-More wonderful, when angels are so angry.

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 thou shalt stand excused For doing worthy vengeance on thyself That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

-Say that I slew them not.

-Then say they were not slain.

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

-I did not kill your husband.

-Why then, he is alive.

-Nay, he is dead, but slain by King Edward's hands.

-In thy foul throat thou liest.

Queen Margaret saw Thy murd'rous sword smoking in his blood, The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

-I was provokd by her sland'rous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

-Thou wast provokd by thy bloody mind, That never dream'st on aught but butcheries.

Didst thou not kill this king?

-I grant you.

-Dost grant me, hedgehog?

Then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damnd for that wicked deed.

O, he was gentle, and mild, and virtuous.

-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.

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

-Some dungeon.

-Your bedchamber.

[ Laughter ] -Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

-And 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 his Son, 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 wrack.

You should not blemish it, if I stood by.

As all the world is cheerd by the sun, So I by that.

It is my day, my life.

-Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life.

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

-His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

-He lives and loves thee better than he could.

-Where is he?

-Here.

-[ Spits ] -Oh!

Why dost thou spit at me?

-Would it were mortal poison for thy sake.

-Never came poison from so sweet a place.

-Never hung poison on a fouler toad.

Out of my sight!

Thou dost infect mine eyes.

-Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

-Would they were basilisks' to strike thee dead.

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

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 your beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue to speak.

Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I loan thee this sharp-pointed dagger, Which if thou please to hide in this true breast And set the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke And humbly beg the death upon my knee -- [ Laughter ] Nay, do not pause, for I did kill King Henry -- But 'twas thy beauty that provokd me.

Nay, now dispatch; for 'twas I that stabbed young Edward -- But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

[ Richard grunts, Anne screams ] [ Frustrated scream, Richard laughs ] [ Mocking ] [ Both laugh ] 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, will for thy love kill a far truer love.

To both their deaths shalt thou be accessory.

-I would I knew thy heart.

-'Tis figured in my tongue.

-Well, well, put up your sword.

-But shall I live in hope?

-All men I hope live so.

-Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

-To take is not to give.

[ Laughter ] -Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger; Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart.

Wear both of them, for both of them are yours.

And if thy poor devoted servant may But beg one favor of 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 House, Where, after I have solemnly interred At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you.

Grant me this boon.

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

-Bid me farewell.

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

[ Laughter ] -Was ever woman in this humor wooed?

Was ever woman in this humor won?

I'll have her, but I'll not keep her long.

What?

I that killed her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of my hatred by, Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no friend 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, Her lord, whom I Stabbed in my angry mood at Tewkesbury?

I do mistake my person all this while!

Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marv'lous proper man.

I'll be at charges for a looking glass And entertain a score or two of tailors To study fashion to adorn my body.

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

But soft, here come my executioners.

How now, my hardy, stout, resolvd 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 George is.

-Well thought upon.

I have it here about me.

But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate; do not hear him plead, For Georgie is well-spoken and may perhaps 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.

About your business straight.

Go, go, dispatch.

-We will, my lord.

-[ Groaning ] [ Screams ] I have passed a miserable night, So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower 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 befall'n us.

As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown, What dreadful noise of waters in my ears, What sights of ugly death within my eyes.

Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wracks, A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon, Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scattered in the bottom of the sea.

Some lay in dead men's skulls, and in the holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept -- As 'twere in scorn of eyes -- reflecting gems, That wooed the silent bottom of the deep And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by.

O, 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.

-No!

No.

I'll reason with him.

-In god's name what art thou?

How darkly your eyes do menace me.

Why look you pale?

Who sent you hither?

Wherefore do you come?

To murder me?

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.

-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 George's death Before I be convict by course of law?

The deed you undertake is damnable.

Erroneous vassals, the great King of kings Hath in the table of His law commanded That thou shalt do no murder.

Take heed, for He holds vengeance in His hand To hurl upon their heads that break His law.

For whose sake did I the ill deed?

For King Edward, for my brother, for his sake.

If you do love my brother, hate not me.

I am his brother, and I love him well.

If you are hired for money, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Richard, Duke of Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than King Edward will for tidings of my death.

-Your brother Richard hates you.

-No!

Go you to him from me.

Tell him, when that our princely father Blessed his three sons with his victorious arm, He little thought of this divided friendship.

Bid Richard think of this, and he will weep.

Richard bewept my misfortune, And held me in his arms, and swore he would labor my delivery.

-Why, so he doth, when he delivers you From this Earth's thralldom to the joys of heaven.

[ Laughter ] -Sirs, consider: they that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed.

My friend, I spy some pity in thy look.

A begging prince what beggar pities not?

Aah!

-Have patience, madam.

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 harms.

-The heavens have blessed you with a goodly son To be your comforter when he is gone.

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

-Is it concluded he shall be Protector?

-It is determined, not concluded yet; But so it must be if the King miscarry.

-Here comes the lord of Buckingham, and Lord Stanley.

-Good time of day unto your royal Grace.

-God make your Majesty joyful, as you have been.

-Saw you the King today?

-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 brother, Rivers And between Rivers and my Lord Hasting, And sent to summon 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'll 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 and look fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, 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 hath 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 holy Grace, Whom God preserve better than you would wish, Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing while But you must trouble him with your lewd complaints.

-Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter.

The King, on his own royal disposition, And not provoked by any suitor else, Aiming belike at your interior hatred That in your outward action shows itself Against my children, brother, and myself, Makes him to send, that he may learn the ground.

-I cannot tell.

The world is grown so bad That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.

-Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester.

You envy my advancement, and my friends'.

God grant we never may have need of you.

-Meantime God grants that we have need of you.

Our brother imprisoned by your means, Myself disgraced, and the nobility Held in contempt, while daily promotions Are given to ennoble those whom scarce some two days since were worth a noble.

-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 which oft I have endured.

I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen with this condition, To be so baited, scorned, and stormd at.

Small joy have I at being England's queen.

-What, threat you me with telling of the King?

Tell him and spare not.

Look, what I have said, I will avouch 't in presence of the King; Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king, I was a packhorse in his great affairs, A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends.

To royalize his blood, I spent mine own.

In all which time, you and your first husband Were factious for the House of Lancaster.

And, Rivers, so were you.

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 murd'rous villain, and so still thou art.

-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 had 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.

-I can no longer hold me patient.

Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that do 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.

Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away.

-Foul, wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my sight?

-But repetition of what thou hast marred.

That will I make before I let thee go.

-Wert thou not banishd 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 to me; And thou a kingdom; all of you, allegiance.

This sorrow that I have by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.

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

Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?

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

Thy son, that now is Prince of Wales, For our 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.

And see another, as I see thee now, Decked in thy rights, as thou art stalled in mine.

Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's death, And, after many hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen.

-Have done thy charms, 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, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace.

The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul.

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

Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog, Thou that wast sealed in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell, Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb, Thou loathd issue of thy father's loins, Thou rag of honor, thou detested -- -Margaret.

-Richard!

-Ha?

-I call thee not.

-I cry thee mercy, then, for I had thought thou called me all these bitter names.

-Why, so I did, but looked for no reply.

O, let me make the period to my curse!

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

-Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.

[ Laughs ] -Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune, Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?

Fool.

[ Laughs ] Fool, thou whet'st the knife to kill thyself.

The day will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-backed toad.

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

-O 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.

O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!

-Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.

-Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity.

-Urge neither charity nor shame to me.

Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butchered.

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

-Have done.

Have done.

For curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

-O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!

For 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 do attend... [Mouthing] ...on him.

[ Laughter ] -What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?

-Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

[ Laughs ] -What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel, And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?

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

[ Scattered laughter ] Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God's.

[ Cheers and applause ] -My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses.

[ Exaggerated shudder, laughs ] -I cannot blame her.

By God's holy mother, She hath had much wrong, and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her.

-I never did her any, to my knowledge.

[ Laughter ] -Madam, his Majesty doth call for you,-- And for your Grace, and yours, my precious lords.

-Ratcliffe, I come.

Lords, will you go with me?

-We wait upon your Grace.

[ Claps ] [ Inaudible ] -I do the wrong and first begin to brawl.

The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others.

Georgie, who I indeed have cast in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls, Namely, Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham, And tell them 'tis the Queen and her allies That stir the King against the Duke my brother.

Now they believe it and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Dorset, Grey; But then I sigh and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them God bids us do good for evil; And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd ends stol'n forth from Holy Writ, And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

-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.

-Madam, yourself is not exempt from this, Nor you, son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you.

You have been factious one against the other.

Wife, love Lord Hastings.

Let him kiss your hand, And what you do, do it unfeignedly.

-There, Hastings, I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine.

[ Laughter ] -Dorset, embrace him.

-This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be inviolable.

-And so swear I.

-Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen, princely peers, a happy time of day.

-Happy indeed, as we have spent the day.

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

-A blessd labor, my most sovereign lord.

Among this princely heap, if any By false intelligence or wrong surmise Hold me foe, I desire To reconcile me to your friendly peace.

'Tis death to me to be at enmity; I hate it, and desire all good men's love.

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 George 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 corpse.

-Who knows not he is dead!

Who knows he is?

-All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!

-George is dead?

The order was reversed.

-But he, poor man, by your first order died, And that a wingd Mercury did bear.

Some tardy one bared the countermand, That came too lag to see him burid.

God grant that some, less loyal and less noble, Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood, Deserves not worse than wretched Georgie, And yet go current from suspicion.

-Who spake of brotherhood?

Who spake of love?

O, for my brother not a man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul.

The proudest of you all Have been beholding to him in his life, Yet none of you would once beg for his life.

O!

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

Come, Hastings, help me to my closet.

Ah, poor George.

-This is the fruits of rashness.

Marked you not How that the guilty kindred of the Queen Looked pale when they did hear of George's death?

O, they did urge it still unto the King.

God will revenge it.

-We wait upon your Grace.

[ Sobbing ] Ah!

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.

If you will live, lament.

If die, be brief, That our swift-wingd 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; 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, George and Edward.

O, what cause have I, Thine being but a moiety of my moan, To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries!

-Give me no help in lamentation.

I am not barren to bring forth complaints.

All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being governed by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world.

Ah!

For my husband, for my dear lord Edward!

-Alas for both, both mine, Edward and George!

-What stay had I but Edward?

And he's gone.

-What stays had I but they?

And they are gone.

-Was never widow 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 George weep; so doth not she.

-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.

Ah!

My mother.

And make me die a good old man!

That is the butt end of a mother's blessing; I marvel her Grace did leave it out.

-Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son.

The broken rancor of your high-swoll'n hates, But lately splintered, knit, and joined together, Must gently be preserved, cherished, and kept.

Meseemeth good that with some little train Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet 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.

-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, my sister, will you go To give your censures in this business?

-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 council's consistory, My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin, I, as a child, will go by thy direction.

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

[ Applause ] -Good morrow, neighbor.

-Hear you the news?

-Yes, that the King is dead.

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

-Neighbors, God speed.

-Give you good morrow.

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

-Ay, 'tis too true, God help the while.

-Oh, 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.

-But 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 VI Was crowned in Paris but at nine months old.

-Stood the state so?

-Uh-huh!

-Yes!

-No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!

No, no, good friends, 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 by his father and mother.

-Better it were they all came by his father, that 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.

O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester.

-Uh-huh!

-Okay, that's true.

-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.

-Oh, "all will be" -- [ Laughs ] [ Laughter and applause ] -Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber.

-Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign.

The weary way hath 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.

-Those uncles that you want were dangerous.

Your Grace attended to their sugared words But looked not on the poison of their hearts.

God keep you from them, and from such false friends.

-God keep me from false friends, but they were none.

-My lord, the Mayor of London is come to greet you.

-God bless your Grace with health and happy days.

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

[ Laughter ] 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.

-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 Hastings, go And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.

-If she be obdurate Heaven forbid We should infringe by holy privilege Of blessed sanctuary -This prince hath neither claimed it nor deserved it And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it.

Then taking him from thence that is not there, You break no privilege nor charter there.

Oft have I heard of sanctuary men, But sanctuary children, never till now.

-I go, my lord.

-Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.

[ Inaudible whispering ] Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come, Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?

-Wherever seems best for 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 'twere retailed to all posterity, Even to the general all-ending day.

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

-What say you, uncle?

-I say, without characters fame lives long.

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

-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?

-O, I thank you, gentle uncle.

O my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth.

The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far.

-He hath, my lord.

-Yes.

And therefore is he idle?

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

-I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.

-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.

-My lord, will 't please you pass along?

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

-What?

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 George's angry ghost.

My grandam told me he was murdered there.

-I fear no uncles dead.

-Nor none that live, I hope.

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

But come, my lord.

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

-Think you, my lord, this little prating York Was not incensd by his subtle mother To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?

-No doubt, no doubt.

O, he is a parlous boy, Bold, quick, forward, ingenious, capable.

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

-Well, let them rest.

Come hither, Ratcliffe.

Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend As closely to conceal what we impart.

What thinkest thou then?

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?

-He will do all in all as Hastings doth.

-Well then, no more but this: go, gentle Ratcliffe, And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings How he doth stand affected to our purpose 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.

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

-Chop off his head.

-[ Laughs, stops abruptly ] -Something we will determine.

And look when I am king, claim thou of me The earldom of Hereford, and all the movables Whereof the King my brother was possessed.

-I'll claim that promise at your Grace's hand.

-And look to have it yielded with all kindness.

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

[ Both laugh ] -My lord, my lord.

-Who knocks?

-The son of 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.

-What then?

-Then certifies your Lordship that this night He dreamt the boar had razd off his helm.

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

-Go, fellow, go.

Return unto thy lord.

Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance.

And for his dreams, I wonder he's so simple To trust the mock'ry 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 -- [Grunting] ...will use us kindly.

-I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say -Many good morrows to my noble lord.

-Good morrow, Ratcliffe.

You are early stirring.

What news, what news in this our tott'ring 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"?

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.

[ Laughs ] 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 that news, Because they have been still my 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 twelve-month hence, That they which brought me in my master's hate, I live to look upon their tragedy.

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

-O monstrous, monstrous!

And so falls it out with Rivers, and Grey; and so 'twill do With some men else that 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!

[ Laughs ] Where is your boar-spear, man?

Fear you the boar and go so unprovided?

-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 do yours, And never in my day, 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; But yet you see how soon the day o'ercast.

This sudden stab of rancor I misdoubt.

-Today the lords you speak of are beheaded.

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

-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.

-In happy time here comes the Duke himself.

-My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow.

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

-Buckingham, a word with you.

-Aye.

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

-Withdraw yourself awhile.

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.

-His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this morning.

There's some conceit or other likes him well When that he bids good morrow with such 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 you all, tell me what they deserve That do conspire my death with devilish plots Of damnd witchcraft, and that have prevailed Upon my body with their hellish charms?

-The tender love I bear your Grace Makes me most forward in this princely presence To doom th' offenders, whosoe'er they be.

I say, my lord, they have deservd death.

Then be your eyes the witness of their evil.

Look how I am bewitched!

Behold mine arm like a blasted sapling withered up; And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, That by witchcraft thus have markd me.

-If she have done this deed, my noble lord -- -If?

Talk'st thou to 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.

Ratcliffe, look that it be done.

The rest that love me, rise and follow me.

-Woe... [ Laughter ] 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 -- [ Laughs ] my foot-cloth horse did stumble, And started when he looked upon the Tower, As loath to bear me to the slaughterhouse.

O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse Is lighted upon poor Hastings' wretched head.

-Come, come, dispatch.

The Duke would be at dinner.

Make a short shrift.

He longs to see your head.

-O bloody Richard!

Miserable England, I prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee That ever wretched age hath looked upon.

Come, lead me to the block.

Bear him my head.

They smile at me who shortly shall be dead.

[ Blade rings ] [ Chop ] [ Cheers and applause ] [ Applause ] -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 affair with Lady Lucy and his contract by deputy in France.

The unsatiate greediness of his desire and his enforcement of the city wives.

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, 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 drew toward end, I bid them that did love their country's good cry!

"God save Richard, England's royal king!"

-And did they so?

-No.

So, God help me, they spake not a word but, like dumb statues or breathing stones, stared each on other and looked deadly pale, which when I saw, I reprehended them and asked the Mayor, um, what meant this willful silence.

His answer was... -The people are not used to be spoken to but by the legal official.

-Then he was urged to tell my tale again.

-Thus saith the Duke.

Thus hath the Duke inferred -- -What tongueless blocks were they!

Would they not speak?!

Will the Mayor then and his brethren not 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, for good, my Lord, on that ground I'll make a holy descant.

And be not easily won to our requests.

Play the maid's part.

Still answer "nay" and take it!

-Ha ha ha!

I go.

An 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.

[ Knocking ] -Go, go.

Up to the leads.

The Lord Mayor knocks.

[ Laughs ] Welcome, my lord.

I dance attendance here.

I think the Duke will not be spoke withal.

Oh.

Now, Ratcliffe, 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 suits would he be moved to draw him from his holy exercise.

-Return, good Ratcliffe, to the gracious duke.

Tell him myself, the Mayor, and aldermen, in deep designs, in 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.

Oh, happy were England would this virtuous prince take on his Grace the sovereignty thereof.

But sure I fear we shall not win him to it.

-Marry, God defend his Grace should say us nay.

-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.

Most gracious prince!

Most gracious prince!

Lend favorable ear to our requests and pardon us the interruption of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.

-Oh, my lord, there needs no such apology.

What is your Grace's pleasure?

Even that which I hope pleaseth God above and all good men of this ungoverned isle.

-Hm.

I do suspect that I have done some offense that seems disgracious in the city's eye, and you have 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?

-[ Chuckles ] We heartily solicit your gracious self to take on you the charge and kingly government of this your land, not as protector, steward, substitute, or lowly factor for another's gain, but as successively, from blood to blood, your right of birth, your empery, your own.

For this, consorted with the citizens, your very worshipful and loving friends, and by their vehement instigation, in this just cause come I to move your Grace!

-[ Laughs ] Oh!

Oh.

Definitively thus I answer you.

Your love deserves my thanks.

My dessert, unmeritable, shuns your high request.

-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 into a lineal, true-derivd course.

-Do, good my lord.

Your citizens entreat you.

-Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffered love.

-O, make them joyful.

Grant their lawful suit.

-Alas, why would you heap this care on me?

I am unfit for state or majesty.

I do beseech you, take it not amiss.

I cannot, nor will not, yield to you.

-If you refuse it, as in love and zeal loath to depose the child, your brother's son.

Yet know, whe'er 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 in this resolution here we leave you.

Come, citizens!

Zounds, I'll entreat no more.

Come!

Come!

-Do not swear, my lord of Buckingham!

-Call them back, sweet prince.

Accept their suit.

If you deny them, all the land will rue it.

-Will you enforce me to a world of cares?

[ Sighs ] Call them again.

-Psst!

-I am not made of stones, but impenetrable to your kind entreaties, albeit against my conscience and my soul.

Cousin of Buckingham.

-Here is the head, my lord... -Uh, uh... -Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, the dangerous and unsuspected Hastings!

-Well, well!

He was the covertest sheltered traitor that ever lived!

Would you imagine, or almost believe, that were it not 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 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.

-[ Shouts ] -Cousin Buckingham and sage, grave men, since you will buckle fortune on my back to bear her burden, whether I will or no, I must have patience to endure the load, for God doth know, and you may partly see, how far I am from the desire of this.

-God bless your Grace!

-Then I salute you with this royal title.

Long live Richard, England's worthy king!

-Amen!

-Hail for the king!

Hail for the king!

Yes!

Yes!

Clap, clap, clap!

-Please, please.

Do not clap.

-Hail for the king!

-No need to clap.

Please.

-[ Shouts ] Whoo!

-Please.

Please.

-Tomorrow will 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.

-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 Ratcliffe comes.

How doth the Prince and my young son of York?

-Right well, dear madam.

I may not suffer you to visit them.

The King hath strictly charged the contrary.

-The King?

Who's that?

-I mean, the Lord Protector.

-The Lord protect him from that kingly title!

Hath he set bounds between their love and me?

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 meet you ladies one hour hence, and I'll salute your Grace of York as mother and reverend looker-on of two fair queens.

Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster, there to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

-[ Gasps ] Cut my lace asunder, that my pent heart may have some scope to beat, pr else I swoon with this dead-killing news!

-Despiteful tidings!

O, unpleasing news!

-Be of good cheer, Mother.

How fares your Grace?

-O, Dorset, speak not to me.

Get thee gone.

Death and destruction dogs thee at thy heels.

Thy mother's name is ominous to children.

Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughterhouse, lest thou increase the number of the dead and let 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.

Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

Come, madam, come.

I in all haste was sent.

-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 corpse, this was my wish -- be thou, quoth I, accursed lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, within so small a time my woman's heart grossly grew captive to his honey words and proved the subject of mine own soul's curse, which hitherto hath held my eyes from rest, for never yet one hour in his bed did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, but with his timorous dreams was still awaked.

Besides, he hates me 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 takes 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.

Years of sorrow have I seen, and each hour's joy wracked with a week of misery.

-Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower.

Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes which 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 sorrows bids your stones farewell.

[ Laughter ] -Stand all apart!

Buckingham.

-My gracious sovereign.

-Give me thy hand.

Thus high, by thy advice and thy assistance is King Richard seated.

[ Laughs ] But...shall we wear these glories for a day... or shall they last and we rejoice in them?

-Still live they, and forever let them last.

-Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch, to try if thou be current gold indeed.

Young Edward lives.

Think now what I would speak.

-Say on, my loving lord.

-Why, Buckingham, I say I would be king!

-Why, so you are, my thrice-renownd lord.

-Ha!

Am I king?

'Tis so, but Young Edward lives.

-True, noble prince.

-O, bitter consequence that Young Edward still should live "true noble prince"!

Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.

Shall I be plain?

I wish the bastards dead, and I would have it suddenly performed.

What 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 twenty 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, boy.

The deep-revolving witty Buckingham no more shall be 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?

-Know, my loving lord, the Marquess Dorset, as I hear, is fled to Richmond, in the parts where he abides.

-Come hither, Ratcliffe.

Rumor it abroad that Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick.

I will take order for keeping her close.

Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die.

I must marry my brother Edward's daughter, or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.

Murder her brothers and marry her.

An uncertain way of gain.

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

Tear-falling pity dwell not in this eye.

-[ Wolf-whistle ] -Is thy name Tyrrel?

-James Tyrrel.

And your most obedient subject.

-Art thou indeed?

-Prove me, my gracious lord.

-Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?

-Please you.

But I had rather kill two enemies.

-Well, then, thou hast it.

Two deep enemies, foes of my rest and my sweet sleep's disturbers, are those I will have thee deal upon.

Tyrrel, Tyrrel...

I mean those bastards in the Tower.

-Let me have open means to come to them, and soon I will rid you from the fear of them.

-Thou sing'st sweet music.

Go, by this token.

Lend me thine ear.

[Whispering] Ask for Ratcliffe.

[Normal voice] 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.

-[ Clears throat ] 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.

Richmond 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.

Th' earldom of Hereford and the movables which you have promisd I shall possess.

-Stanley!

Look to your wife.

If she convey letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

-What says your Highness to my just request?

-I do remember me, Henry the Sixth did prophesy Richmond would be king, when Richmond was a little peevish boy.

A king perhaps.

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

-My lord, your promise for the earldom is -- -Richmond!

When last I was in Exeter, The Mayor in courtesy showed me the castle and called it "Richmont," at which name I started, because a bard of Ireland told me once I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

-My lord -- -Ay, what is o'clock?

-I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind of what you promised me!

-Well, but what is o'clock?

-Upon the stroke of ten.

-Well, let it strike.

-Why let it strike?

-Because that, like a jack, thou keep'st the stroke betwixt thy begging and my meditation.

I am not in the giving vein today.

-Why then resolve me whether you will or no.

-Thou troublest me!

I am not in the vein!

Hm?

-And is it thus?

Repays he my deep service With such contempt?

[ Chuckles ] Made I him king for this?

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

-The tyrannous and bloody act is done, the most arch deed of piteous massacre that ever yet this land was guilty of.

Dighton and Forrest, who I -- 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.

They could not speak, and so I left them both to bear this tidings to the bloody king.

And here he comes.

[ Scoffs ] All health, my sovereign lord.

-Kind Tyrrel.

Tyrrel.

Am I happy in thy news?

-If to have done the thing that you gave in charge beget your happiness, be happy then, for it is done.

-My lord!

-Good or bad news, thou com'st in so bluntly?

-Bad news, my lord.

Ely is fled to Richmond.

And Buckingham is in the field, and his power increaseth.

-Ely with Richmond troubles me more near than Buckingham and his rash levied strength.

Go, muster men.

My counsel is my shield.

We must be brief when traitors brave the field.

-[ Sobbing ] 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.

-So many miseries have crazed my voice that my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.

Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

-From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept a hellhound that doth hunt us all to death.

-O, 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," 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 distressd widow.

For joyful mother, one that wails the name.

For one being sued to, one that humbly sues.

For queen, a truly poor wretch crowned with care.

For she that scorned at me, now scorned of me.

For she being feared by all, now fearing one.

For she commanding all, obeyed by none.

Thou did usurp my place.

Now thy proud neck bears half my burdened yoke, from which even here I bend my wearied neck and leave the burden of it all on thee.

-O, 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 makes the bad causer worse.

Revolving this... will teach thee how to curse.

[ Fingers snap ] -If I be so disgracious in your eye, let me march on and not offend you, madam.

Strike up the drum!

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 nevermore 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.

-I say amen to her.

-Stay, madam, for 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?

O, let her live, and I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty, 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.

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

-Then know that from my soul I love your daughter and do intend to make her Queen of England.

-Well, then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

-He that make her queen.

Who else should be?

-What, thou?

-How think'st thou on it?

-How canst thou woo her?

-That would I learn of you, as being one best acquainted with her humor.

-And wilt thou learn of me?

-Madam, with all my heart.

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

Then haply will she weep.

Therefore present to her 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 deeds.

Tell her thou mad'st away her uncle George, her uncle Rivers, ay, and for her sake mad'st quick removal with her good aunt Anne.

-Look.

What is done cannot be now amended.

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, which after-hours gives leisure to repent.

If I did take the kingdom from your sons, to make amends, I'll give it to your daughter.

If I have killed the issue of your womb, to quicken your increase I will beget my issue of your blood upon your daughter.

A grandam's name is little less in love than is the doting title of mother.

Go then, my mother.

To your 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.

Tell her the King, that may command, entreats... -That, at her hands, which the King's King forbids.

-Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.

Say I will love her everlastingly.

Therefore, dear mother, for I must call you so, plead what I will be, not what I have been.

-Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?

-Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good.

-But thou didst kill my children!

-But in thy 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.

-Hm.

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!

-Most mighty sovereign!

-Most mighty sovereign!

-Most mighty sovereign, on our western coast rideth a puissant navy.

To our shores throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, unarmed and unresolved to beat them back.

'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral.

And there they drift, expecting but the aid of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

-Ratcliffe, fly to the Duke of Norfolk.

-I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.

-Come hither.

Post to Salisbury.

When thou com'st thither -- Dull, unmindful villain!

Why stay'st thou here and go'st not to the Duke?!

-First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness' pleasure.

What from your Grace shall I deliver to him?

-O.

True, good Ratcliffe.

Bid him levy straight, the greatest strength and power he can make and meet me suddenly at Salisbury.

-I go.

-What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury?

-Why?

What wouldst thou do there before I go?

-Your Highness told me I should post before.

-My mind is changed.

Stanley, what news with you?

-None good, my liege, to please you with the hearing, nor none so bad but may well be reported.

-Oh!

A riddle!

[ Laughs ] Neither good nor bad!

[ Laughs ] What need'st thou run so many miles about when thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way?

Once more, what news?

-Richmond is on the seas.

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

White-livered runagate.

What doth he there?

-I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.

-Well, as you guess?

-He makes for England, here to claim the crown.

-Is the chair empty?

Is the sword unswayed?

Is the King dead?

Is 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, thou canst not 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 them back?

Where be thy tenants and thy followers?

Are they not now on the western shore, safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?

-No, my good lord.

My friends are in the north.

-Oh!

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.

Pleaseth 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, thou will 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.

-In Kent, my liege, the Guilfords are in arms, and every hour more competitors flock to the rebels, and their powers grow strong.

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

Nothing but songs of death!

There, take thou that till thou bring better news!

-The news I have to tell your Majesty is that by sudden flood 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.

Hath any well-advisd friend proclaimed reward to him that bring the traitor in?

-Such proclamation hath been made, my lord.

-'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.

But this good comfort bring I to your Highness.

The enemy's navy is dispersed by tempest.

-March on, march on, since we be up in arms, if not to fight foreign enemies, then to beat down these rebels here at home.

-My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken.

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 to Salisbury!

While we reason here, a royal battle might be won or lost!

Someone take order Buckingham be brought to Salisbury.

The rest march on with me!

-Uh... will not King Richard let me speak with him?

[ Laughs ] This is All Souls' Day, fellow, is it not?

Huh!

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.

[ Laughs ] 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.

Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck.

-"When he shall split thy heart with sorrow, remember Margaret... was a Prophetess."

-[ Speaking non-English ] [ Sobbing ] Come, lead me, Officer, to the block of shame.

Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

[ Chuckling ] -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, in God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends, to reap the harvest of perpetual peace by this one bloody trial of sharp war.

-He hath no friends, but what are friends for fear, which in his dearest need will fly from him!

-All for our vantage.

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

Into my tent.

The dew is raw and cold.

-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 arbitrament of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.

I, as I may -- that which I would I cannot -- with best advantage will deceive the time and aid thee in this doubtful 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.

Adieu, be valiant and speed well.

-Good Dorset, I'll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap, lest leaden slumber burden me down tomorrow when I should mount with wings of victory.

Once more, good night.

O thou, whose captain I account myself, look on my forces with a gracious eye.

Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath that they may crush down with a heavy fall the usurping helmets of our adversaries.

Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still.

-What's o'clock?

-It's suppertime, my lord.

It's nine o'clock.

-I will not sup tonight.

All my armor laid into my tent?

-It is, my liege, and all things are in readiness.

-Bid my guard watch.

Leave me.

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

Leave me, I say.

[ Overlapping voices ] -Despair and die.

-Despair and die.

-Despair and die.

-Despair and die.

-Despair and die.

-Despair and die.

[ Overlapping voices ] -Live and flourish.

-Live and flourish.

-Live and flourish.

-Live and flourish.

-Live and flourish.

-Live and flourish.

-[ Panting ] Give me another horse!

Bind up my wounds!

Have mercy, Jesu!

Soft, I did but dream.

O, coward conscience!

How dost thou afflict me!

The night burns blue.

It is now dead midnight.

Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.

What do I fear?

Myself?

There's none else by!

Richard loves Richard, that is, I am I.

Is there a murderer here?!

No!

Yes.

I am.

Then fly!

What, from myself?

Great reason why.

Lest I revenge.

What, myself upon myself?

Alas, I love myself!

Wherefore?

For any good that I myself have done unto myself?

O, no.

Alas, I rather hate myself for all the hateful deeds committed by myself.

I shall despair.

There is no creature loves me.

And if I die, no soul will pity me.

And wherefore should they, since that I myself find in myself no pity to myself?

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.

[ Panting ] -My lord.

-Zounds, who goes there?!

-Ratcliffe, my lord, 'tis I!

The early village cock hath twice done salutation to the morn.

Your friends are up and buckle on their armor.

-O Ratcliffe, I have dreamed a fearful dream!

What think'st thou?

Will our friends prove all true?

-No doubt, my lord.

-O Ratcliffe.

I fear.

I fear.

-Nay.

Good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.

-By apostle Paul, shadows tonight have struck more terror in the soul of Richard than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond!

'Tis not yet near day.

Come.

Go.

Go with me.

Under our tents I'll play the eavesdropper to see if any mean to shrink from me.

-How far into the morning is it, Dorset?

-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 on our side.

The prayers of holy saints and wrongd souls, like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our faces.

Richard except, those whom we fight against had rather have us win than him who they follow.

For what is he they follow?

Truly, gentlemen, a bloody tyrant and a homicide.

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.

Then, in the name of God and all these rights, advance your standards, draw your willing swords.

Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully.

God, and Saint George, Richmond, and victory!

[ Cheers and applause ] [ Panting ] -Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls!

What can I say more than I have inferred?

If we be conquered... let men conquer us!

And not these bastards, whom our fathers in their own lands have beaten, bobbed, and thumped, and who, in record, left them the heirs of shame.

Shall these enjoy our lands, lie with our wives, ravage our daughters?!

[ Drum beating ] Hark, I hear their drum.

[ Drum beating ] Fight, gentlemen of England.

Fight, bold yeomen.

Draw, archers.

Draw your arrows to the head.

Spur your proud horses hard!

Ride in blood!

March on!

Join bravely!

Let us to it pell mell!

If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell!

[ Indistinct shouting ] [ Drum beating ] -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 throes of death.

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

[ Soldiers shouting ] [ Swords clanging, horses neighing ] [ Grunting ] A horse!

a horse!

My kingdom for a horse!

-Withdraw, my lord.

I'll help you to a horse.

-I have set my life upon a cast.

I will stand the hazard of the die.

Ratcliffe.

Ratcliffe.

Ratcliffe.

[ Shouts ] [ Shouts ] I think there be six Richmonds on the field today!

Five have I slain instead of him!

A horse!

A horse!

My kingdom for a h-- [ Gags ] -God and your arms be praised, victorious friends!

The day is ours.

The bloody dog is dead.

-Lo, here, this long-usurpd royalty from the dead temples of this bloody wretch have I plucked off, to grace thy brows withal.

Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.

-Great God of heaven, say amen to all!

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.

What traitor hears me and says not "Amen"?

England hath long been mad and scarred herself.

The brother blindly shed the brother's blood.

The father rashly slaughtered his own son.

The son, compelled, been butcher to the sire.

All this divided York and Lancaster, divided in their dire division.

O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth, the true succeeders of each royal house, by God's holy ordinance be conjoined together, and may their heirs, God, if Thy will be so, enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace, with smiling plenty and fair prosperous days.

Now civil wounds are stopped.

Peace lives again.

That she may long live here, God say amen!

-Amen!

-Amen!

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