Stan. None good, my Liege, to please you with the hearing,

Nor none fo bad, but well may be reported.

K. Rich. Heyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad: Why doft thou run fo many miles about,

When thou may'ft tell thy tale the nearest way! ? Once more, what news?

Stan. Richmond is on the feas.

K. Rich. There let him fink, and be the feas on him! White-liver'd run-a-gate, what doth he there?

Stan. I know not, mighty Sov'reign, but by guess.
K. Rich. Well, as you guess.

Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorfet, Buckingham, and Morton, He makes for England, here to claim the crown.

K. Rich. Is the chair empty? is the fword unfway'd?
Is the King dead? the empire unpoffefs'd?
What heir of York is there alive, but we?
And who is England's King, but great York's heir?
Then tell me, what makes him upon the fea?

Stan. Unless for that, my Liege, I cannot guefs.
K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your Liege,
You cannot guefs wherefore the Welfb-man comes.
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.

Stan. No, mighty Liege, therefore miftrust me not. K. Rich. Where is thy power then to beat him back? Where are thy tenants, and thy followers?

Are they not now upon the western fhore?
Conducting fafe the rebels from their fhips?

Stan. No, my good Lord, my friends are in the north:
K. Rich. Cold friends to me: what do they in the north,
When they should ferve their Sov'reign in the west?
Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty King;
-Pleafe it your Majefty to give me leave,

I'll mufter up my friends, and meet your Grace,
Where, and what time your Majesty shall please.

K. Rich. Ay, thou would'ft fain be gone, to join with
Richmond:

But I'll not trust thee.

Stan.

Stan. Mighty Sovereign,

You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful;

I never was, nor ever will be falfe.

K. Rich. Go then, and mufter men; but leave behind Your fon George Stanley: look your heart be firm, Or else his head's affurance is but frail.

Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you!

Enter a Messenger.

[Exit Stanley.

Mef. My gracious Sov'reign, now in Devonshire,
As I by friends am well advertised,

Sir Edmund Courtney, and the haughty Prelate,
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,

With many more confed'rates, are in arms.

Enter another Messenger:

Mef. In Kent, my Liege, the Guilfords are in arms, And every hour still more complices

8

Flock to the rebels, and their power grows ftrong.

Enter another Meffenger.

Mef. My Lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham K. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but fongs of death? [He ftrikes him. There take thou that, 'till thou bring better news. Mef. The news I have to tell your Majesty, Is, that by fudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham's army is difpers'd and scatter'd, And he himself wander'd away alone, No man knows whither.

K. Rich. Oh! I cry thee mercy;

There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine.
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd

Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

Mef. Such proclamation hath been made, my Liege.

8 competitors

Enter

Enter another Messenger.

Mef. Sir Thomas Lovel, and Lord Marquifs Dorset,
'Tis faid, my Liege, in Yorkshire are in arms;
But this good comfort bring I to your Highness,
The Bretagne navy is difpers'd, by tempelt,
Richmond in Dorfetfhire fent out a boat
Unto the fhore, to ask those on the banks,
If they were his affiftants, yea, or no?
Who anfwer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his party; he mistrusting them,

Hois'd fail, and made his courfe again for Bretagne.

K. Rich. March on, march on, fince we are up in arms; If not to fight with foreign enemies,

Yet to beat down thefe rebels here at home.

Enter Catesby.

Catef. My Liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken, That is the best news; that the Earl of Richmond

Is with a mighty pow'r landed at Milford,

Is colder news, but yet it must be told.

K. Rich. Away tow'rds Salisbury; while we reafon here, A royal battel might be won and loft:

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE

VII.

Lord Stanley's Houfe.

Enter Lord Stanley, and Sir Chriftopher Urfwick.

Stan.

SIR
IR Chriftopher, tell Richmond this from me;
That in the Sty of this moft bloody boar,
My fon George Stanley is frankt in hold:
If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
The fear of that holds off my present aid.

up

So

So get
thee
gone; commend me to thy Lord.
Say too, the Queen hath heartily confented
He fhould efpoufe Elizabeth her daughter.
But tell me, where is Princely Richmond now?
Chri. At Pembroke, or at 9'Hav'rford-Weft in Wales.
Stan. What men of name refort to him?
Chri. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned foldier,
Sir Gilbert Talbot, and Sir William Stanley,
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew,
And many other of great name and worth:
And towards London do they bend their power,
If by the way they be not fought withal.

Stan. Well, hie thee to thy Lord: I kifs his hand,
My letter will refolve him of my mind.
Farewel!

[Exeunt.

A CT V. SCENE I

SALISBURY.

Enter the Sheriff, and Buckingham with balberts led to Execution.

BUCKINGHAM.

ILL not King Richard let me fpeak with him?
Sher. No, good my Lord, therefore be patient.
Buck. Haftings, and Edward's children, Gray and
Rivers,

Holy King Henry, and thy fair fon Edward,
Vaughan, and all that have mifcarried
By underhand, corrupted, foul injuftice!
If that your moody, difcontented fouls,
Do through the clouds behold this present hour,

9 Hertford-weft

Ev'n

Ev'n for revenge mock my deftruction!
This is All-Souls day, fellows, is it not?
Sher. It is, my Lord.

Buck. Why then All-Souls day is my body's Doomsday. This is the day, which in King Edward's time

I wifht might fall on me, when I was found
Falfe to his children, or his wife's allies.
This is the day wherein I wifht to fall

By the false faith of him whom most I trusted:
This the determin'd refpite a of my wrongs.
That high All-feer, which I dallied with,
Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head,
And giv'n in earneft, what I begg'd in jest.
Thus doth he force the fwords of wicked men
To turn their own points on their masters' bofoms.
Thus Margret's curfe falls heavy on my head:
When he, quoth fhe, fhall split thy heart with forrow,
Remember Marg'ret was a prophetefs.

Come, Sirs, convey me to the block of fhame;
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
[Exeunt Buckingham with Officers.

SCEN NE II.

The Camp, near Tamworth.

Enter Richmond, Oxford, Blunt, Herbert, and others, with Drum and Colours.

Richm. Ellows in arms, and my moft loving friends

"FE Bruis'd underneath the yoak of tyranny,

Thus far into the bowels of the land

Have we march'd on without impediment;
And here receive we from our father Stanley
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.

The

(a) That is, the time to which the punishment for his wrongs was refpited.