E'en in the battle's heat remember me, And edgeless fall thy sword!-despair, and die! The GHOSTS of PRINCE EDWARD and the DUKE OF YORK rise. P. E. Richard, dream on, and see the wand'ring Of thy young nephews, murder'd in the Tower. Who, but for thee, alas! might have enjoy'd No soul, save thine, but pities our misusage; K. Hen. The morning's dawn has summon'd me Now, Richard, wake, in all the hells of guilt! [All the GHOSTS sink. Glost. Give me a horse!-bind up my wounds! Have mercy, Heaven!-Ha! soft! 'twas but a dream; But then so terrible, it shakes my soul! Cold drops of sweat hang on my trembling flesh; Enter CATESBY. Catesby. 'Tis I, my lord; the early village cock Has thrice done salutation to the morn. Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. Glost. Oh, Catesby, I have had such horrid dreams! Catesby. Shadows, my lord!-below the soldier's heeding. Glost. Now, by my this day's hopes, shadows, tonight, Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, SCENE VI. A Wood. Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR W. BRANDON, SIR R. BRACKENBURY, BLUNT, SOLDIERS, &c. Rich. Halt! Sold. Halt!-halt! Rich. How far into the morning is it, friends? Sir R. Bruck. Near four, my lord. Rich. 'Tis well I am glad to find we are such early stirrers. Sir IV. Brand. Methinks the foe's less forward than we thought them; Worn as we are, we brave the field before them. Rich. Come, there looks life in such a cheerful haste. If dreams should animate a soul resolv'd, I'm more than pleas'd with those I've had to-night: Sir W.Brand. A good omen, sir.-[Trumpets sound a distant March.] Hark! the trumpet of The enemy! it speaks them on the march. Rich. Why, then, let's on, my friends, to face them. In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man But, when the blast of war blows in our ears, Enter GLOSTER, CATESBY, &c. Glost. Who saw the sun to-day? Catesby. He has not yet broke forth, my lord. Glost. Then he disdains to shine-for, by the clock, He should have brav'd the east an hour ago. More than to Richmond? for the self-same heav'n Enter NORFOLK, with a Paper. Nor. Prepare, my lord; the foe is in the field. Glost. Come, bustle, bustle! caparison my horse; Call forth Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power; Myself will lead the soldiers to the plain. [Exit CATESBY. Well, Norfolk, what think'st thou now? Nor. That we shall conquer-but on my tent, This morning early, was this paper found. Glost. [Reads.] Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold, Come, gentlemen, now each man to his charge, Enter CATESBY. What says Lord Stanley? will he bring his power? Catesby. He does refuse, my lord-he will not stir. Glost. Off with his son George's head! Nor. My lord, the foe's already past the marshAfter the battle, let young Stanley die. Glost. Why, after be it then. A thousand hearts are swelling in my bosom : Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood! And thou, our warlike champion, thrice renown'd, St. George, inspire me with the rage of lions! Upon them!-Charge! follow me! [Exeunt. SOLDIERS driven across the Stage by GLOSTER, &c. Glost. What, ho! young Richmond, ho! 'tis Richard calls! I hate thee, Harry, for thy blood of Lancaster! Now, if thou dost not hide thee from my sword, Now, while the angry trumpet sounds alarms, And dying groans transpierce the wounded air, Richmond, I say, come forth, and singly face me! Richard is hoarse, with daring thee to arms! [Exit. Enter CATESBY and NORFOLK, in disorder. Catesby. Rescue! rescue! My Lord of Norfolk, haste! The king enacts more wonders than a man, His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, Enter GLOSTER and RATCLIFF. Glost. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! Ratcliff. This way, this way, my lord!-below yon thicket Stands a swift horse-away! ruin pursues us; Enter RICHMOND. Of one or both of us, the time is come! Rich. Kind Heaven, I thank thee, for my cause is thine! If Richard's fit to live, let Richmond fall. Glost. Thy gallant bearing, Harry, I could 'plaud, But that the spotted rebel stains the soldier. Rich. Nor should thy prowess, Richard, want my praise, But that thy cruel deeds have stamp'd thee tyrant. So thrive my sword, as Heav'n's high vengeance draws it! |