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Your son, George Stanley : look your heart be firm,
Or else his head's assurance is but frail.
Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you.

[Exit Stanley.

Enter a Messenger. Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, As I by friends am well advertised, Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate, Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, With many more confederates, are in arms.

Enter another Messenger. 2 Mess. In Kent, my liege,' the Guildfords are in

arms; And every hour more competitors Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.

Enter another Messenger. 3 Mess. My lord, the army of great BuckinghamK. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of death?

[He strikes him There, take thou that, till thou bring better news.

3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty,
Is,—that, by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd;
And he himself wander'd away alone,
No man knows whither.
K. Rich.

0, I cry you 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? 3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my


Enter another Messenger.

4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord marquis Dorset, 'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. But this good comfort bring I to your highness, The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempest: Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks, If they were his assistants, yea, or no; Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham Upon his party: he, mistrusting them, Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne. K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up in

arms ; If not to fight with foreign enemies, Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.


Cate. 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 news, but yet they must be told. K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury; while we reason

here, A royal battle might be won and lost:

Some one take order, Buckingham be brought
To Salisbury ;---the rest march on with me. (Excunt.


A Room in Lord Stanley's House.


Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from

me :

That, in the sty of this most bloody boar,
My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold;
If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
The fear of that withholds my present aid.
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?

Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in Wales.
Stan. What men of name resort to him?

Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier ;
Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley ;
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt,
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;
And many other of great fame and worth :
And towards London do they bend their course,
If by the way they be not fought withal.

Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; commend me to

him ;

Tell him, the queen hath heartily consented
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
These letters will resolve him of my mind.
Farewel. [Gives papers to Sir Christopher. Exeunt.


Salisbury. An open Place. Enter the Sheriff, and Guard, with BUCKINGHAM,

led to execution. Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with

him ? Sher. No, my good lord; therefore be patient. Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers,

Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
By underhand corrupted foul injustice;
If that your moody discontented souls
Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
Even for revenge mock my destruction ! -
This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not?

Sher. It is, my lord.
Buck. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's

This is the day, which, in king Edward's time,
I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found
False to his children, or his wife's allies :
This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall
By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;
This, this All-Soul's day to my fearful soul,
Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs.

That high All-seer which I dally'd with,
Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head,
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men
To turn their own points on their master's bosoms:
Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck,
When he, quoth she, shull split thy heart with sorrow,
Remember Margaret was a prophetess.
Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame;
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame 26.

[Exeunt Buck. &c.


Plain near Tamworth.

Enter, with drum and colours, RichMOND, OXFORD,

Sir James Blunt, Sir WALTER HERBERT, and
Others, with forces, marching.
Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving

Bruis'd underneath the yoke 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 wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,
That spoild your summer fields, and fruitful vines,
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his


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