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Glost. Why, our battalions treble that account; Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, Which they, upon the adverse faction, want.

Nor. Their wants are greater yet, my lord—those e'en

Of motion, life, and spirit. Did you but know
How wretchedly their men disgrace the field-
Oh, such a tatter'd host of mounted scarecrows!
So poor, so famish'd! their executors,

The greedy crows, fly, hovering o'er their heads,
Impatient for their lean inheritance.

Glost. Now, by St. Paul, we'll send them dinners and apparel!

Nay, give their fasting horses provender,

And after, fight them.-How long must we stay,
My lords, before these desperate fools, will give
Us time to lay their faces upwards?

Nor. Unless their famine saves our swords that la

bour,

To-morrow's sun will light them to their ruin;
So soon, I hear, they mean to give us battle.
Glost. The sooner, still the better-Come,

lords,

Now let's survey the 'vantage of the ground-
Call me some men of sound direction.

Nor. My gracious lord

Glost. What say'st thou, Norfolk?

Nor. Might I advise your majesty, you yet Shall save the blood that may be shed to-morrow. Glost. How so, my lord?

Nor. The poor condition of the rebels tells me, That, on a pardon offer'd to the lives

Of those, who instantly shall quit their arms,

my

Young Richmond, ere to-morrow's dawn, were friendless.

Glost. Why, that, indeed, was our sixth Harry's

way,

Which made his reign one scene of rude commotion. I'll be, in men's despite, a monarch; no,

Let kings that fear, forgive-Blows and revenge for

me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Wood.

Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, BLUNT, &c,

Rich. The weary sun has made a golden set,
And by yon ruddy brightness of the clouds,
Gives tokens of a goodly day to-morrow.
Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.
Here have I drawn the model of our battle,
Which parts, in just proportion, our small power:
Here may each leader know his several charge,
My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir Walter Herbert,
And you, Sir William Brandon, stay with me:
The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment.

Enter OFFICER.

Offi. Sir, a gentleman, that calls himself Stanley, Desires admittance to the Earl of Richmond.

Rich. Now, by our hopes, my noble father-in-law ! Admit him-my good friends, your leave awhile.

Enter LORD STANLEY.

My honour'd father! on my soul,

The joy of seeing you this night, is more

Than my most knowing hopes presag'd-what news? Stanley. I, by commission, bless thee from thy mother,

Who prays continually for Richmond's good:
The queen too, has, with tears of joy, consented,
Thou shouldst espouse Elizabeth, her daughter,
At whom the tyrant, Richard, closely aims.
In brief (for now, the shortest moment of
My stay, is bought with hazard of my life)
Prepare thy battle early in the morning,
(For so the season of affairs requires)
And this be sure of, I, upon the first
Occasion offer'd, will deceive some eyes,
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms,
In which I had more forward been, ere this,
But, that the life of thy young brother, George,
(Whom, for my pawn of faith, stern Richard keeps)
Would then be forfeit to his wild revenge.
Farewell! the rude enforcement of the time,
Denies me to renew those vows of love,

Which so long-sunder'd friends should dwell upon.
Rich. We may meet again, my lord-

Stanley. Till then, once more, farewell! be resolute, and conquer.

[Exit.

Rich. Give him safe conduct to his regiment.Well, sirs, to-morrow proves a busy day;

But come, the night's far spent-let's in, to coun

cil

Captain, an hour before the sun gets up,
Let me be wak'd; I will, in person, walk

From tent to tent, and early cheer the soldiers.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Bosworth Field.

Enter GLOSTER, RATCLIFF, NORFOLK, and
CATESBY.

Glost. Catesby !

Catesby. Here, my lord.

Glost. Send out a pursuivant at arms
To Stanley's regiment-bid him, 'fore sun-rise,
Meet me with his power, or young George's head
Shall pay the forfeit of his cold delay.
What, is my beaver easier than it was,
And all my armour laid into my tent?
Catesby. It is, my liege, all in readiness.
Glost. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge!
Use careful watch-chuse trusty centinels.
Nor. Doubt not, my lord.

Glost. Be stirring with the lark, good Norfolk!
Nor. I shall, my lord.

[Exit.

Glost. Saddle White Surry for the field, to-mor

row.

Is ink and paper ready?

Catesby. It is, my lord.

Glost. An hour after midnight, come to my tent, And help to arm me.-A good night, my friends.

[Exit.

Catesby. Methinks, the king has not that pleas'd alacrity,

Nor cheer of mind, that he was wont to have.
Ratcliff. The mere effect of business;

You'll find him, sir, another man, i' th' field.

When you shall see him with his beaver up,
Ready to mount his neighing steed, with whom
He smiling seems to have some wanton talk,
Clapping his pamper'd sides to hold him still;
Then, with a motion swift and light as air,
Like fiery Mars, he vaults him to the saddle;
Looks terror to the foe, and courage to his soldiers.
Catesby. Good night to Richmond, then; for, as I
hear,

His numbers are so few, and those so sick,

And famish'd in their march, if he dares fight us-
He jumps into the sea to cool his fever.

But come, 'tis late-Now let us to our tents;
We've few hours good, before the trumpet wakes us.

[graphic]

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

GLOSTER'S Tent, in another Part of the Field.

Enter GLOSTER, from his Tent.

Glost. 'Tis now the dead of night, and half the world

Is in a lonely solemn darkness hung;

Yet I, (so coy a dame is sleep to me)
With all the weary courtship of

My care tir'd thoughts, can't win her to my bed; Though ev'n the stars do wink, as 'twere with overwatching:

I'll forth, and walk a while-the air's refreshing,
And the ripe harvest of the new-mown hay

Gives it a sweet and wholesome odour.

How awful is this gloom!-and, hark! from camp to camp,

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