K. Rich. Give me another horse,3-bind up my wounds, Have mercy, Jesu!-Soft; I did but dream.— Is there a murderer here? No;-Yes; I am: I am a villain: Yet I lie, I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well:-Fool, do not flatter. Nay, wherefore should they? since that I myself Methought, the souls of all that I had murder'd 3 Give me another horse,] There is in this, as in many of our author's speeches of passion, something very trifling, and something very striking. Richard's debate, whether he should quarrel with himself, is too long continued, but the subsequent exaggeration of his crimes is truly tragical. JOHNSON. Rat. My lord, Enter RATCliff. K. Rich. Who's there? Rat. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn; Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. dream! What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true? Rat. No doubt, my lord. K. Rich. Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,— Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers, Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. It is not yet near day. Come, go with me; Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, To hear, if any mean to shrink from me. [Exeunt King RICHARD and RATCLIFF. RICHMOND wakes. Enter OXFORD and Others. Lords. Good morrow, Richmond. Richm. 'Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentlemen, you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. That Lords. How have you slept, my lord? Richm. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams, That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, Have I since your departure had, my lords. Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd, Came to my tent, and cried-On! victory! In the remembrance of so fair a dream. Richm. Why, then 'tis time to arm, and give direction.- [He advances to the Troops. More than I have said, loving countrymen, The leisure and enforcement of the time Forbids to dwell on: Yet remember this,God, and our good cause, fight upon our side; The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls, Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces; Richard except, those, whom we fight against, Had rather have us win, than him they follow. For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen, A bloody tyrant, and a homicide; One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him; 4 A base foul stone, made precious by the foil Then, in the name of God, and all these rights, * Of England's chair,] England's chair, means England's throne. 5 — quit-] i. e. requite. For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Re-enter King RICHARD, RATCLIFF, Attendants, and Forces. K. Rich. What said Northumberland, as touching Rat. That he was never trained up in arins. then? Rat. He smil'd and said, the better for our purpose. K. Rich. He was i'the right; and so, indeed, it is. [Clock strikes. Tell the clock there.-Give me a calendar.Who saw the sun to-day? Rat. Not I, my lord. K. Rich. Then he disdains to shine; for, by the book, an hour ago: He should have brav'd the easts Rat. My lord? K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day; The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. I would, these dewy tears were from the ground. Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me, 6 the ransom of my bold attempt ] The fine paid by me in atonement for my rashness shall be my dead corse. 7 God, and Saint George!] Saint George was the common cry of the English soldiers when they charged the enemy. 8 brav'd the east-] i. e. made it splendid. More than to Richmond? for the self-same heaven, That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. Enter NORFOLK. Nor. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field. K. Rich. Come, bustle, bustle;-Caparison my horse; Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power: In the main battle; whose puissance on either side thou, Norfolk? What think'st Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. This found I in my tent this morning. [Giving a Scrowl. K. Rich. Jocky of Norfolk, be not too bold, [Reads. For Dickon' thy master is bought and sold. A thing devised by the enemy. Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge: 9 This, and Saint George to boot!] To boot is to help. Dickon thy master, &c.] Dickon is the ancient familiarization of Richard. In the words-bought and sold, there is somewhat proverbial. |