But I'll not truft thee.

Stan. Mighty Sovereign,

You have no caufe to hold my friendship doubtful;
I never was, nor never will be, falfe.

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

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

Enter a Meffenger.

[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 Meffenger.

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

Flock to the Rebels, and their Power grows ftrong.

Enter another Messenger.

Mef. My Lord, the army of the Duke of BuckinghamK. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but fongs of death ? [He frikes 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 purfe, 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.

Enter another Messenger.

Mef. Sir Thomas Lovel, and Lord marquifs Dorfet, Tis faid, my Liege, in Yorkshire are in arms;

But

But this good comfort bring I to your Highness,
The Bretagne Navy is difpers'd, by tempeft.
Richmond in Dorfetfbire fent out a boat
Unto the fhore, to ask those on the banks,
If they were his affiftants, yea, or no;
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his Party; he, miftrufting 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 these 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 reason here,

A royal battle might be won and loft:

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Lord Stanley's House. Enter Lord Stanley, and Sir Chriftopher Urfwiek. Stan.

IR Chriftopher, tell Richmond this from me; (13) That in the fty of this moft bloody Boar, My fon George Stanley is frankt up in hold :

(13) Sir Chriftopher, tell Richmond this from me ;] The Perfon, who is call'd Sir Chriftopher here, and who has been ftyl'd fo in the Dramatis Perfona of all the Impreffions, I find by the Chronicles to have been Chriftopher Urfwick, a Batchelor in Divinity; and Chaplain to the Countess of Richmond, who had intermarried with the Lord Stanley, This Prieft, the History tells us, frequently went backwards and forwards, un suspected, on Meffages betwixt the Countess of Richmond, and her Husband, and the young Earl of Richmond, whilst he was preparing to make his Descent on Englandı”

If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
The fear of That holds off my present aid.
So, get thee gone; commend me to thy Lord.
Say too, the Queen hath heartily confented
He should efpouse Elizabeth her daughter.
But tell me, where is princely Richmond now ?
Chri. At Pembroke, or at Hertford-west 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 others 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 resolve him of my mind.
Farewel.

[Exeunt

A CT V.

SCENE, Salisbury,

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

WIL

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 miscarried
By under-hand, corrupted, foul injuftice;
If that your moody, difcontented, fouls
Do through the clouds behold this prefent hour,
Ev'n 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 Doomsday. This is the day, which in King Edward's time

I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found
Falfe to his children, or his wife's allies.
This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall
By the falfe faith of him whom most I trusted:
This, this All-Souls day to my fearful Soul,
Is the determin'd refpite of my wrongs.
That high All-feer, which I dallied with,
Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head,
And giv'n in earnest, what I begg'd in jeft.
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, Margret was a Prophetefs.

Come, Sirs, convey me to the block of shame;
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
[Exeunt Buckingham, Sheriff and Officers.
SCENE, on the Borders of Leicester-Shire.
A Camp.

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

Richm.

F

Ellows in arms, and my most loving friends,
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 wretched, bloody, and ufurping Boar
(That spoil'd your fummer-fields, and fruitful vines,)
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough

In

your embowell'd bofoms; this foul swine

Lyes now ev'n in the centre of this Ifle,

Near to the town of Leicefter, as we learn:

From Tamworth thither is but one day's March.

In God's name, cheerly on, couragious friends,
To reap the harveft of perpetual peace,
By this one bloody trial of fharp war.

Oxf. Ev'ry man's confcience is a thousand swords,
To fight against that bloody homicide.

Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will fly to us.

Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends for

fear,

Which in his dearest Need will fly from him.

Rich. All for our vantage; then, in God's name,

march;

True hope is fwift, and flies with Swallow's wings;
Kings it makes Gods, and meaner creatures Kings.

[Exeunt. SCENE changes to Bofworth Field.

Enter King Richard in arms, with Norfolk, Surrey, Ratcliff, Catesby, and others.

K. Rich.HERE pitch our Tents, even here in Bof

field.

My lord of Surrey, why look you so fad ?

Surr. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.
K. Rich. My lord of Norfolk,

Nor. Here, moft gracious Liege.

K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks: ha, must

we not?

Nor. We must both give and take, my gracious lord;
K. Rich. Up with my tent, here will I lye to night;
But where to morrow?-well, all's one for that.
Who hath defcry'd the number of the traitors ?

Nor. Six, or fev'n, thousand is their utmoft Power.
K. Rich. Why, our Battalion trebles that account :
Befides, the King's name is a tower of ftrength,
Which they upon the adverse faction want.
Up with the tent: come, noble gentlemen,
Let us furvey the vantage of the ground.
Call for fome men of found direction:
Let's want no difcipline, make no delay;
For, lords, to morrow is a busie day.

[Exeunt. SCENE