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Enter another Messenger. 2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in
arms ; And
every hour more competitors9 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,
O, I cry you mercy :
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;
A Room in Lord Stanley's House.
Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from
That, in the sty of this most bloody boar,
2 Chaplain to the countess of Richmond.
The fear of that withholds my present aid.
Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha’rford-west, in Wales.
Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier ;
other of great fame and worth :
Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; commend me to
Tell him, the queen hath heartily consented
SCENE I. Salisbury. An open Place. Enter the Sheriff, and Guard, with BUCKINGHAM,
led to execution. Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with
It is, my
If that your moody discontented souls
my destruction ! This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not ? Sher.
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 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-Souls' day to my fearful soul, Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs. 4 That high All-seer which I dallied with, Hath turned 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 masters' bosoms: Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck,When he, quoth she, shall 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.
[Exeunt BUCKINGHAM, &c.
4 Injurious practices.
Plain near Tamworth.
Enter, with drum and colours, RICHMOND, OXFORD,
Sir JAMES BLUNT, Sir WALTER HERBERT, and
your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine
Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords, To fight against that bloody homicide.
Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends for
Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him.