Shakespeare's First Folio Part 435

Grey. Thinke vpon Grey, and let thy soule dispaire

Vaugh. Thinke vpon Vaughan, and with guilty feare Let fall thy Lance, dispaire and dye.

All to Richm[ond].

Awake, And thinke our wrongs in Richards Bosome, Will conquer him. Awake, and win the day.

Enter the Ghost of Lord Hastings.

Gho. b.l.o.o.d.y and guilty: guiltily awake, And in a b.l.o.o.d.y Battell end thy dayes.

Thinke on Lord Hastings: dispaire, and dye.

Hast. to Rich[ard].

Quiet vntroubled soule, Awake, awake: Arme, fight, and conquer, for faire Englands sake.

Enter the Ghosts of the two yong Princes.

Ghosts. Dreame on thy Cousins Smothered in the Tower: Let vs be laid within thy bosome Richard, And weigh thee downe to ruine, shame, and death, Thy Nephewes soule bids thee dispaire and dye.

Ghosts to Richm[ond].

Sleepe Richmond, Sleepe in Peace, and wake in Ioy, Good Angels guard thee from the Boares annoy, Liue, and beget a happy race of Kings, Edwards vnhappy Sonnes, do bid thee flourish.

Enter the Ghost of Anne, his Wife.

Ghost to Rich[ard].

Richard, thy Wife, That wretched Anne thy Wife, That neuer slept a quiet houre with thee, Now filles thy sleepe with perturbations, To morrow in the Battaile, thinke on me, And fall thy edgelesse Sword, dispaire and dye:

Ghost to Richm[ond].

Thou quiet soule, Sleepe thou a quiet sleepe: Dreame of Successe, and Happy Victory, Thy Aduersaries Wife doth pray for thee.

Enter the Ghost of Buckingham.

Ghost to Rich[ard].

The first was I That help'd thee to the Crowne: That last was I that felt thy Tyranny.

O, in the Battaile think on Buckingham, And dye in terror of thy guiltinesse.

Dreame on, dreame on, of b.l.o.o.d.y deeds and death, Fainting dispaire; dispairing yeeld thy breath.

Ghost to Richm[ond].

I dyed for hope Ere I could lend thee Ayde; But cheere thy heart, and be thou not dismayde: G.o.d, and good Angels fight on Richmonds side, And Richard fall in height of all his pride.

Richard starts out of his dreame.

Rich. Giue me another Horse, bind vp my Wounds: Haue mercy Iesu. Soft, I did but dreame.

O coward Conscience? how dost thou afflict me?

The Lights burne blew. It is not dead midnight.

Cold fearefull drops stand on my trembling flesh.

What? do I feare my Selfe? There's none else by, Richard loues Richard, that is, I am I.

Is there a Murtherer heere? No; Yes, I am: Then flye; What from my Selfe? Great reason: why?

Lest I Reuenge. What? my Selfe vpon my Selfe?

Alacke, I loue my Selfe. Wherefore? For any good That I my Selfe, haue done vnto my Selfe?

O no. Alas, I rather hate my Selfe, For hatefull Deeds committed by my Selfe.

I am a Villaine: yet I Lye, I am not.

Foole, of thy Selfe speake well: Foole, do not flatter.

My Conscience hath a thousand seuerall Tongues, And euery Tongue brings in a seuerall Tale, And euerie Tale condemnes me for a Villaine; Periurie, in the high'st Degree, Murther, sterne murther, in the dyr'st degree, All seuerall sinnes, all vs'd in each degree, Throng all to'th' Barre, crying all, Guilty, Guilty.

I shall dispaire, there is no Creature loues me; And if I die, no soule shall pittie me.

Nay, wherefore should they? Since that I my Selfe, Finde in my Selfe, no pittie to my Selfe.

Me thought, the Soules of all that I had murther'd Came to my Tent, and euery one did threat To morrowes vengeance on the head of Richard.

Enter Ratcliffe.

Rat. My Lord

King. Who's there?

Rat. Ratcliffe, my Lord, 'tis I: the early Village c.o.c.k Hath twice done salutation to the Morne, Your Friends are vp, and buckle on their Armour

King. O Ratcliffe, I feare, I feare

Rat. Nay good my Lord, be not affraid of Shadows

King. By the Apostle Paul, shadowes to night Haue stroke more terror to the soule of Richard, Then can the substance of ten thousand Souldiers Armed in proofe, and led by shallow Richmond.

'Tis not yet neere day. Come go with me, Vnder our Tents Ile play the Ease-dropper, To heare if any meane to shrinke from me.

Exeunt. Richard & Ratliffe,

Enter the Lords to Richmond sitting in his Tent.

Richm. Good morrow Richmond

Rich. Cry mercy Lords, and watchfull Gentlemen, That you haue tane a tardie sluggard heere?

Lords. How haue you slept my Lord?

Rich. The sweetest sleepe, And fairest boading Dreames, That euer entred in a drowsie head, Haue I since your departure had my Lords.

Me thought their Soules, whose bodies Rich[ard]. murther'd, Came to my Tent, and cried on Victory: I promise you my Heart is very iocond, In the remembrance of so faire a dreame, How farre into the Morning is it Lords?

Lor. Vpon the stroke of foure

Rich. Why then 'tis time to Arme, and giue direction.

His Oration to his Souldiers.

More then I haue said, louing Countrymen, The leysure and inforcement of the time Forbids to dwell vpon: yet remember this, G.o.d, and our good cause, fight vpon our side, The Prayers of holy Saints and wronged soules, Like high rear'd Bulwarkes, stand before our Faces, (Richard except) those whom we fight against, Had rather haue vs win, then him they follow.

For, what is he they follow? Truly Gentlemen, A bloudy Tyrant, and a Homicide: One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd; One that made meanes to come by what he hath, And slaughter'd those that were the meanes to help him: A base foule Stone, made precious by the soyle Of Englands Chaire, where he is falsely set: One that hath euer beene G.o.ds Enemy.

Then if you fight against G.o.ds Enemy, G.o.d will in iustice ward you as his Soldiers.

If you do sweare to put a Tyrant downe, You sleepe in peace, the Tyrant being slaine: If you do fight against your Countries Foes, Your Countries Fat shall pay your paines the hyre.

If you do fight in safegard of your wiues, Your wiues shall welcome home the Conquerors.

If you do free your Children from the Sword, Your Childrens Children quits it in your Age.

Then in the name of G.o.d and all these rights, Aduance your Standards, draw your willing Swords.

For me, the ransome of my bold attempt, Shall be this cold Corpes on the earth's cold face.