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Well, my lord, what news have you gather'd?
Stanley. Richmond is on the seas, my lord.
Glost. There let him sink, and be the seas on him,
White-liver'd renegade !—what does he there?

Stanley. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by


Glost. Well, as you guess?

Stanley. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and

He makes for England here, to claim the crown.
Glost. Traitor! the crown?

Where is thy power then, to beat him back?
Where be thy tenants, and thy followers?

The foe upon the coast, and thou no friends to meet


Or, hast thou march'd them to the western shore,
To give the rebels conduct from their ships?
Stanley. My lord, my friends are ready all i' th'

Glost. The North! why, what do they i' th' North, When they should serve their sovereign in the West? Stanley. They, yet, have had no orders, sir, to


If 'tis your royal pleasure they should march,
I'll lead them on, with utmost haste to join you,
Where, and what time, your majesty shall please.

Glost. What wouldst begone to join with Rich-

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Stanley. Sir, you have no cause to doubt my loyalty;

I ne'er yet was, nor ever will be, false.

Glost. Away then to thy friends, and lead them on To meet me-hold-come back I will not trust


I've thought a way to make thee sure your son,
George Stanley, sir, I'll have him left behind;

And look, your heart be firm,

Or else, his head's assurance is but frail. Stanley. As I prove true, my lord, so deal with [Exit.



Ratcliff. My lord, the army of great Buckingham, By sudden floods, and fall of waters, Is half lost, and scatter'd :

And he himself wander'd away, alone,
No man knows whither.

Glost. Has any careful officer proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the traitor in?

Ratcliff. Such proclamation has been made, my lord.


Catesby. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken.

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Glost. Off with his head!- -so much for Bucking


Catesby. My lord, I am sorry I must tell more


Glost. Out with it!

Catesby. The Earl of Richmond, with a mighty power,

Is landed, sir, at Milford;

And, to confirm the news, Lord Marquis Dorset,
And Sir Thomas Lovewel, are up in Yorkshire.

Glost. Why, ay, this looks rebellion-Ho! my horse!

By Heav'n, the news alarms my stirring soul!
Come forth, my honest sword, which, here, I vow,
By my soul's hope, shall ne'er again be sheath'd!-
Ne'er shall these watching eyes have needful rest,
Till death has clos'd 'em in a glorious grave,
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.




The Country.


Rich. Thus far, into the bowels of the land,
Have we march'd on, without impediment.
Gloster, the bloody, and devouring boar,
Whose ravenous appetite has spoil'd your fields,
Laid this rich country waste, and rudely cropp'd
Its ripen'd hope of fair posterity,
Is now even in the centre of the isle,

As we're inform'd, near to the town of Leicester:
From Tamworth, thither, is but one day's march;
And here, receive we, from our father, Stanley,
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement,
Such, as will help to animate our cause;
On which, let's cheerly on, couragious friends,
To reap the harvest of a lasting peace,
Or fame, more lasting, from a well-fought war.

Sir W. Brand. Your words have fire, my lord, and

warm our men,

Who look'd, methought, but cold, before-disheart


With the unequal numbers of the foe.

Rich. Why, double them, still our cause would conquer them.

Thrice is he arm'd, that has his quarrel just ;

And he, but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted:
The very weight of Gloster's guilt shall crush him.
Sir R. Brack. His best friends, no doubt, will soon
be ours.

Sir W. Brand. He has no friends, but what are such, through fear.

Rich. And we, no foes, but what are such to Heav'n.

Then, doubt not, Heav'n's for us-let's on, my friends; True hope ne'er tires, but mounts, with eagles' wings; Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.



Bosworth Field.


Glost. Here pitch our tent, even in Bosworth Field:

My good Lord of Norfolk, the cheerful speed
Of your supply, hast merited my thanks.

Nor. I am rewarded, sir, in having power
To serve your majesty.

Glost. You have our thanks, my lord: up

Here I will lie, to-night-but where to-morrow?
Well, no matter where-has any careful friend
Discover'd yet, the number of the rebels?

with my

Nor. My lord, as I from spies am well inform'd, Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.

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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 fieldOh, 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, my

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, Young Richmond, ere to-morrow's dawn, were friend

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


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