KING RICHARD III. William Shakespeare

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 in 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 lead me, officers, to the block of shame;

       Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.

       [Exeunt.]

      SCENE II. Plain near Tamworth

       [Enter with drum and colours, RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and others, with Forces, marching.]

       RICHMOND

       Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,

       Bruis’d underneath the yoke 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 usurping boar

       That spoil’d your summer fields and fruitful vines,

       Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough

       In your embowell’d bosoms,—this foul swine

       Lies now even in the centre of this isle,

       Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn:

       From Tamworth thither is but one day’s march.

       In God’s name cheerly on, courageous friends,

       To reap the harvest of perpetual peace

       By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

       OXFORD

       Every man’s conscience is a thousand swords,

       To fight against that bloody homicide.

       HERBERT

       I doubt not but his friends will turn to us.

       BLUNT

       He hath no friends but what are friends for fear,

       Which in his dearest need will fly from him.

       RICHMOND

       All for our vantage. Then in God’s name, march:

       True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings;

       Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.

       [Exeunt.]

      SCENE III. Bosworth Field

       [Enter KING RICHARD and Forces; the DUKE OF NORFOLK, the EARL of SURREY, and others.]

       KING RICHARD

       Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.—

       My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?

       SURREY

       My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.

       KING RICHARD

       My Lord of Norfolk,—

       NORFOLK

       Here, most gracious liege.

       KING RICHARD

       Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we not?

       NORFOLK

       We must both give and take, my loving lord.

       KING RICHARD

       Up With my tent! Here will I lie tonight;

       [Soldiers begin to set up the King’s tent.]

       But where tomorrow? Well, all’s one for that.—

       Who hath descried the number of the traitors?

       NORFOLK

       Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.

       KING RICHARD

       Why, our battalia trebles that account:

       Besides, the king’s name is a tower of strength,

       Which they upon the adverse faction want.—

       Up with the tent!—Come, noble gentlemen,

       Let us survey the vantage of the ground;—

       Call for some men of sound direction:—

       Let’s lack no discipline, make no delay;

       For, lords, tomorrow is a busy day.

       [Exeunt.]

       [Enter, on the other side of the field, RICHMOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, and other Lords. Some of the Soldiers pitch RICHMOND’S tent.]

       RICHMOND

       The weary sun hath made a golden set,

       And by the bright tract of his fiery car

       Gives token of a goodly day tomorrow.

       Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.—

       Give me some ink and paper in my tent:

       I’ll draw the form and model of our battle,

       Limit each leader to his several charge,

       And part in just proportion our small power.—

       My Lord of Oxford,—you, Sir William Brandon,—

       And you, Sir Walter Herbert,—stay with me.—

       The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment:—

       Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him,

       And by the second hour in the morning

       Desire the earl to see me in my tent:

       Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me,—

       Where is Lord Stanley quarter’d, do you know?

       BLUNT

       Unless I have mista’en his colours much,—

       Which well I am assur’d I have not done,—

       His regiment lies half a mile at least

       South from the mighty power of the king.

       RICHMOND

       If without peril it be possible,

       Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him

       And give him from me this most needful note.

       BLUNT

       Upon my life, my lord, I’ll undertake it;

       And so, God give you quiet rest tonight!

       RICHMOND

       Good night, good Captain Blunt.—Come, gentlemen,

       Let us consult upon tomorrow’s business:

       In to my tent; the air is raw and cold.

       [They withdraw into the tent.]

       [Enter, to his tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK, RATCLIFF, and CATESBY.]

       KING RICHARD

       What is’t o’clock?

       CATESBY

       It’s suppertime, my lord;

       It’s six o’clock.

       KING RICHARD

       I will not sup tonight.—

       Give me some ink and paper.—

       What, is my beaver easier than it was?