Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,

Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: So sighs and tears and groans
Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.
This music mads me; let it sound no more;
For though it have holp madmen to their wits,
In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

Enter Keeper, with a dish.

Keep. My lord, will 't please you to fall to?

K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.

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Keep. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton, who lately

came from the king, commands the contrary.

K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

Keep. Help, help, help!

K. Rich.

[Beats the keeper.

Enter EXTON and Servants, armed.

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How now! what means death in this rude assault ?

Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

[Snatching an axe from a Servant and killing him.

Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

[He kills another. Then Exton strikes him down.
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire
That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land.
Exton. As full of valour as of royal blood.

Both have I spill'd. O would the deed were good!
For now the devil, that told me I did well,
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead king to the living king I'll bear :-

[Dies.

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Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.

[Exeunt.

brothers
to

the King.

of Gloucester,
afterwards King
Richard III.,
HENRY, Earl of Richmond,
afterwards King Henry VII.
CARDINAL BOURCHIER, Arch-
bishop of Canterbury.
THOMAS ROTHERHAM, Arch-
bishop of York.

JOHN MORTON, Bishop of Ely.
DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
DUKE OF Norfolk.

EARL OF SURREY, his son.
EARL RIVERS, brother to
Elizabeth.

MARQUIS OF DORSET and
LORD GREY, sons to Eliza-

LORD HASTINGS.

LORD STANLEY.
LORD LOVEL.

SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF.
SIR WILLIAM CATESBY.

SIR JAMES TYRREL.

SIR JAMES BLOUNT.
SIR WALTER HERBERT.
SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY,
Lieutenant of the Tower.
Lord Mayor of London.

ELIZABETH, queen to King
Edward IV.

MARGARET, widow of King
Henry VÍ.

DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to
King Edward IV.
LADY ANNE, widow of Ed-
ward, Prince of Wales, son
to King Henry VI.; after-
wards married to Richard.

SCENE: England.

beth.

ACT I.

London. A street.

Enter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus.

Glou. Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;

Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings;

Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbéd steeds,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber.
But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am cúrtail'd of this fair proportion,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable,
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity :
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
Plots have I laid, by prophecies and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate, the one against the other.

Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes.

Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY.
Brother, good day: what means this arméd guard
That waits upon your grace?

Clar.

His majesty,

Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.
Glou. Upon what cause?
Clar.

Because my name is George.
Glou. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;

He should, for that, commit your godfathers.

But what's the matter, Clarence? May I know?
Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest

As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,

He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says a wizard told him that by G

His issue disinherited should be;

And, for my name of George begins with G,

It follows in his thought that I am he.

Glou. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by women:

"Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower;

My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she

That tempers him to this extremity.

We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me;

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His majesty hath straitly given in charge
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with his brother.

Glou. Even so; an 't please your worship, Brakenbury,
You may partake of any thing we say:

We speak no treason, man: we say the king
Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
And that the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks:
How say you, sir? Can you deny all this ?

Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

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I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal

Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.
Glou. We are the queen's abjécts, and must obey.
Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;

I will deliver you, or else lie for you:

Meantime, have patience.

Clar.

I must perforce. Farewell.

[Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard.

Glou. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return, Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so,

That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,

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If heaven will take the present at our hands.

But yet I run before my horse to market :

Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns:

[Exit.

When they are gone, then must I count my gains

Another street.

Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner.

Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load.

Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!

Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!

Curs'd be the hands that made these fatal holes!

Curs'd be the heart that had the heart to do it!

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If ever he have wife, let her be made

As miserable by the death of him,

As I am made by my poor lord and thee!

Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load

Enter GLOUCESTER.

Glou. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.
Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend ?

Glou. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

Glou. Unmanner'd dog! stand thòu, when I command: Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,

Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot.

Anne. What, do you tremble? Are you all afraid ? vaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!

Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,

His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone.

Glou. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

Anne. Foul dèvil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not.

If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,

Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

Glou. But I know none, and therefore am no beast

Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,

Of these supposéd evils, to give me leave,

By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make

No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glou. By such despair, I should accuse myself.

Anne. And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excus'd. Didst thou not kill this king?

Glou.

I grant ye.

Anne. O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!

Glou. The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him. Anne. He is in heaven, where thòu shalt never come. Glou. Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth.

Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell.

Glou.

Is not the causer of these timeless deaths

As blameful as the executioner ?

Anne. Thou art the cause, and most accurs'd effect.
Glou. Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep
To undertake the death of all the world,

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So I might live òne hòur in your sweet bosom.

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,

These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.
Out of my sight! Thou dost infect my eyes.

Glou. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.
Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!
Glou. I would they were, that I might die at once.

I never sued to friend nor enemy;

My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing words;
But, now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,

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