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For me,

Rich, Come, there looks life in such a cheerful

haste, If dreams should animate a soul resolvid, I'm more than pleas'd with those I've had to-night: Methought that all the ghosts of them, whose bodies Richard murder'd, came mourning to my tent, And rous'd me to revenge them. Sir W. Brand. A good omen, sir.—-[Trumpets sound

a distant March.] Hark! the trumpet of The enemy! it speaks them on the march. Rich. Why, ihen, let's on, my friends, to face

In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,
As mild behaviour and humility:
But, when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Let us be tigers in our fierce deportment:

the ransom of my bold attempt
Shall be this body on the earth's cold face;
But, if we thrive, the glory of the action
The meanest here shall share his part of.
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords ;
Sound drums, and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully.
The word's St. George, Richmond, and victory.

Glost. Who saw the sun to-day?
Catesby. He has not yet broke forth, my lord.
Glost. Then he disdains. to shine-for, by the

He should have brav'd the east an hour ago.
Not shine to-day! why, what is that to me,
More than to Richmond? for the self-same heav'n
That frowns on me, looks low'ring upon him.

Enter NORFOLK, with a Paper.
Nor. Prepare, my lord; the foe is in the field.

Glost. Come, bustle, bustle ! caparison my horse ; Call forth Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power; Myself will lead the soldiers to the plain.

[Erit CATESBY. Well, Norfolk, what think'st thou now?

Nor. That we shall conquer-but on my tent,
This morning early, was this paper found.

Glost. (Reads.] Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold,
For Dickon, thy master, is bought and sold.
A weak invention of the enemy!
Come, gentlemen, now each man to his charge,
And, ére we do bestride our foaming steeds,
Remember whom you are to cope withal ;
A scum of Britons, rascals, runaways !
Whom their o'ercloy'd country vomits forth
To desperate adventures and destruction.

Enter CatesBY.
What says Lord Stanley i will he bring his power ?

Catesby. He does refuse, my lord-- he will not stir.
Glost. Off with his son George's head!

Nor. My lord, the foe's already past the marsh-
After the battle, let young Stanley die.

Glost. Why, after be it then.
A thousand hearts are swelling in my bosom:
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood!
And thou, our warlike champion, thrice renown'd,
St. George, inspire me with the rage of lions!
Upon them !--Charge! follow me! [Exeunt.
SOLDIERS driven across the Stage, by Gloster, fc.
Glost. What, ho! young Richmond, ho! 'tis

Richard calls !
I hate thee, Harry, for thy blood of Lancaster!
Now, if thou dost not hide thee from my sword,
Now, while the angry trumpet sounds alarms,
And dying groans transpierce the wounded air,

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Richmond, I say, come forth, and singly face me!
Richard is hoarse, with daring thee to arms ! [E.xit.

Enter CATESBY and Norrolk, in disorder.
Catesby. Rescue! rescue! My Lord of Norfolk,

haste !
The king enacts more wonders than a man,
Daring and opposite to every danger:
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
Seeking for Richmond, in the throat of death;
Nay, haste, my lord !--the day's against us. [Exeunt.

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Glost. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse !
Ratcliff. This way, this way, my lord !-below yon

Stands a swift horse-away! ruin pursues us ;
Withdraw, my lord, for only fight can save you,

Glost. Slave! I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die.
I think there be six Richmonds in the field !
Five have I slain to-day, instead of him.
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

Of one or both of us, the time is come!
Rich. Kind Heaven, I thank thee, for my cause is

If Richard's fit to live, let Richmond fall.

Glost. Thy gallant bearing, Harry, I could 'plaud,
But that the spotted rebel stains the soldier.
Rich. Nor should thy prowess, Richard, want my

But that thy cruel deeds have stamp'd thee tyrant.
So thrive my sword, as Heav'n's high vengeance draws

Glost. My soul and body on the action, both !
Rich. A dreadful lay! here's to decide it.

[They fight--RICHARD falls. Glost. Perdition catch thy arm !-the chance is

thine! But, oh! the vast renown thou hast acquir’d, In cong’ring Richard, dost afflict him more Than even his body's parting with its soul. Now, let the world no longer be a stage, To feed contention in a lingering act; But let one spirit of the first-born Cain, Reign in all bosoms; that each heart being set On bloody actions, the rude scene may end, And darkness be the burier of the dead. [Dies. Enter OXFORD, LORD STANLEY, and SOLDIERS,

with King RICHARD's Crown. Rich. Oh, welcome, friends! my noble father,

welcome! Heav'n and our arms be prais'd, the day is ours ! See there, my lords, stern Richard is no more ! Stanley. Victorious Richmond, well thou hast ac

quitted thee! And see, the just reward that Heav'n has sent thee: Among the glorious spoils of Bosworth field, We've found the crown, which now in right is thine: 'Tis doubly thine, by conquest, and by choice. Long live Henry the Seventh, King of England!

[Trumpets. Rich. Next to just Heav'n, my noble countrymen, I owe my thanks to you, whose love I'm proud of; And ruliny well shall speak my gratitude. But now, my lords, what friends of us are missing? Pray, tell me, is young George Stanley living? Stanley. He is, my liege, and safe in Leicester

town, Whither, if you please, we may withdraw us.

Offi. My lord, the queen, and fair Elizabeth,
Her beauteous daughter, some few miles off,
Are on their way, to’gratulate your victory.

Rich. Ay, there indeed my toil's rewarded !
Let us prepare to meet them, lords—and then,
As we're already bound by solemn' vows,
We'll twine the roses red and white together,
And both from one kind stalk shall flourish:
England has long been mad, and scar'd herself;
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood ;
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son ;
The bloody son, compelld has kill'd his sire.
Oh, now, let Henry and Elizabeth,
The true successors of each royal house,
Conjoin'd together, heal these deadly wounds!
And be that wretch of all mankind abhorr'd,
That would reduce those bloody days again;
Ne'er let him live to taste our joys' increase,
That would with treason wound fair England's peace!


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