 Act V of Richard III by William Shakespeare. Act V, Scene I, Salisbury, an open place. Enter the sheriff and guard with Buckingham, led to execution. Will not King Richard let me speak with him? No, my good lord. Therefore be patient. Hastings, and Edwards children gray and rivers, Holy King Henry and thy fair son Edward, Vaughn, and all that have miscarried by underhand corrupted fowl injustice, if that your moody, discontented souls do through the clouds behold this present hour, even form revenge, mock my destruction. This is all souls' day, fellow, is it not? It is, my lord. Why, then, all souls' day is my body's doomsday. This is the day which in King Edward's time I wished might fall on me when I was found false to his children and his wife's allies. This is the day wherein I wish to fall by the false faith of him whom I most trusted. This this all souls' day to my fearful soul is the determined respite of my wrongs. That high all seer which I dallied with hath turned my feigned prayer on my head and given in earnest what I begged ingest. Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men to turn their own points in their master's bosoms. Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck. When he equals 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 dew of blame. Excellent. Scene two. Plain near Timberth. Enter with drum and colors, Richmond, Oxford, Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, and others, with forces marching. Fellows in arms, am I most loving friends, bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny, thus far into the bowels of the land have we marched on without impediment, and here receive we, from our father Stanley, lines of fair comfort and encouragement. The wretched, bloody, annu-serping bore that spoiled your summer fields and fruitful vines swills your warm blood like wash and makes his trough and your embelliled bosoms. This foul swine lies now even in the center 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. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords to fight against that bloody homicide. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear, which in his dearest need will fly from him. 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. Exe'end. Scene three, Bosworth Field. Enter King Richard and forces, the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Surrey, and others. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth Field. My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. My lord of Norfolk. Hear most graciously. Norfolk, we must have nox, huh? Must we not? We must both give and take, my loving lord. 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 described the number of the traitors? Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. Why, our battalion 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 the lords. Tomorrow is a busy day. Exeant. Enter on the other side of the field, Richmond, Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and other lords. Some of the soldiers pitch Richmond's tent. The weary son 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 pardon 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 quartered, do you know? Unless I have misstained his colors much, which well I am assured I have not done, his regiment lies half a mile at least south from the mighty power of the king. 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. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it and so God give you quiet rest tonight. Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come, gentlemen, let us consult upon tomorrow's business. Into my tent the air is raw and cold. David, draw into the tent. Enter to his tent King Richard, Norfolk, Ratcliffe, and Catesby. What is the clock? It's supper time, my lord, it's six o'clock. I will not stop tonight. Give me some ink and paper. What, is my beaver easier than it was and all my arbor laid into my tent? It is my liege and all things are in readiness. Good Norfolk, highly to thy charge. Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. I go, my lord. Stir with the lark, tomorrow, gentle Norfolk. I warrant you, my lord. Exit. Ratcliffe. My lord. Send out a Percivent at arms to Stanley's regiment, bid him bring his power before sunrising, lest his son George fall into the blind cave of eternal night. Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch. Saddle white Surrey for the field tomorrow. Look that my staves be sound and not too heavy. Ratcliffe. My lord. Source thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland? Thomas of Earl of Surrey and himself, much about cock-shot time, from troop to troop, went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. So I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine. I have not that alacrity of spirit nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have. Set it down. Is ink and paper ready? It is, my lord. Bid my guard watch, lead me. Ratcliffe, about the mid of night, come to my tent and help to arm me. Lead me, I say. King Richard retires into his tent. Exit Ratcliffe and Catesby. Richmond's tent opens and discovers him and his officers, etc. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm. All comfort that the dark night can afford be to thy person noble father-in-law. Tell me, how fares our loving mother? I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother, who prays continually for Richmond's good. So much for that. The silent hours steal on, and flaky darkness breaks within the east. In brief, for so the season bids us be, prepare thy battle early in the morning, and put thy fortune to the arbitrement of bloody strokes and mortal staring-war. I, as I may, that which I would, I cannot. With best advantage will deceive the time and aid thee in this doubtful stroke of arms, but on thy side I may not be too forward, lest, being seen, thy brother, Tender George, be executed in his father's sight. Farewell, the leisure and the fearful time cuts off the ceremonious vows of love, an ample interchange of sweet discourse which so long-sundered friends should dwell upon. God give us leisure for these rites of love. Once more, adieu, be valiant and speed-well. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment. I'll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap, lest lead and slumber pies me down tomorrow when I should mount with wings of victory. Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. Accent lords, etc., with Stanley. O thou whose captain I account myself, look on my forces with a gracious eye. Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath that they may crush down with a heavy fall the usurping helmets of our adversaries. Make us thy ministers of chastisement that we may praise thee and thy victory. To thee I do commend my watchful soul ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes. Sleeping and waking, oh, defend me still. Sleeps. The ghost of Prince Edward, son to Henry VI, rises between the two tents, to King Richard. Let me sit heavy on thy soul tomorrow. Think how thou stabs'd me in my prime of youth. At Tewkesbury, despair therfore and die. To Richmond. Be cheerful, Richmond, for the wronged souls of butchered princes fight on thy behalf. King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. The ghost of Henry VI rises to King Richard. When I was mortal, my anointed body by thee was punched full of deadly holes. Think on the tower and me, despair and die. Henry VI bids thee despair and die. To Richmond. Virtuous and holy be thou, conqueror. Harry, the prophecy thou shouldst be king, doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish. The ghost of Clarence rises to King Richard. Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow, high that was washed to death with fulsome wine. Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death. Tomorrow, in the battle, think on me and fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die. To Richmond. Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, the wronged heirs of York to pray for thee. Good angels guard thy battle, live and flourish. The ghosts of Rivers, Gray and Vaughn rise to King Richard. Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow, Rivers that died at Pumfrit. Despair and die. Think upon Gray and let thy soul despair. Think upon Vaughn and with guilty fear let fall thy lance, despair and die. To Richmond. A way he can think of wrongs in Richard's bosom will conquer him. Awake and win the day. The ghost of Hastings rises to King Richard. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake and in a bloody battle in thy days. Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die. To Richmond. Quiet, untroubled soul. Awake, awake, arm, fight and conquer for fair England's sake. The ghost of the two young princes rise to King Richard. Dream on thy cousins smothered in the tower. Let us be led within thy bosom, Richard, and weigh thee down to ruin, shame and death. Thy nephew's souls bid thee despair and die. To Richmond. Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace and wake in joy. Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy. Live and beget a happy race of kings. Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. The ghost of Queen Anne rises to King Richard. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne, thy wife, that never slept a quiet hour with thee, now fills thy sleep with perturbations. Tomorrow in the battle, think on me and for thy edgeless sword, despair and die. To Richmond. Thou quiet soul. Sleep thou a quiet sleep. Dream of success and happy victory. Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. The ghost of Buckingham rises to King Richard. The first was I that helped thee to the crown. The last was I that felt thy tyranny. Oh, in the battle, think on Buckingham and die in terror of thy guiltiness. Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death. Fainting despair, despairing, yield thy breath. To Richmond. I died for hope ere I could send thee aid. But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismayed. God and good angels fight on Richmond's side, and Richard falls in height of all his pride. The ghost's vanish. King Richard starts out of his dream. Get me another horse. Bide up my wounds. Have mercy, Jesus. Soft. I did but dream. Oh, coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me? The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold, fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What, do I fear myself? There's none else by. Richard loves Richard. That is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am. Then fly. What, for myself? Great reason, why? Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself? Alack, I love myself. Wherefore, for any good that I myself have done unto myself? Oh, no, alas, I rather hate myself for hateful deeds committed by myself. I am a villain, yet I lie. I am not. Fool of myself speak well. Fool, do not flatter. My conscience have a thousand several tongues, and every tongue brings in a several tail, and every tail condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury in the highest degree. Murder, stern murder in the direst degree. All several sins, all used in each degree. Throng to the bar, crying, all guilty, guilty. I shall despair. There is no creature loves me. And if I die, no soul will pity me. And wherefore should they, since that I myself, find in myself no pity to myself? Me thought the souls of all that I had murdered came to my tent, and every one did threat tomorrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. Enter Ratcliffe. My lord. Who's there? Ratcliffe, my lord, desire. The early village cock has twice done salutation to the morn. Your friends are up and buckle on their armor. Oh, Ratcliffe, I have dreamed a fearful dream. What thinks thou? Will our friends prove all true? No doubt, my lord. Oh, Ratcliffe, I fear, I fear. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. By the apostle Paul. Shadows tonight have struck more terror to the soul of Richard than can the substance of 10,000 soldiers armored in proof and led by shallow Richmond. It is not yet near day. Come, go with me. Under our tents, I'll play the eavesdropper to see if any mean to shrink from me. Axiom King Richard and Ratcliffe. Richmond wakes, enter Oxford and others. Good morrow, Richmond. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, that you have taken a tardy sluggard here. How have you slept, my lord? The sweetest sleep and fairest boating dreams that ever entered in a drowsy head have eyes since your departure had, my lords. Me thought their souls whose bodies Richard murdered came to my tent and cried on victory. I promise you, my heart is very jockened in the remembrance of so fair a dream. How far into the morning is it, lords? Upon the stroke of four. Why, then, tis time to arm and give direction. He advances to the troops. More than I have said, loving countrymen, the leisure and enforcement of the time forbids to dwell on. Yet remember this. God and our good cause fight upon our side. The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls, like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our faces. Richard accept those whom we fight against had rather have us win than him they follow. But what is he they follow? Truly gentlemen, a bloody tyrant and a homicide. One raised in blood, and one in blood established. One that made means to come by what he hath, and slaughtered those that were the means to help him. A base foul stone, made precious by the foil of England's chair, where he is falsely set. One that hath ever been God's enemy. Then if you fight against God's enemy, God will, injustice, ward you as his soldiers. If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, you sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain. If you do fight against your country's foes, your country's fat shall pay your pains the higher. If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, your wives shall welcome home the conquerors. If you do free your children from the sword, your children's children quitted in your age. Then in the name of God and all these rights, against your standards, draw your willing swords. For me, the ransom of my bold attempt shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face. But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt, the least of you shall share his part thereof. Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully, God and St. George, Richmond and Victory! Accident. Re-enter King Richard, Red Cliff, Attendants and Forces. What said Northumberland as touching Richmond? That he was never trained up in arms. He said the truth, and what said Surrey then? He smiled and said, The butter for our purpose. He was in the right, and so indeed it is. Clock strikes. Tell the clock there, give me a calendar. Who saw the sun today? Not I, my lord. Then he disdains to shine, for by the book he should have braved the east an hour ago. A black day will it be to somebody. Ratcliffe. My lord. The sun will not be seen today. The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. I would these dewy tears were from the ground, not shine today. Why, what is that to me more than to Richmond? For the self-same heaven that frowns on me looks sadly upon him. And to Norfolk. Arm, arm, my lord, the foe vaunts in the field. Thum, bustle, bustle, comparison my horse. Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power. I will leave forth my soldiers to the plain, and thus my battle shall be ordered. My forward shall be drawn out all in length, consisting equally of horse and foot. Our archers shall be placed in the midst. John, Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey, shall have the leading of this foot and horse. They thus directed we shall follow in the main battle, whose presence on either side shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. This and St. George de Boet, what thinks thou, Norfolk? A good direction war like sovereign. This found I on my tent this morning. Giving a scroll, reads. Jockey of Norfolk be not too bold, for Dickon, thy master, is bought and sold? A thing devised by the enemy. Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge, let not our babbling dreams affright our souls. Conscience is but a word that cowards use, devised at first to keep the strong in awe. Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. March on, join bravely, let us to it, pel mal, if not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. What shall I say more than I have inferred? Remember whom you are to cope with all, a sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways, a scum of Bretons and base-lacky peasants, whom their orcloid country vomits forth to desperate adventures and assured destruction. You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest. You having lands and blessed with beauteous wives, they would restrain the one, disdain the other. And who doth lead them? But a paltry fellow, long kept in Brittany at our mother's cost. A milk-soap, one that never in his life felt so much cold as overshoes in snow. Let's whip these stragglers or the seas again, lash hence these overweening rags of France, these famished beggars weary of their lives, who but for dreaming on this fond exploit for want of means poor rats had hanged themselves. If we be conquered, let men conquer us, and not these bastard Bretons whom our fathers have in their own land beaten, bobbed and thumped, and on record left them the heirs of shame. Shall these enjoy our lands, lie with our wives, ravish our daughters? Hark, I hear their drum. Drum afar off. Fight, gentlemen of England, fight, bold yeoman, draw archers, draw your arrows to the head, spur your proud horses hard and ride in blood, amaze the welkin with your broken staves. Enter a messenger. What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power? My lord, he doth deny to come. Off with his son George's head. My lord, the enemy is past the marsh. After the battle, let George Stanley die. A thousand hearts are great within my bosom. Advance our standards, set upon our foes. Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons. Upon them, victory sits on our helms. Accident, scene four, another part of the field. Alarum, excursions. Anto Norfolk enforces to him Cadesby. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue. 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. Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost. Alarum, Anto King Richard. A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse! Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, and I will stand the hazard of the die. I think there be six richmans in the field. Five have I slain today instead of him. A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse! Exiant. Scene five, another part of the field. Alarums, enter from opposite sides, King Richard and Richmond, and Exiant fighting. Retreat and flourish. Then re-enter Richmond, with Stanley bearing the crown, and divers other lords and forces. God and your arms be praised, victorious friends. The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquitt thee. Lo here, this long, unsurped royalty from the dead temples of this bloody wretch, have I plucked off to grace thy brows with all. Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. Great God of heaven, say amen to all! But tell me, is young George Stanley living? He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town. Wither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. What men of name are slain on either side? John, Duke of Norfolk, Walter, Lord Ferris, Sir Richard, Breckonbury, and Sir William Brandon. Enter their bodies as becomes their births. Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled that in submission will return to us. And then, as we have taken the sacrament, we will unite the white rose and the red. Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction that long have frowned upon their enmity. What traitor hears me and says not, amen? England hath long been mad and scarred herself. The brother blindly shed the brother's blood. The father rashly slaughtered his own son. The son compelled, been butchered to the sire. All this divided York and Lancaster, divided in their dire division. Oh, now let Richmond and Elizabeth, the true successors of each royal house, by God's fair ordinance can join together and let their heirs, God if I will be so, enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace, with smiling plenty and fair prosperous days. Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, that would reduce these bloody days again and make poor England weep in streams of blood. Let them not live to taste this land's increase that would with treason wound this fair land's peace. Now civil wounds are stopped, peace lives again, that she may long live here, God say, amen. Accent. End of Act Five. End of Richard III by William Shakespeare.