London. The Tower. |
|
BUCKINGHAM, STANLEY, HASTINGS, the BISHOP OF ELY, RATCLIFF, LOVEL, and Others, sitting at a table. Officers of the Council attending. |
Hast. My lords, at once: the cause why we are met |
Is to determine of the coronation: |
In God's name, speak, when is the royal day? |
Buck. Are all things ready for that royal time? |
Stan. It is; and wants but nomination. |
Ely. To-morrow then I judge a happy day. |
Buck. Who knows the Lord Protector's mind herein? |
Who is most inward with the noble duke? |
Ely. Your Grace, we think, should soonest know his mind. |
Buck. We know each other's faces; for our hearts, |
He knows no more of mine than I of yours; |
Nor I of his, my lord, than you of mine. |
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. |
Hast. I thank his Grace, I know he loves me well; |
But, for his purpose in the coronation, |
I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd |
His gracious pleasure any way therein: |
But you, my noble lords, may name the time; |
And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice, |
Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. |
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Enter GLOUCESTER. |
Ely. In happy time, here comes the duke himself. |
Glo. My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow. |
I have been long a sleeper; but, I trust, |
My absence doth neglect no great design, |
Which by my presence might have been concluded. |
Buck. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord, |
William Lord Hastings had pronounc'd your part, |
I mean, your voice, for crowning of the king. |
Glo. Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder: |
His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. |
My Lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn, |
I saw good strawberries in your garden there; |
I do beseech you send for some of them. |
Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. [Exit. |
Glo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. [Takes him aside. |
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, |
And finds the testy gentleman so hot, |
That he will lose his head ere give consent |
His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it, |
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. |
Buck. Withdraw yourself a while; I'll go with you. [Exeunt GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM. |
Stan. We have not yet set down this day of triumph. |
To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden; |
For I myself am not so well provided |
As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. |
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Re-enter BISHOP OF ELY. |
Ely. Where is my lord, the Duke of Gloucester? |
I have sent for these strawberries. |
Hast. His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this morning: |
There's some conceit or other likes him well, |
When that he bids good morrow with such spirit. |
I think there's never a man in Christendom |
Can lesser hide his hate or love than he; |
For by his face straight shall you know his heart. |
Stan. What of his heart perceiv'd you in his face |
By any livelihood he show'd to-day? |
Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is offended; |
For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. |
|
Re-enter GLOUCESTER and BUCKINGHAM. |
Glo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve |
That do conspire my death with devilish plots |
Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd |
Upon my body with their hellish charms? |
Hast. The tender love I bear your Grace, my lord, |
Makes me most forward in this princely presence |
To doom th' offenders, whosoe'er they be: |
I say, my lord, they have deserved death. |
Glo. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil. |
Look how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm |
Is like a blasted sapling, wither'd up: |
And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch |
Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore, |
That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. |
Hast. If they have done this thing, my noble lord,— |
Glo. If! thou protector of this damned strumpet, |
Talk'st thou to me of ifs? Thou art a traitor: |
Off with his head! now, by Saint Paul, I swear, |
I will not dine until I see the same. |
Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done: |
The rest, that love me, rise, and follow me. [Exeunt all but HASTINGS, RATCLIFF, and LOVEL. |
Hast. Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me; |
For I, too fond, might have prevented this. |
Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm; |
And I did scorn it, and disdain'd to fly. |
Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, |
And startled when he looked upon the Tower, |
As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. |
O! now I need the priest that spake to me: |
I now repent I told the pursuivant, |
As too triumphing, how mine enemies |
To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd |
And I myself secure in grace and favour. |
O Margaret, Margaret! now thy heavy curse |
Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head. |
Rat. Come, come, dispatch; the duke would be at dinner: |
Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head. |
Hast. O momentary grace of mortal man, |
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! |
Who builds his hope in air of your good looks, |
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast; |
Ready with every nod to tumble down |
Into the fatal bowels of the deep. |
Lov. Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim. |
Hast. O bloody Richard! miserable England! |
I prophesy the fearfull'st time to thee |
That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. |
Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head: |
They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. [Exeunt. |
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