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,--

Here, most gracious liege.

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

We must both give and take, my gracious lord.

Up with my tent there! here will I lie tonight; But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that. Who hath descried the number of the foe?

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 party want. Up with my tent there! Valiant gentlemen, Let us survey the vantage of the field Call for some men of sound direction Let's want no discipline, make no delay, For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day.

The weary sun hath made a golden set, And by the bright track of his fiery car, Gives signal, of a goodly day to-morrow. 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 strength. 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 Blunt, before thou go'st, Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, dost thou know?

Unless I have mista'en his colours 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, Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him, And give him from me this most needful scroll.

Upon my life, my lord, I'll under-take it; And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!

Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come gentlemen, Let us consult upon to-morrow's business In to our tent; the air is raw and cold.

What is't o'clock?

It's supper-time, my lord; It's nine o'clock.

I will not sup to-night. Give me some ink and paper. What, is my beaver easier than it was? And all my armour laid into my tent?

If is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.

Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.

I go, my lord.

Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.

I warrant you, my lord.

Catesby!

My lord?

Send out a pursuivant 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.

My lord?

Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself, Much about cock-shut 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; leave me. Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.

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 shock 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 And ample interchange of sweet discourse, Which so long sunder'd 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 leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow, When I should mount with wings of victory: Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.

[To KING RICHARD III] Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow! Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth At Tewksbury: despair, therefore, and die!

[To KING RICHARD III] When I was mortal, my anointed body By thee was punched full of deadly holes Think on the Tower and me: despair, and die! Harry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die!

[To KING RICHARD III] Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow! I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine, Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death! To-morrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!--

[To KING RICHARD III] Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow, Rivers. that died at Pomfret! despair, and die!

[To KING RICHARD III] Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair!

[To KING RICHARD III] Think upon Vaughan, and, with guilty fear, Let fall thy lance: despair, and die!

[To RICHMOND] Awake, and think our wrongs in Richard's bosom Will conquer him! awake, and win the day!

[To KING RICHARD III] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, And in a bloody battle end thy days! Think on Lord Hastings: despair, and die!

[To KING RICHARD III] Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the Tower: Let us be led within thy bosom, Richard, And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death! Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die!

[To KING RICHARD III] Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife, That never slept a quiet hour with thee, Now fills thy sleep with perturbations To-morrow in the battle think on me, And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!

[To KING RICHARD III] The last was I that helped thee to the crown; The last was I that felt thy tyranny: O, 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!

Give me another horse: bind up my wounds. Have mercy, Jesu!--Soft! I did but dream. O 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, from 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? O, no! alas, I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself! I am a villain: yet I lie. I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well: fool, do not flatter. My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree Murder, stem 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 shall pity me: Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself? Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd Came to my tent; and every one did threat To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

My lord!

'Zounds! who is there?

Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn; Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.

O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream! What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true?

No doubt, my lord.

O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,--

Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.

By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. It is not yet near day. Come, go with me; Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, To see if any mean to shrink from me.

Good morrow, Richmond!

Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.

How have you slept, my lord?

The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, Have I since your departure had, my lords. Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd, Came to my tent, and cried on victory: I promise you, my soul is very jocund 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.

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 better for our purpose.'

He was in the right; and so indeed it is.

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. Ratcliff!

My lord?

The sun will not be seen to-day; The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. I would these dewy tears were from the ground. Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me More than to Richmond? for the selfsame heaven That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.

Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.

Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse. Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power: I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, And thus my battle shall be ordered: My foreward 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 will follow In the main battle, whose puissance on either side Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou, Norfolk?

A good direction, warlike sovereign. This found I on my tent this morning.

[Reads] 'Jockey of Norfolk, be not too bold, For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.' A thing devised by the enemy. Go, gentleman, 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't pell-mell If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.

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.