All language subtitles for 03-The.Hollow.Crown.S02E03.720p.BluRay

God save King Edward,

fourth of that name.

Once more we sit
in England's royal throne.

Repurchased with the
blood of enemies.

Hail the House of York!

Brother Richard,

will you stand by us?

My liege, it is
the Earl of Richmond.

He is the house of Lancaster.

I am the Queen!

Where's Richard gone?

To make a bloody supper

in the Tower.

Ripped By mstoll

Now is the winter
of our discontent

made glorious summer
by this sun of York.

And all the clouds that
lour'd upon our house,

in the deep bosom
of the ocean buried.

Grim-visage'd war hath
smooth 'd his wrinkled front.

And now,

instead of mounting
barded steeds

to fright the souls of
fearful adversaries,

he capers nimbly
in a lady's chamber,

to the lascivious
pleasing of a lute.

But I,

that am not shaped
for sportive tricks,

nor made to court an
amorous looking-glass...

I, that am rudely stamp'd,
and want love's majesty...

I,

That am curtail'd of
this fair proportion,

cheated of feature by
dissembling Nature,

deformed, 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 and
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,

to entertain these fair
well-spoken days,

I am determined to
prove a villain,

and hate the idle
pleasures of these days.

Plots have I laid,

inductions dangerous,

to set the King my
brother and Clarence

in deadly hate, the
one against the other.

And if King Edward
be as true and just

as I am subtle,
false and treacherous...

Then this day should Clarence
closely be mew'd up,

about a prophecy, which says
that "G" of Edward's heirs

the murderer shall be.

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

Brother, what means
this armed guard

that waits upon Your Grace?

His Majesty,

tend'ring my person's safety,

hath appointed this conduct
to convey me to the Tower.

Upon what cause?

Because my name is George.

Alack, my lord,
that fault is none of yours.

He should, for this,
commit your godfathers.

He hearkens after
prophecies and dreams,

and says a wizard told him

that by "G" his issue
disinherited should be.

And, for my name of
George begins with

it follows in his
thoughts that I am he.

This it is, when men
are rul'd by women.

'Tis not the King that
sends you to the Tower.

Elizabeth his wife,
'tis she that

tempers him to this extremity.

We are not safe, Clarence.
We are not safe!

I beseech Your Graces
both to pardon me.

His Majesty hath straitly given in charge
that no man shall have private conference,

of what degree soever,
with his brother.

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.

How say you, sir?
Can you deny all this?

I do beseech Your
Grace to pardon me,

and withal forbear your
conference with the noble Duke.

We know thy charge,
Brakenbury, and will obey.

Brother, farewell.

I will unto the King.

Meantime, this deep disgrace

touches me deeper
than you can imagine.

I know it pleaseth
neither of us well.

Well, your imprisonment
will not be long.

Meantime, be patient.

I must perforce.

Farewell.

Go, tread the path that
thou shalt ne'er return.

Simple, plain Clarence!

I do love thee so,

that shortly I will
send thy soul

to Heaven.

Good time of day to you,
Lord Chamberlain.

What news? The King is
sickly, weak and melancholy,

and his physicians
fear him mightily.

He broke the feast and
has retired to bed.

O, he hath kept
an evil diet long,

and over-much consum'd
his royal person.

Where is he, is he in his bed?
He is.

Go you before,
and I will follow you.

He cannot live, I hope,
and must not die

till George be pack'd with
post-horse up to Heaven.

I'll in, to urge
his hatred more.

And, if I fail not
in my deep intent,

dear George hath not
another day to live.

How now, my hardy,
stout, resolved mates.

Are you now tomorrow
to dispatch this thing?

We are, my lord,

and we come to have the warrant,
that we may be admitted where he is.

Well thought upon.
I have it here about me.

But, sirs, be sudden
in the execution,

do not hear him plead.

My brother is well-spoken,
and perhaps may move your

hearts to pity, if you mark him.

Tut, tut, my lord,
we will not stand to prate.

Talkers are no good
doers, be assur'd

we go to use our hands
and not our tongues.

Your eyes drop millstones
when fools' eyes drop tears.

I like you, lads.
About your business straight.

Go, go, dispatch.

We will, my noble lord.

O, cursed be the hand that
made those fatal holes.

Cursed be the heart that
had the heart to do it.

More direful hap betide
that hated wretch

than I can wish to
adders, spiders, toads.

If ever he have wife, let her be made
more miserable by the death of him

than I by my husband and
father in law, King Henry.

What black magician

conjures up this fiend?

Avaunt,

thou dreadful minister of Hell!

Sweet saint, for charity
be not so curst.

O villain, thou know'st
no law of God nor man.

No beast so fierce but
knows some touch of pity.

But I know none,
and therefore am no beast.

O wonderful,
when devils tell the truth!

More wonderful,
when angels are so angry.

Fairer than tongue
can name thee,

let me have some patient
leisure to excuse myself.

I shall not grant
excuses to the thing

that killed my husband,
my father,

and my King.

Dead,

dead they are, and,
devilish slave, by thee.

I did not kill your husband.

Why then, is he alive?

Nay, he is dead,
and by King Edward's hand.

In thy foul throat thou liest.

Queen Margaret saw
thy murd'rous dagger

smoking in his blood,

didst thou not kill the King?

I grant ye, yea.

Dost grant me,

hedgehog!

He was gentle,

mild, and virtuous.

Better for the King of
Heaven that hath him.

He is in Heaven, where
thou shalt never come.

He was fitter for that
place than Earth.

And thou unfit for
any place but Hell.

Yes, one place else,
if you will hear me name it.

Some dungeon?
Your bed-chamber.

Is not the causer of
these timeless deaths

as blameful as the executioner?

Thou wast the cause,

and most accurs'd effect.

Your beauty was the
cause of that effect.

Your beauty, that did
haunt me in my sleep

to undertake the death
of all the world,

so I might live one hour

in your sweet bosom.

If I thought that,
I tell thee, homicide.

These nails should rend
that beauty from my cheeks.

These eyes could not endure
sweet beauty's wrack.

You should not blemish
it if I stood by.

It is a quarrel most unnatural,

to be reveng'd on
him that loveth thee.

It is a quarrel just
and reasonable,

to be reveng'd on him
that kill'd my husband.

He that bereft thee,
of thy husband, lady,

did it to help thee
to a better husband.

Better doth not breathe
upon the Earth.

He lives that loves thee
better than he could.

Where is he?
Here.

Why dost thou spit on me?

Would it were mortal poison,
for thy sake.

Never came poison
from so sweet a place.

Never hung poison
on a fouler toad.

Out of my sight!
O thou dost infect my eyes.

Thine eyes, sweet lady,
have infected mine.

If thy revengeful heart
cannot forgive,

teach not thy mouth
such scorn, for it was made

for kissing, lady,
not for such contempt.

Lo, here I lend thee this
sharp-pointed blade,

which if thou choose to
hide in this true breast,

and let the soul forth
that adoreth thee,

I lay it naked unto
the deadly stroke.

Nay, do not pause,

for I did kill King Henry.

Nay, now dispatch,

'twas I that stabb'd
your husband.

Take up the knife again,
or take up me.

Arise, dissembler.
Though I wish thy death,

I will not be thy executioner.

Then bid me kill myself,
and I will do it.

Well, well, put up your blade.

Then say my peace is made.

That shall you know hereafter.

But shall I live in hope?

All men,
I hope, live so.

Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

To take is not to give.

Look how my ring
encompasseth thy finger.

Even so thy breast
encloseth my poor heart.

And if thy poor devoted servant may but
beg one favor at thy gracious hand,

thou dost confirm his
happiness forever.

That it may please
you presently,

repair to Westminster.

I will with all expedient
duty see you there.

I beseech you, come, Anne.

Bid me farewell.

Much it joys me, to see
you are become so penitent.

Was ever woman in
this humor woo'd?

Was ever woman
in this humor won?

I'll have her,
but I'll not keep her long.

What,

I that kill'd her husband
and her father.

To take her in
her extremest hate,

curses in her mouth,
tears in her eyes,

and yet to win her,
all the world to nothing!

Ha!

And will she yet debase
her eyes to look on me?

On me, that halts and
am misshapen thus?

I do mistake my
person all this while.

Upon my life, she finds,
although I cannot,

myself to be a
marvelous proper man.

I'll be at charges
for a looking-glass,

and entertain a score
or two of tailors

to study fashions
to adorn my body.

Since I have crept in
favor with myself,

I will maintain it
at some little cost.

Shine out, fair sun,
till I have bought a glass,

that I may see my
shadow as I pass.

Have patience, sister,
there's no doubt His Majesty

will soon recover
his accustom'd health.

If he were dead, what would
betide on me, brother?

No other harm but
loss of such a lord.

The loss of such a lord
includes all harms.

The heavens have bless'd
you with a goodly son, mother,

to be your comforter
when he is gone.

Ah, he is young, and his minority is put
unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,

a man that loves not me,
nor none of you.

Is it concluded that
he shall be Protector?

So it must be,
if the King miscarry.

Here come the lords of
Buckingham and Stanley.

Good time of day
unto Your Royal Grace.

What likelihood of
his amendment, lords?

Madam, good hope,
His Grace speaks cheerfully.

- Did you confer with him?
- Ay, madam,

he desires to make atonement
between the Duke of Gloucester

and your brother and son.

And between them
and my lord Hastings.

He has sent to bring them
to his royal presence.

Would all were well,

but that will never be.

They do me wrong,
and I will not accept it!

Who are they that do
complain unto the King

that I, forsooth, am stern,
and love them not?

Oh, by holy Paul, they
love His Grace but lightly,

that fill his ears with
such dissentious rumors.

Because I cannot
flatter, or look fair,

smile in men's faces,
smooth, deceive and cog,

I must be held a
rancorous enemy?

To who, in all this presence,
speaks Your Grace?

To thee, that hast not honesty
nor grace, Lord Grey.

When have I injur'd thee?

When done thee wrong? Or thee, Lord Rivers?
Or thee, Elizabeth?

Or any of your faction?

And a plague upon you all!
His Royal Grace

cannot rest, scarce
a-breathing while

but you must trouble
him with lewd complaints.

Come, come, we know
your meaning, brother Gloucester.

You envy my advancement
and my friends'.

God grant we never
may have need of you.

Meantime, God grants that
we have need of you.

Our brother George,
imprison'd by your means,

myself disgrac'd,

and the nobility
held in contempt.

I never did incense His Majesty
against the Duke of Clarence,

but have been an earnest
advocate to plead for him.

You do
me shameful injury,

falsely to draw me
in such vile suspects.

By Heaven, I will acquaint His Majesty of
those gross taunts which oft I have endur'd.

Tell him, and spare not.

Look, what I have said I will
avouch it in Edward's presence.

Ere you were queen, ay,
or your husband king,

I was the pack-horse
in his great affairs.

To royalize his blood,
I spilt mine own.

Would to God my heart
were flint, like Edward's.

I am too childish-foolish
for this world.

Hear me!

You wrangling pirates,

that fall out in sharing that
which you have pilled from me.

Which of you trembles not,
that looks on me?

Ah, gentle villain!
Do not turn away.

Foul wrinkled witch,

what mak'st thou in my sight?

A husband and a son
thou ow'st to me.

And thou a kingdom.

All of you, allegiance.

This sorrow I have
by right is yours.

And all the pleasures you usurp

are mine.

Give way, dull clouds,
to my quick curses.

Edward, thy son that
now is Prince of Wales

for Edward my son that
was Prince of Wales,

die in his youth by
untimely violence.

Long die thy happy
days before thy death.

Cease thy curses,
thou wretched wither'd hag!

And leave thee out?
For thou shalt hear me.

If Heaven have any
grievous plague in store,

O, let them keep it
till thy sins be ripe.

And then hurl down
their indignation of thee,

the troubler of the
poor world's peace.

No sleep close up that
deadly eye of thine,

unless whilst some
tormenting dream

affrights thee with
a hell of ugly devils.

Thou elvish-mark'd,
abortive, rooting hog,

the slave of Nature
and the son of Hell...

Margaret! Margaret.

Thus have you breath'd
your curse against yourself.

Poor painted Queen,
vain flourish of my fortune.

Why strew'st thou sugar
on that bottled spider,

whose deadly web
ensnareth thee about?

Fool, fool. Thou whet'st
a knife to kill thyself.

The day will come when
thou shalt wish for me

to help thee curse that
poisonous bunch-back'd toad.

Dispute not with her.
She is lunatic!

Witness my son,
now in the shade of death,

whose bright outshining
beams thy cloudy wrath

hath in eternal darkness
folded up.

Peace, peace,

for shame, if not for charity.

O Buckingham,

take heed of yonder dog! Look when he
fawns, he bites. And when he bites,

his venom tooth will
rankle to the death.

Have naught to do with him.
Beware of him.

What doth she say,
my lord of Buckingham?

Nothing that I respect,
my gracious lord.

What,

dost thou scorn me
for my gentle counsel,

and soothe the devil
that I warn thee from?

O, but remember
this another day,

when he shall split thy
very heart with sorrow,

and say, "Poor Margaret

"was a prophetess."

Live, each of you,

the subjects to his hate,

and he to yours,

and all of you to God's.

My hair doth stand on
end to hear her curses.

And so doth mine.
I muse why she's at liberty.

She hath had too much wrong.

And I do repent my part thereof
that I have done to her.

I never did her any,
to my knowledge.

Yet you have all the
vantage of her wrong.

Madam, His Majesty
doth call for you,

and for you, My Grace,
and you, my gracious lords.

I come. Lords,
will you go with me?

We wait
upon Your Grace.

The secret mischiefs
that I set abroach

I lay unto the grievous
charge of others.

And Clarence, whom I, indeed,
have laid in darkness,

I do beweep to
many simple gulls,

namely to Stanley,
Hastings, Buckingham.

And tell them 'tis the
Queen and her allies

that stir the King against
the Duke my brother.

Now they believe it,
and withal whet me

to be reveng'd on
Rivers and on Grey.

But then I sigh, and, with a piece
of scripture, tell them that

God bids us do good for evil.

And thus I clothe
my naked villainy

with old odd ends
stol'n forth of holy writ,

and seem a saint,

when most I play the devil.

Why looks
Your Grace so heavily today?

O, I have pass'd
a miserable night,

so full of fearful dreams,
of ugly sights,

that, as I am a
Christian faithful man,

I would not spend
another such a night

though 'twere to buy
a world of happy days.

What was your dream, my lord?

I pass'd, methought,

the melancholy flood,

with that sour ferryman
poets write of,

unto the kingdom
of perpetual night.

The first

that there did greet
my stranger-soul,

a shadow like an angel,
with bright hair,

dabbled in blood.

And he shriek'd out aloud,

"Clarence is come,

"that stabb'd me in the
woods by Tewkesbury!

"Seize on him, Furies!
Take him to your torment!"

With that, methought
a legion of foul fiends

environ'd me,
and howled in mine ears

such hideous cries,
with the very noise

I trembling wak'd,

and for a season after

could not believe

but that I was in Hell.

No marvel, my lord,
though it affrighted you.

I am afraid, methinks,
to hear you tell it.

Ah, keeper, keeper,
I have done these things,

that now give evidence against
my soul, for Edward's sake,

and see how he requites me.

Keeper, prithee
sit by me awhile.

My soul is heavy,
and I fain would sleep.

I will, my lord.

God give Your Grace good rest.

What would'st thou, fellows?
And how cam'st thou hither?

We would speak to Prince George,

and I came hither on my legs.

What, so brief?

'Tis better, sir,
than to be tedious.

See our commission,

we talk no more.

In God's name,
who sent you hither?

Wherefore come you?

To murder me?

Wherein, my friends,
have I offended you?

Offended us you have not,
but the King.

I am his brother,
and I love him well.

If you be hir'd for money,

back again, and I will send
you to my brother Gloucester,

and he will reward
you better for my life

than Edward will for
tidings of my death.

You are deceiv'd,

your brother Gloucester
hates you.

Make peace with God,
for you must die, my lord.

My friend, I spy some
pity in thy looks.

Enough!

If all this will not do,
I'll drown you in the bucket.

No! Please...

Why, so, now have I done
a good day's work.

You peers, continue
this united league.

Rivers and Hastings,

dissemble not your hatred.
Swear your love.

By Heaven, my soul is purg'd
from grudging hate,

and with my hand I seal
my true heart's love.

So thrive I,
as I truly swear the like.

Madam, yourself is
not exempt from this.

Nor you, step-son Grey.
Buckingham, nor you.

You have been factious,
one against the other.

And what you do,
do it unfeignedly.

So thrive I and mine.

This interchange of
love shall be inviolable.

And in good time,

here comes the
Duke of Gloucester.

Good morrow to my sovereign King
and Queen and princely peers,

a happy time of day.

Happy indeed, as we have spent the day
making peace of enmity, fair love of hate,

between these swelling,
wrong-incensed peers.

A blessed labor,
my most sovereign lord.

If I unwittingly, or in my rage,

have aught committed that is hardly
borne by any in this presence,

I desire to reconcile
me to his friendly peace.

There is no Englishman alive with
whom my soul is any jot at odds.

I would to God all strifes
were well compounded.

My sovereign lord, I do
beseech Your Highness

to bring our brother
Clarence to Your Grace.

Why, madam, have I offer'd
love for this,

to be so flouted in
this royal presence?

Who knows not that the
gentle Duke is dead?

You do him injury
to scorn his corpse!

Who knows
not he is dead!

Who knows he is?

All Heaven,
what a world is this?

Is Clarence dead?

The order was revers'd!

But he, poor man,
by your first order died,

and that a winged
Mercury did bear.

Some tardy cripple bore the countermand,
and came too lag to see him buried.

Who sued to me for him?

Who, in my wrath, kneel'd at my
feet, and bade me be advis'd?

Who spoke of brotherhood?
Who spoke of love?

All of this from my
remembrance brutish wrath

sinfully pluck'd,
and not a man of you

had so much grace
to put it in my mind.

Nor I, ungracious,
spake unto myself

for him, poor soul.

O God, I fear thy justice
will take hold on me

and you, and mine
and yours for this.

Elizabeth, help me to my closet.

Ah, poor George!

This is the fruit of rashness.

Mark'd you not

how that the guilty
kindred of the Queen

look'd pale when they did
hear of Clarence' death?

O, they did urge it
still unto the King.

God will revenge it.

Come, lords.

We wait upon Your Grace.

Ah! Who shall hinder
me to wail and weep,

to chide my fortune,
and torment myself?

What means this scene
of rude impatience?

My lord, thy son,

their father, our King, is dead.

If you will live, lament.
If die, be brief,

that our swift-winged souls
may catch the King's,

and like obedient
subjects follow him

to his new kingdom of
ne'er-changing night.

Ah,

so much interest
have I in thy sorrow

as I had title in
thy noble husband.

I have bewept a worthy
husband's death,

and liv'd with looking
on his images.

But now two mirrors of
his princely semblance

are crack'd in pieces
by malignant death.

And I, for comfort,
have but one false glass,

which grieves me when
I see my shame in him.

Thou art a widow,
yet thou art a mother.

Thou hast the comfort
of thy children left.

But death hath snatch'd
my husband from my side

and pluck'd two crutches
from my feeble hands.

Clarence and Edward.

Pour all your tears.

I am your sorrow's nurse,

and I will pamper
it with lamentations.

Madam, bethink you,
like a careful mother,

of the young prince your son.

Send straight for him.

Let him be crown 'd.

In him your comfort lives.

Sister, sister, have comfort.
All of us have cause

to wail the dimming
of our shining star,

but none can help our
harms by wailing them.

Madam my mother, I do cry you mercy.
I did not see Your Grace.

I crave your blessing.

God bless thee, and put
meekness in thy breast.

Love, charity, obedience,

and true duty.

Amen.

You here that bear
this heavy load of moan,

now cheer each other
in each other's love.

Meseemeth good, that
with some little train,

forthwith from Ludlow the
young prince be fetched

hither to London,
to be crown'd our King.

Why with some little train,
my lord of Buckingham?

Marry, my lord,
lest by a multitude

the new-heal'd wound of
malice should break out,

which would be so much
the more dangerous

by how much the estate
is green and yet ungovern'd.

Then be it so,
and go we to determine

who they shall be that
shall straight to Ludlow.

Madam, and you my sister,

will you go to give your
censures in this business?

With all my heart.

Cousin of Buckingham.

My lord, whoever
journeys to the prince,

for God's sake let not
us two stay at home.

For by the way
I'll sort occasion

to part the Queen's proud
kindred from the prince.

My other self,

my counsel's consistory,

my oracle, my prophet,

my dear cousin.

As a child, I will
follow your direction.

Toward Ludlow then,
for we'll not leave behind.

Prince Edward.

Your Majesty.

At Northampton
they do rest tonight.

Tomorrow, or next day,
they will be here.

I long with all my heart
to see Prince Edward,

I hope he is much grown
since last I saw him.

Ah, but I hear no,
they say his royal brother

has almost overta'en him
in his growth.

Ay, mother, but
I would not have it so.

Why, my good cousin?
It is good to grow.

Grandam, one night as
we did sit at supper,

my uncle Rivers
talk'd how I did grow

more than my brother.

"Ay," quoth my uncle Richard,

"Small herbs have grace,
great weeds do grow apace."

Good faith, good faith,

the saying did not hold in him
that did object the same to thee!

He was the wretched'st thing
when he was young,

so long a-growing,
and so leisurely,

that if his rule were true,
he should be gracious.

Parlous boy, go to,
you are too shrewd.

What news?

Such news, madam,
as grieves me to report.

How doth the prince?

Oh, well, madam, and in health.

Then what is thy news?

- Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent
to Pomfret, prisoners. -

Who hath committed them?

The mighty Dukes,
Gloucester and Buckingham.

For what offense?

The sum of all I can
I have disclos'd.

Accursed and unquiet
wrangling days,

how many of you
have mine eyes beheld!

Farewell, daughter.

Come, come, my boy,

we will to sanctuary.

Madam, farewell.

Stay...

I will go with you.

Welcome,
sweet prince, to London.

Welcome, dear cousin,
my thoughts' sovereign.

The weary way hath
made you melancholy.

No, uncle.

I want more uncles
here to welcome me.

Where are my uncles
Rivers and Grey?

Those uncles which you want
were dangerous.

Your Grace attended
to their sugar'd words,

but look'd not on the poison
of their hearts.

God keep you from them,
and from such false friends!

My lord, the Mayor of London
comes to greet you!

God bless Your Grace with
health and happy days!

I thank you, good my lord,

and thank you all.

My lord.

My good lord Stanley.

The Queen, your mother and your
brother York have taken sanctuary.

The tender prince would fain have
come with me to meet Your Grace,

but by his mother
was perforce withheld.

Fie, what an indirect and
peevish course is this of hers!

Your Holiness...

Will Your Grace

persuade the Queen to
send the Duke of York

unto his princely
brother presently?

If she refuse, Lord
Hastings, go with him.

And from her jealous arms
pluck him perforce.

God in Heaven forbid
we should infringe

the holy privilege
of blessed sanctuary!

You are too ceremonious
and traditional.

You break not sanctuary
in seizing him!

The benefit thereof is
always granted to those

whose dealings have
deserv'd the place,

and those who have
the wit to claim the place.

Oft have I heard
of sanctuary men,

but sanctuary children,
never till now.

My lord,

you shall o'er-rule
my mind for once.

Come on, Lord Hastings.

Say, uncle Gloucester,
when our brother comes,

where shall we sojourn
till our coronation?

If I may counsel you,
some day or two,

Your Highness shall
repose you at the Tower.

Then after where you please
that shall be thought most fit

for your best health
and recreation.

I do not like the Tower,
of any place.

Did Julius Caesar build
that place, my lord?

He did, my lord,
begin that place,

which since, succeeding ages
have re-edified.

So wise so young, they say,

do never live long.

Brother!

And in good time here
comes the Duke of York.

Richard of York,

how fares our loving brother?

Well, my dread lord,

so must I call you now.

How fares my cousin,

noble lord of York?

I thank you, gentle uncle.

Oh, my lord,

you said that idle weeds
are fast in growth.

I did, my lord,
but meant no harm.

I pray you, uncle,
give me this dagger.

What, would you have
my weapon, little lord?

I would, that I might thank
you as you call me.

How?

Little.

My brother York will
still be cross in talk.

Uncle, Your Grace knows
how to bear with him.

You mean to bear me,

not to bear with me.

Uncle, my brother
mocks both you and me,

because that I am
little like an ape,

he thinks that you should
bear me on your shoulders!

With what a sharp-provided
wit he reasons,

so cunning and so
young, is wonderful!

My lord, will't
please you pass along

myself and my good cousin
Buckingham will to your mother,

to entreat of her to meet you
at the Tower and welcome you.

What, will you go to
the Tower, my lord?

My Lord Protector
needs will have it so.

I shall not sleep in
quiet at the Tower.

Why, what should you fear?

My uncle Clarence' angry ghost.

My grandam told me
he was murder'd there.

I fear no uncles dead.

Nor none that live, I hope?

And if they live,
I hope I need not fear.

Go I unto the Tower.

Come, brother.

'Tis a parlous boy,

bold, ingenious,

quick,

forward, capable.

He is all the mother's,
from the top to toe.

Well, let them rest.

Come hither, Catesby.

Go now, gentle Catesby,

sound thou Hastings

how he doth stand
affected to our purpose,

for the instalment
of this noble Duke

in the seat royal
of this famous isle.

Tell him, Catesby,

that his ancient knot of

dangerous adversaries

tomorrow shall be let
blood at Pomfret castle.

What shall we do if we perceive

Lord Hastings shall not
yield to our complots?

Chop off his head, man.

And look you,
when I am King,

claim thou of me
the earldom of Hereford,

and all the moveables

thereof of which the King
my brother was possess'd.

Uh...

I'll claim that promise
at Your Grace's hand.

Your Majesty.

Catesby, what news
in this our tott'ring state?

It is a reeling
world indeed, my lord,

and, I believe,
will never stand upright

till Richard wear
the garland of the realm.

How, wear the garland?

Dost thou mean the crown?

Ay, my good lord.

I'll have this crown of mine
cut from my shoulders

before I'll see the crown
so foul misplac'd.

But canst thou guess
that he doth aim at it?

Av. upon my life,

and thereupon he sends
you this good news

that tomorrow night
Rivers and Grey,

the kindred of the Queen,

must die at Pomfret.

Indeed, I am no mourner
for that news.

Today shalt thou
behold two subjects die

for truth, for duty,

and for loyalty.

God spare the princes
from the pack of you.

A knot you are of
damned blood-suckers!

Dispatch, the limit
of your lives is out.

Oh, now Margaret's curse
is fall'n upon our heads.

Make haste, the hour
of death is expiate.

Pomfret! Pomfret!

We give our guiltless blood
to drink.

Now, noble peers,

the cause why we are met

is to determine
of the coronation

of young Edward.

Are all things ready
for that royal time?

They are, and wants
but nomination.

Tomorrow, then,
I judge a happy day.

Who knows the Lord
Protector's mind herein?

Who is most inward
with the noble Duke?

Your Grace, we think,

should soonest know his mind.

We know each other's
faces, for our hearts

he knows no more of
mine than I of yours.

Lord Hastings, you and
he are near in love.

Oh!

I thank His Grace,
I know he loves me well

but for his purpose
in the coronation

I have not sounded him.

But you, my noble lords,
may name the time,

and in the Duke's behalf
I'll give my voice.

In happy time, here
comes the Duke himself.

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.

Had not you come
upon your cue, my lord,

William Lord Hastings
had pronounc'd your part.

I mean your voice for
crowning of the King.

Oh?

Than Lord Hastings
no man might be so bold.

His lordship knows me well,

and loves me well.

My lord of Ely, last
time I was in Holborn

I saw good strawberries
in your garden there,

I do beseech you,
send for some of them.

Marry, I will, my lord,
with all my heart.

Cousin of Buckingham,
a word with you.

We have not yet set down
this day of triumph.

Tomorrow, in my judgment,
is too sudden.

Where is my lord
Duke of Gloucester?

I have sent for
these strawberries.

His Grace looks cheerfully
and smooth today,

I think there's never
a man in Christendom

can lesser hide his
love and hate than he,

for by his face straight
shall you know his heart.

What of his heart
perceive you in his face

by any livelihood
he show'd today?

Marry, that with no man
here he is offended,

for were he, he had
shown it in his looks.

I pray God he be not, I say.

I pray you all,

tell me how
they should be treated

that do conspire my death

through devilish plots

of damned witchcraft,

that have prevail'd

upon my body with
their hellish charms?

The tender
love I bear Your Grace

leads me to say
they have deserved death.

Then let your eyes be
the witness to their evil.

See 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,

that by her witchcraft
thus have marked me.

If by this deed
she have, my noble lord...

If?

If?

Thou protector of
this damned strumpet!

Talk'st thou to me of it's!

Thou art a traitor.

Off with his head!

Now by Saint Paul
I shall not dine

until I see the same!

Catesby, look that it be done.

All the rest that love me,
rise and follow me.

The manner

and the purpose of his treasons,

my lords, you might
signify unto the citizens,

who haply may misconstrue us
in him and wail his death.

I'll acquaint our duteous
citizens with all

your just proceedings
in this cause.

Go, cousin Buckingham,

to the Mayor and
citizens at Guildhall.

There, at your meet'st
advantage of the time,

infer the bastardy
of Edward's children.

O Catesby!

Please...

I dance attendance here.

I think the Duke
will not be spoke withal.

Now, Catesby, what says your
lord to my request?

He is within,

with two right reverend fathers,

divinely bent in meditation.

And in no worldly suits

would he be draw to move him
from his holy exercise.

Return, good Catesby,
to the gracious Duke,

tell him myself,

the Mayor and aldermen,

in deep design,
in matter of great moment,

are come to have some
conference with His Grace.

I'll signify so much
unto him straight.

Ah-ha, my lords,

this prince is not an Edward.

He is not lolling
on a lewd love-bed,

but on his knees at meditation.

Happy were England,

would this virtuous prince

take on His Graces
the sovereignty thereof.

God defend His Grace
should say us nay!

I fear he will.

Now, Catesby,
what says His Grace?

He wonders to what end
you have assembled

such troops of citizens
to come to him.

He fears, my lord,
you mean no good to him.

By Heaven, we come to him
in perfect love,

and so once more return
and tell His Grace.

When holy and devout religious
men are at their beads,

"tis much to draw them thence,

so sweet is zealous contemplation.
Mmm-hmm.

See where His Grace
kneels,

'tween two clergymen!

And see,
a book of prayer in his hand!

Famous Plantagenet,

most gracious prince,

lend favorable ears
to our requests,

and pardon us the interruption
of thy devotion

and right Christian zeal.

I do suspect that I have
done some offense

which seems disgracious
in the city's eye.

We heartily
solicit your gracious self

to take on you the charge

and kingly government
of this, your land,

your right of birth,
your empery, your own.

God be thank'd,
there is no need of me.

The royal tree hath
left us royal fruit.

The dear prince, safely
in the Tower stowed,

who will bring us all
happiness by his reign.

On him I lay that
you would lay on me.

You say that Edward
is your brother's son.

Mmm.

So say we too.

But not by Edward's wife.

For first,

he was contract to Lady Bona.

This Elizabeth, a poor widow,

seduc'd the pitch
and height of his degree

to base declension
and loath'd bigamy.

By her, in his unlawful bed,

he got this little Edward,
whom we call a prince.

Aye.

Then, good my lord,
take to your royal self

this proffer'd benefit
of dignity.

Do, my good lord, your
citizens entreat you.

Alas, why would you heap
this care on me?

I am unfit for state
and majesty.

I cannot and I will not
yield to you.

If you refuse it,

as well we know
your tenderness of heart,

and gentle, kind,
effeminate remorse.

Yet know,

your brother's son
shall never reign our King,

but we will plant
some other in the throne

to the disgrace and downfall
of this, your House,

and with this resolution
here we leave you.

Come, citizens. Zounds...

I'll entreat no more.

O, do not swear,
my lord of Buckingham!

Call him again, sweet prince.
Accept their suit!

If you deny them,
all the land will rue it.

Will you entreat me
to a world of cares?

Call them again.
Lord Buckingham!

I am not made of stone.

My cousin of Buckingham,
and sage grave men,

if you do buckle fortune
on my back,

I must have patience
to endure the load.

But God doth know,

and you may partly see,

how far I am from
the desire of this.

God bless Your Grace,
we see it, and will say it.

And in saying
so, you do but say the truth.

Then I salute you
with this royal title.

Long live Richard,
England's worthy King!

Long live Richard,
England's worthy King!

Tomorrow may it please you
to be crown'd?

Even when you please,
for you will have it so.

And so most joyfully
we take our leave.

And I will to
my holy work again.

Farewell, my cousin.

Farewell, gentle friends.

Open this gate!

Who meets us here?

God give Your Graces both a
happy and a joyful time of day.

As much to you, good sister.

What make you here?

As I guess, upon the like
devotion as yourselves,

to gratulate the gentle
princes here.

Kind sister, thanks.
We'll enter all together.

Master Lieutenant,
pray you by your leave,

how doth the prince
and my young son of York?

Right well, dear madam.

By your patience,

I may not suffer you
to visit them,

the King hath strictly
charg'd the contrary.

The King?
Who's that?

I mean the Lord Protector.

The Lord protect him
from that kingly title!

I am their mother,
who shall bar me from them?

I am their father's mother,
I will see them.

Their aunt I am in law,
in love their mother.

Then bring me to their sights.

No, madam, no,
I may not leave it so.

I am bound by oath,
and therefore pardon me.

Come, madam, you must
straight to Westminster,

there to be crowned
Richard's royal Queen.

Cut my lace asunder

or else I swoon with
this dead-killing news.

Spiteful tidings.

O unpleasing news!

O ill-dispersing wind
of misery!

O my accursed womb,
the bed of death.

A cockatrice hast thou
hatch'd to the world

whose unavoided eye
is murderous.

Come, madam, come,
I in all haste am sent.

Would to God that the inclusive
verge of golden metal

that must round my brow

were red-hot steel,
to sear me to the brains.

Anointed let me be
with deadly venom,

and die ere men can say,
"God save the Queen!"

Go, go, poor soul.
I envy not your glory.

Go thou to Richard,
and good angels tend thee.

Stand all apart!

Cousin of Buckingham?

My gracious sovereign.

Give me thy hand.

God save King Richard,
third of that name.

God save the King!

Richard!

Buckingham.

Thus high, by thy advice and thy
assistance, is King Richard seated.

But shall we wear these
glories for a day,

or shall they last,
and we rejoice in them?

Still live they, and
forever let them last.

Young Edward lives.

I say I would be King.

Why so you are,
my thrice-renowned lord.

Cousin, thou
wast not wont to be so dull.

Shall I be plain?

I wish the bastards dead,

and I would have it
suddenly perform'd.

What say'st thou now?
Speak suddenly.

Your Grace may do your pleasure.

Tut, tut,

thou art all ice,
thy kindness freezes.

Say, have I thy consent
that they shall die?

Give me some little breath,
some pause, dear lord,

before I positively speak
in this.

I will resolve you
herein presently.

Catesby.
My lord?

Know'st thou not any whom
corrupting gold

might tempt unto
a close exploit of death?

I know a discontented gentleman.

Gold will, no doubt,
tempt him to anything.

What is his name?

His name, my lord, is Tyrrel.

I partly know the man.
Have him sent for.

The deep-revolving,
witty Buckingham

- no more shall be the neighbor
to my counsels. -

Hath he so long held out
with me, untir'd,

and stops he now for breath!

Well, be it so.

How now, Stanley,
what's the news?

Know, my loving lord,
that the Earl of Richmond,

Henry Tudor, is on the move
in France.

He comes to claim your crown,

has followers and
marches toward the coast.

Stanley,

Richmond is thy wife's son.

Well, look unto it.

Come hither, Catesby.

Rumor it abroad that Anne
my wife is very grievous sick.

I will take order
for her keeping close.

Look how thou dream'st!
I say again,

give out that Anne, my Queen,
is sick and like to die.

For it stands upon me to stop all
hopes whose growth may damage me.

About it!

Is thy name Tyrrel?

James Tyrrel...
Hmm.

And your most obedient subject.

Art thou indeed?

Prove me, my gracious lord.

Dar'st thou resolve to kill
a friend of mine?

So please you, I'd rather
kill two enemies.

Why then thou hast it,
two deep enemies...

Foes to my unrest,
my sweet sleep's disturbers,

are they that I would have
thee deal upon.

Tyrrel, I mean
those bastards in the Tower.

Let me have open means
to come to them,

and soon I'll rid you
of the fear of them.

Say it is done, and I will love
thee, and prefer thee for it.

I will dispatch it straight.

My lord, I have
consider'd in my mind

the late request
that you did sound...

Well, let that rest.

My lord, I claim the gift,
my due by promise...

The earldom of Hereford,

and the moveables which you have
promised I shall possess...

Stanley, look to your wife.

If she convey letters
to Richmond,

you shall answer it.

What says Your Highness
to my just demand?

I do
remember me, Henry the VI

did prophesy that Richmond should
be King, when Richmond was

a little peevish boy.

A King...

Perhaps... Perhaps...

My lord, your promise
for the earldom...

Richmond!

When I was last at Exeter,

the Mayor in courtesy
show'd me the castle,

and call'd it Rougemont,
at which name I started,

because a bard of Ireland
told me once

I should not live long
after I saw "Richmond."

My lord.

I am not in the
giving vein today.

My lord?

Leave us.

All health, my sovereign lord?

Kind Tyrrel am I hapy
by thy news?

Brakenbury is burying them.

Come to me again, Tyrrel,
in the morning.

Meantime, but think
how I may do thee good.

Now,

for I know the Breton Richmond aims at
Young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter...

And by that knot looks proudly
at the crown...

To her I'll go,
a jolly thriving wooer.

My lord.

Good or bad news, that
thou com'st in so bluntly?

Bad, my lord.

The Bishop of Ely
flies to France

to join with Richmond's
power there,

and Buckingham,

back'd with the hardy Welshmen,

takes to the field, and still
his power increaseth.

Ely with Richmond touches me

more near than Buckingham
with his rash-levied strength.

Go, muster men.

My counsel is my shield.

We must be brief, when
traitors brave the field!

Ah!

My poor princes!

Ah, my tender babes.

If yet your gentle souls
fly in the air,

hover about me
with your airy wings.

So many miseries
have craz'd my voice

that my woe-wearied tongue
is still and mute.

Wilt thou, O God,
fly from such gentle lambs,

and throw them in the entrails
of the wolf?

Dead life, blind sight,
poor mortal living ghost.

Rest thy unrest on
England's lawful earth,

unlawfully made drunk
with innocent blood.

Ah,

that thou wouldst
as soon afford a grave

as thou canst yield
a melancholy seat.

Ah, who hath any cause
to mourn but we?

I call'd thee, once,
poor shadow, painted queen.

Where is thy husband now?
Where be thy brother?

Where be the thronging troops
that follow'd thee?

Decline all this,
and see what now thou art.

For happy wife,
a most distressed widow.

For joyful mother,
one that wails the name.

O, thou didst prophesy
the time would come

that I should wish for thee
to help me curse

that bottled spider,
that foul bunch-back'd toad.

I had a husband,
till a Richard kill'd him.

Thou hadst two sons,
till a Richard kill'd them.

I had a husband,
and thou didst kill him.

I had an Edmund too
and thou didst kill him.

Thou hadst a Clarence too,
and Richard kill'd him.

From forth the kennel
of thy womb hath crept

a hell-hound that doth
hunt us all to death!

O, Harry's wife,
triumph not in my woes.

God witness, I have
wept enough for thee.

Bear with me,

I am hungry for revenge.

Clarence, Hastings,
Rivers, Grey and Anne,

untimely smother'd
in their dusky graves.

Richard yet lives,

Hell's black intelligencer.

Cancel his bond of life,
dear God I pray,

that I may live and say,

"The dog is dead."

O thou, well skill'd in curses,

stay awhile and teach me
how to curse mine enemies.

Forbear to sleep the nights,
and fast the days.

Compare dead happiness
with living woe.

Think that thy babes were
sweeter than they were.

And he that slew them
fouler than he is.

Revolving this will teach
thee how to curse.

My words are dull.

O quicken them with thine.

Thy woes will make them sharp
and pierce like mine.

If so, then be not
tongue-tied, go with me.

And with the breath
of bitter words,

let's smother my damned son,

that thy two sweet sons
smother'd.

Most mighty sovereign,

on the western coast rideth a
puisant navy to our shores.

'Tis thought that Richmond
is their admiral.

And there they hull expecting but the aid
of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

Some light-footed friend
post to the Duke of Norfolk,

Ratcliffe, thyself or Catesby.

Catesby, fly to the Duke.
Ratcliffe, come hither.

Post to Salisbury,

and whenst thou
com'st thither...

Unmindful villain!

Why stay'st thou here
and go'st not to the Duke?

Tell me what Your Highness'
pleasure is,

what would you have me
deliver to the Duke?

Bid him straight to levy the greatest
strength and power he can make,

and meet me suddenly at Salisbury.
I go.

What, should it please you,
shall I do at Salisbury?

Why, what wouldst thou
there before I go?

Your Highness told me
I should post before.

My mind is chang'd.

Stanley, what's the news
with you?

Richmond is on the seas.

He makes for England,
here to claim the crown.

Is the chair empty?

Is the sword unsway'd?

Is the King dead?

The empire unpossess'd?

What heir of York is there
alive but we?

And who is England's King
but great York's heir?

Then tell me...

What makes he upon the seas!

Unless for that, my liege,
I cannot guess.

Thou wilt revolt
and fly to him, I fear.

He is thy step-son.

No, my good lord.
Therefore mistrust me not.

Where is thine army then
to beat him back?

Are they now upon
the western shore?

Safe-conducting the rebels
from their ships?

No, my good lord,
my friends are in the north.

Cold friends to me.

What do they in the north

when they should serve
their sovereign in the west?

They have not been commanded,
mighty King.

Pleaseth Your Majesty
to give me leave,

I'll muster up my friends,
and meet Your Grace

where and what time
Your Majesty shall please.

Ay, ay.

Thou wouldst be gone,
to join with Richmond.

But I'll not trust thee.

Most mighty sovereign,

you have no cause to hold
my friendship doubtful.

I never was, nor never
will be, false.

Go then, and muster men.

But leave behind
your son, George Stanley.

Look your heart be firm,

or else his head's assurance
is but frail.

So deal with him
as I prove true to you.

My liege, the Duke of
Buckingham is taken.

That is the best news.

That the Earl of Richmond
is with mighty power

landed at Milford is colder
tidings, yet they must be told.

Away, away!

For while we reason here, a royal
battle might be won and lost

Halt!

Who intercepts me
in my expedition?

O, she that should have
intercepted thee

by strangling thee
in her accursed womb

from all the slaughters,
wretch, that thou hast done.

Tell me, thou villain-slave,
where are my children?

Thou toad, thou toad,
where is thy brother Clarence?

Where are the gentle Rivers,
the sweet Grey?

Where is kind Hastings?

A husband and a son
thou owest to me.

Strike, strike alarum, drums!

Let not the heavens hear
these tell-tale women.

Strike, I say!

Art thou my son?

Ay, I thank God, my father,
and yourself.

O, let me speak.

Do then, but I'll not listen.

I will be mild and gentle
in my words.

And brief, good mother,
for I am in haste.

Art thou so hasty?

I have stay'd for thee,

God knows, in torment
and in agony.

Thou cam'st on Earth
to make the Earth my Hell.

A grievous burden
was thy birth to me.

Tetchy and wayward
was thy infancy.

Thy school-days frightful,
desp'rate, wild, and furious.

Thy prime of manhood
daring, bold, and venturous.

Thy age confirm'd, proud,
subtle, sly, and bloody.

More mild, and yet more
harmful, kind in hatred.

What comfortable hour
canst thou name

that ever grac'd me
with thy company?

If I be so disgracious
in your eye,

let me march on and
not offend you, madam.

Strike up the drum!

I prithee, hear me speak.

You speak too bitterly.

Hear me a word...

...for I shall
never speak to thee again.

Either thou wilt die
by God's just ordinance,

ere from the battle
thou return conqueror.

Or I with grief shall perish,

and nevermore behold
thy face again.

Therefore, take with thee
my most grievous curse,

which in the day of battle
tire thee more

than all the complete armor
that thou wear'st.

My prayers on the adverse
party fight,

and there the little souls
of Edward's children

whisper the spirits
of thine enemies

and promise them success
and victory.

Bloody thou art,
bloody will be thy end.

Shame serves thy life
and doth thy death attend!

Though far more cause, yet much
less spirit to curse abides in me,

I say amen to her.

Stay, madam,

I must talk a word with you.

You have a daughter
call'd Elizabeth...

Virtuous and fair,
royal and gracious.

But must she die for this?

O let her live,

and I'll corrupt her manners,
stain her beauty,

so she may live unscarr'd
of bleeding slaughter.

I will confess she was not
Edward's daughter.

Her life is safest
only in her birth.

And only in that safety
died her brothers.

You speak as if that
I had slain my cousins.

Cousins, indeed!

And by their uncle cozen'd
of comfort,

kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.

Madam, know that from my soul
I love thy daughter

and do intend to make her
Queen of England.

Well then, who dost thou mean
shall be her King?

Even he that makes her Queen.
Who else should be?

What, thou?

Even so.
How think you of it?

How canst thou woo her?

That would I learn of you, as one that
are best acquainted with her humor.

What were I best to say?

Her father's brother
would be her lord?

Or shall I say her uncle?

Or he that slew her brothers
and her uncles?

But in your daughter's womb,
I bury them.

Where, in that nest of spicery,

they will breed selves of
themselves, to your recomforture.

Under what title
shall I woo for thee,

that God, the law,
my honor and her love

can make seem pleasing
to her tender years?

Say she shall be
a high and mighty Queen.

To wail the title,
as her mother doth.

- I swear...
- What can'st thou swear by now?

God and fortune,
bar me happy hours!

Day, yield me not thy light,
nor, night, thy rest!

Be opposite, all planets
of good luck,

to my proceeding if
with dear heart's love,

I tender not thy beauteous,
princely daughter.

In her consists my happiness
and thine.

Without her follows
to myself, and thee,

death, desolation,
ruin, and decay.

It cannot be avoided
but by this,

it will not be avoided
but by this.

Look, what is done
cannot be now amended.

If I did take the kingdom
from your sons,

to make amends I'll give it
to your daughter.

Therefore, dear mother...

I must call you so...

Be the attorney
of my love to her,

plead what I will be,
not what I have been.

Shall I be tempted
of the devil thus?

Ay, if the devil tempt you
to do good.

I go.

Write to me very shortly,

and you shall understand
from me her mind.

Bear her my true love's kiss...

And so, farewell.

Relenting fool, shallow,
changing woman.

Your Majesty?

Your Majesty?

Strike alarums, drums!

Greetings, gentle Blunt.

Tell Richmond this from me,

that in the sty of this
most deadly boar

my son George Stanley
is frank'd up in hold.

If I revolt, off goes
young George's head.

The fear of that holds off
my present aid.

So get thee gone,
commend me to thy holy lord.

Withal say the Queen
hath heartily consented

that he should espouse
Elizabeth her daughter.

But tell me, where is
princely Richmond now?

At Pembroke in Wales.

And towards Bosworth
does he bend his power,

if by the way they be not
fought withal.

Well, hie thee to thy lord,
I kiss his hand.

My letter will resolve him
of my mind.

Farewell.

Will not King Richard
let me speak with him?

No, my good lord...

Therefore be patient.

This is All Souls' Day,
Catesby, is it not?

It is.

Why then, All Souls' Day
is my body's doomsday.

Thus Margaret's curse falls
heavy on my neck.

"When he," quoth she, "shall

"split thy heart
with sorrow."

Come, Catesby, lead me
to the block of shame.

Wrong hath but wrong,

and blame the due of blame.

Lead off, executioner.

The weary sun hath made
a golden set,

and by the bright track
of his fiery car

gives token of
a goodly day tomorrow.

Where is Lord Stanley
quarter'd, do you know?

His regiment lies
half a mile at least south

from the mighty power
of the King's camp.

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.

Good night, good captain Blunt.

Come, gentlemen,

let us consult upon
tomorrow's business.

Into my tent,
the dew is raw and cold.

I will not sup tonight.

Fill me a bowl of wine.

Is my visor easier than it was?

Is all my armor laid
into my tent?

It is, my liege, and all
things are in readiness.

Fortune and victory
sit on thy helm.

All comfort that the
dark night can afford

be to thy person,
noble father-in-law.

In brief, for so
the season bids us be.

Prepare thy battle
early in the morning.

With best advantage
I'll 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.

Ratcliffe...

Send out a messenger
to Stanley's regiment.

Bid him bring his power
before sun-rising,

lest his son George fall

into the blind cave of
eternal night.

O thou,

whose captain I account myself,

look on my forces
with a gracious eye,

make us thy ministers
of chastisement,

that we may praise
thee in the victory.

To thee I do commend
my watchful soul.

When I was mortal,
my anointed body

by thee was punched
full of deadly holes.

Harry the VI bids thee
despair and die!

Poor George Clarence,
by thee betrayed to death.

Tomorrow in the battle,
think on me,

and fall thy edgeless sword.

Despair and die.

The first was I
that help'd thee to the crown.

The last was I
that felt thy tyranny.

Dream on, dream on
of bloody deeds and death,

fainting, despair,
despairing yield thy breath.

Richard...

Thy Wife,

that wretched Anne, thy wife.

Never slept a quiet hour
with thee.

Now fills thy sleep
with perturbations.

Tomorrow in the battle,
think on me.

Despair and die.

Dream on thy
cousins, smother'd in the Tower.

Let us be lead within
thy bosom, Richard,

and weigh thee down to ruin,
shame, and death.

Thy nephews' souls bid thee
despair and die.

Jesu!

O coward conscience,

how dost thou afflict me!

Cold fearful drops stand
on my trembling flesh.

What do I fear? Myself?

There's none else by.

Is there a murderer here?

No?

Yes...

I am!

My conscience hath
a thousand several tongues,

and every tongue
brings in a several tale,

and every tale condemns
me for a villain.

I shall despair.

There is no creature loves me.

And if I die,

no soul will pity me...

And wherefore should they,

since I myself find in myself

no pity to myself?

My lord?

Your friends are up and
buckle on their armor.

Catesby, I have dream'd
a fearful dream!

Will our friends prove all true?

No doubt, my lord.

O by the Apostle Paul,

shadows tonight have
struck more terror

to the soul of Richard
than can the presence

of ten thousand soldiers.

'Tis not yet near day.

Come, armor me.

How have you slept, my lord?

The sweetest sleep and
fair bounding dreams

that ever entered
in a drowsy head.

How far into the morning is it?

Upon the stroke of four.

Then 'tis time to arm
and give direction.

Come, Ratcliffe, bustle!

Caparison my horse,

I will lead my men

forth onto the plains.

Go, gentlemen,

every man unto his charge!

Our strong arms
be our conscience,

our swords our law.

Remember whom
you are to cope withal.

A sort of vagabonds,

rascals and runaways.

A scum of Bretons

and base lackey peasants.

Loving countrymen,

remember this...

If you do swear to
put a tyrant down,

you sleep in peace,

the tyrant being slain.

And who doth lead them
but a paltry fellow,

long kept in Bretagne

at our brother's cost?

A milksop...

If you do free your
children from the sword,

your children's children
requite it in your age.

One that never in
his life felt so much cold

as o'er shoes in snow?

Let's whip these stragglers

o'er the seas again.

In the name of God

and all these rights...

Shall we let them
enjoy our lands?

Nay!
Lie with our wives?

Nay!
Ravage our daughters!

Draw your willing swords!

For if we thrive,

the gain of our attempt

the least of you shall
share his part thereof.

Advance our standards!

Set upon our foes!

Sound drums and trumpets,

boldly and cheerfully!

God, and Saint George!

Richmond and victory!

Let us to it pell-mell.

If not to Heaven,

then hand in hand to Hell!

Rescue,
rescue, rescue!

The King's horse is slain!

Rescue or else the day is lost!

A horse!

A horse!

My kingdom for a horse!

Withdraw, my lord,

I'll help you to a horse.

Slave!

I think there be
six Richmonds in the field.

Five have I slain today,

instead of him.

A horse! A horse!

My kingdom for a horse!

Your arm, my lord.

Argh!

Catesby!

God

and your arms be prais'd,

victorious friends.

The day is ours,

the bloody dog is dead.

Courageous Richmond,

well hast thou acquit thee.

But tell me,

is young George Stanley living?

Father!

Great God of Heaven,

say amen to all.

Amen!

My brother, Henry.

Lo, here,

this long-usurped royalty.

Wear it,

enjoy it,

and make much of it.

Proclaim a pardon
to the soldiers fled,

that in submission
will return to us.

And then, as we have
ta' en the sacrament,

we will unite

the white rose and the red.

God save King Henry,

seventh of that name!

God save the King!

England hath long been mad,

and scarr'd herself.

The brother blindly shed
the brother's blood,

the son, compell'd,
been butcher to the sire.

All this divided
York and Lancaster,

divided in their dire division.

O now,

let Richmond and Elizabeth,

the true succeeders
of each royal House,

by God's fair ordinance
conjoin together.

Now civil wounds are stopp'd,

peace lives again.

That she may long live here.

God say amen.

Amen.

Ripped By mstoll