All language subtitles for ENG.srt

God save King Edward the Fourth!

Long live King Edward the Fourth!

May the king live forever!

Once more we sit in
England's royal throne...

repurchased with the blood of enemies.

Hurrah!

Come hither, Bess.

And let me kiss my boy.

Young Ned...

for thee thine uncles and myself...

have in our armors watched
the winter's night...

went all afoot in
summer's scalding heat...

that thou mightst repossess
the crown in peace.

And from our labors,
thou shall reap the gain.

Clarence and Gloucester...

love my lovely queen.

And kiss your princely
nephew, Brothers both.

The duty that I owe unto Your Majesty...

I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

Thanks, noble Clarence.

And that I love the tree
from whence thou sprang'st...

witness the loving
kiss I give the fruit.

Worthy Brother, thanks.

And now what rests but that we spend
the time with stately triumphs...

mirthful comic shows...

such as befit the pleasure of the court.

Sound drums and trumpets!

Farewell sour annoy...

for here, I hope,
begins our lasting joy.

Hurrah!

Now is the winter of our discontent...

made glorious summer...

by this sun of York.

And all the clouds that
lowered upon our house...

in the deep bosom of the ocean...

buried.

Now are our brows bound
with victorious wreaths...

our bruised arms hung
up for monuments...

our stern alarums changed
to merry meetings...

our dreadful marches
to delightful measures.

Grim-visaged war has
smoothed his wrinkled front.

And now, instead of
mounting barbed steeds...

He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber...

Of a lute.

But I, that am not shaped
for sportive tricks...

nor made to court an
amorous looking glass -

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

to strut before a
wanton ambling nymph -

I, that am curtailed of
this fair proportion...

cheated of feature by
dissembling nature...

deformed, unfinished...

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, love forswore me
in my mother's womb.

And, for I should not
deal in her soft laws...

she did corrupt frail
nature with some bribe...

to shrimp mine arm up
like a withered shrub...

to heap an envious
mountain on my back...

to shape my legs of an unequal size...

to disproportion me in every part...

like to a chaos or an
unlicked bear whelp...

that carries no impression like the dam!

Why...

I, in this weak 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.

Then, since this earth
affords no joy to me...

but to command, to check...

to o'erbear such as are of
better person than myself...

I'll make my heaven to dream...

upon the crown...

and, whiles I live, to
account this world but hell...

until this misshaped trunk
that bears this head...

be round impaled with a glorious -

Crown.

But yet I know not
how to get the crown...

for many lives stand
between me and home.

And I, like one lost in a thorny wood...

that rends the thorns and
is rent with the thorns...

seeking a way and
straying from the way...

not knowing how to find the open air...

but toiling desperately
to find it out...

torment myself to
catch the English crown!

And from that torment
I will free myself...

or hew my way out with a bloody ax!

Why...

I can smile...

and murder whiles I smile...

and cry "Content" to that
which grieves my heart...

and wet my cheeks with
artificial tears...

and frame my face to all occasions.

I'll drown more sailors
than the mermaid shall.

I'll play the orator
as well as Nestor...

deceive more slyly than Ulysses could...

and, like a Sinon, take another Troy.

I can add colors to the chameleon...

change shapes with
Proteus for advantages...

and set the murderous
Machiavel to school!

Can I do this and cannot get a crown?

Tut, were it further
off, I'll pluck it down.

Meantime, I'll marry...

with the Lady Anne.

And here she comes...

Lamenting her lost love...

Edward, prince of Wales...

whom I some small time since...

stabbed in my angry mood at Tewksbury.

A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman
this spacious world cannot again afford.

And made her widow to a woeful bed...

that from his loins no
hopeful branch might spring...

to cross me from the golden time...

I look for.

Set down...

set down your honorable load...

whilst I awhile obsequiously lament...

the pale ashes of the
house of Lancaster.

Thou bloodless remnant
of that royal blood.

Be it lawful that I
invocate thy ghost...

to hear the lamentations of poor Anne.

Lo...

in these windows that
let forth thy life...

I pour the helpless
balm of my poor eyes.

Cursed be the hand that
made these fatal holes!

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

Cursed the blood that
let this blood from hence!

If ever he have wife, let her be made...

more miserable by the death of him...

than I am made...

by my young lord.

Aye, thee.

Stay, you that bear the corse...

and set it down.

What black magician
conjures up this fiend...

to stop devoted charitable deeds?

Villains, set down the corse, or, by Saint
Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

- My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.
- Unmannered dog! Stand thou, when I command.

Advance thy halberd
higher than my breast...

or, by Saint Paul, I'll
strike thee to my foot...

and spurn upon thee,
beggar, for thy boldness.

What, do you tremble?
Are you all afraid?

Alas, I blame you not,
for you are mortal...

and mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.

Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!

Thou hadst but power
over his mortal body...

his soul thou canst not
have, therefore be gone.

Sweet saint, for
charity, be not so cursed.

Foul devil, for God's sake,
hence, and trouble us not.

If thou delight to
view thy heinous deed...

behold this pattern of thy butcheries.

Blush, blush, thou
lump of foul deformity.

Vouchsafe, divine
perfection of a woman...

of these supposed crimes,
to give me leave...

by circumstance, but to acquit myself.

- I did not kill your husband.
- Why, then he is alive.

O, he was gentle, mild and virtuous.

The fitter for the King of Heaven, that hath
him, for 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 bedchamber.

On now, good people,
with your holy load.

I'll have her...

but I will not keep her long.

What though I killed her
husband... and her father...

the readiest way to
make the wench amends...

is to become her husband and her father
- the which will I.

Not all so much for love...

as for another secret close intent...

by marrying her...

which I must reach unto.

But yet I run before my horse to market.

Clarence still breathes...

Edward still lives...

and reigns.

When they are gone...

then must I count my gains.

Clarence, beware.

Thou keepest me from the light.

But I will plan a pitchy day for thee...

and I will buzz abroad
such prophecies...

that Edward shall be
fearful of his life.

And then, to purge his fear...

I'll be thy death.

Where is the duke of Clarence?

At hand, my lord. He waits
Your Highness' pleasure.

and brought before us.

Plots have I laid...

inductions dangerous...

with lies well steeled
with weighty arguments...

by drunken prophecies...

libels... and dreams...

to set my brother
Clarence and the king...

in deadly hate the
one against the other.

Oh, passing traitor...

perjured and unjust!

What have I done that seems
disgracious in my brother's -

And if King Edward
be as true and just...

as I am subtle, false and treacherous...

this day should Clarence
closely be mewed up...

about a prophecy, which says that "G"...

of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.

And if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live.

What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit?

Away with him!

He cannot live...

I hope...

and must not die till George be
packed with post-horse up to heaven.

Dive, thoughts, down to my soul
- George Clarence comes.

- Brother!
- Oh.

Good day.

What means this armed guard
that waits upon Your Grace?

His Majesty, tendering
my person's safety...

hath appointed this conduct
to convey me to the Tower.

- Upon what cause?
- Because my name is George.

Alas, milord, that
fault is none of yours.

He should, for that,
commit your godfathers.

O, belike his majesty
hath some intent...

that you shall be
new-christened in the Tower, eh?

Ah, but what's the matter, Clarence?

- May I know?
- Yea, Richard, when I know...

for I protest as yet I do not.

But as I can learn...

he hearkens after prophecies and dreams.

And from the crossrow
plucks the letter "G"...

and says a wizard
told him that by "G"...

his issue disinherited should be.

And, for my name of
George begins with "G"...

it follows in his thoughts that I am he.

These, as I learn, and
suchlike toys as these...

have moved His Highness
to commit me now.

Why, thus it is when
men are ruled by women.

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

Our upstart queen
- his wife, Clarence, 'tis she...

that tempers him to this extremity.

Was it not she and that
good man of worship...

Anthony Rivers, her brother there...

that made him send Lord
Hastings to the Tower...

from whence this present
day he is delivered?

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 your brother.

We know thy charge,
Brackenbury, and will obey.

We are the queen's
abjects and must obey.

Brother, farewell. I
will unto the king...

and whatsoe'er you will employ me in,
I will perform it to enfranchise you.

Meantime, this deep
disgrace in brotherhood...

touches me deeper than you can imagine.

- I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
- Well...

your imprisonment shall not be long.

I will deliver you, or else lie for you.

- Meantime, have patience.
- I must perforce.

Farewell.

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

Simple, plain Clarence.

I do love thee so, that I will
shortly send thy soul to heaven...

if heaven will take the
present at our hands.

Gentle Lady Anne...

is not the causer of the untimely
death of your brave prince...

as blameful as the executioner?

Thou art the cause...
and most accursed effect.

Your beauty was the
cause of that effect.

Your beauty, which 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.

He that bereft thee,
lady, of thy husband...

did it to help thee to a better husband.

His better does not
breathe upon the earth.

Go to. He lives that loves
you better than he could.

Where is he?

Here.

Why dost thou spit...

at 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.

Thou dost infect mine eyes.

Thine eyes, sweet lady,
have infected mine.

Those eyes of thine from
mine have drawn salt tears...

shamed their aspects with
store of childish drops.

These eyes that never
shed remorseful tear.

No. When thy warlike
father, like a child...

told the sad story of
my father's death...

and 20 times made
pause to sob and weep...

that all the standers-by
had wet their cheeks...

like trees bedashed with rain -

in that sad time...

my manly eyes did scorn an humble tear.

And what these sorrows could
not thence bring forth...

thy beauty hath...

and made them blind with weeping.

I never sued to friend nor enemy.

My tongue could never
learn sweet smoothing word.

But now thy beauty is proposed my fee.

My proud heart sues and
prompts my tongue to speak.

Teach not thy lip such scorn...

for it was made for kissing, lady...

not for such contempt.

If thy revengeful
heart cannot forgive...

Io, here I lend thee this
sharp-pointed sword...

which if thou please to hide in this true breast
and let the soul forth that adoreth thee...

I lay it naked to the deadly stroke
and humbly beg the death upon my knee!

Nay, do not pause, for I
did kill Prince Edward...

but 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.

Nay, now dispatch. 'Twas I
that stabbed your husband...

but 'twas thy heavenly
face that set me on.

Take up the sword 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.

- I have already.
- That was in thy rage.

Speak it again, and,
even with the word...

this hand, which for thy
love did kill thy love...

shall for thy love
kill a far truer love.

To both their deaths
shalt thou be accessory.

- I would I knew thy heart.
- 'Tis figured in my tongue.

- I fear me both are false.
- Then never man was true.

Well, well...

put up your sword.

Say, then, my peace is made.

That shalt thou 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.

Wear both of them...

for both of them are thine.

Bid me farewell.

Was ever woman in this humor wooed?

Was ever woman in this humor won?

My dukedom to a widow's chastity...

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 some score
or two of tailors...

to study fashions to adorn my body.

Since I am crept in favor with myself...

I will maintain it to some little cost.

Shine out, fair sun...

till I have bought a glass...

that I may see my shadow...

as I pass.

Have patience, madam. There's
no doubt His Majesty...

will soon recover his accustomed health.

In that you brook it
ill, it makes him worse.

Therefore, for God's sake,
entertain good comfort...

and cheer His Grace...

with quick and merry words.

If he were dead, what
would betide of me?

No other harm but loss of such a lord.

The loss of such a
lord includes all harm.

The heavens have blessed you with a goodly
son to be your comforter when he is gone.

Oh, 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 he shall be protector?

It is intended, not concluded yet.

But so it must be if the king miscarry.

This is a special warrant
for the duke of Clarence.

A summary order to deliver him...

to execution and the hand of death.

Which done...

God take King Edward to his mercy...

and leave the world for me...

to bustle in.

Oh.

Why looks Your Grace so heavily today?

Oh, I have passed a miserable night.

So full of ugly sights,
of ghastly dreams...

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...

so full of dismal terror was the time.

What was this dream?

I pray you tell it me.

Methought that I had
broken from the Tower...

and was embarked to cross to Burgundy.

And in my company, my
brother Gloucester...

who from my cabin tempted
me to walk upon the hatches.

Thence we looked towards England...

and cited up a thousand fearful times...

during the wars of York and
Lancaster that had befallen us.

As we paced along upon the
giddy footing of the hatches...

methought that Gloucester stumbled...

and, in falling...

struck me, that thought to stay him...

overboard, into the
tumbling billows of the main.

Lord, Lord!

Methought what pain it was to drown.

What dreadful noise
of water in mine ears.

What ugly sights of
death within mine eyes.

Methought I saw a
thousand fearful wrecks...

10,000 men that fishes gnawed upon...

wedges of gold, great
anchors, heaps of pearl...

inestimable stones, unvalued jewels...

all scattered at the bottom of the sea.

Had you such leisure
in the time of death...

to gaze upon the secrets of the deep?

Methought I had, and
often did I strive...

to yield the ghost.

But still the envious
flood kept in my soul...

and would not let it forth to find
the empty, vast and wandering air...

but smothered it within
my panting bulk...

which almost burst to
belch it in the sea.

Awoke you not with this sore agony?

Oh, no, my dream was
lengthened after life.

Oh, then began the tempest to my soul.

I crossed, methought,
the melancholy flood...

with that grim ferryman
that poets write of...

into the kingdom of perpetual night.

The first that there did
greet my stranger soul...

was my great father-in-law,
renowned Warwick...

who cried aloud...

"What scourge for perjury can this
dark monarchy afford false Clarence?"

And so he vanished.

Then came wandering by
a shadow like an angel...

with bright hair dabbled with blood.

And he shrieked out aloud...

"Clarence is come! False,
fleeting, perjured Clarence...

"that stabbed me in
the field by Tewksbury!

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

With that, methought a legion
of foul fiends environed me...

and howled in mine ears
such hideous cries...

that with the very noise
I trembling waked...

and for a season after...

could not believe but
that I was in hell...

such terrible impression made my dream.

No marvel, my lord,
that it affrighted you.

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

Oh, Brackenbury, I have
done those things...

which now bear evidence
against my soul...

for Edward's sake...

and see how he requites me.

Oh, God, if my deep prayers
will not appease thee...

but thou wilt be
avenged on my misdeeds...

yet execute thy wrath on me alone.

Oh, spare my guiltless
wife and my poor children.

I pray thee, gentle
keeper, stay with me.

My soul is heavy...

and I fain would sleep.

I will, my lord.

God give Your Grace...

good rest.

Good time of day unto Your Royal Grace.

Oh, princely Buckingham.
I kiss thy hand.

- Good morrow, Catesby.
- God make Your Grace as joyful as you have been.

But now the duke of Buckingham and I
have come from visiting His Majesty.

He hath revoked the order for the
execution of the duke, your brother.

What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

But who comes here?

By heaven, I think
there's no man secure...

but the queen's kindred
and night-walking heralds...

that trudge betwixt the
king and Mistress Shore.

Heard you not what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?

Humbly complaining to her deity
got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.

I'll tell you what. I
think it is our way...

if we will keep in favor with the
king to be her men and wear her livery.

The jealous fading queen
and Mistress Shore...

since that our brother
dubbed them gentlewomen...

are mighty gossips in our monarchy.

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 your brother.

Even so, an't please your
worship, Brackenbury...

you may partake of anything we say.

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.

We say that Shore's wife
hath a pretty foot...

a cherry lip, a bonny eye...

a passing pleasing tongue and that the
queen's kindred are made gentlefolks.

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

With this, my lord,
myself have naught to do.

Naught to do with Mistress Shore?

I tell thee, fellow, he that doth naught with her,
excepting one, were best to do it secretly, alone.

- What one, my lord?
- Her husband, knave. Wouldst thou betray me?

I beseech Your Graces
both to pardon me...

and withal forbear all conference
with the duke of Clarence.

I cannot tell. The
world is grown so bad...

that wrens may prey where
eagles dare not perch.

Since every Jack became a gentleman,
there's many a gentle person made a Jack.

But who comes here?

The new-delivered Hastings.

Good time of day unto my gracious lord.

As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain.

Well are you welcome to this open air.

How hath your lordship
brooked imprisonment?

With patience, good
Catesby, as prisoners must.

- My lord.
- Farewell, good Brackenbury.

But I shall live, my lord, to give them
thanks that were the cause of my imprisonment.

No doubt, no doubt. And
so shall Clarence, too.

For they that were
your enemies are his...

and have prevailed
as much on him as you.

More pity that the
eagle should be mewed...

while kites and
buzzards prey at liberty.

- What news abroad?
- No news so bad abroad as this at home.

The king is sickly, weak and melancholy,
and his physicians fear him mightily.

Now, by Saint Paul,
that news is bad indeed.

Hmm. He hath kept an evil diet long...

and overmuch consumed his royal person.

'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.

Where is he, Catesby, in his bed?

- He is.
- God grant him health.

- Did you confer with him?
- We did, my lord...

and he desires to make atonement betwixt the
duke of Gloucester and the brothers of the queen.

And betwixt them and you,
my good Lord Chamberlain...

and sent to warn you
to his royal presence.

They do me wrong...

and I will not endure it.

Who are they that
complain unto the king...

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

By holy Paul, they love His Grace but lightly
that fill his ears with such dissentious rumors.

Because I cannot
flatter and speak fair...

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

duck with French nods
and apish courtesy...

I must be held a rancorous enemy.

Cannot a plain man live
and think no harm...

but thus his simple
truth must be abused...

by silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

- To whom in all this presence speaks Your Grace?
- To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.

When have I injured thee? When
done thee wrong? Or thee? Or thee?

Or any of your faction?
A plague upon you all.

His Royal Grace, whom God preserve
better than you would wish...

cannot be quiet 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 is imprisoned
by your means...

myself disgraced and the
nobility held in contempt...

while great promotions are
daily given to ennoble those...

that scarce some two days
since were worth a noble.

By God who raised me to
this careful height...

from that contented
hap which I enjoyed...

I never did incense His Majesty
against the duke of Clarence...

but have been an earnest
advocate to plead for him.

My lord, you do me shameful injury
falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.

You may deny that you were not the cause
of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment.

- She may, my lord -
- She may, Lord Rivers.

Why, who knows not so? She may
do more, sir, than denying that.

She may help you to many fair preferments
and then deny her aiding hand therein...

and lay those honors
on your high desert.

Ha! What may she not? She
may, aye, marry, may she -

- What, marry, may she?
- "What, marry, may she?" Marry with a king...

a bachelor and a
handsome stripling, too.

I guess your grandam had a worser match.

My lord of Gloucester,
I have too long borne...

your blunt upbraidings
and your bitter scoffs.

By heaven, I will
acquaint His Majesty...

with those gross taunts
I often have endured.

What? Threat you me with telling
of the king? Tell him and spare not.

Look, what I have said I will
avouch in presence of the king.

I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.
'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot.

I had rather be a country servant-maid
than a great queen, with this condition...

to be thus baited,
scorned and stormed at.

Small joy have I in
being England's queen.

Ere you were queen, aye,
or your husband king...

I was a packhorse in
his great affairs...

a weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
a liberal rewarder of his friends.

To royalize his blood I spilt mine own.

In all which time you
and your late husband...

together with his son Dorset here...

were factious for the house of Lancaster
- and, Rivers, so were you.

Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
what you have been ere this, and what you are.

Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Poor Clarence did forsake
his father-in-law, Warwick -

Aye, and forswore himself-
which Jesu pardon -

to fight on Edward's
party for the crown.

And for his meed, poor
lord, he is mewed up.

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

or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine.

I am too childish-foolish
for this world.

My lord of Gloucester,
in those busy days...

which here you urge
to prove us enemies...

we followed then our
lord, our lawful king.

So should we you, if
you should be our king.

If I should be? I'd rather be a peddler.

Far be it from my heart,
the thought thereof.

As little joy, my
lord, as you suppose...

you should enjoy, were
you this country's king...

as little I enjoy,
being the queen thereof.

Dispute not with him. He is lunatic.

Peace, Master Marquess,
you are malapert.

Your fire-new stamp of
honor is scarce current.

- What doth he say, my lord of Stanley?
- Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

They that stand high have
many blasts to shake them.

And when they fall, they
dash themselves to pieces.

Good counsel. Marry, learn
it, Marquess. Learn it.

- It touches you, my lord, as much as me.
- Aye...

and much more.

But I was born so high.

I was too hot to do somebody good...

that is too cold in thinking of it now.

Marry, as for Clarence,
he is well repaid.

He is franked up to
fatting for his pains.

God pardon them that
are the cause thereof.

A virtuous and a
Christian-like conclusion...

to pray for them that
have done wrong to us.

So do I ever, being well-advised.

For had I cursed now,
I had cursed myself.

Madam, His Majesty doth call for you and
for Your Grace and you, my noble lords.

Catesby, we come. Lords,
will you go with us?

Madam, we will attend Your Grace.

Go you before, and I will follow you.

But soft...

here come my executioners.

How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates!

Are you now going to
dispatch this thing?

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

Well thought upon. I
have it here about me.

Uh -

But, sirs, be sudden in the execution...

withal obdurate, do
not hear him plead...

for Clarence is well-spoken and perhaps may
move your hearts to pity if you mark him.

Tush! Fear not, milord,
we will not stand to prate.

Talkers are no good doers.

Be assured we come to use
our hands and not our tongues.

Your eyes drop millstones when
fools' eyes drop tears, eh?

I like you, lads. About
your business straight.

- Go, go, dispatch.
- We will, my noble lord.

In God's name, who are you,
and how came you hither?

I would speak with Clarence,
and I came hither on my legs.

- Be you so brief?
- O, sir, 'tis better to be brief than tedious.

Show him our commission
and talk no more.

I am, in this, commanded to deliver the
noble duke of Clarence to your hands.

I will not reason what is meant thereby,
because I will be guiltless of the meaning.

Here is the key.

There lies the duke asleep.

I'll to His Majesty and certify His Grace
that thus I have resigned my charge to you.

You may, sir. It is a point
of wisdom. Fare you well.

I know thy charge, Brackenbury...

and will take it.

Clout him over the head with
the hilts of thy weapon...

and then chop him in the
malmsey butt in the next room.

Aye, make a sop of him.

Where art thou, keeper?

Give me a cup of wine.

You shall have wine
enough, my lord, anon.

Why, so.

Now have I done a good day's work.

You peers, continue this united league.

Madam, my mother...

I do crave your blessing.

I every day expect a
summons from my Redeemer...

to redeem me hence...

and now...

in peace my soul shall
part for heaven...

since I have left my
friends at peace on earth.

Rivers, Hastings...

take each other's hand.

Dissemble not your hatred...

swear your love.

By heaven, my heart is
purged from grudging hate...

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

So thrive I, as I truly swear the like.

Take heed you dally
not before your king...

lest he that is the
supreme King of Kings...

confound your hidden falsehood...

and award either of you
to be the other's end.

So prosper I, as I swear perfect love.

And I, as I love Hastings with my heart.

Madam, yourself are
not exempt in this...

nor you, young Dorset -

Buckingham, nor you.

You have been factious
one against the other.

Wife, love Lord Hastings.

Let him kiss your hand.

And what you do, do it unfeignedly.

There, Hastings. I will never
more remember our former hatred...

so thrive I and mine.

Dorset, embrace him.

Hastings, love Lord Marquess.

This interchange of love, I here
protest, upon my part shall be inviolable.

And so swear I, my lord.

Now, princely Buckingham,
seal thou this league...

with thy embracement
to my wife's allies...

and make me happy in your unity.

Whenever Buckingham doth turn
his hate on you or yours...

God punish me with hate in
those where I expect most love.

When I have most need
to employ a friend...

and most assured that he is a friend...

deep, hollow, treacherous
and full of guile...

be he unto me.

This do I beg of God...

when I am cold in zeal to you or yours.

A pleasing cordial,
princely Buckingham...

is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.

There wanteth now our
brother Gloucester here...

to make the perfect
period of this peace.

And in good time here
comes the noble duke.

Good morrow to my sovereign
king... and queen...

and, princely peers,
a happy time of day.

Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.

Brother, we have done
deeds of charity...

made peace of enmity,
fair love of hate...

between these swelling
wrong-incensed peers.

A blessed labor, my
most sovereign liege.

Among this princely heap...

if any here, by false intelligence...

or wrong surmise, hold me a foe -

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.

'Tis death to me to be at enmity.

I hate it, and desire
all good men's love.

First, madam, I entreat
true peace of you...

which I will purchase
with my duteous service.

Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham...

if ever any grudge
were lodged between us -

of you, Lord Rivers,
and, Lord Grey, of you -

of you, my noble
Marquess, lord of Dorset -

that all without desert
have frowned on me -

dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen...

indeed, of all.

I do not know that Englishman alive
with whom my soul is any jot at odds...

more than the infant
that is born tonight.

I thank my God for my humility.

A holy day shall this be kept hereafter.

I would to God all strifes
were well compounded.

My sovereign liege, I do
beseech Your Majesty...

to take our brother
Clarence to Your Grace.

Why, madam...

have I offered 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 corse.

Who knows not he is dead?

- Who knows he is? - All-seeing
heaven, what a world is this!

Look I so pale, Lord
Dorset, as the rest?

Aye, my good lord...

and no one in this presence but his
red color hath forsook his cheeks.

I
- Is Clarence dead? The order was reversed.

But he, poor soul, by your first order
died, and that a winged Mercury did bear.

Some tardy cripple
bore the countermand...

that came too lag to see him buried.

Who sued to me for him?

Who, in my rage, kneeled at my
feet, and bade me be advised?

Who spake of brotherhood?

Who spake of love?

Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
the mighty Warwick and did fight for me?

Who told me, in the
field by Tewksbury...

when Warwick had me
down, he rescued me...

and said, "Dear Brother,
live and be a king"?

Who told me...

when we both lay on the ground
frozen almost to death...

how he did lap me even
in his own garments...

and gave himself, all thin and
naked, to the numb, cold night?

All this from my remembrance
brutish wrath sinfully plucked...

and not a man of you had so
much grace to put it in my mind!

Oh, God!

I fear...

thy justice will take
hold on me, and you...

and mine, and yours for this.

Come, Hastings, help me to my bed.

Oh!

Poor Clarence!

This is the fruit of rashness.

Marked you not how that the
guilty kindred of the queen...

looked pale when they did
hear of Clarence' death?

Oh, my good Lord Stanley, they
did urge it still unto the king.

God will revenge it.

Oh, who shall hinder
me to wail and weep...

to chide my fortune and torment myself?

Oh, for my husband,
for my dear Lord Edward.

Comfort, dear madam.
God is much displeased...

that you take with
unthankfulness his doing.

Madam, bethink you,
like a careful mother...

of the young prince of Wales.

Send straight for him.
Let him be crowned.

In him your comfort lives.

Drown desperate sorrow
in dead Edward's grave...

and plant your joys in
living Edward's throne.

Sister...

have comfort.

All of us have cause to wail the
dimming of our shining star...

but none may help our
harms by wailing them.

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

Most humbly on my knee,
I crave your blessing.

God bless thee and put
meekness in thy mind...

love, charity, obedience and true duty.

Amen, and make me die a good old man. That
is the butt end of a mother's blessing.

I marvel that Her
Grace did leave it out.

You cloudy princes and
heart-sorrowing peers...

that bear this mutual
heavy load of moan...

now cheer each other
in each other's love.

The broken rancor of
your high-swoln hearts...

but lately splinted, knit
and joined together...

must gently be preserved,
cherished and kept.

Meseemeth good that
with some little train...

forthwith from Ludlow the
young prince be fetched...

hither to London to be crowned our king.

Why with some little train,
my lord of Buckingham?

Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude...

the new-healed wound of
malice should break out...

as well the fear of
harm as harm apparent...

in my opinion, ought to be prevented.

I hope the king made
peace with all of us...

and the compact is firm and true in me.

And so in me. And so, I think, in all.

Yet, since it is but green...

it should be put to no
apparent likelihood of breach...

which haply by much
company might be urged.

Therefore I say with noble Buckingham...

that it is meet so few
should fetch the prince.

- And so say I.
- Then be it so...

and go we to determine
who they shall be...

that straight shall post to Ludlow.

Madam, and you, my mother, will you go
to give your censures in this business?

With all our hearts.

My lord...

whoever journeys to the prince, for
God's sake, let not us two stay behind.

For by the way I'll sort occasion...

as index to the story
we late talked on...

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

My other self...

my counsel's consistory...

my oracle, my prophet.

My dear cousin...

I, like a child, will
go by thy direction.

Towards Ludlow then...

for we'll not stay behind.

Last night, I hear,
they lay at Northampton.

At Stony-Stratford
will they be tonight.

Tomorrow, or next
day, they will be here.

I long with all my
heart to see the prince.

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

But I hear no. They say my son of York
hath almost overta'en him in his growth.

Aye, Mother, but I would not have it so.

Why, my young grandson,
it is good to grow.

Grandam, one night as
we did sit at supper...

my uncle Rivers talked how I did grow...

more than my brother.

"Aye," quoth my uncle Gloucester...

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

Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast...

that he could gnaw a
crust at two hours old.

'Twas full two years
ere I could get a tooth.

A parlous boy. Go to,
you are too shrewd.

Good madam, be not angry with the child.

Pitchers have ears.

Where is the queen?

- Where is Her Majesty?
- She is above, my lord.

Here comes your kinsman Marquess Dorset.

- What news, Lord Marquess?
- Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold.

- How fares the prince?
- Well, madam, and in health.

What is thy news, then?

Madam, your brothers, 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 disclosed.

Why, or for what, our
kinsmen are committed...

is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.

Ay me, I see the downfall of our house.

The tiger now hath
seized the gentle hind.

Accursed and unquiet wrangling days...

how many of you have mine eyes beheld.

My husband lost his
life to get the crown...

and often up and down
my sons were tossed...

for me to joy or weep
their gain and loss.

Blood against blood...

self against self.

O let me die, to look on death no more.

Come, come, my boy.

We will to sanctuary.

- Madam, farewell.
- I'll go with you.

You have no cause.

My gracious lady, go, and thither
bear your treasure and your goods.

For my part, I'll resign unto
Your Grace the seal I keep...

and so betide to me as well
I tender you and all of yours.

Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary.

Welcome, sweet prince, to
London, to your chamber.

Welcome, dear cousin...

my thoughts' sovereign.

Ah, the weary way hath
made you melancholy.

No, Uncle, but our crosses on the way...

have made it tedious,
wearisome and heavy.

I want more uncles here to welcome me.

Sweet prince, the untainted
virtue of your years...

hath not yet dived
into the world's deceit.

No more can you distinguish of
a man than of his outward show...

which, God he knows, seldom or never...

jumpeth with the heart.

Those uncles which you want...

were dangerous.

Your Grace attended to
their sugared words...

but looked not on the
poison of their hearts.

God keep you from them and
from such false friends.

God keep me from false
friends, but they were none.

Hmm. Sir, my Lord Archbishop
comes to greet you.

The mayor of London
waits upon Your Grace.

God bless Your Grace with
health and happy days.

I thank you, good my
lord, and thank you all.

I thought my mother
and my brother York...

would long ere this
have met us on the way.

Fie, what a slug is Hastings...

that he comes not to tell us
whether they will come or no.

And in good time here
comes the sweating lord.

And the Lord Stanley with him.

Welcome, my lord. What,
will our mother come?

On what occasion, God he knows, not I...

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 indirect and
peevish course is this of hers.

My Lord Archbishop...

will Your Grace persuade the queen...

to send the duke of York unto
his princely brother presently?

If she deny, Lord
Hastings, go with him...

and from her jealous
arms pluck him perforce.

My lord of Buckingham...

if my weak oratory can from his
mother win the duke of York...

anon expect him here.

But if she be obdurate
to mild entreaties...

God in heaven forbid we should infringe
the holy privilege of blessed sanctuary!

Not for all this land would
I be guilty of so deep a sin.

You are too
senseless-obstinate, my lord...

too ceremonious and traditional.

Weigh it but with the grossness of this
age, you break not sanctuary in seizing him.

The benefit thereof is always granted...

to those whose dealings
have deserved the place...

and those that have the
wit to claim the place.

This prince hath neither
claimed it nor deserved it.

And therefore, in my
opinion, cannot have it.

Oft have I heard of sanctuary men...

but sanctuary
children - huh! -

ne'er till now.

Milord, you shall
o'errule my mind for once.

Come on, Lord Hastings,
will you go with me?

I go, my lord. Lord
Stanley, will you come?

Good lords, make all
the speedy haste you may.

Catesby, Ratcliffe, Lovel, go with them.

The mayor towards Guildhall
hies him in all haste.

There tomorrow, at your
meetest vantage of the time...

infer the bastardy of Edward's children.

Moreover, urge his hateful luxury...

and bestial appetite
in change of lust...

which stretched unto their
servants, daughters, wives...

even where his raging eye or
savage heart, without control...

lusted to make his prey.

Say, Uncle Gloucester,
if my brother come...

where shall we sojourn
till our coronation?

Where it thinks best
unto your royal self.

If I may counsel you...

some day or two Your
Highness shall repose you...

at the Tower.

Then where you please...

and shall be thought most fit for
your best health and recreation.

I do not like the Tower...

of any place.

So wise so young, they
say, do ne'er live long.

Did Julius Caesar build
that place, milord?

He did, my gracious
lord, begin that place.

That Julius Caesar was a famous man.

With what his valor
did enrich his wit...

his wit set down to make his valor live.

Nay, for a need, thus
far come near my person.

Tell them that when my
mother was with child -

with my yet unborn brother -

noble York, my princely father...

then had wars in France...

and by true computation of the time...

found that the issue
was not his begot...

which well appeared in his lineaments,
being nothing like the duke, my noble father.

Yet, uh, touch this
sparingly, as 'twere far off...

because, my lord, you
know, my mother lives.

I'll tell you what,
my cousin Buckingham.

- What, my gracious lord?
- An if I live until I be a man...

I'll win our ancient
rights in France again...

or die a soldier, as I lived a king.

Short summers lightly
have a forward spring.

Fear not, my lord,
I'll play the orator...

as if the golden fee for
which I plead were for myself.

If you thrive well, bring
them to Baynard's Castle...

where you shall find
me well accompanied...

with reverend fathers
and well-learned bishops.

Ah, 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.

Aye, Brother, to our
grief, as it is yours.

How fares our noble
cousin, princely York?

I thank you, gentle Uncle.

Oh, my lord, you said that
idle weeds are fast in growth.

The prince my brother
hath outgrown me far.

- He hath, milord.
- And therefore is he idle?

- Oh, my dear lord, I must not say so.
- Then he is more beholding to you than I.

Ah, he may command me as my sovereign...

but you have power in me as a kinsman.

I pray you, Uncle, give me this dagger.

My dagger, little
cousin? With all my heart.

- A beggar, Brother?
- Of my kind uncle, that I know will give...

and being but a toy,
which is no grief to give.

A greater gift than
that I'll give my cousin.

A greater gift? Oh,
that's the sword to it.

- Too weighty for Your Grace to wear.
- I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.

What, would you have
my weapon, little lord?

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

- How?
- Little.

My lord of 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 shoulder!

With what a sharp-provided
wit he reasons!

To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,
he prettily and aptly taunts himself.

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 unto
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?
- Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost.

My grandam told me
he was murdered there.

- I fear no uncles dead.
- Nor none that live, I hope.

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

But come, and with heavy hearts...

thinking on them...

go we unto the Tower.

Well, let them rest.

Now, my lord, what shall we do...

if we perceive that the Lord Hastings
will not yield to our complots?

Chop off his head, man.

Somewhat we will do.

Come hither, Catesby.

Thou art sworn as deeply
to effect what we intend...

as closely to conceal what we impart.

Thou knowest our reasons
urged upon the way.

What thinkest thou? Is
it not an easy matter...

to make Lord Hastings of our mind...

for the installment of this noble duke
in the seat royal of this famous isle?

He for the late king's
sake so loves the prince...

that he will not be won
to aught against him.

What think'st thou, then,
of Stanley? What will he?

He will do all in all as Hastings doth.

Hmm.

Well, then, no more but this.

Go, gentle Catesby...

and, as it were far off,
sound thou Lord Hastings...

how he stands affected
unto our purpose...

and summon him tomorrow to the Tower...

to counsel on the coronation.

If thou dost find him tractable to us,
encourage him and show him all our reasons.

If he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling...

be thou so too, and so
break off your talk...

and give us notice of his inclination.

I will, my lord.
Farewell, Your Graces both.

Catesby...

commend me to Lord Hastings.

Tell him his ancient knot
of dangerous adversaries...

Lord Rivers and Lord Grey...

tomorrow are let blood
at Pomfret castle.

And bid my friend, for
joy of this good news...

give Mistress Shore one
gentle kiss the more.

My lord.

My lord.

My lord.

- Who knocks?
- One from the Lord Stanley.

- What is't o'clock?
- Upon the stroke of 4:00.

Cannot my Lord Stanley
sleep these tedious nights?

So it appears by that I have to say.

First, he commends
him to your noble self.

What then?

Then certifies your lordship
that this night he had a dream -

the boar razed off his helm.

Therefore he sends to know
your lordship's pleasure...

if you will presently
take horse with him...

and with all speed post
with him toward the north...

to shun the danger
that his soul divines.

Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord.

Tell him his fears are
shallow, without instance.

And for his dreams, I
wonder he's so simple...

to trust the mockery
of unquiet slumbers.

To fly the boar before
the boar pursues...

were to incense the boar to follow us...

and make pursuit where
he did mean no chase.

Go, bid thy master
rise and come to me...

and we will both
together to the Tower...

where he shall see the
boar will use us kindly.

I'll go, my lord, and
tell him what you say.

How now, sirrah.

- How goes the world with thee?
- The better that your lordship please to ask.

Many good morrows to my noble lord.

Good morrow, Catesby.

You are early stirring.

What news? What news, in
this our tottering state?

It is a reeling world indeed, my lord.

And, uh...

I believe will never stand upright...

till Richard wear the
garland of the realm.

- How? Wear the
garland? - Mm-hmm.

- Dost thou mean the crown?
- Aye, my good lord.

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

before I'll see the
crown so foul misplaced.

But canst thou guess
that he doth aim at it?

Aye, on my life...

and hopes to find you forward upon
his party for the gain thereof.

Thereupon he sends you this good news...

that this same very day your enemies...

the kindred of the queen...

must die at Pomfret.

Indeed I am no mourner for that news.

But that I'll give my
voice on Richard's side...

to bar my master's
heirs in true descent -

God knows I will not do it...

to the death.

God keep your lordship
in that gracious mind.

But I shall laugh at this
a twelvemonth hence...

that they which brought
me in my master's hate...

I live to look upon their tragedy.

Well, Catesby...

ere a fortnight make me older...

I'll send some packing
that yet not think on't.

'Tis a vile thing to
die, my gracious lord...

when men are unprepared
and look not for it.

Monstrous, monstrous.

And so falls it out with Rivers...

and with Grey.

And so 'twill do with some men else...

who think themselves
as safe as thou and I -

who, as thou know'st, are
dear to princely Richard -

And to Buckingham.

The princes both make
high account of you.

For they account his
head upon the Bridge.

I know they do, and I
have well deserved it.

Come on, come on, where's
your boar spear, man?

Fear you the boar and go so unprovided?

- My lord, good morrow.
- Good morrow, Catesby.

You may jest on, but by the holy
rood, the lords at Pomfret...

when they rode from London were jocund
and supposed their states were sure...

and they indeed had
no cause to mistrust.

And yet you see how
soon the day o'ercast.

My lord, I hold my
life as dear as yours...

and never in my days, I do protest...

was it so precious to me as 'tis now.

- Good morrow, mistress.
- Good morrow, my lord.

Think you, but that I
know our state secure...

I would be so triumphant as I am?

This sudden stab of rancor I misdoubt.

Pray God, I say, I
prove a needless coward.

But come, my lord.
Shall we to the Tower?

Go you before. I'll follow presently.

Well met, my lord. I am
glad to see Your Honor.

I thank thee, reverend
sir, with all my heart.

I am in your debt for
your last exercise.

Come the next Sabbath,
and I will content you.

What, talking with a
priest, Lord Chamberlain?

Your friends at Pomfret,
they do need the priest.

Your worship hath no
shriving work in hand.

Good faith, and when I met this holy man,
the men you talk of came into my mind.

What, go you toward the Tower?

I do, my lord, but long I cannot stay there.
I shall return before your lordship thence.

Nay, like enough, for
I stay dinner there.

- And supper, too, although thou know'st it not.
- Hmm?

- Come, will you go?
- I wait upon your lordship.

My lords, at once, the
cause why we are met...

is to determine of the coronation.

- Ah.
- In God's name, say. When is the royal day?

Are all things fitting
for that royal time?

They are and want but nomination.

Tomorrow, then, I guess a happy time.

Who knows the Lord
Protector's mind herein?

Who is most inward with the noble duke?

Why, you, milord, methinks
should soonest know his mind.

We know each other's faces.

For our hearts, he knows no
more of mine than I of yours.

Nor I no more of his...

than you of mine.

Lord Hastings, you and
he are near in love.

I thank His Grace, I
know he loves me well.

But for his purpose in the
coronation I have not sounded him...

nor he delivered 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.

Now in good 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 you not come upon
your cue, my lord...

William Lord Hastings had
now pronounced your part -

I mean, your voice
- for crowning of the king.

Than my Lord Hastings
no man might be bolder.

- I thank Your Grace.
- His lordship knows me well...

and loves me well.

Hmm.

Ah, the crowning of the
king. My Lord Archbishop.

Milord?

When I was last in Lambeth, I saw
good strawberries in your garden there.

I do beseech you send for some of them.

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

Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.

Catesby hath sounded
Hastings on our business...

and finds the testy gentleman so hot...

that he will lose his
head ere give consent...

his master's son, as
worshipful he terms it...

shall lose the royalty
of England's throne.

When I am king...

claim thou of me the
earldom of Hereford...

and all the movables...

whereof the king my
brother was possessed, hmm?

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

And look to have it yielded
with all willingness.

Where is our Lord Protector?

I have sent for these strawberries.

We have not yet set
down this day of triumph.

Tomorrow, in mine
opinion, is too sudden...

for I myself am not so well provided as
else I might be were the day prolonged.

His Grace looks cheerfully
and smooth today.

There's some conceit or
other likes him well...

when he doth bid good
morrow with such a spirit.

I think there's never
a man in Christendom...

that can lesser hide his love...

or hate than he...

for by his look straight
shall you know his heart.

What of his heart
perceived you in his face...

by any likelihood he showed today?

Marry, that with no man
here he is offended...

for if he were, he would
have shown it in his looks.

I pray you all, tell
me what they deserve...

that do conspire my death...

with devilish plots
of damned witchcraft...

and that have prevailed upon my
body with their hellish charms?

The tender love I bear
Your Grace, my lord...

makes me most forward in this noble
presence to doom the offenders.

Whosoe'er they be, I say
they have deserved death.

Then be your eyes the
witness of their evil.

Look how I am bewitched!

Behold, mine arm is like a
blasted sapling, withered up.

And this is Edward's wife,
that monstrous witch...

consorted with that
harlot strumpet Shore...

that by their witchcraft
thus have marked me.

If they have done this
thing, my gracious lord -

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
shall not dine until I see the same.

Catesby, Ratcliffe, Lovel, see
it done. The rest that love me...

rise...

and follow me!

I never looked for
better at his hands...

after he once fell in
with Mistress Shore.

Woe, woe for England.

Not a whit for me, for I, too
fond, might have prevented this.

Stanley did dream the boar
chopped off his head...

but I disdained it and did scorn to fly.

Three times today my
footcloth horse did stumble...

and started when he
looked upon the Tower...

as loath to bear me
to the slaughterhouse.

Oh...

now I want the priest that spake to me.

Dispatch, my lord. The
duke would be at dinner.

Make a short shrift. He
longs to see your head.

Hmm.

The cat...

the rat...

and Lovel the dog...

rule all England under the hog.

Come, come, dispatch.
'Tis bootless to exclaim.

Hmm.

Come, lead me to the
block, bear him my head.

They smile at me that
shortly shall be dead.

Well, well...

that was the sliest, sheltered
traitor that ever lived.

Would you have imagined,
my good Lord Mayor...

were't not, by great preservation...

we live to tell it you...

the subtle traitor this day had
plotted in the council house...

to murder me and my
good lord of Gloucester?

What, had he so?

So smooth he daubed his
vice with show of virtue...

that, his apparent open guilt apart -

I mean, his conversation
with Shore's wife -

his life was free from all suspicion.

Now fair befall you.
He deserved his death.

And you, my good lords,
both have well proceeded...

to warn false traitors
from the like attempts.

I never looked for better at his hands
after he once fell in with Mistress Shore.

Yet had not we determined he should die
until your lordship came to see his end...

which now the loving haste
of these our friends...

somewhat against our
meaning, have prevented.

Because, my lord, we would have
had you hear the traitor speak...

and timorously confess the manner
and the purpose of his treason...

that you might well have signified
the same unto the citizens...

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

But, my good lord, Your
Grace's word shall serve...

as well as I had seen
and heard him speak.

And doubt you not but I'll
acquaint our duteous citizens...

with all your just
proceedings in this case.

And to that end we wished
your worship here...

to avoid the carping
censures of the world.

But since you come too
late of our intents...

yet witness what we did intend.

And so, my lord, I will
be with thee straight.

Come, all good citizens, draw near...

and to your good Lord Mayor...

lend generous ear.

How now, how now? What say the citizens?

Now, by the Holy Mother of our Lord...

the citizens are mum...

say not a word.

- Touched you the bastardy of Edward's children?
- I did...

with his contract with Mistress Shore...

and his contract by deputy in France -

the insatiate greediness
of his desires...

and his enforcement of the city wives -

his tyranny for trifles -

his own bastardy, as being got...

your father then in France...

and his resemblance
being not like the duke.

Withal I did infer your lineaments,
being the right idea of your father...

both in your form...

and nobleness of mind -

laid open all your
victories in Scotland...

your discipline in
war, wisdom in peace...

your bounty, virtues, fair humility -

indeed, left nothing fitting
for your purpose untouched...

or slightly handled in discourse.

And when my oratory drew toward end...

I bade them that did love
their country's good...

cry, "God save Richard,
England's royal king."

- And did they so?
- No, so God help me, they spake not a word.

But like dumb statues
or breathing stones...

stared each on other
and looked deadly pale.

Which when I saw, I reprehended them...

and asked the mayor what
meant this willful silence.

His answer was, the people were not
used to be spoke to but by the recorder.

Then he was urged to
tell my tale again -

"Thus saith the duke, thus
hath the duke inferred" -

but nothing spoke in
warrant from himself.

When he had done, some
followers of mine own...

at lower end of the hall,
hurled up their caps...

and some 10 voices cried,
"God save King Richard!"

And thus I took the
vantage of those few...

"Thanks, gentle citizens
and friends," quoth I...

"This general applause
and cheerful shout...

argues your wisdom and
your love to Richard."

And even here brake off and came away.

What tongueless blocks were they!

Would they not speak?

Will not the mayor then
and his brethren come?

The mayor is here at
hand. Pretend some fear.

Be not you spoke with
but by mighty suit.

Play the maid's part
- say no, but take it.

Fear me not. And if you
plead as well for them...

as I can say nay to thee for myself...

no doubt we bring it to a happy issue.

You shall see what I can
do. Get you up to the leads.

Now, my Lord Mayor, I
dance attendance here.

I think His Grace will
not be spoke withal.

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

He doth entreat Your
Grace, my noble lord...

to visit him tomorrow or next day.

He is within, with two
right reverend fathers...

divinely bent to meditation...

and in no worldly suit
should he be moved...

to draw him from his holy exercise.

Return, good Catesby,
to the gracious duke.

Tell him, myself, the
mayor and citizens...

in deep designs in
matter of great moment...

no less importing than
our general good...

are come to have some
conference with His Grace.

- "General good."
- I'll signify so much unto him straight.

Ah, ha, my lord, this
prince is not an Edward.

He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed...

but on his knees at meditation.

Not dallying with a
brace of courtesans...

but meditating with two deep divines.

- Two deep divines.
- Not sleeping, to engross his idle body...

but praying, to enrich
his watchful soul.

Happy were England would
this gracious prince...

take on himself the sovereignty thereof.

But sure, I fear we
shall not win him to it.

Marry, God defend His
Grace should say us nay.

I fear he will. Here
Catesby comes again.

Now, Catesby, what says His Grace?

He wonders to what end
you have assembled...

such troops of citizens to come to him.

His Grace not being
warned thereof before...

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

- Oh.
- Sorry I am my noble cousin should suspect me...

that I 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.

See where His Grace comes?
Between two clergymen.

Ahh!

Two props of virtue for
a Christian prince...

to stay him from the fall of vanity.

And see, a book of prayer in his hand...

true ornament to know a holy man.

Famous Plantagenet,
most gracious prince...

lend favorable ear to our request...

and pardon us the interruption...

of thy devotion and
right Christian zeal.

My lord, there needs no such apology.

I do perceive I have
done some offense...

which seems disgracious
in the city's eye...

and that you come to
reprehend my ignorance.

You have, my lord. Would it
would please Your Grace...

on our entreaties, to amend your fault.

Else wherefore breathe
I in a Christian land?

Know then, it is your
fault that you resign...

the supreme seat, the
throne majestical...

the sceptered office
of your ancestors...

to the corruption of a blemished stock.

The which to cure we heartily
solicit your gracious self...

to take on you the charge and
kingly government of this your land.

Not as protector, steward, substitute...

or lowly factor for another's gain...

but as successively
from blood to blood...

your right of birth,
your heritage, your own.

For this, consorted with the citizens...

your very worshipful
and loving friends...

and by their vehement instigation -

- Hurrah!
- Hurrah!

In this just cause come
I to move Your Grace.

I cannot tell if to depart in silence...

or bitterly to speak in your reproof.

Your love deserves my thanks...

but my desert unmeritable
shuns your high request.

But God be thanked,
there is no need of me.

The royal tree hath
left us royal fruit...

which, mellowed with the
stealing hours of time...

will well become the seat of majesty...

and make, no doubt,
us happy by his reign.

On him I lay that you would lay on me -

the right and fortune
of his happy stars...

which God defend that
I should wring from him.

My lord...

this argues conscience in Your Grace.

You say that Edward
is your brother's son.

So say we too, but not by Edward's wife.

Then, good my lord, take
to your royal self...

this proffered benefit of dignity.

Do, good my lord. Your
citizens entreat you.

Refuse not, mighty lord,
this proffered love.

Oh, make them joyful,
grant their lawful suit.

I do beseech you, take it not amiss
- I cannot nor I will not yield to you.

Yet whether you accept our suit or no...

your brother's son shall
never reign our king...

but we will plant some
other in the throne...

to the disgrace and
downfall of your house.

And in this resolution
here we leave you.

Come, citizens. 'Zounds!
I'll entreat no more.

Oh, do not swear, my lord -

Call them again, sweet
prince, accept their suit.

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

Would you enforce me
to a world of cares?

- Call them again.
- Call them again!

Call them again!

Cousin of Buckingham...

and sage, grave men...

since that you will buckle
fortune on my back...

to bear her burthen,
whether I will or no...

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.

- Aye. - 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 crowned?

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

Tomorrow, then, we will
attend Your Grace...

and so most joyfully we take our leave.

Come, let us to our holy work again.

Farewell, my cousin.
Farewell, gentle friends.

Come, madam, come.

You must straight to Westminster...

there to be crowned
Richard's royal queen.

Oh, would to God that
the inclusive verge...

of golden metal that
must round my brow...

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

Anointed let me be with deadly venom...

and die ere men can
say God save the queen.

Go, go, poor soul.

I envy not thy glory.

To feed my humor, wish thyself no harm.

No? Why?

When he that is my husband now...

came to me as I followed
Edward's corse...

when scarce the blood was
well washed from his hands...

which issued from my
other angel husband...

within so small a time...

my woman's heart...

grossly grew captive to his honey words.

And never yet one hour in his bed...

did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep...

but have been wakened
by his timorous dreams.

Besides, he hates me
for my father Warwick...

and will, no doubt,
shortly be rid of me.

Be of good cheer. Madam,
how fares Your Grace?

Oh, Dorset, speak not
to me, get thee gone.

Death and destruction
dog thee at thy heels.

Go, hie thee, hie thee
from this slaughterhouse...

lest thou increase
the number of the dead.

Full of wise care is
this your counsel, madam.

Take all the swift
advantage of the hours.

In Brittany, my stepson Earl
of Richmond doth reside...

who with a jealous eye doth still observe
the lawless actions of aspiring Gloucester.

If thou wilt outstrip death...

go cross the seas and live with
Richmond from the reach of hell.

You shall have letters from me to
my own son George on your behalf...

to meet you on the way.

Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

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

And I with all unwillingness will go.

Go thou to Richard, and
good angels tend thee.

Go thou to Richmond...

and good fortune guide thee.

Go thou to sanctuary, and
good thoughts possess thee.

I to my grave, where
peace and rest lie with me.

Pity, you ancient stones,
those tender babes...

whom envy hath immured
within your walls.

Rough cradle for such
little pretty ones.

Rude ragged nurse...

old sullen playfellow
for tender princes...

use my babies well.

So...

foolish sorrow bids
your stones farewell.

God save King Richard!

Long live King Richard!

May the king live forever!

Stand all apart!

Cousin of Buckingham.

Give me thy hand.

My gracious sovereign.

Thus high, by thy advice
and thy assistance...

is King Richard seated.

But shall we wear
these glories for a day?

Or shall they live
and we rejoice in them?

Still live they, and
for ever let them last.

Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
to try if thou be current gold indeed.

Thou know'st young Edward
and his brother lives.

Think now what I would speak, hmm?

Say on, my loving lord.

- Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king.
- Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord.

Am I king?

'Tis so...

but Edward lives.

True, noble prince.

Cousin, thou was not wont to be so dull.

"True, noble prince." Shall I be plain?

I wish the bastards dead, and I
would have it suddenly performed.

What sayest thou now?
Speak suddenly, be brief.

- Your Grace may do your pleasure.
- Tut, 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.

High-reaching Buckingham
grows circumspect.

The king is angry.
See, he gnaws his lip.

- Catesby.
- My lord?

Knowest thou not any
whom corrupting gold...

will tempt unto a
close exploit of death?

I know a discontented gentleman whose
humble means match not his haughty spirits.

Gold were as good as 20 orators and
will, no doubt, tempt him to anything.

- What is his name?
- His name, my lord, is Tyrrell.

I partly know the man.
Go, call him hither.

The deep-revolving witty Buckingham...

no more shall be the
neighbor to my counsels.

Hath he so long held
out with me untired...

and stops he now for breath?

Well...

be it so.

How now, Lord Stanley?

What's the news?

The marquess of Dorset,
as I hear, is fled...

to Richmond.

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. About it.

I must marry...

Brother Edward's daughter...

or else my kingdom
stands on brittle glass.

Murder her brothers, and then marry her.

Familiar way of gain.

But I am in so far in blood...

that sin will pluck on sin.

Tear-falling pity...

dwells not in this eye.

My lord, I have considered in my mind...

the late demand that
you did sound me in.

Well, let that rest.

Uh, Dorset is fled to Richmond.

I hear the news, my lord.

Stanley, Richmond is your wife's son.

Well, look unto it.

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

for which your honor
and your faith is pawned.

The earldom of Hereford and the movables
which you have promised I shall possess.

Stanley, look to your wife.

If she convey letters to
Richmond, you shall answer it.

Most mighty sovereign, you have no
cause to hold my friendship doubtful.

I never was nor never will be false.

Well, go muster men.

But hear you, 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.

What says Your Highness
to my just request?

I do remember me...

Henry the Sixth did prophesy
that Richmond should be king...

when Richmond was a little peevish boy.

A king...

perhaps.

My lord.

How chance the prophet could
not have told me, I being by...

that I should kill him?

My lord, your promise for the earldom -

Richmond.

A bard of Ireland told me
once I should not live long...

after I saw Richmond.

My lord.

Aye, what's o'clock?

I am thus bold to put Your Grace
in mind of what you promised me.

Well, but what's o'clock?

- Upon the stroke of 10:00.
- Then let it strike!

Why let it strike?

Because that, like a Jack,
thou keep'st the stroke...

betwixt thy begging and my meditation.

- Is thy name Tyrrell?
- James Tyrrell, and your most obedient subject.

- Art thou, indeed?
- Prove me, my gracious lord.

I'm not in the giving vein today.

Why, then resolve me
whether you will or no.

Thou troublest me.

I'm not in the vein.

And is it thus?

Repays he my deep services
with such contempt?

Made I him king for this?

Oh, let me think on Hastings...

and be gone to Richmond
while my fearful head is on.

Darest thou resolve...

to kill...

a friend of mine?

Please you, but I'd
rather kill two enemies.

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

foes to my rest and my
sweet sleep's disturbers...

are they that I would
have thee deal upon.

Tyrrell...

I mean those bastards in the Tower.

Let me have open means
to come to them...

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

Thou sing'st sweet music.

Hark, come hither, Tyrrell.

Go, by this token.

Rise, and lend thine ear.

There is no more but so.

Say it is done...

and I will love thee...

and prefer thee for it.

I will dispatch it straight.

"O, thus," quoth Dighton,
"lay the gentle babes."

"Thus, thus," quoth Forrest...

"girdling one another within
their alabaster innocent arms.

"Their lips were four
red roses on a stalk...

"that in their summer
beauty kissed each other.

"A book of prayers
on their pillow lay...

which once," quoth Forrest,
"almost changed my mind.

But, oh, the devil!"

"We smothered...

"the most replenished
sweet work of nature...

"that from the prime creation...

e'er she framed."

Good Buckingham, tell
Richmond this from me -

that in the sty of
this most bloody boar...

my son George Stanley
is franked up in hold.

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

The fear of that
withholds my present aid.

Commend me to my princely Richmond.

Tell him the queen hath
heartily consented...

he shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.

These letters will
resolve him of my mind.

Farewell, my noble Stanley.

The son of Clarence
have I pent up close...

his daughter meanly have
I matched in marriage...

the sons of Edward sleep
in Abraham's bosom...

and Anne my wife hath
bid this world good night.

Now, for I know the Tudor Richmond...

aims at young Elizabeth,
my brother's daughter...

and, by that knot, looks
proudly on the crown...

to her go I...

a jolly thriving wooer.

- My lord!
- Good news or bad, that thou com'st in so bluntly?

Bad news, my lord. Buckingham
is fled to Richmond.

Come, muster men. My
counsel is my shield.

We must be brief when
traitors brave the field.

- How now! What news?
- My gracious sovereign...

on the western coast
rideth a puissant navy.

To the shore throng many
doubtful hollow-hearted friends...

unarmed and unresolved
to beat them back.

'Tis thought that Richmond is their
admiral, and there they hull...

expecting but the aid of
Buckingham to welcome them ashore.

Some light-foot friend post to the duke
of Norfolk. Ratcliffe, thyself, or Catesby.

- Where is he? - Here, my lord.
- Catesby, fly to the duke.

Go thou to Salisbury.
When thou comest thither -

Dull, unmindful villain, why stayest
thou here, and go'st not to the duke?

First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind,
what from Your Grace I shall deliver to him.

True, good Catesby, bid him levy straight
the greatest strength and power he can make...

and meet me presently at Salisbury.

- I go.
- What is't Your Highness' pleasure I shall do at Salisbury?

- What wouldst thou do there before I go?
- Your Highness told me I should post before.

My mind is changed, sir, my
mind is changed. Ah, Stanley.

What's the news with you?

None good, my lord, to
please you with the hearing...

nor none so bad it may not well be told.

Heyday, a riddle. Neither good nor bad.

What need'st thou run so many miles about,
when thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way?

- Once more, what news?
- Richmond is on the seas.

There let him sink, and be the seas on him!
White-livered runagate, what makes he there?

- I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
- Well...

as you guess?

Stirred up by Dorset,
Buckingham and the Welsh...

he makes for England,
there to... claim...

the crown.

Is the chair empty?
Is the sword unswayed?

Is the king dead? The
empire unpossessed?

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.

Unless for that he comes to be your liege.
You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.

- Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.
- No, mighty liege, therefore mistrust me not.

Where is thy power, then, to beat him back?
Where be thy tenants and thy followers?

Are they not 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 sovereign!

Please it your majesty to give me leave, I'll
muster up my friends and meet Your Grace...

where and what time Your
Majesty shall please.

Aye, thou wilt be gone
to join with Richmond.

Forget not thy son George.
I will not trust you, sir.

My gracious sovereign...

now in Devonshire, as I by
friends am well advised...

Sir William Courtney and the haughty prelate,
Bishop of Exeter, his brother there...

with many more
confederates, are in arms!

My liege, in Kent the
Guildfords are in arms...

and every hour more confederates flock to
their aid, and still their power increaseth.

Sir Thomas Urswick and Lord Marquess
Dorset, 'tis said, my liege, are up in arms!

- My lord, the army of great
Buckingham - - Out on you, owls!

Nothing but songs of death! There, take
thou that till thou bring better news!

Your Grace mistakes.
The news I bring is good.

My news is that through sudden
flood and fall of water...

the duke of Buckingham's army
is dispersed and scattered...

and he himself wandered away
alone, no man knows whither.

I cry you mercy that I did mistake. Hath
any well-advised friend proclaimed...

reward to him that brings in Buckingham?

- Such proclamation hath been
made, my liege. - - My liege!

The duke of Buckingham is taken!

Off with his head.

So much for Buckingham.

That is the best news.

That Henry Tudor, earl of Richmond, is
with a mighty power landed at Milford...

is colder tidings,
yet they must be told.

Away towards Salisbury!

While we reason here, a royal
battle might be won and lost.

Ratcliffe, take order Buckingham be brought
to Salisbury. The rest march on with me!

Then fiery expedition be my wing...

Jove's Mercury and herald for a king!

Here... pitch our tents...

even here... in Bosworth field.

Why, how now, Catesby?
Why look you so sad?

My heart is 10 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. Here
will I lie tonight.

But where tomorrow?

Well, all's one for that. Who hath
descried the number of the foe?

Six or seven thousand
is their greatest number.

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 my tent. There!

Come hither, Lovel.

Where is Lord Stanley
quartered, dost thou know?

Unless I have mista'en his colors much,
his regiment lies half a mile at least...

to northward of our power, milord.

Send to him, good Lovel. Bid him
bring his power before sunrising...

lest his son George fall into
the blind cave of eternal night.

Come, valiant gentlemen...

let us survey the vantage of the ground.

Let's want no discipline,
make no delay...

for, sirs, tomorrow is a busy day.

My lord of Stanley, the
king doth strain a charge...

that if you value your
son George's life...

you do present your host
before the crowing of the cock.

Fortune and victory sit on thy helm.

All comfort that the dark hour
can afford be to thy person...

noble stepfather.

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.

In brief, for so the
season bids us be...

prepare thy battle early in the morning.

I, as I may, 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...

which so long sundered
friends should dwell upon.

God grant us leisure
for these rites of love.

Once more, adieu.

Be valiant and speed well.

Good lords, conduct him to his regiment.

What is't o'clock?

'Tis suppertime, my
lord. 'Tis nine o'clock.

Hmm. I will not sup tonight.

Give me some ink and paper.

What, is my helmet easier than it was...

and all my armor laid into my tent?

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

Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge.

Choose careful watch,
use trusty sentinels.

I go, my lord.

- Good night, good Lovel.
- Milord.

Stir with the lark
tomorrow, gentle Norfolk.

I warrant you, my lord.

- Catesby.
- My lord?

Fill me a bowl of wine.

Give me a watch.

Saddle white Surrey
for the field tomorrow.

Look that my staves be
sound, but not too heavy.

Oh, Ratcliffe.

- My lord?
- Saw you the melancholy Lord Northumberland?

Thomas the earl of Suffolk, and
himself, much about cockshut time...

from troop to troop went through
the army, cheering up the soldiers.

So, I'm 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.

- Ratcliffe.
- My lord?

About the mid of night
come to my tent...

and help to arm me.

Leave me, I say.

Once more good night unto you all.

I'll strive, with troubled
thoughts, to take a nap...

lest leaden slumber
weigh me down tomorrow...

when I should mount
with wings of victory.

And so, once more, good night,
kind lords and gentlemen.

- Good night, good Richmond.
- Good night.

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 we may crush down
with a heavy fall...

the usurping helmet of our adversaries.

Make us thy ministers of chastisement...

that we may praise thee in 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.

Let me sit heavy in thy soul tomorrow.

I 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!

Dream on thy cousins
smothered in the Tower.

Thy nephews' souls bid
thee despair and die.

Think on Lord Hastings.

Despair and die.

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 fall thy edgeless sword.

Despair and die.

Give me another horse!

Bind up my wounds!

Have mercy, Jesu!

My lord.

Who is there?

Ratcliffe, my lord. 'Tis I.

The early village cock hath
twice done salutation to the morn.

Your friends are up and
buckle on their armor.

O Ratcliffe, I have
dreamed a fearful dream.

What thinkest thou, will
our friends prove all true?

No doubt, my lord.

O 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...

armed in proof and led
by shallow Richmond.

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.

- Catesby.
- My lord.

The sun will not be seen today.

The sky doth frown and
lower 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 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 field...

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 and
Thomas Earl of Suffolk...

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.

"Jockey of Norfolk...

"be not so bold...

"for Dickon thy master...

"is bought...

and sold."

A thing devised by the enemy.

My lord, the enemy are past the marsh.

Go, noble gentleman,
every man to his charge.

Let not our babbling
dreams affright our souls...

for conscience is a
word that cowards use...

devised at first to
keep the strong in awe.

- Conscience avaunt!
- Aye!

Richard's himself again.

March on!

Join bravely, let us to it pell-mell.

If not to heaven, then
hand in hand to hell.

Fight, gentlemen of England!

Fight, bold yeomen!

Draw, archers, draw
your arrows to the head!

Spur your proud horses hard...

and ride in blood!

Amaze the welkin with
your broken staves!

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 time
admits not such a course!

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 in our helms!

Rescue!

My lord of Norfolk, rescue!

The king enacts more wonders than a
man, daring an 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.

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
Richmonds in the field.

Five have I slain today instead of him.

A horse!

A horse!