HASTINGS
Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met
Is to determine of the coronation.
In God’s name speak. When is the royal day?
BUCKINGHAM
Is all things ready for that royal time?
STANLEY
It is, and wants but nomination.
ELY
Tomorrow, then, I judge a happy day.
BUCKINGHAM
Who knows the Lord Protector’s mind herein?
Who is most inward with the noble Duke?
ELY
Your Grace, we think, should soonest know his mind.
BUCKINGHAM
We know each other’s faces; for our hearts,
He knows no more of mine than I of yours,
Or I of his, my lord, than you of mine.
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.
HASTINGS
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 honourable 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.
ELY
In happy time, here comes the Duke himself.
RICHARD
My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow.
I have been long a sleeper; but I trust
My absence neglect no great design
Which by my presence might have been concluded.
BUCKINGHAM
Had you not come upon your cue, my lord,
William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part—
I mean your voice for crowning of the King.
RICHARD
Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder.
His lordship knows me well and loves me well.
My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn
I saw good strawberries in your garden there;
I do beseech you, send for some of them.
ELY
Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart.
RICHARD
Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.
RICHARD
Catesby sounded Hastings in our business,
And finds the testy gentleman so hot
That he will lose his head give consent
His master’s child, as worshipfully he terms it,
Shall lose the royalty of England’s throne.
BUCKINGHAM
Withdraw yourself awhile. I’ll go with you.
STANLEY
We have not yet set down this day of triumph.
Tomorrow, in my judgement, is too sudden,
For I myself am not so well provided
As else I would be, were the day prolonged.
ELY
Where is my lord the Duke of Gloucester?
I have sent for these strawberries.
HASTINGS
His Grace looks cheerfully and smooth this morning.
There’s some conceit or other likes him well
When that he bids good morrow with such spirit.
I think there’s never a man in Christendom
Can lesser hide his love or hate than he,
For by his face straight shall you know his heart.
STANLEY
What of his heart perceive you in his face
By any livelihood he showed today?
HASTINGS
Marry, that with no man here he is offended,
For were he, he had shown it in his looks.
RICHARD
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?
HASTINGS
The tender love I bear your Grace, my lord,
Makes me most forward in this princely presence
To doom th’ offenders, whosoe’er they be.
I say, my lord, they have deserved death.
RICHARD
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.
HASTINGS
If they have done this deed, my noble lord—
RICHARD
If? protector of this damned strumpet,
Talk’st to me of “ifs”? art a traitor.
Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear
I will not dine until I see the same.
Lovell and Ratcliffe, look that it be done.
The rest that love me, rise and follow me.
HASTINGS
Woe, woe, for England! Not a whit for me,
For I, too fond, might have prevented this.
Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm,
And I did scorn it and disdain to fly.
Three times today my foot-cloth horse did stumble,
And started when he looked upon the Tower,
As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.
O, now I need the priest that spake to me;
I now repent I told the pursuivant,
As too triumphing, how mine enemies
Today at Pomfret bloodily were butchered,
And I myself secure in grace and favour.
O Margaret, Margaret, now heavy curse
Is lighted on poor Hastings’ wretched head.
RATCLIFFE
Come, come, dispatch. The Duke would be at dinner:
Make a short shrift. He longs to see your head.
HASTINGS
O momentary grace of mortal men,
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
Who builds his hope in air of your good looks
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,
Ready with every nod to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
LOVELL
Come, come, dispatch. bootless to exclaim.
HASTINGS
O bloody Richard! Miserable England,
I prophesy the fearfull’st time to
That ever wretched age looked upon.
Come, lead me to the block. Bear him my head.
They smile at me who shortly shall be dead.