BUCKINGHAM
Will not King Richard let me speak with him?
SHERIFF
No, my good lord; therefore be patient.
BUCKINGHAM
Hastings, and Edward’s children, Grey, and Rivers,
Holy King Henry, and fair son Edward,
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
By underhand, corrupted foul injustice,
If that your moody discontented souls
Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
Even for revenge mock my destruction.
This is All-Souls’ day, fellow, is it not?
SHERIFF
It is.
BUCKINGHAM
Why, then All-Souls’ day is my body’s doomsday.
This is the day which, in King Edward’s time,
I wished might fall on me when I was found
False to his children and his wife’s allies.
This is the day wherein I wished to fall
By the false faith of him whom most I trusted.
This, this All-Souls’ day to my fearful soul
Is the determined respite of my wrongs.
That high All-Seer which I dallied with
turned my feigned prayer on my head
And given in earnest what I begged in jest.
Thus He force the swords of wicked men
To turn their own points in their masters’ bosoms.
Thus Margaret’s curse falls heavy on my neck:
“When he,” quoth she, “shall split heart with sorrow,
Remember Margaret was a prophetess.”
Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame;
Wrong but wrong, and blame the due of blame.