Page 1188 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1
P. 1188
Today at Pomfret bloodily were butcher’d, [90]
And I myself secure in grace and favour.
O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse
Is lighted on poor Hastings’ wretched head.
RAT CLIFFE
Come, come, dispatch: the Duke would be at dinner;
Make a short shrift: he longs to see your head. [95]
HAST INGS
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 [100]
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
LOVELL
Come, come, dispatch: ’tis bootless to exclaim.
HAST INGS
O bloody Richard! Miserable England,
I prophesy the fearfull’st time to thee
That ever wretched age hath look’d upon. [105]
Come, lead me to the block: bear him my head.
They smile at me who shortly shall be dead.
Exeunt.
Scene V IT
Enter Richard and Buckingham in rotten armour, marvellous illfavoured.
RICHARD
Come, cousin, canst thou quake and change thy colour,
Murder thy breath in middle of a word,
And then again begin, and stop again,
As if thou were distraught and mad with terror?
BUCKINGHAM
