The Lamentable Lives and Deaths of the Two Young Princes, Edward the Fifth and His Brother Richard, Duke of York

Richard.
What wit so sharpe is found in age or youth,
That can distinguish trust from treacherie?
Falsehood puts on the face of simple truth,
And maskes in th’habit of plaine honestie,
When she in heart intends most villanie:
The panther with sweet sauour of her breath
First charmes their sense, whom she hath markt for death.

Of which that future time may mirrours haue
By the fourth Edward’s murdered progenie,
Vp (brother) vp and let vs leaue our graue
In this night’s vision call’d by Memorie,
To tell the truth of our sad tragedie,
That princes happily by vs may learne
Trust from false treason truly to discerne.

And thou, O mournefull muse, that didst of yore
Th’iniurious wrongs of many a prince complaine,
Helpe two deposed princes to deplore
The wretched fortunes which they did sustaine:
Matter thou hast that fits a ruthfull straine,
How Richard’s treason twixt the sheets did smother
The infant orphants of his kingly brother.

That we may keepe decorum in discourse,
And into order may digest it well,
Let vs alternally succeed in course:
And that we turne by turne may truly tell
Of euery circumstance, as it befell,
(Brother) do you begin to mind to call
Our vncle’s treason and our tragicke fall.

Edward.
Must I begin those bloodie pathes to goe,
In which the prints of Gloster’s steps remaine?
Draw neere then all, that list to heare of woe,
And while our restlesse wrongs I do complaine,
If you lament our losse of life and raigne,
Your sighes soft breathed in still plaints of pitie,
Be the sad musike to our dolefull dittie.

The sonnes we are of that renowned lord
Edward the fourth, who did the right restore
To Yorke againe with his victorious sword:
Which Lancaster in three descents that wore,
The royall crowne had kept from vs before,
Ending those iarres, which Gaunt’s ambitious son
With royall Richard’s blood had first begun.

Three brothers had he, whom by fate’s sterne will,
Remorselesse death vntimely did deuoure,
Rutland’s yong earle, whom Clifford’s sword did kill,
Clarence, that duke, who in the fatall tower
In Malmsey But did meet his liue’s last houre:
Richard the yongest, who was stain’d with guilt
Of Clarence blood and ours, both which he spilt.

O that desire of rule so much should blind
The eyes of men, or that to gaine a crowne,
The godlike part of man, th’immortall mind
Of wrathfull heau’n should dare t’incurre the frowne,
And cast it selfe from glorie headlong downe!
O foule ambition, had thy guilt not stain’d
This tyrant’s deeds, what glorie had he gain’d?

For though he from his mother’s painfull throwes,
Mark’t for a plague into the world was brought;
Yet with his sword gainst our Lancastrian foes
In many bloodie broiles he manly fought:
And by his courage high achieuements wrought,
Great Warwicke, Oxford, Clifford, and the rest,
Did finde a valiant heart in Richard’s brest.

But where are now those deedes, or who can say
That they with praise doe glorifie his name?
How can he euer hope to wipe away
Those spots of blood vpon the face of fame,
Making his deeds to blush at his owne shame?
What deedes of fame he did are not his owne,
His euill deeds remaine to him alone.

With their shed blood thy lines I will not staine,
Whom wrackt by troops to graue his hand did send,
To him in his succeeding tragicke straine,
The sad report thereof I doe commend:
Enough it is to tell of our owne end,
To which I will proceede, first setting downe
The plots our vncle vs’d t’obtaine the crowne.

When on the throne my kingly father sat,
All noise of warre new husht, euen in the greene
Of peace late growne discord did set debate
Betweene the kindred of our mother queene,
And twixt the peeres, who with malignant spleene,
Did swell to see them fauor’d of the king,
From whence our future ruine first did spring.

On this, as on a platforme firme and sure,
Gloster did build his hopes for future daies:
Yet England’s Edward hoping to procure
Peace twixt both parts, did seeke by oft assaies
T’appease the strife, which priuie hate did raise:
And at his death did cause them each to other
To giue their faith, as brother vnto brother.

The king scarse dead, from London swift report
With mischiefe at her heeles, or’e hedge and heath
To Ludlowe came, where then we kept our court,
And there with pallid lookes, halfe out of breath,
She tels the tidings of our father’s death,
Bidding me now beware vnhappie fate,
And looke about in this new change of state.

Though time with so few yeeres my youth had crown’d,
That yet scarse fourteene times the heauenly Ram
Had push’t his hornes against the new yeare’s bound,
Since first into the world to light I came:
Yet of my father’s death, when lucklesse fame
Had rung the dolefull knell: then did I know
The danger which I was to vndergoe.

Nurst from my cradle in true discipline,
In my weake childhood I had scand this theame,
That if th’ambitious with cleere sighted eyne
Could but discerne what fortune gaue to them,
When they had gain’d a kingdome’s diadem,
They would account that day their blisse to ende,
In which their steps the throne did first ascend.

Our vncle Riuers, who my gardian was,
With vs at Ludlowe, then being resident,
Did muster vp his powers with vs to passe
To London by short iournies, with intent
All danger in our passage to preuent:
But Gloster did intrappe both him and me,
And by his plots did frustrate his decree.

By wicked wits, the queene he doth perswade,
To thinke that since by her deceased king,
Betwixt the peeres a vnion had beene made,
With such a power, it were a dangerous thing,
The prince her sonne, to London vp to bring:
Distrust might soone disturbe the quiet state,
And giue new life to the old dead debate.

Blinded with this deceit, our carefull mother
Directs her letters, bearing such effect
Vnto our vncle Riuers, her deare brother,
Who doubting lest his foes might ought obiect
T’haue gone amisse, while he did vs protect,
Dismist his powers, and only did retaine
Those, that before were of our daily traine.

All readie now to hoise vp happie saile,
For London we our fatall course do stere,
Our hopes do promise vs a prosperous gale:
But once set forth, clouds thicken in the cleare,
A storme before vs plainly doth appeare,
And with a gust in gulfe of woe cast downe,
Vnhappie I made shipwracke of my crowne.

At Stonie-Stratford, being vpon my way,
The bloodie bore, my vncle, that did aime
At England’s diadem by our decay,
With that false duke, disloyall Buckingham,
With show of humble loue in presence came:
But after tender of their duties done,
To put their plot in practise they begun.

They falsely did accuse of treacherie
My two halfe brothers by our mother’s side,
Lord Marquesse and lord Grey, then standing by,
Objecting gainst them both, that prickt with pride
They sought the realme and me, yet yong, to guide;
And with our vncle Riuers, thought to bring
The noble peeres in hatred with the king.

Without respect vnto our princely state,
With violent hands they beare them both away,
Too weake were we of power t’auert that fate,
Which in our sight did threaten their decay,
Our words were weaker, Gloster bore the sway:
Riuers my vncle, Vaughan, Grey, all three,
After that time I neuer more did see.

Rob’d of my friends, to London we are led,
Vpon the way mourning with sighes and teares,
The wretched fate to fall vpon my head,
Griefe with a multitude of pensiue feares
Sits heauie on my heart: yet in my eares
Gloster to please me, sings this syren’s song,
“All should be well:” when nought was ment but wrong.

Conuey’d to London, where while I abide
Within the bishop’s place, I little knew
Of any tidings, that did then betide,
The tyrant, (brother Yorke) then aim’d at you
To hasten that, which after did ensue:
Then take your turne againe, and briefely tell,
What in my absence vnto you befell.

Richard.
I shall obey, and truly bring to light
The darke dissembling, and the much vntroth
Of periur’d peeres, to rob vs of our right,
How our queene mother carefull of us both,
With me to holy sanctuarie goth,
And of our vncle’s plots to bring me thence,
Which was the only bar to his pretence.

When fame with terrour vnto our queene mother,
Then dewing our dead father’s cheekes with teares,
Brought the surprise of her two sonnes and brother,
O how those tidings tingled in her eares!
Suspitious thoughts begat a thousand feares,
Forecasting by that vnexpected harme,
The greater mischiefe of a following storme.

In this distraction of a doubtfull mind
In change of state, seeing such crosse fortune’s frowne,
And doubting in distressefull times to find,
Her friends turn’d foes to helpe to plucke vs downe,
And to bereaue vs of our father’s crowne:
With me to sanctuarie she did goe,
There to remaine in safetie from our foe.

Of which, when tidings to the tyrant came,
As one depriued of his wished pray,
His wits best engines he begins to frame,
And if they faile, he doth resolue t’assay
With hands prophane to fetch me thence away:
While from his reach I there did safely won,
He could not finish what he had begun.

Which our queene mother did presage before,
And thought by force of sanctuarie’s right,
Safely to shield vs from the cruell bore,
Who with his tuskes the elder durst not smite,
While I the yonger liu’d in such safe plight:
By death of th’one, the crowne how could he gaine,
If th’other after liuing did remaine?

The subtill tyrant to effect his will,
This faire pretence vnto the peeres doth frame,
That for th’auoiding of a generall ill,
Since to the prince and them it was a shame,
That causelesse I should sanctuarie claime,
Vnto the place he thought it no offence,
If not by peace, by force to fetch me thence.

Yet to obtaine our mother queene’s consent,
Vnto the place before he offer wrong,
The cardinall of Yorke for that intent,
A man graue, sober, subtill, wise, and strong,
To charme an eare with his inchanting tongue,
He doth select to further this affaire,
And to his vnknowne plots way to prepare.

When he with many more in presence came,
He with faire speech begins to greet our mother:
Then tels, how to the prince it was a shame,
That she should keepe me there, as if one brother
Did liue in dread of danger by the other,
What griefe my absence was vnto the king,
What comfort by my presence I should bring.

Proceeding on vnto the future ill,
Which might ensue by ouer much distrust,
The strengthning of her inconsiderate will,
With sanctuarie’s gift by claime vniust,
The priuiledge of the place by them discust,
Found not of force to her to yeeld the same,
Who did not truly want, what she did clame.

The queene effectually doth answere all,
He turnes replie, she doth reioyne againe,
And puts such questions to the cardinall,
That at a non plus set, he doth remaine
In silent pause, till chaft in tearmes more plaine,
He threatfully declares the peeres pretence,
Who had decreed by force to fetch me thence.

With this hard speech, our mother in affright,
Round set with doubts, not knowing when or where,
She safely might conuey me from their sight:
In silence stands, her lookes bewrayes pale feare,
Which she would vtter, yet doth oft forbeare,
Till taking me by th’hand, sighes forcing teares,
And teares sad words, no longer she forbeares.

“Behold,” said she, “I to your trust commit
This noble impe, whom with the prince his brother,
When in the generall iudgement God shall sit,
I at your hands will aske: feare with the mother,
What may betide him taken to another:
I make no doubt, but ye will faithfull be,
Yet others may deceiue both you and me.

Heere I resigne:” and at that word she paus’d,
As loth so soone to part with such a thing:
Then with a sigh, to shew that griefe had caus’d
That silent pause, “to you,” quoth she, “I bring
This royall issue of a late dead king:
Yours be the charge, vnto the child proue true:”
Which said, she thus gaue me my last adew.

“Farewell my little sonne, God be thy aid:”
With that she turn’d about, and wept for woe:
Then being about to part, she turn’d and said,
“Kisse me my sonne, kisse me before thou go,
When we shall kisse againe, our God doth know:”
We kist, she sigh’d, I wept and did refuse
So to depart from her; but could not chuse.

Leauing the queene, I absent, to deplore me,
For that I was an infant then in yeares,
To the Star-chamber in their armes they bore me,
Where our false vncle to delude the peeres,
My pensiuenesse with words of comfort cheeres:
“Now welcome from my heart, my lord,” quoth he,
Then tooke me in his armes and kissed me.

Thence brother vnto you I was conuey’d
Then in that place, where London’s prelats dwell,
Whence like two lambes vnto a wolfe betrai’d,
We to the Tower were led: where what befell,
Since it concernes you most, you best can tell:
Be it your turne, our sorrowes to deplore,
For I, alas, for sighes can say no more.

Edward.
If I must tell the horror of that night,
In which by death our soules were set on wing,
Let sorrow lend vs her sad pen t’indite
In lines of woe, what I to light shall bring,
And teach our muse so ruthfully to sing,
That the sad reader’s ruthfull eyes may drop,
Teares at each point, to teach him where to stop.

Within the Tower, of which my brother spake,
Lockt vp from sight of all our friends we were,
Where while we do expect, when I shall take
The crowne on me, t’whom whilome euery peere,
As to their soueraigne fealtie did sweare:
At last report these fearefull newes doth bring,
We were depos’d, Gloster was England’s king.

Which, when I first did heare, a thrilling feare
Ran through my heart, and sighing thus I spake:
“Alas, that I was borne king Edward’s heire,
Would God my vncle, though from me he take
My crowne, which willingly I could forsake,
Would leaue vs that, which none but God can giue,
And for my kingdome giue vs leaue to liue.”

Thenceforth the tower, which late was deem’d my court,
Is made our prison by a tyrant’s might:
Farewell the world, our day now waxeth short,
Our gladsome sunne of comfort and delight,
Is ouercast with clouds of enuious night,
Winter is come euen in our spring of youth,
Our late sweet smiles are drown’d in teares of ruth.

O noble Edward, from whose royall blood
Life to these infant bodies nature drew,
Thy roses both are cropt euen in the bud:
Why didst thou leaue that bore in time t’ensue,
To spoile those plants that in thy garden grew?
Of all that haruest which thy hand did sow,
Nought haue we reaped but a crop of woe.

Who now amongst thy peeres of note or name,
The sad mishap of thy deare sonnes doth mone?
Where’s Howard, Louell, Barkley, Buckingham,
That bound themselues by oath to thee, that none
But thy faire sonnes should sit vpon the throne?
Woe worth them all, they all do now crie, “downe
With Edward’s heires, let Gloster haue the crowne.”

Ah pitie, in what region didst thou dwell,
Had’st thou been present in those hatefull times,
Then should not I thy shame, O England, tell,
Nor should I seeke to proue thy wicked crimes
Vnto thy face in these impartiall rimes:
Thy princes, on whose state misfortune frown’d,
In thy false people pitie seidome found.

Search time’s records, there see how poysoned Iohn
Stands vp to witnesse thy sterne people’s hate,
See how the second Edward thrust from throne,
Cries for reuenge on people of that state,
Behold thy shame in Richard’s wofull fate:
Gainst whom thy nation vnremorsefull stood,
Till Pomfret’s wals were sprinkled with his blood.

But why seeke I, O England, to reclaime thee,
By sounding former euils in thine eare?
That’s yet vntold, the which alone shall shame thee,
As oft of it as any age shall heare,
Tyrants, in whom no pitie doth appeare,
Shall thee vpbraid, and blushing at thy shame,
For past compare shall register the same.

When as our vncle had obtain’d his will,
The crowne scarce warme on his vsurping head,
Opprest with care to keepe that gotten ill,
He takes no rest of mind in bowre nor bed,
Suspition with the guilt of conscience fed
Breeds doubts, distractions, horrors in his brest,
Which like to hags do haunt him with vnrest.

Each step he treads, by which he climbes his throne,
Is grounded on the death of some great peere:
As he ascends, he sees their blood thereon:
Set in his chaire, shame whispers in his eare
That’s not his place, his nephew should be there:
Doubt askes him, how he hopes t’enioy that long,
When they do liue, whose right he keepes by wrong.

He that had drunke so oft of murder’s cup,
To reach that height to which he did aspire,
Now fils the measure of his mischiefe vp,
And in vaine hope to raise his heart yet higher,
Spares not the blood deduc’d from his owne sire:
Poore orphanes blood, pris’d at a crowne’s rich wealth,
To his sicke state can only promise health.

Whilst euery where his wandring eye doth range
To find some wretch to put this taske vpon,
All things about vs haue a sudden change,
Vngrac’d, not car’d for, comforted of none,
By our owne seruants we are left alone:
Those that bemone our fortunes dare not stay,
By feare constrain’d, with griefe they go their way.

Inconsolatly left in wofull plight,
Each helping other for to waile and weepe,
In dole we spend the day, and in the night
Horror and dread of death doth waking keepe
Our watchfull eyes, and bars them of their sleepe,
Each little noise, each windie puffe of breath
Affrights vs infants with th’approch of death.

Thou fatall building stain’d with noble blood,
Thou den where horror and darke treason lies,
Say if thou wast, since thy foundation stood,
More mou’d to pitie humaine miseries,
Hearing the echo of sad sorrowe’s cries:
Then when yong Yorke with pitious plaints and mones
Powr’d forth his sorrowes to thy senselesse stones.

Euen as sometimes we see a silly lambe,
Which for the slaughter in some fold is pent,
There kept from sight of his deare loued damme,
Her absence with faint bleating doth lament,
Whose only sight can giue it safe content:
So little Yorke in vaine lamenting wept,
That from our mother’s presence he was kept.

Oft, wofull child, thus hast thou question’d mee,
“Where is my mother?” and when I for woe,
Haue turn’d my backe and could not answere thee:
With teares againe, thou wouldest aske to know,
Saying, “I would vnto my mother go:”
But woe, alas, what comfort could I giue thee,
When of all meanes our vncle did depriue mee?

While thus we waste in woe, the tyrant king
With death to right those, whom he did abuse
With wrong in life, finding a way to wing
Mischiefe deuis’d, a wretched man did chuse
For this affaire, which others did refuse:
Tirrill by name, a knight decay’d in state,
Prone t’act this deed in hope of happie fate.

Two desperate villaines, hatefull to those times,
Forrest and Dighton, men obscure and base:
Yet to the world notorious for leaud crimes,
For Tirril’s gold this damned deed embrace,
Who being brought into conuenient place,
Wait for aduantage of the gloomie night
To couer that, which did abhorre the light.

The night comes on, and murder doth begin
To act her part within the fatall Tower,
In that dead time of night, the cloake of sinne,
In which the clock chimes twelue, the chiefest houre
When sleepe on man and beast doth vse his powre,
Both the rude slaues on vs poore infants flie,
As we together in our bed did lie.

Betwixt the sheets they keepe vs downe by force,
We struggle against death with gasping grones,
They in their hard hearts feeling no remorce,
To heare poore soules powre forth such pitious mones,
As might with pitie moue the ruthlesse stones,
Holding the pillowes downe do stop our breath,
Vntill we both giue vp the ghost in death.

Thus hast thou heard, how after all his cares
King Edward’s fruit did perish in the bud,
By which since we may see how pride prepares
Her passage through the spoile of common good,
Without respect t’affinitie of blood:
That thou may make a Mirrour of the same,
A place amongst thy Mirrours we do claime.