Richard III

Richmond addresses his forces: 'Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny.' He's received encouragement from Stanley. He calls Richard 'the wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, that spoiled your summer fields and fruitful vines, swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough in your emboweled bosoms.' They march toward Leicester—one day from Richard. 'In God's name cheerily on, courageous friends, to reap the harvest of perpetual peace by this one bloody trial of sharp war.' Oxford declares: 'Every man's conscience is a thousand men, to fight against this guilty homicide.' Blunt observes: 'He hath no friends, but what are friends for fear, which in his dearest need will fly from him.' Richmond closes with hope: 'True hope is swift, and flies with swallows' wings, kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.' Both sides camp at Bosworth Field. Richard asks, 'Where tomorrow? Well, all's one for that.' He's confident: 'Our battalia trebles that account... the King's name is a tower of strength.' 'Tomorrow is a busy day.' Richmond's camp is organized, methodical: 'I'll draw the form and model of our battle, limit each leader to his several charge.' He checks on Stanley's position—carefully neutral, 'half a mile at least south, from the mighty power of the king.' Richard prepares but something's wrong. He won't eat: 'I will not sup tonight.' He admits: 'I have not that alacrity of spirit, nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.' Stanley secretly visits Richmond at night, blessing him but explaining his dilemma: 'On thy side I may not be too forward, lest being seen, thy brother, tender George be executed in his father's sight.' The eve of battle reveals the contrast: Richmond surrounded by loyal supporters planning justice, Richard surrounded by fearful allies, losing his spirit, holding Stanley's son hostage. Tomorrow decides everything.