Lord Hastings

Richard
How hath your Lordship brooked imprisonment?
Hastings
With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must.
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
That were the cause of my imprisonment.
Richard
No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too,
For they that were your enemies are his
And have prevailed as much on him as you.
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Lord Bardolph
The question, then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus:
Whether our present five-and-twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland.
Lord Hastings
With him we may.
Lord Bardolph
Yea, marry, there’s the point.
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgment is we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by the hand.
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Queen Elizabeth, to Queen Margaret
Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself.
Queen Margaret
Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune,
Why strew’st thou sugar on that bottled spider,
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool, thou whet’st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come that thou shalt wish for me
To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-backed toad.
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Hastings
On what occasion God He knows, not I,
The Queen your mother and your brother York
Have taken sanctuary. The tender prince
Would fain have come with me to meet your Grace,
But by his mother was perforce withheld.
Buckingham
Fie, what an indirect and peevish course
Is this of hers!—Lord Cardinal,
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Hastings
Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious nights?
Messenger
So it appears by that I have to say.
First, he commends him to your noble self.
Hastings
What then?

To fly the boar before the boar pursues
Were to incense the boar to follow us
And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.
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Hastings
What news, what news in this our tott’ring state?
Catesby
It is a reeling world indeed, my lord,
And I believe will never stand upright
Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.
Hastings
How “wear the garland”? Dost thou mean the crown?
Catesby
Ay, my good lord.
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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,
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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.

Come, lead me to the block.
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Mowbray
There is a thing within my bosom tells me
That no conditions of our peace can stand.
Hastings
Fear you not that. If we can make our peace
Upon such large terms and so absolute
As our conditions shall consist upon,
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.

His foes are so enrooted with his friends
That,
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