To Richm[ond].
Vertuous and holy be thou Conqueror:
Harry that prophesied thou should'st be King,
Doth comfort thee in sleepe: Liue, and flourish.
Enter the Ghost of Clarence.
Ghost. Let me sit heauy in thy soule to morrow.
I that was wash'd to death with Fulsome Wine:
Poore Clarence by thy guile betray'd to death:
To morrow in the battell thinke on me,
And fall thy edgelesse Sword, dispaire and dye.
To Richm[ond].
Thou off-spring of the house of Lancaster
The wronged heyres of Yorke do pray for thee,
Good Angels guard thy battell, Liue and Flourish.
Enter the Ghosts of Riuers, Gray, and Vaughan.
Riu. Let me sit heauy in thy soule to morrow,
Riuers, that dy'de at Pomfret: dispaire, and dye
Grey. Thinke vpon Grey, and let thy soule dispaire
Vaugh. Thinke vpon Vaughan, and with guilty feare
Let fall thy Lance, dispaire and dye.
All to Richm[ond].
Awake,
And thinke our wrongs in Richards Bosome,
Will conquer him. Awake, and win the day.
Enter the Ghost of Lord Hastings.