Those ensigns with the banners Must stand the other way, Or else how is it possible The white rose to display?" Thus spoke the old stage manager, The day before the night Richard and Richmond on the field Of Bosworth had to fight. And thus the light-heel'd call-boy Upon that day began To read of properties a list-- 'Twas thus the items ran "Four dozen shields of cardboard, With paper newly gilt, Six dozen goodly swords, and one With practicable hilt; The practicable hilt, of course, Must be adroitly plann'd, That when 'tis struck with mod'rate force, 'Twill break in Richard's hand. Eight banners--four with roses white, And four with roses red-- Six halberds, and a canopy To hang o'er Richard's head; A sofa for the tyrant's tent, An ironing-board at back, Whereon the ghosts may safely stand, Who come his dreams to rack; A lamp suspended in the air By an invis'ble wire, And--for the ghosts to vanish in-- Two ounces of blue fire." Thus spoke the gallant call-boy, The boy of many fights; Who'd seen a battle often fought Fifty successive nights. The moment now approaches, The interval is short, Before the fearful battle Of Bosworth must be fought; Now Richmond's gallant soldiers Are waiting at the wing, Expecting soon that destiny Its prompter's bell will ring; Now at the entrance opposite The troops of Richard stand, Two dozen stalwart veterans-- A small but gallant band. Hark I at the sound of trumpets, They raise a hearty cheer, Their voices have obtained their force From recent draughts of beer. Their leader, the false Richard, Is lying in his tent, But ghosts to fret and worry him Are to his bedside sent. Convulsively he kicks and starts, He cannot have repose, A guilty conscience breaks his rest, By tugging at his toes. A gentleman in mourning, With visage very black, When the tent curtain draws aside, Is standing at the back; And then a woman--stately, But pale as are the dead-- Stood, in the darkness of the night, To scold him in his bed. There came they, and there preached they, In most lugubrious way Delivering curtain lectures Until the east was grey; Or rather, till the prompter, Who has the proper cue, Had quite consumed his quantity Of fire, so bright and blue.