With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state.
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths:
All pomp and majesty I do forswear;
My manors, rents, revenues, I forego;
My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny:
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!
God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee!
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd;
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd!
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit!
God save king Henry unking'd Richard says,
And send him many years of sunshine days!
What more remains?
North.
No more, but that you read
[Offering a paper.
These accusations, and these grievous crimes,
Committed by your person, and your followers,
Against the state and profit of this land;
That, by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.
KRich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out
My weav'd-up follies! Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,
Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? If thou would'st,
There should'st thou find one heinous article,
Containing the deposing of a king,,
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:-
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me,
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,
Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross,
And water cannot wash away your sin.
North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these articles.
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see:
And yet salt water blinds them not so much,
But they can see a sort of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor with the rest :
For I have given here my soul's consent,
To undeck the pompous body of a king;
Make glory base, and sovereignty a slave;
Proud majesty a subject; state a peasant.
North. My Lord,
[ing man,
K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insult-
Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,-
No, not that name was given me at the font,-
But 't is usurp'd:-Alack the heavy day,
That I have worn so many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself!
O, that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops!-
Good king,-great king,-(and yet not greatly
An if my word be sterling yet in England,
Let it command a mirror hither straight,
That it may show me what a face I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.
Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-
glass.
[Exit an Attendant.
North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth
[to hell.
K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come
Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland.
North. The commons will not then be satisfied.
K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough,
When I do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that 's myself.
Re-enter Attendant with a glass.
Give me that glass, and therein will I read.
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine,
And made no deeper wounds?-O, flattering glass,
Like to my followers in prosperity,
Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face
That every day under his household roof
Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?
Was this the face that fac'd so many follies,
And was at last outfac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory shineth in this face :
As brittle as the glory is the face;
[Dashes the glass against the ground. For there it is, crack'd in an hundred shivers. Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow of your face. K. Rich. Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see :'T is very true, my grief lies all within; And these external manners of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul; There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, And then be gone, and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it?
K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower. K. Rich. O, good! Čonvey?-Conveyers are you That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.
[Exeunt K. Richard, some Lords, and a Guard. Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. [down [Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle, and Aumerle.
Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Car. The woe 's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, You shall not only take the sacrament To bury mine intents, but to effect Whatever I shall happen to devise:I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears; Come home with me to supper; I will lay A plot shall show us all a merry day.
SCENE I.-London. A Street leading to the
Tower.
Enter Queen and Ladies.
Queen. This way the king will come; this is the
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower,
[way
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.
Enter King Richard and Guards.
But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold;
That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;
Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb,
And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favoured grief be lodg'd in thee,
When triumph is become an ale-house guest?
K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream;
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity; and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloister thee in some religious house:
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and
mind
Transform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bolingbroke
Depos'd thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o'er-power'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod;
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?
K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but
I had been still a happy king of men. [beasts,
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for
France:
Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st,
As from my death-bed, my last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire
With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales
Of woeful ages, long ago betid:
And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,
And, in compassion, weep the fire out:
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
For the deposing of a rightful king.
Enter Northumberland, attended.
North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd;
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;
With all swift speed you must away to France.
K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head,
Shall break into corruption: thou shalt think,
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to all:
And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er so little urg'd another way,
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both,
To worthy danger, and deserved death.
North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.
K. Rich, Doubly divorc'd?-Bad men, ye violate
A twofold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me;
And then betwixt me and my married wife.
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 't was made."
Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
My queen to France; from whence, set forth in
She came adorned hither like sweet May, [pomp,
Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day.
Queen. And must we be divided? must we part?
K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart
Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. North. That were some love, but little policy. Queen. Then whither he goes thither let me go. K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe, Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; Better far off, than near, be ne'er the near'.
Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans.
K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way
being short,
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let 's be brief,
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.
[They kiss.
Queen. Give me mine own again; 't were no good
part,
To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart.
So, now I have mine own again, begone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay; Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. A Room in the Duke of York's Palace.
Enter York and his Duchess.
Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you break the story off
Of our two cousins coming into London.
York. Where did I leave?
Duch.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,
While all tongues cried-God save thee, Boling-
broke!
You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage; and that all the walls,
With painted imagery, had said at once,--
Jesu preserve thee! welcome Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus,-I thank you, countrymen:
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.
York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the
[whilst ?
After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The badges of his grief and patience,
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events;
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
Enter Aumerle.
Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.
York.
But that is lost, for being Richard's friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets now
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?
Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not;
God knows, I had as lief be none, as one.
York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of
Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford? hold those justs and
triumphs?
Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do.
York. You will be there, I know.
Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so.
York. What seal is that that hangs without thy
bosom?
Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.
Aum. My lord, 't is nothing.
York.
No matter then who sees it;
I will be satisfied,-let me see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me;
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear,-
Duch.
What should you fear?
'T is nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into
For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.
York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.--
Boy, let me see the writing.
(show it. Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not
Which elder days may happily bring forth. But who comes here?
York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.
[Snatches it, and reads.
Treason foul treason!-villain! traitor! slave!
Duch. What is the matter, my lord?
York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a Serv-
ant.] Saddle my horse.
Heaven for his mercy! what treachery is here!
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord? [horse:
York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my
Now by my honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain.
[Exit Servant.
Duch.
What's the matter?
York. Peace, foolish woman.
Duch. I will not peace:-What is the matter, son?
Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
Duch.
Thy life answer? Re-enter Servant, with boots. York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art amaz'd:
Hence, villain: never more come in my sight.-
[To the Servant.
York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?
York. Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.
Duch.
Hadst thou groan'd for him,
As I have done, thou 'dst be more pitiful.
But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
And that he is a bastard, not thy son:
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
He is as like thee as a man may be,
Not like to me, or any of my kin,
And yet I love him.
York.
Make way, unruly woman. [Exit.
Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his
Spur, post; and get before him to the king, horse;
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I'll not be long behind; though I be old:
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
And never will I rise up from the ground,
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away;
Begone.
SCENE III.-Windsor. A Room in the Castle. Enter Bolingbroke, as King; Percy, and other Lords.
Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son! 'T is full three months since I did see him last: If any plague hang over us, 't is he.
I would to heaven, my lords, he might be found:
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loose companions-
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour, to support
So dissolute a crew.
[prince, Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. Boling. And what said the gallant?
Percy. His answer was,-he would unto the stews,
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
Boling. As dissolute as desperate: yet, through
I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly?
Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your
To have some conference with your grace alone.
majesty,
Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here
[Exeunt Percy and Lords.
What is the matter with our cousin now?
Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
[Kneels.
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak.
Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault?
If on the first, how heinous ere it be,
To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.
Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,
That no man enter till my tale be done.
Boling. Have thy desire.
[Aumerle locks the door.
York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to thy-
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. [self;
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe.
Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;
Thou hast no cause to fear.
York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, foolhardy
Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?
Open the door, or I will break it open.
[Bolingbroke opens the door. Enter York.
Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak;
Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.
York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt
The treason that my haste forbids me show.
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise
I do repent me; read not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.
York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.-
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king;
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!
O loyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy passages
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself!
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.
York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd;
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies;
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man 's put to death.
Duch. [Within.] What ho, my liege! for heaven's
[eager cry?
sake let me in.
Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this
Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 't is
Speak with me, pity me, open the door:
A beggar begs that never begg'd before.
Boling. Our scene is alter'd,-from a serious thing,
And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King.
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in;
I know she's come to pray for your foul sin.
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound;
This, let alone, will all the rest confound.
Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man;
Love, loving not itself, none other can. [here?
York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?
Duch. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle
liege.
[Kneels.
Boling. Rise up, good aunt.
Not yet, I thee beseech: | And here is not a creature but myself,
He prays but faintly, and would be denied;
We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside:
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow:
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ;
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have
That mercy, which true prayers ought to have.
Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
Duch.
Nay, do not say-stand up;
But pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up.
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon-should be the first word of thy speech.
I never long'd to hear a word till now;
Say-pardon, king: let pity teach thee how :
The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
No word like pardon for kings' mouths so meet.
York. Speak it in French, king: say, pardonnez
Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That sett'st the word itself against the word!
Speak, pardon, as 't is current in our land;
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there:
Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear;
That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,
Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse.
Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
Duch.
I do not sue to stand,
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
Boling. I pardon him, as heaven shall pardon me.
Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again;
Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.
Boling.
I pardon him.
Duch.
A god on earth thou art.
Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, and the
With all the rest of that consorted crew, [abbot,
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
Good uncle, help to order several powers
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are:
They shall not live within this world, I swear,
But I will have them, if I once know where.
Uncle, farewell,-and cousin too, adieu:
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.
Duch. Come, my old son;-I pray Heaven make
[Exeunt.
Enter Exton and a Servant.
Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words
he spake?
'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?'
Was it not so? Serv. Those were his very words.
Exton. Have I no friend?' quoth he: he spake it
And urg'd it twice together; did he not? [twice.
Serv. He did.
Exton. And, speaking it, he wistly look'd on me;
As who should say,-I would thou wert the man
That would divorce this terror from my heart;
Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go;
I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.-Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle.
Enter King Richard.
K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare
This prison, where I live, unto the world;
And, for because the world is populous,
I cannot do it ;-yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul;
My soul, the father: and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
And these same thoughts people this little world;
In humours like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better sort,-
As thoughts of things divine,-are intermix'd
With scruples, and do set the Word itself
Against the Word:
As thus,-Come, little ones; and then again,-
It is as hard to come, as for a camel
To thread the postern of a needle's eye.
Thoughts tending to ambition they do plot
Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars,
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,
That many have, and others must sit there:
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
Of such as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people,
And none contented: Sometimes am I king;
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am: Then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and by-and-by,
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing:-But, whate'er I am,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd
With being nothing. Music do I hear? [Music.
Ha, ha! keep time:-How sour sweet music is,
When time is broke, and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear,
To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
But, for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, [watch,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, sir, the sounds that tell what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: So sighs, and tears, and groans,
Show minutes, times, and hours:-but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.
This music mads me, let it sound no more;
For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits,
In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For 't is a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Enter Groom.
Groom. Hail, royal prince!
K. Rich.
Thanks, noble peer;
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou? and how comest thou hither,
Where no man ever comes, but that sad dog
That brings me food, to make misfortune live?
Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards
With much ado, at length have gotten leave [York,
To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.
O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld,
In London streets that coronation day,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary!
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid;
That horse that I so carefully have dress'd!
K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle
How went he under him?
[friend,
Groom. So proudly as if he had disdain'd the
ground.
[back!
K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down,
(Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck
Of that proud man that did usurp his back?
Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd by jauncing Bolingbroke.
Enter Keeper, with a dish.
Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. [To the Groom. K. Rich. If thou love me 't is time thou wert away. Groom. What my tongue dares not that my heart [Exit. Keep. My lord, will 't please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not; Sir Pierce of Exton, who lately came from the king, commands the contrary.
K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [thee! [Beats the Keeper. Keep. Help, help, help!
Enter Exton, and Servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this Villain, thine own hand yields thy death's instru[ment. [Snatching a weapon, and killing one.
Go thou, and fill another room in hell.
[He kills another, then Exton strikes him down.
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce
hand
[land.
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.
[Dies.
Exton. As full of valour as of royal blood:
Both have I spilt; O, would the deed were good!
For now the devil, that told me I did well,
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead king to the living king I 'll bear.
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.
[Exeunt. SCENE VI.-Windsor. A Room in the Castle. Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke and York, with Lords and Attendants.
Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
Is, that the rebels have consum'd with fire
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire;
But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not.
Enter Northumberland. Welcome, my lord: what is the news?
North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happi-
The next news is,-I have to London sent [ness.
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent:
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.
[Presenting a paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Enter Fitzwater.
Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely:
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westmin
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
With clog of consience and sour melancholy,
But here is Carlisle living, to abide
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.
Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom:-
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife:
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a coffin.
Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present
Thy buried fear; herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.
Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast
A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, [wrought
Upon my head, and all this famous land. [deed.
Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this
Boling. They love not poison that do poison need,
Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead,
I hate the murtherer, love him murthered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor princely favour:
With Cain go wander through the shade of night,
And never show thy head by day nor light.
Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow :
Come, mourn with me for that I do lament,
And put on sullen black, incontinent;
I'll make a voyage to the Holy land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:-
March sadly after; grace my mourning here,
In weeping after this untimely bier.
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