Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of fuch as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one perfon, many people,
And none contented: Sometimes am I king;
Then treafon makes me with myself a beggar,
And fo I am: Then crushing penury
Perfuades 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,

[Mufick.

With nothing fhall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd
With being nothing.—Musick do I hear?
Ha, ha! keep time :-How four sweet musick is,
When time is broke, and no proportion kept!
So is it in the mufick of men's lives.
And here have I the daintinefs of ear,
To check time broke in a diforder'd string;
But for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wafted time, and now doth time waste me.
For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:
My thoughts are minutes; and, with fighs, they jar
Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,

Is pointing ftill, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, fir, the found, that tells what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, that ftrike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: So fighs, and tears, and groans,
Show minutes, times, and hours :-but my time
Runs pofting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I ftand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock.
This mufick mads me, let it found no more;
For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits,

In me,
it seems, it will make wife men mad.
Yet, bleffing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a fign of love; and love to Richard
Is a ftrange 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 never comes, but that fad 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 York, With much ado, at length have gotten leave To look upon my fometimes master's face. O, how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld, In London streets, that coronation day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary! That horse, that thou so often haft bestrid; That horse, that I fo carefully have drefs'd!

K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him?

Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! 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 ufurp his back? Forgiveness, horfe! 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

Enter Keeper, with a dish.

Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.

[To the Groom.

K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall

fay.

Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to ?

[Exit.

K. Rich. Tafte of it firft, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not; fir Pierce of Exton, who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary.

K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee! Patience is ftale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the Keeper. Keep. Help, help, help!

Enter EXTON, and Servants, armed.

K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude affault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's inftrument.

[Snatching a weapon, and killing one.

Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

[He kills another; then EXTON strikes him down.

That hand fhall burn in never-quenching fire,

That staggers thus my perfon.-Exton, thy fierce hand
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land.
Mount, mount, my foul! thy feat is up on high;
Whilft my grofs flesh finks downward, here to die. [Dies.
Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood:

Both have I fpilt; 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 reft, and give them burial here. [Exeunt.

SCENE