ACT V. SCENE Í.

London. A Street leading to the Tower.

Enter Queen, and Ladies.

Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way To Julius Cæfar's ill-erected tower,

To whofe flint bofom my condemned lord

Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke :

Here let us reft, if this rebellious earth
Have any refting for her true king's queen.

Enter King RICHARD, and guards.

But foft, but fee, or rather do not fee,
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-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not fo,
To make my end too fudden: learn, good foul,
To think our former state a happy dream;

From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this: I am fworn brother, sweet,
To grim neceffity; and he and I

Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloister thee in fome religious house:

Our

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 Tranform'd, and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? The lion, dying, thrufteth forth his paw, And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly? kifs the rod; And fawn on rage with base humility, Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?

K. Rich. A king of beafts, indeed; if aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men.

Good fometime 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, fit by the fire

With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales
Of woful ages, long ago betid:

And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,

And fend the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why, the fenfelefs brands will fympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,

And, in compaffion, weep the fire out:
And fome will mourn in ashes, fome coal-black,
For the depofing 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 fwift fpced you must away to France.

K. Rich.

K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
The mounting Bolingbroke afcends my throne,—
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul fin, 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 fo little urg'd, another way

To pluck him headlong from the ufurped 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 two-fold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me;
And then, betwixt me and my married wife.--
Let me unkifs the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not fo, for with a kifs 'twas made.-
Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and fickness pines the clime;
My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,

Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day.

Queen. And muft we be divided? must we part?

K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from
heart.

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me.
North. That were fome love, but little policy.
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go.
K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe.

Weep

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 fighs; 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
fhort,

And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing forrow let's be brief,

Since wedding it, there is fuch length in grief.
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. [They kifs.
Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere 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.

[Kifs again.

K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay : Once more, adieu; the reft let forrow fay.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

The fame. A Room in the Duke of YORK's Palace.

Enter YORK, and his Duchefs.

Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the ftory off

Of our two coufins coming into London.

York. Where did I leave?

At that fad ftop, my lord,

Duch. Where rude mifgovern'd hands, from windows' tops, Threw duft and rubbish on king Richard's head. York. Then, as I faid, the duke, great Bolingbroke,Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,

Which his afpiring rider seem'd to know,—

With flow, but stately pace, kept on his course,

While all tongues cried-God fave thee, Bolingbroke !
You would have thought the very windows spake,

So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their defiring eyes
Upon his vifage; and that all the walls,
With painted imag'ry, had faid at once,
Jefu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilft he, from one fide to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Befpake them thus,-I thank you, countrymen:
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while?
York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,

After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:

Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did fcowl on Richard; no man cried, God fave him ;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home :
But duft was thrown upon his facred head!
Which with such gentle forrow he shook off,-
His face ftill combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience,—

That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
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.