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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 [France, Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to 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 [broke Transform'd, and weakened? Hath BolingDepos'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 s'erpower'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 beasts,

I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for
France:
[tak'st,
Think, I am dead; and that even here thou
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
Of woful ages, long ago betid:* [tales
And, ere thou bid good night, to quitt their
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, [grief,
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-
For the deposing of a rightful king.

[black,

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended.

Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north, [clime; Where shivering cold and sickness pines the 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 must 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 some love, but little policy. Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go?

K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make

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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 I take thy heart. [They kiss. Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part,

To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. [Kiss again.

So, now I have my own again, begone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan. K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay: more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt.

Once

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is SCENE II.-The same.-A Room in the Duke

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

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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 window's tops, [head. Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bol

ingbroke,

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,-
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,
While all tongues cried-God save thee, Bol-
ingbroke!
[spake,

You would have thought the very windows
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage; and that all the walls,
With painted imag'ry,‡ 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,

All-hallows, i. e. All-saints, Nov. 1. + Never the nigher.

Tapestry hung from the windows,

Bespake them thus,-I thank you, country

meu:

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 so, or with much more contempt, men's

eyes

[him;
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save
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,
The badges of his grief and patience,-
That had not God, for some strong purpose,
steel'd
melted,
The hearts of men, they must perforce, have
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 ayet allow.
Enter AUMERLE.

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.
York. Aumerle that was;

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 vio-
lets now,
[spring?
That strew the green lap of the new-come
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 time,

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, 'tis 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? [into "Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd 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.

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may

not show it.

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 Servant.] Saddle my horse. God for his mercy! what treachery is here! + Ever

* Carelessly turned. Tilts and tournaments,

Duch. Why, what is it, my lord?
York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my
horse:-

Now by mine 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 teemingt 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 con spiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.

Duch. He shall be none;
[him?
We'll keep him here: Then what is that to
York. Away,

Fond woman! were he twenty times my son, I would appeach him.

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, As I have done, thou'd'st 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: [mind: Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that He is as like thee as a man may be, Not like to me, or any of my kin, And yet I love him.

[Exit

York. Make way, unruly woman.
Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon hi

horse;

Spur, post; and get before him to the king,
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.
[Exeunt.

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? 'Tis full three months, since I did see him

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Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw | Thy overflow of good converts to bad;

the prince;
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 both

I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Which elder days may happily bring forth.
But who comes here?

Enter AUMERLE, hastily.
Aum. Where is the king?
Boling. What means

Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly?
Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech
your majesty,

To have some conference with your grace alone. Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.

[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 If but the first, how heinous ere it be, [fault? 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

thyself;

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe.

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;
Thou hast no cause to fear.

[Drawing.

York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool-
hardy king:

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 know

The treason that my haste forbids me show.
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy pro-
mise past:

I do repent me; read not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.
York. 'Twas, 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 conspi-
racy!-

O .oyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy pas-

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And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
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
God's sake let me in.

Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes
this eager cry?

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king,
'tis I.

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.
Enter DUCHESS.

Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted

man;

Love, loving not itself, none other can.

York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou maket here?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, [Kneels.

gentle liege.

Boling. Rise up, good aunt,

Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech:

For ever will I kneel upon my knees,
And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.
Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my

knee.

[Kneels. York. Against them both, my true joints [Kneels.

bended be.

face;

Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!
Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his
[jest;
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in
His words come from his mouth, ours from our
breast:

He prays but faintly, and would be denied;
We pray with heart, and soul, and all be-

side:

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. [have
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them
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.
And 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.
*Transgressing.

† An old ballad.

+ Do.

York. Speak it in French, king; say, pardonnez moy.*

Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?

Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That set'st the word itself against the word!— Speak, pardon, as 'tis 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 God shall pardon

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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 posternt of a needle's eye.
Thought 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 them-
selves,-

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 misfortune 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
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, [I am,
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 mu

sic 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,
But, for the concord of my state and time,
To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
For now hath time made me his numb'ring
clock:

My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jars

Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch,

Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, Sir, the sound, that tells 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 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch¶ in this all-hating world.

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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 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 York,

With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes 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!
The 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 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 usurp his back?
Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Was born to bear? I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,

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Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

[Dies. Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: good!

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Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
For now the devil, that told me-I did well,
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.

Welcome, my lord: What is the news?

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.

The next news is, I have to London sent
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

Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncingt Boling- And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

broke.

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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 Westminster,

With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy.
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
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
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
strife;
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
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 Bourdeaux, by me hither brought:
Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou
hast wrought

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