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 where-
withal

The mounting Bolingbroke ascends mythrone,-
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
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, [way
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way
Topluck 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.

Nor. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.
K. R. 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 unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.-
Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the
clime:
[pomp,
My wife to France; from whence, set forth in
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas,1 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.

moans.

Q. 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. R. 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 [being short, K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way 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. Q.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 mine own again, begone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
K.R.We make woewanton 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.

D. 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, 1 Allhallows, i. e. All-saints.

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 Boling-
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, [broke,-
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,-
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,
While all tongues cried-God save thee, Boling-
broke !
[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,
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake 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 so, or with much more contempt,men's eyes
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,
The badges of his grief and patience,- [steel'd
That, had not God, for some strong purpose,
The hearts of men, they most perforce have
And barbarism itself have pitied him. [melted.
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.
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.

D. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? 4. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: Heaven knows, I had as lief be none, as one. Y. 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 justs1 and triumphs 2?

Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. York. You will be there, I know.

Thou sheer,1 immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy pas-
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself![sages,
Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly plot in thy digressing son. [shame,
Y. So shall he spend mine honour with his
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 hea-
ven's sake let me in.
[eager cry?
B. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this
D. 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.

Bol. Our scene is altered,-from a serious thing,
And now changed 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 Love loving not itself, none other can. [man. York. Thou frantick woman, what dost thou make here?

Shalt thou once more a traitor rear?

Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle liege. [Kneels.

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 bended be. [Kneels. Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Duch. Pleads he in earnest, look upon his face; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; 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 beside:
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; [grow:
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.
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.
1 Transparent.

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

moy.1

D. 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 '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
Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. [pierce,
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 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.
With all my heart
I pardon him.
Duch.
A god on earth thou art.
Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law,-
and the abbot,

With all the rest of that consorted crew,-
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; [true.
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you
Duch. Come, my old son;-I pray heaven make
thee new.
[Exeunt.

K. R. I have been studying how I may compare This prison, where I live, unto the world: And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, 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

1 Excuse me.

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 misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endured 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, but that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd
With being nothing.-Musick do I hear?

[Musick.

Ha, ha! keep time:-How sour sweet musick is,
When time is broke, and no proportion kept!
So is it in the musick 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,
[watch,
they jar
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
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.1
This musick 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.
Enter Groom.

Groom. Hail, royal prince!

peer;

K. Rich. Thanks, noble 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,

I An automaton, striking the quarters.

With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometime 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. Ri. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle
How went he under him?
[friend,
Gr. 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,
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. [To the Groom.] Fellow, give place; here
is no longer stay.
[away.
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my
[Exit.

heart shall say.

Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. K. My lord, I dare not; Sir Pierce of Exton, who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary.

[thee! K. Ri. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and Patience is stale, 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 assault? [ment. Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instru[Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

[He kills another, then Exton | strikes him down.

That band 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 [Dies.

die.

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.

Bol. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is-that the rebels have consum'd with fire

Our town of Cicester in Glostershire;

More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;

Enter Northumberland.

Welcome, my lord: What is the news?
N. 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
The manner of their taking may appear [Kent:
At large discoursed in this paper here.

[Presenting a paper. B. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

Enter Fitzwater.

F. 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. Bol. 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: [room,
Choose out some secret place, some reverend

For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, 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

A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand,
Upon my head, and all this famous land.
Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did
I this deed.

Bol. They love not poison that do poison need,
Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead,
I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
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 what I do lament,
And put on sullen black incontinent1;
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:-
March sadly after; grace my mournings here,
In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt.