What is become of Bufby? where is Green?
That they have let the dang'rous enemy
Measure our confines with fuch peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
I warrant, they've made peace with Bolingbroke.
Scroop. Peace they have made with him, indeed, my

Lord.

K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!

Dogs, eafily won to fawn on any man!

Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd, that fting my heart! Three Judales, each one thrice worse than Judas! Would they make peace? terrible hell make war Upon their spotted fouls for this offence!

Scroop. Sweet love, I fee, changing his property,
Turns to the fow'rest and most deadly hate.
Again uncurse their fouls; their peace is made
With heads, and not with hands; thofe, whom you
curfe,

Have felt the worst of death's deftroying hand,
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow'd ground.
Aum. Is Busby, Green, and th' Earl of Wiltshire dead?
Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol loft their heads.
Aum. Where is the Duke my Father, with his Power?

Why, with the Lofs of their Heads. This being explained, Aumerle fays, Is Bufhy, Green, and th' Earl of Wiltshire dead? So that Bagot ought to be left out of the Question: and, indeed, he had made the best of his way for Chefter, and from thence had efcap'd into Irland And fo we find him, in the 2d Act, determining to do.

Bagot. No: I'll to Ireland, to bis Majefy.

The Poet could not be guilty of fo much Forgetfulnefs and Abfurdity. The Iranfcribers must

K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man

freak;

Let's talk of Graves, of Worms, and Epitaphs,
Make duft our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write forrow on the bofom of the earth!
Let's chufe executors, and talk of wills;
And yet not fo-for what can we bequeath,
Save our depofed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own, but death;
And that small model of the barren earth,
3 Which ferves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heav'n's fake, let us fit upon the ground,
And tell fad ftories of the death of Kings;
How some have been depos'd, fome flain in war;
Some haunted by the Ghofts they difpoffefs'd;
Some poifon'd by their wives, fome fleeping kill'd;
All murther'd.-For within the hollow Crown,
That rounds the mortal temples of a King,
Keeps Death his Court; and there the Antick fits,
Scoffing his State, and grinning at his Pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene

To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
Infufing him with felf and vain conceit,
As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brafs impregnable; and, humour'd thus,
Comes at the laft, and with a little pin

Bores through his castle-walls, and farewel King!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood

*And that small model of the larren earth.] He ufes mcdel here, as he frequently does elfewhere, for far', portion.

WARBURTON.

He ufes it rather for mould. That earth, which clofing upon the body, takes its form. This interpretat on the next line feems

to authorife.

3

A metaphor, not of the moft fublime kind, taken from a pie.

4 There the Anti k fits. Here is an allufion to the antick or fol of old farces, whofe chief part is to deride and disturb the graver and more splendid perfonages

With folemn Rev'rence; throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but miftook me all this while;
I live on bread like you, feel want like you.
Tafte grief, need friends, like you; fubjected thus,
How can you fay to me, I am a King?

Carl. My lord, wife men ne'er wail their prefent woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail:

To fear the foe, fince fear oppreffeth strength,
Gives, in your weakness, ftrength unto your foe;
And fo your follies fight against your self.

6

Fear, and be flain; no worfe can come from fight; And fight and die, is death destroying death: Where fearing dying, pays death fervile breath. Aum. My father hath a power, enquire of him, And learn to make a body of a limb.

K. Rich. Thou chid'ft me well; proud Bolingbroke,
I come

To change blows with thee, for our day of doom.
This ague-fit of fear is over-blown;

An eafy task it is to win our own.

Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his Power?
Speak fweetly, man, although thy looks be fower.
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the fky
The state and inclination of the day;

So may you, by my dull and heavy eye,
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to fay.
I play the torturer, by small and small
To lengthen out the worst, that must be spoken.
Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke,
And all your northern caftles yielded up,
And all your fouthern gentlemen in arms
Upon his faction.

5 Tradition.] This word feems here ufed in an improper fenfe, for traditional practices: That is, established or cutomary homage.

"Death deftreyi g death.] hat

is, to dye fighting, is to return the evil that we fuffer, to deftroy the deftroyers. I once read death defying death, but deftroying is as weil.

K. Rich.

K. Rich. Thou haft faid enough.

Befhrew thee, Coufin, which didit lead me forth

Of that sweet way I was in to Despair.

[To Aumerle.

What fay you now? what comfort have we now?
By heav'n, I'll hate him everlastingly,
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go to Flint-castle, there I'll pine away,
A King, woe's flave, fhall kingly woe obey:
That Pow'r I have, difcharge; and let 'em go
To ear the land, that hath fome hope to grow,
For I have none. Let no man speak again
To alter this, for counfel is but vain.
Aun. My Liege, one word.

K. Rich. He does me double wrong,

That wounds me with the flatt'ries of his tongue.
Discharge my Foll'wers; let them hence, away,
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day.

S CEN E V.

Bolingbroke's Camp near Flint.

[Exeunt.

Enter with drum and colours, Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, and Attendants.

Boling.

O that by this intelligence we learn,

The Welshmen are difpers'd; and Salisbury Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed. With fome few private friends upon this Coaft. North. The news is very fair and good, my lord, Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland,

I'll hate him everlasting', That bids me be of comfort.] This fentiment is drawn from nature. Nothing is more of fenfive to a mind convinced that his diftrefs is without a remedy,

and preparing to fubmit quietly to irrefiltible calamity, than these petty and conjectured comforts which unfkilful officioufnefs thinks it virtue to administer.

Το

To fay, King Richard. Ah, the heavy day,
When fuch a facred King should hide his head!

North. Your Grace mistakes me; only to be brief, Left I his Title out.

York. The time hath been,

Would you have been fo brief with him, he would
Have been fo brief with You, to shorten you,
*For taking fo the Head, the whole Head's Length.
Boling. Miftake not, uncle, farther than you should.
York. Take not, good coufin, farther than you should.
Left you mistake. The heav'ns are o'er your head.
Boling. I know it, uncle, nor oppose myself
Against their will. But who comes here?

Enter Percy.

Welcome, Harry; what, will not this caftle yield?
Percy. The caftle royally is mann'd, my lord,
Against your entrance.

Beling. Royally? why, it contains no King?
Percy. Yes, my good lord,

It doth contain a King. King Richard lies
Within the limits of yond lime and stone;
And with him lord Aumerle, lord Sal fury,
Sir Stephen Scroop, befides a clergy-man
Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.
North. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle.
Boling. Noble lord,

[To North.

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle,
Through brazen trumpet fend the breath of Parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver.

Henry of Bolingbroke upon his knees

Doth kifs King Richard's hand, and fends allegiance
And faith of heart unto his royal person.

Ev'n at his feet I lay my arms and pow'r,
Provided, that my banishment repeal'd,

For taking fo the head,-] out reftraint; to take undue li

To take the head is, to act with- berties.

And