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?
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 conspiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.
We'll keep him here: Then what is that to him?
York. Away,
Fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
I would appeach him.
Hadst thou groan'd for him,
As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful.
York. Make way, unruly woman.
[Exit.
Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his 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.
To have some conference with your grace alone.
Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here
[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 fault?
If but the first, how heinous e'er it be,
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 thy
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;
Thou hast no cause to fear.
York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, foolhardy king:
Shall I, for love, speak treason in thy face?
Open the door, or I will break it open.
[BOLINGBROKE opens the door.
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 promise past:
Enter BOLINGBROKE, as King; PERCY, and other I do repent me; read not my name there,
Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son? 'Tis full three months since I did see him last: If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.
I would to heaven, my lords, he might be found:
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loose companions;
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour, to support
So dissolute a crew.
Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the
prince;
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.
Boling. And what said the gallant?
Percy. His answer was,
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?
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.cz/books/content?id=0iMAAAAAQAAJ&hl=cs&output=html_text&pg=PA373&img=1&zoom=3&q=thought&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U0YHNhvKMJv4ykSKrSsB2VSL8Uirg&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=57,1437,454,110)
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.cz/books/content?id=0iMAAAAAQAAJ&hl=cs&output=html_text&pg=PA373&img=1&zoom=3&q=thought&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U0YHNhvKMJv4ykSKrSsB2VSL8Uirg&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=518,881,431,66)
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 conspiracy!—
O loyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy passages,
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
This deadly plot in thy digressing son.
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
York. So shall he spend mine honour with his
shame,
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
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.
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. 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.
Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man. York. Thou frantick woman, what dost thou make here?
Enter EXTON and a Servant.
Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake?
Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?
Was it not so?
Serv.
Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he he spake
it twice,
Those were his very words.
Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle And urg'd it twice together; did he not?
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 grow:
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ;
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.
![[ocr errors]](https://books.google.cz/books/content?id=0iMAAAAAQAAJ&hl=cs&output=html_text&pg=PA374&img=1&zoom=3&q=thought&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U0wSmurRxXaGdaEW16Hfg9G43Fv3A&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=381,841,6,5)
Nay, do not say 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. — 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 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.
Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me; As who should say, I would, thou wert the man That would divorce this terror from my heart; Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go ; I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Pomfret. The Castle.
K. Rich. 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
With scruples, and do set the word itself
Against the word:
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 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
Duch.
Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law,—and | Ha, ha! keep time:
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 :
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.
Duch. Come, my old son;—I pray heaven make
[Exeunt.
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and, by-and-by,
Think that I ain 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.
- 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, they jar
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward
watch,
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.
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!
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.cz/books/content?id=0iMAAAAAQAAJ&hl=cs&output=html_text&pg=PA375&img=1&zoom=3&q=thought&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U0ZiujCeJXWGqFVpilO0noNLnAyGA&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=498,117,449,69)
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own
land.
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.
[Dies.
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.
K. Rich. What art thou? and how comest thou SCENE VI. - Windsor. A Room in the Castle. 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 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. 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,
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. 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
[Exit.
Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to?
K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.
Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton,
who
Lately came from the king, commands the contrary:
K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
Enter EXTON, and Servants armed.
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.cz/books/content?id=0iMAAAAAQAAJ&hl=cs&output=html_text&pg=PA375&img=1&zoom=3&q=thought&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U0ZiujCeJXWGqFVpilO0noNLnAyGA&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=498,479,449,443)
Fits. 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 strife:
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
K. Rich. How now? what means death in this The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instru-
ment. [Snatching a weapon, and killing one.
Go thou, and fill another room in hell.
[He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down.
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.
Bb 4
|