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Jesu preserve thee ! welcome, Bolingbroke ! Duch. What is the matter, my lord ?
vant.] Saddle my horse.
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ? Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rides he the York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my while ?
horse : York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,
I will appeach the villain.
[Exit Servant Are idly bent on him that enters next,
What's the matter? Thinking his prattle to be tedious :
York. Peace, foolish woman. Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Duch. I will not peace :
What is the matter, Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save
Aun. Good mother, be content; it is no more No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: Than my poor life must answer. But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ;
Thy life answer ? Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
Re-enter Servant, with boots.
York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. - Poor boy, thou The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
art amaz'd: And barbarism itself have pitied him.
Hence, villain : never more come in my sight. But heaven hath a band in these events ;
[To the Servant. To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
York. Give me my boots, I say. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
Have we more sons? or are we like to have ?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, York.
Aumerle that was ; And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy ?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets And interchangeably set down their hands, now,
To kill the king at Oxford. That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ? Duch.
He shall be none; Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care We'll keep him here : Then what is that to him? not:
Hadst thou groan'd for him, Lest you be cropp'd
before you come to prime. As I have done, thou’dst be more pitiful. What news from Oxford 7' hold those justs and But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect, triumphs ?
That I have been disloyal to thy bed, Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. And that he is a bastard, not thy son : York. You will be there, I know.
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind : Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so.
He is as like thee as a man may be, York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy Not like to me, or any of my kin, bosom?
And yet I love him. Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing. York.
Make way, unruly woman. Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.
No matter then who sees it : Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his I will be satisfied, let me see the writing.
horse; Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; Spur, post; and get before him to the king, It is a matter of small consequence,
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. Which for some reasons I would not have seen. I'll not be long behind ; though I be old,
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : I fear, I fear,
And never will I rise up from the ground, Duch.
What should you fear ? Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee : Away; 'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
[Erement. For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.
York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond SCENE III. - Windsor. A Room in the Castis That he is bound to ? Wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me see the writing.
Enter BOLINGBROKE, as King: Percy, and other Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not
Lords. show it.
Boling. Can no man tell of my untirifty son ? York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say. 'Tis full three months, since I did see bim last :
Snatches it, and reads. If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. Treason! foul treason! - villain! traitor ! slave! I would to God, my lords, he might be found :
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king ;
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence :
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove Exen such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ; Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy! While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, O loyal father of a treacherous son ! Takes on the point of honour, to support
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, So dissolute a crew.
From whence this stream through muddy passages, Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the Hath held his current, and defil'd himself! prince;
Thy overflow of good converts to bad ; And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. And thy abundant goodness shall excuse Boling. And what said the gallant ?
This deadly blot in thy digressing son. Percy. His answer was, he would unto the York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; stews;
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, As thrifless sons their scraping fathers' gold. And wear it as a favour; and with that
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies : Boling. As dissolute, as desperate : yet, through Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath, both
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Duch. [Within.] What ho, my liege ! for God's Which elder days may happily bring forth.
sake let me in. But who coines here?
Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this
eager cry? Enter AUMERLE, hastily.
Duch. A woman, and thîne aunt, great king; tis I. Aam. Where is the king ?
Speak with me, pity me, open the door : Baling.
What means A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? Boling. Our scene is alter'd, — from a serious Aun. God save your grace. I do beseech your
And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King, To have some conference with your grace alone. My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ; Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here I know, she's come to pray for your foul sin.
alone. (Exeunt Percy and Lords. York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, What is the matter with our cousin now?
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. Aun. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound;
[Kneels. This, let alone, will all the rest confound. My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak. :
Enter Duchess. Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man; If but the first, how heinous ere it be,
Love, loving not itself, none other can. To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.
York. Thou frantick woman, what dost thou make Arm. Then give me leave that I may turn the
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear ? That no man enter till my tale be done.
Duch. Sweet York, be patient Hear me, gentle Boling. Have thy desire.
[Kneels. (AUMERLE locks the door. Boling. Rise up, good aunt. York. (Within.] My liege, beware ; look to thy
Not yet, I thee beseech : self;
For ever will I kneel upon my knees, Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
And never see day that the happy sees, Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing. Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. Thou hast no cause to fear.
Aum. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my York. (Wilkin.] Open the door, secure, fool
(Kneels. hardy king
York. Against them both, my true joints bended Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?
(Xneels. Open the door, or I will break it open.
Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! (BOLINGBROKE opens the door. Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face;
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest ; Enter YORK,
His words come from his mouth, ours froin our Beling. What is the matter, uncle ? speak ;
breast : Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger, He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; That we may arm us to encounter it.
We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside : Yerk. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; know
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow : The treason that my baste forbids me show. His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. past :
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have I do repent me; read not my name there,
That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. My heart is not confederate with my hand.
Boling. Good aunt, stand up. York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it Duch.
Nay, do not say stand up: down.
But pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up.
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, My brain I'll prove the female to my soul;
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
With scruples, and do set the word itself Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Against the word : Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, As thus, - Come, little ones ; and then again, That set'st the word itself against the word ! It is as hard to come, as for a camel Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land;
To thread the postern of a needle's eye. The chopping French we do not understand. Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there : Unlikely wonders : how these vain weak nails Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear ; May tear a passage through the flinty ribs That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, of this hard world, my ragged prison walls; Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse.
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, – Duch.
I do not sue to stand, That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars, Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, –
Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! That many have, and others must sit there : Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again ;
And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, Bearing their own misfortune on the back But makes one pardon strong.
Of such as have before endur'd the like. Boling.
With all my heart Thus play I, in one person, many people, I pardon him.
And none contented: Sometimes am I king; Duch. A god on earth thou art.
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar, Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law,-- and And so I am : Then crushing penury the abbot,
Persuades me I was better when a king; With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Then am I king'd again : and, by-and-by, Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, Good uncle, help to order several powers
And straight am nothing:
- But, whate'er I am, To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are:
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, They shall not live within this world, I swear, With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd But I will have them, if I once know where. With being nothing.
Musick do I hear ? (Musick. Uncle, farewell, — and cousin too, adieu :
Ha, ha! keep time :
How sour sweet musick is, Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. When time is broke, and no proportion kept! Duch. Come, my old son ; — I pray God make So is it in the musick of men's lives. thee new.
[Exeunt. 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. Erlon. Didst thou not mark the king, what words for now hath time made me his numb'ring clock: he spake?
My thoughts are minutes ; and, with sighs, they jar Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch, Was it not so?
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Serv.
Those were his very words. Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spakc Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is, it twice.
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart, And urg'd it twice together ; did he not?
Which is the bell : So sighs, and tears, and grains, Serv. He did.
Show minutes, times, and hours : - but my time Erton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy; me;
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock. As who should say,
- I would, thou wert the man This musick mads me, let it sound no more ; That would divorce this terror from my heart; For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits, Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go; In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
[Exeunt. For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. SCENE V. - Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle.
Groom. Hail, royal prince !
Thanks, noble peer; compare
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. This prison, where I live, unto the world :
What art thou ? and how comest thou bither, And, for because the world is populous,
Where no man never comes, but that sad dog, And here is not a creature but myself,
That brings me food, to make misfortune live? I cannot do it; --- Yet I'll hammer it out.
Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, kins,
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards | SCENE VI. Windsor. A Room in the Castle.
Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE and York, with: To look upon my sometimes master's face.
Lords and Attendants. 0, how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld,
Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear In London streets that coronation day,
Is -- that the rebels have consum'd with fire When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary !
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ; That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid; But whether they be ta’en, or slain, we hear not. That borse, that I so carefully have dress'd ! K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle Welcome, my lord : What is the news?
Enter NorTHUMBERLAND. friend, How went he under him ?
North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all hapGroom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground.
piness. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his The next news is, — I have to London sent back!
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent :
The manner of their taking may appear
(Presenting a paper. Would be not stumble? Would he not fall down,
Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. (since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck
Enter FITZWATER. Of that proud man, that did usurp his back ?
Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely; Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, Was born to bear? I was not made a horse ;
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. And yet I bear a burden like an ass,.
Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Spur-gall’d, and tir’d by jauncing Bolingbroke.
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
Enter PERCY, with the Bishop of CarlislE.
(To the Groom.
minster, K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy,
Hath yielded up his body to the grave; Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my But here is Carlisle living, to abide heart shall say.
[Exit. | Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. Keep. My lord, wilt please you to fall to ?
Boting. Carlisle, this is your doom : K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; who
So, as thou liv’st in peace, die free from strife : Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, I. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
thee! Pasience is stale, and I am weary of it.
Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a coffin. [Beats the Keeper.
Erton. Great king, within this coffin I present Keep. Help, help, help!
Thy buried fear ; herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Enter Exton, and Servants, armed. Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. I. Rich. How now? what means death in this Boling. Exton, I thank thee not ; for thou hast rude assault ?
wrought Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand,
(Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Upon my head, and all this famous land. Go thou, and fill another room in hell.
Erton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I (He kills another, then Exton strikes him down.
this deed. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, That staggers thus my person.
Exton, thy fierce Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, hand
I hate the murderer, love him murdered. Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, land.
But neither my good word, nor princely favour : Mount
, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high ; With Cain go wander through the shade of night, Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. And never show thy head by day nor light.
[Dies. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, Extor. As full of valour, as of royal blood : That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were good! Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, For now the devil, that told me — I did well, And put on sullen black, incontinent ; Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell.
I'll make a voyage to the Holy land, This dead king to the living king I'll bear? - To wash this blood off from my guilty hand : Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. March sadly after ; grace my mournings here,
[Ereunt. In weeping after this untimely bier. [Ereunt.
KING HENRY THE FOURTH.
Sir John FALSTATT. HENRY, Prince of Wales,
Poins. PRINCE John of Lancaster,
} sons to the King.
GADSHILL. EARL OF WESTMORELAND,
Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer. HENRY PERCY, surnamed Horspur, his son, Lady MORTIMER, daughter to Glendower, and wife EDMUND MORTIMER, Earl of March.
to Mortimer. Scroop, Archbishop of York.
Mrs. Quickly, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. Sir MICHAEL, a friend of the Archbishop. ARCHIBALD, Earl of Douglas.
Loras, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, DaraOWEN GLENDOWER.
ers, Two Carriers, Travellers, and Atlendants. Sir RICHARD VERNON.
SCENE I. - London. A Room in the Palace. Forthwith a power of English shall we levy: Enter King Henry, WESTMORELAND, Sir Walter To chase these pagans, in those holy fields,
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb BLUNT, and others.
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet,
For our advantage, on the bitter cross.
And bootless 'tis to tell you - we will go;
Therefore we meet not now:- Then let me hear Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood; of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, No more shall trenching war channel her fields, What yesternight our council did decree, Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs In forwarding this dear expedience. Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, And many limits of the charge set down All of one nature, of one substance bred,
But yesternight : when, all athwart, there cano Did lately meet in the intestine shock
A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news; And furious close of civil butchery,
Whose worst was, - that the noble Mortimer, Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight March all one way; and be no more oppos'd Against the irregular and wild Glendower, Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies :
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, And a thousand of his people butchered : No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, Upon whose dead corpse there was such misus, As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
Such beastly, shameless transformation, (Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross By those Welshwomen done, as may not be, We are impressed and engag'd to fight,)
Without much shame, re-told or spoken of.