Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields
To the possession of thy royal hand:
Ascend his throne, descending now from him,—
And long live Henry, of that name the fourth!
Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal

throne.

Car. Marry, God forbid !

Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
Would God, that any in this noble presence
Were enough noble to be upright j idge

Of noble Richard; then true nobless would
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
What subject can give sentence on his king?
And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject?
Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear,
Although apparent guilt be seen in them:
And shall the figure of God's majesty,
His captain, steward, deputy elect,
Anointed, crown'd, planted many years,
Bejid'd by subject and inferior breath,
And he himself not present? O, forbid it, God,
That, in a Ch istian climate, souls refin'd'
Shoud show so heinous, black, ob cene a deed!
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king.
My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king:
And if you crown him, let me prophesy,-
The b'ood of English shall manure the ground,
And future ages groan for this foul act;
Peace hall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound;
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny,
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
The field of Golgotha, and dead men's sculls.
O, if you rear this house against this house,
It will the wofulles' division prove,
That ever fell upon this cursed earth:
Prevent, resist it, let it not be so,

Lest child, child's children, cry against you-wo!
North. Well have you argu'd, sir; and, for your
pains,

Of capital treason we arrest you here:-
My lord of Westminster, be it your charge
To keep him safely till his day of trial
May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit.
Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common

view

He may surrender: so we shall proceed
Without suspicion.
York.
I will be his conduct. [Exit.
• Boling. Lords, you that are here under our ar-

rest,

Procure your sureties for your days of answer:-
Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle.
And little look'd for at your helping hands.
Re-enter York, with King Richard, and officers
bearing the crown, &c.

K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for 'o a king,
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd

The favours of these men: Were they not mine?
So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve
Did they not sometime cry, all hail! to me?
Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand,

none.

God save the king!-Will no man say, amen?
Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen.
God save the king! although I be not he;
To do what service am I sent for hither?
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.-

York. To do that office, of thine own good will,
Which tired majesty did make thee offer,-
The resignation of thy state and crown
To Henry Bolingbroke.

K. Rich. Give me the crown:-Here, cousin,
seize the crown;

Here, on this side, my hand; on that side, thine.
Now is this golden crown like a deep well,
The emptier ever dancing in the air,
That owes two buckets filling one another;

The other down, unseen, and full of water:
That bucket down, and full of tears, am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.
Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign.
K. Rich. My crown, I am; but still my griefs

are mine:

You may my glories and my state depose,
But not my griefs; still am I king of those.
Boling. Part of your cares you give me with

your crown.

K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my
cares down.

My care is-loss of care, by old care done;
Your care is-gain of care, by new care won:
The cares I give I have, though given away;
They tends the crown, yet still with me they stay.
Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown?
Therefore, no no, for I resign to thee.
K. Rich. Ay, no, no, ay;-for I must nothing be;
Now mark me how I will undo myself:-
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldly sceptre from my hand,
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths:
All pomp and majesty I do forswear;
My manors, rents, revenues, I forego;
My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny:
God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me!
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd;
God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee!
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd!
Long may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit!
God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says,
And send him many years of sunshine days!-
What more remains?
North.
No more, but that you read
These accusations, and these grievous crimes,
[Offering a paper.
Committed by your person, and your followers,
Against the state and profit of this land;
That, by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.

K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out
My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,

To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee:If thy offences were upon record,

Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me

To this submission. Yet I well remember

Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? If thou would'st,
There should'st thou find one heinous article,-

And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,-
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:-The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see:-
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me,
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,-
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,
Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross,
And water cannot wash away your sin.

'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief,
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul;
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
arti-Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,
And then be gone, and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?'

Abbot. A woful pageant have we here beheld.
Car. The wo's to come; the children yet un-
born

K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come
to hell.
Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumber-To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?
land.

Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot

Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein,

North. The commons will not then be satisfied. You shall not only take the sacrament
K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read To bury mine intents, but to effect

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;

K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart.

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,-
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
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 aye2 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:
am in parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets

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?
'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into
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 ser-
vant.] Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy! what treachery is here!
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.

Duch.

[Exit servant. What's the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.
Duch. I will not peace:-What is the matter, son?

(1) Carelessly turned.
(3) Tilts and tournaments.

(2) Ever.

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:4

[To the servant.

Hence, villain; never more come in my sight.—
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 teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilf thou plack 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.

Duch.

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

I

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

Hadst thou groan'd for him,
As I have done, thou'dst 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:

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
He is as like thee as a man may be,

Not like to me, or any of my kin,

And yet I love him.

York. Make way, unruly woman. [Erit.
Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his
horse;

Spur, post; and get before him to the king,
And beg his 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 last:If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.

I would to God, 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, he would unto the

stews;

And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour; and with that

(4) Perplexed, confounded.

(5) Breeding.

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,

alone.

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

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 promise
past:

I do repent me; read not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

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,

My dangerous cousin, let your mother in;
And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King."—

I

know, she's come to pray for your foul sin. More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, 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
make here?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?
Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gen.
tle 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 jov 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 may'st 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

York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it That mercy, which true prayers ought to have.

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
racy!-

Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
Druch.
Nay, do not say-stand up;
Bt, pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up.
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon-should be the first word of thy speech.
conspi-I never lon "'d to hear a word till now;

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;
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing2 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.
(1) Transparent. (2) Transgressing.
(3) An old ballad. (4) Do.

Say-pardon, k ng; let nity teach thee how:
The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
No word Ike pardon, for kings' mouths so meet.
York. Speak it in French, king; say, pardonnez

moy.

Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to de

stroy?

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 unde: stand.
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 pieree,
Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse.
Boling. Good aunt, stand up,

(5) Excuse me.