Bespake them thus,-I thank you, country
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, Ar idly bent on him that enters next, Thanking his prattle to be tedious:
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's
[him; Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook oft,— 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 [melted, The hearts of men, they must perforce, have 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 ayet 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. Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the vio- lets now, [spring? That strew the green lap of the new-come Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care
God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. York. 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 justs; and triumphs?
Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. York. You will be there, I know. Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so. York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy 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.
Duch. What should you fear? [into "Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. York. Bound to himself? what doth be 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 Servant.] Saddle my horse. God for his mercy! what treachery is here!
Carelessly turned lilts and tournaments.
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:*
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? Is not my teeming+ date drunk up with time? 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.
Duch. He shall be none;
[him? We'll keep him here: Then what is that to York. Away,
Fond woman! were he twenty times my son, I would appeach him.
Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, As I have done, thou'd'st 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: [mind: Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that 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. Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his
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. [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:-
I would to God, my lords, he might be found: If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. 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.
Perplexed, confounded. + Breeding.
Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw | Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. Boling. And what said the gallant? Percy. His answer was,-he would unto the
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; 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,
To have some conference with your grace alone. Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.
[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 If but the first, how heinous ere it be, [fault 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 thyself;
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe.
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 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. York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it 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 conspi- racy!-
O.oyal father of a treacherous son! Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, From whence this stream through muddy pas-
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly blot in thy digressing 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. 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
And now chang'd 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.
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. [have Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them 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' months s
York. Speak it in French, king; say, par- donnez 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 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 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
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 powerst 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
Duch. Come, my old son ;-I pray God make thee new. [Exeunt.
A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world;*
For no thought is contented. The better In humours, like the people of this world,
As thoughts of things divine,-are intermix'd Against the word:t With scruples, and do set the word itself
As thus,-Come little ones; and then again,- It is as hard to come, as for a camel To thread the posternt of a needle's eye. Thought 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; Thoughts tending to content, flatter them- And, for they cannot, die in their own pride, selves,-
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, Of such as have before endur'd the like, Bearing their own misfortune on the back Thus play I, in one person, many people, And none contented: Sometimes ain 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; Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, Then am I king'd again: and, by-and-by, And straight am nothing:-But, whate'er Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd [I am, With being nothing.-Music do I hear?
Ha, ha! keep time:~How sour sweet mu- [Music.
When time is broke, and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. And here have I the daintiness of ear, But, for the concord of my state and time, To check time broke in a disorder'd string; wasted time, and now doth time waste me. Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jars
Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Now, Sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: So sighs, and tears, and Show minutes, times, and hours:--but my groans,
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock.
This music 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.
* His own body.
t Little gate.
Strike for him, like the figure of a man on a bell. An ornamented buckle, and also a jewel in general.
Enter GROOM.
Groom. Hail, royal prince!
K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer; 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,
With much ado, at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes master's face. O, how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld, In London streets, that coronation day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary! The 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
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping
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; 0, 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.
Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
Is-that the rebels have consum'd with fire Our town of Cicester in Glostershire; But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.
Welcome, my lord: What is the news?
North. 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 Kent:
The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here.
[Presenting a paper.
Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for
thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Enter FITZWATER.
Fitz. 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
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, strife; High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. Enter EXTON, with ATTENDANTS bearing a Coffin.
Exton. Great king, within this coffin I pre
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.
Boling. They love not poison that do poison need.
Nor do I tnee; though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love Lim murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for y la bour,
But neither my good word, nor princely favour: With Cain go wander through the shade of night
[ACT And never show thy head by day nor light.That blood should sprinkle me, to make me Lords, I protest, my soul is ful of woe,
Come, morrn with me for what I do lamer., And put on sullen black incontinent:* I'll make a voyage to the Holy Lana, March sac'y after; grace my mournings To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:- here,
In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt. * Izwoediately.
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