And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;
Thou map' of honour; thou king Richard's tomb,
And not king Richard'; thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee,
When triumph is become an ale-house guest?
K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do
not so,

To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream;

From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity; and he and I

Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloister thee in some religious house:
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and
mind

Transform'd and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke
Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,

And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod;
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?

A two-fold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me;
And then, betwixt me and my married wife.-
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.—
Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the elime,
My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day.
Queen. And must we be divided? must we part?
K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and
heart from heart.

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me.
North. That were some love, but little policy.
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go.
K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one wo.
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
Better far off, than-near, be ne'er the near'.'
Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans.
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest

moans.

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. beasts,

I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for

France:

Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st,
As from my death-bed, my last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire
With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales
Of woful ages, long ago betid: 2

And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,

And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,
And, in compassion, weep the fire out:
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
For the deposing of a rightful king.

Enter Northumberland, attended.
North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is
chang'd;

You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.-
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;
With all swift speed you must away to France.
K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where-
withal

The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,-
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head,
Shall break into corruption: thou shalt think,
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to all;

And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both,
To worthy danger, and deserved death.

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.
K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd ?-Bad men, ye violate

(They kiss.

Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good

part,

To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart.

[Kiss again.

So, now I have mine own again, begone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
K. Rich. We make wo wanton with this fond

delay:

Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Ext.
SCENE II.-The same. A room in the Duke of
York's palace. Enter York, and his Duckess.

Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the
rest,
When weeping made you break the story off,
Of our two cousins coming into London.
York. Where did I leave?
Duch.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling-

broke,

You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage; and that all the walls,
With painted imagery, had said at once,-
Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus, I thank you, countrymen :
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,

(5) Never the nigher.

(6) Tapestry hung from the windows

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.

Where is the king?

Aum.
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 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.

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.
Boling. Rise up, good aunt.
Duch.

[Kneels.

Not yet, I thee beseech: For ever will I kneel upon my knees, And never see day that the happy sees, Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee. [Kneels. (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:

York. Against them both, my true joints bended

be.

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.
Duch.
Nay, do not say-stand up;
But, 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 long'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 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.
(1) Transparent. (2) Transgressing,
(3) An old ballad. (4) Do.

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.
York. Speak it in French, king; say, pardonnez
moy.s

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.

(5) Excuse me,

A god on earth thou art. Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law,-and the abbot,

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
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and, by-and-by,
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing:-But, whate'er I am,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd,
With being nothing.-Music do I hear? [Music.
Ha, ha! keep time:-How sour sweet music is,
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,

With all the rest of that consorted crew,-
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
Good uncle, help to order several powers1
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. To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
Duch. Come, my old son;-I pray God make But, for the concord of my state and time,
[Exeunt. 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 to mine eyes, the outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,

thee new.

SCENE IV.-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.

Those were his very words.

Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is,

Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,

it twice,

And urg'd it twice together; did he not?
Serv. He did.

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 foc. [Exe.
SCENE V.-Pomfret. The dungeon of the castle.
Enter King Richard.

K. Rich. I have been studying how I may com-
pare

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,

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,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock.
This music mads me, let it sound no more;
For, though it have holp 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!
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.

For no thought is contented. The better sort,-, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld,

As thoughts of things divine,-are intermix'd
With scruples, and do set the word itself
Against the word:3

As thus,-Come, little ones; and then again,—
It is as hard to come, as for a camel
To thread the postern of a needle's eye.
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.

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;

Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves,-This hand hath made him proud with clapping

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,-

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?

(7) An ornamented buckle, and also a jewel in
general.
(8) Former.

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 shall say.
[Exii.

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

thee!

Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy

pains;

And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Enter Fitzwater.

Filz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to Lon-
The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely;
don
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Two of the dangerous and consorted traitors,
Right noble is thy merit, well I'wot.
Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot,

Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle.

Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of West-
minster,

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.
[Beats the Keeper. Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom:-

Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

Keep. Help, help, help!

Enter Exton, and servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude assault?

Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thon, and fill another room in hell.

[He kills another, then Exton strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce hand

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; 0, would the deed were good!
For now the devil, that told ne-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.

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
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bordeaux, 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.

Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour: With Cain go wander through the shade of night, And never show thy head by day nor night.SCENE VI-Windsor. A room in the castle. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of wo, Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, and York, with That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow: lords and attendants.

[Exeunt.

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 not.
Enter Northumberland.

Welcome, my lord: What is the news?

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all hap-
piness.

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.

(1) Jaunting. (2) Immediately.

Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,
And put on sullen black incontinent;2
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:-
March sadly after; grace my mournings here,
In weeping after this untimely bier.

[Exeunt.

This play is one of those which Shakspeare has apparently revised; but as success in works of invention is not always proportionate to labour, it is not finished at last with the happy force of some other of his tragedies, nor can be said much to affect the passions, or enlarge the understanding. JOHNSON.