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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 urged, another way
To pluck him headlong from the usurped
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
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.
K. Rich. Doubly divorced?-Bad men, ye violate [me; A twofold marriage; 'twixt my crown and 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, [clime; Where shivering cold and sickness pines the 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? [and heart from heart. K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. [licy, North. That were some love, but little poQueen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go! [one woe. K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make 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 [est moans. Queen. So longest way shall have the long. 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.
[part; One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. [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 woe wanton with this fond delay:
Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt. • All-hallows, i. e., All-saints, Nov. 1. the windows.
A Room in the Duke of York's Palace.
Enter YORK and his Duchess.
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, [head. Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's York. Then, as I said, the duke, great BolingMounted upon a hot and fiery steed, [broke,Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, While all tongues cried-God save thee, Bolingbroke! [spake, You would have thought the very windows So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage; and that all the walls, With painted imageryt, 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-graced actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious: [eyes
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God
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,- [steel'd
That had not God, for some strong purpose,
The hearts of men, they must perforce have
And barbarism itself have pitied him. (melted,
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 aye]] allow!
Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.
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
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. [not:
York. Well, bear you well in this new
Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime + Never the nigher. Carelessly turned.
Aum. For anght 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
Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing,
No matter then who sees it:
I will be satisfied, let me see the writing,
Aum. Ido 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
I fear, I fear,
What should you fear?
Tis nothing but some bend that he is enter'd
For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. [into
York. Bound to himself? what doth he
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.
Boy, let me see the writing. [not show it.
Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may
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?
1 York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a
Servant.] Saddle my horse:
God for his mercy! what treachery is here!
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord? [horse:-
York. Give me my boots, I say: saddle my
Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain. [Exit Servant.
What's the matter?
York. Peace, foolish woman. [matter, son?
Duch. I will not peace :-What is the
Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
Thy life answer!
Re-enter Servant, with Boots.
York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the
[thou art amazed†:
Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy,
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? [ment.
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacra-
And interchangeably set down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.
He shall be none;
We'll keep him here: Then what is that to
Fond woman! were he twenty times my son,]
I would appeach him.
As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful.
But now I know, thy mind; thou dost suspert,
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.
Make way, unruly woman. [Exit. 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;
SCENE III. Windsor. A Room in the Castle.
Enter BOLINGBROKE,as King; PERCY, and
Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty
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
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.
Boling. And what said the gallant? [stews;
Percy. His answer was, he would unto the
And from the common'st creature pluck a
And wear it as a favour; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
Boling. As dissolute, as desperate: yet.
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?
Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly?
Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech
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
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 e'er it be, [fault? Hadst thou groan'd for him, To win thy after love, I pardon thee.
Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the | Love, loving not itself, none other can. That no man enter till my tale be done. [key, York Thou frantic woman, what dost Boling. Have thy desire. thou make here?!
[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. [hardy king:
York. [Within.] Open the door, secure,fool-
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
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-
O loyal father of a treacherous son! [racy!
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy pas-
Hath held his current and defiled 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 shamed 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-voiced suppliant makes
this eager cry?
[king; 'tis I.
Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great
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 changed to The Beggar and the
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
• Transparent. ↑ Transgressing.
Shall thy old dags once more a traitor rear?
Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me
Boling, Rise up, good aunt.
***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. York. Against them both mytrue joints bend
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
His words come from his mouth, our's from
He prays but faintly, and would be denied ;
We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside:
His weary joints would gladly risě, I know;
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; [grow:
Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity.
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. An 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.. [donnez moy
York. Speak it in French, king; say, pur Duch. Dost thon teach pardon pardon to
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
Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse.
Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
I do not sue to stand,
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. [me.
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.
I pardon him.
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,—
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 haminer 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
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 :
As thus,-Come little ones; and then again,-
It is as hard to come, as for a camel
To thread the posterns 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.
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 endured 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
P'ersuades 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 pleased, till he be eased
With being nothing-Music do I hear?
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,
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
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they
Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing thein from tears.
Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my
Which is the bell: So sighs, and tears, and
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
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.
Groom. Hail, royal prince!
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,
When thou wert king; who, travelling to-
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!
That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid;
That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd
K. Rich. Rodle he on Barbary? Tell me
How went he under him? [gentle friend,
Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the
[on his back!
K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
*Forces. + His own body. - Holy scripture.
§ Little gate.
Strike for him, like the figure of a man on a bell.
** An ornamented buckle, and also a jewel in general.
Lately came from the king, commands the [caster, and thee! K. Rich. The devil take Henry of LanPatience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the Keeper.
Keep. Help, help, help! Enter EXTON, and Servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude assault? [strument. Villain, thine own hand yields thy death's in[Snatching a weapon and killing one. Go thou, 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 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. 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 consumed with fire Our town of Cicester in Glostershire; [not. 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
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.
[Presenting a paper.
Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for
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 Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. [forgot; 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 livest 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
Exton. Great king, within this coffin I preThy buried fear: herein all breathless lies [sent 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 Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, 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 light.-
Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe,
That blood should sprinkle me to make me
Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,
And put on sullen black incontinent +;
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.