Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, [rage
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with
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?

K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught
I had been still a happy king of men. [but beasts,
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for
France:
[tak'st,
Think I am dead; and that even here thou
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;

And ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable tale 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,
wherewithal

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;
[the way
And he shall think, that thou, which know'st
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. [with. Take leave, and part; for you must part forthK. Rich. Doubly divorc'd!-Bad men, ye violate

A twofold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me, And then, betwixt me and my married wife. Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;

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. [with me. Queen. Banish us both, and send the king North. That were some love, but little policy. (go. Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make

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;

Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. [They kiss. Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part,

To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. [They kiss again. So, now I have mine own again, be gone, 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. SCENE II.-London. 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 window's tops, [head. Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's

York. Then, as I said, the duke, great BolMounted upon a hot and fiery steed, [ingbroke, Which his aspiring rider seemed 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 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, [men" Bespake them thus,-"I thank you, countryAnd 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,
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
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
[melted,
The hearts of men, they must perforce have
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events, [tents.
To whose high will we bound our calm con-
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye 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
[spring?
That strew the green lap of the new-come
Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly

violets now,

care not:

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
It is a matter of small consequence, [me:
Which for some reasons I would not have

York. Peace, foolish woman. [ter, son? Duch. I will not peace.-What is the matAum. Good mother, be content; it is no Than my poor life must answer. [more Duch. Thy life answer? York. Bring me my boots: I will unto the king.

Re-enter Servant with boots. Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art amaz'd.

[To Servant.] Hence, villain! never more
come in my sight, [Exit 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
And rob me of a happy mother's name? [age,
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
York. Away,
[him?
Fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
I 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: [mind:
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that
He is as like thee as a man may be,
Not like to me, nor any of my kin,
And yet I love him.

York. Make way, unruly woman! [Exit. Duch. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse;

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.

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 unlocks the door; and afterwards, relocks it. Enter York.

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak;

other Lords.

Beling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son?

"Tis full three months since I did see him
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. [last:
I would to God, my lords, he might be found:
Enquire 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.

[the prince,
Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw
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
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 So wildly? [stares and looks 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. [Kneels.] For ever may my knees grow to the earth,

My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon, ere I rise or speak. [fault?
Boling. Intended, or committed, was this
If on the first, how heinous e'er it be,
To win thy after-love I pardon thee. [the key,
Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn
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. [Drawing.] Villain, I'll make thee safe. no cause to fear. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast

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 pro

mise past:

I do repent me; read not my name there;
My heart is not confederate with my hand.
York. It was, 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 conO loyal father of a treacherous son! [spiracy! 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. Duch. [Within.] What ho! my liege! for God's sake let me in.

Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry?

Duch. [Within.] 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,
[King."
And now chang'd to " The Beggar and the
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in :
I know she's come to pray for your foul sin.
[Aumerle unlocks the door.
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.
Enter Duchess.

Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted Love, loving not itself, none other can. [man! York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou

make here?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?

I bend my knee.

York. [Kneels.] Against them both my true joints bended be.

I mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face; [jest; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in 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
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; [grow:
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.

Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have
That mercy which true prayers ought to have.
Boling. Good aunt, stand up.

44

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 [nez moy. York. Speak it in French, king; say, pardonDuch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?

meet.

Ah! my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That sett'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. [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.
Boling.
I pardon him.
Duch. A god on earth thou art.
Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law,
and the abbot,

With all my heart

With all the rest of that consorted crew, Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.

thee new.

SCENE IV. Another Room in the Castle. Enter Sir Pierce of 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 Was it not so? [fear?"

Serv.

Those were his very words. Exton. "Have I no friend?" quoth he: he spake it twice,

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

[me;

Serv. He did. Exton. And speaking it, he wistly look'd on As who should say,-I would thou wert the

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,
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:

[again,
As thus," Come, little ones;" and then
"It is as hard to come, as for a camel
To thread the postern of a needie'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 endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people,