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Scene IV, V.
Duch.

KING RICHARD II.

I do not sue to stand,
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
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.

With all my heart

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 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.
Duch. Come, my old son;-I pray God make
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.-Enter Exton, and a Servant.
Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words
he spake?

thee new.

Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?
Was it not so?

Serv.
Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake
it twice,

Those were his very words.

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 foe. [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;2
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 :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.

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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,
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 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,

Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,
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!
Thanks, noble peer;
K. Rich.
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 yearn'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. 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,-

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(2) His own body.
(4) Little gate. (5) Tick.
like the figure of a man on

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.
[Exit.
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.

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to Lon-
don
The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely;
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Two of the dangerous and consorted traitors,

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

Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

Keep. Help, help, help!

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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.

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:
[Exeunt. 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,
lords and attendants.

with That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow:
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.

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.

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 af fect the passions, or enlarge the understanding.

JOHNSON.

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ACT I.

SCENE I.-London. A room in the palace. Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter Blunt, and others.

King Henry.

So
shaken as we are, so wan with care,
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenc'd in stronds' afar remote.
No more the thirsty Erinnys2 of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces; those opposed eyes,
Which,-like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,-
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way; and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ

(Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engag'd to fight,)
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb
To chase these pagans, in those holy fields,
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet,
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd,
For our advantage, on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose is a twelve-month old,
And bootless 'tis to tell you-we will go;
Therefore we meet not now :-Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
What yesternight our council did decree,
In forwarding this dear expedience.'

(1) Strands, banks of the sea.

(2) The Fury of discord.

(3) Force, army. (4) Needless. (5) Expedition.

(Poins. Gadshill.

Peto. Bardolph.

Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mor

timer.

Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimer.

Mrs. Quickly, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap.

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain,
Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Al-
tendants.
Scene, England.

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, And many limits of the charge set down But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news; Whose worst was,-that the noble Mortimer, Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight Against the irregular and wild Glendower, Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, And a thousand of his people butchered: Upon whose dead corps there was such misuse, Such beastly, shameless transformation, By those Welshwomen done, as may not be, Without much shame, re-told or spoken of. K. Hen. It seems then, that the tidings of this broil

Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
West. This, match'd with other, did, my gra-
cious lord;

For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north, and thus it did import.
On Holy-rood day," the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met,

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As by discharge of their artillery,

And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.

K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend,

Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stain'da with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The earl of Douglass is discomfited;

Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,
Balk'd' in their own blood, did sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains: Ofprisoners, Hotspur took
Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son

(6) Estimates. (7) September 14.
(8) Covered with dirt of different colours.
(9) Piled up in a heap.

To beaten Douglas; and the earls of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
And is not this an honourable spoil?

A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?
West. In faith,

It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty; let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon: "And let men say, we be men of good government: being govern'd as the sea is,

K. Hen Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under

mak'st me sin

In envy that my lord Northumberland
Should be the father of so blest a son:

A son who is the theme of honour's tongue;
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride:
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow

Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd,
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
And call'd mine-Percy, his-Plantagenet!
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts:-What think you,

coz,

Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd,"
To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife.
West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Wor-
cester,

Malevolent to you in all aspects;'

Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.

K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this;
And, for this cause, a while we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.

Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords:
But come yourself with speed to us again;
For more is to be said, and to be done,
Than out of anger can be uttered.
West. I will, my liege.

[Exeunt.

whose countenance we-steal.

P. Hen. Thou say'st well; and it holds well too: for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the sea; being governed as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: A purse of gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing-lay by ; and spent with crying-bring in: now, in as low an ebb a the foot of the ladder; and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance ?

Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?

P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, many a time and oft.

P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.

P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit.

Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent,-But, I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old SCENE I.-The same. Another room in the father antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art palace. Enter Henry Prince of Wales, and king, hang a thief. Falstaff. P. Hen. No; thou shalt.

Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the lord I'll be a brave judge.

P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman.

Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking| of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou would'st Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I the time of the day? unless hours were cups of can tell you. sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffeta; I see no reason, why thou should'st be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib' cat, or a lugged bear.

P. Hen. Or an old lion; or a lover's lute.
Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.'
P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare, or the
melancholy of Moor-ditch?

Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal: for we, that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phoebus,-he, that wandering Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes; and knight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest,when thou art king,-as, God save thy grace sweet young prince,-But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou none,)

P. Hen. What, none?

Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.

P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

(1) Points. (2) Trim, as birds clean their feathers. (3) Favourites. (4) Stand still. (5) More wine. (6) The dress of sheriffs' officers.

and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought: An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked him not: and yet he talked very wisely; but I regarded him not: and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.

(7) Gib cat, should be lib cat,-a Scotch term at this day for a gelded cat. (8) Croak of a frog.

P. Hen. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.

Fal. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persuasion, and he the ears of profiting, that what Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration: and art, thou speakest may move, and what he hears may indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done be believed, that the true prince may (for recreamuch harm upon me, Hal,-God forgive thee for tion sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and of the time want countenance. Farewell: You now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better shall find me in Eastcheap. than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain; I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.

P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?

Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an do not, call me villain, and baffle2 me.

P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying, to purse-taking.

Enter Poins, at a distance.

I

P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All-hallown summer!" [Exit Falstaf Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already way-laid; yourself, and I, will not be there: and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders.

P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth?

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wheresin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins!-in it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. adventure upon the exploit themselves: which O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set hell were hot enough for him? This is the most upon them. omnipotent villain, that ever cried, Stand, to a true man.

P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned.

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal.-What says monsieur Remorse? What says sir John Sackand-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-friday last, for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg? P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil his due. Poins. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the devil.

P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

P. Hen. Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.

Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood; our visors we will change, after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

8

P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us. Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty, Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morn- at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, ing, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill: There are what extremities he endured; and, in the reproof" pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, of this, lies the jest. and traders riding to London with fat purses: Í P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all have visors for you all, you have horses for your-things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in selves; Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester; I have Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell. bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap; Poins. Farewell, my lord. we may do it as secure as sleep: If you will go, will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged.

Fal. Hear me, Yedward; if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going. Poins. You will, chops?

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?

P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.

Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings." P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days I'll be a mad-cap.

Fal. Why, that's well said.

P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.

P. Hen. care not.

Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.

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[Exit Poins.
P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness:
Yet herein will I imitate the sun;
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for com
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,
And pay the debt I never promised,
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;"
And, like bright metal on a sullen" ground,
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes,
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill:
Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Ex.

(7) Fine weather at All-hallown-tide (i. e. All Saints, Nov. 1st) is called an All-hallown summer. (8) Occasion.

(9) Confutation. (10) Expectations. (11) Dull.

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