ADAM. O unhappy youth,
Come not within thefe doors; within this roof
enemy of all your graces lives:
Your brother-(no; no brother; yet the fon,-
Yet not the fon; I will not call him fon
Of him I was about to call his father),
Hath heard your praifes, and this night he means
To burn the lodging where you us'd to lie,
And you within it if he fail of that,
He will have other means to cut you off;
I overheard him, and his practices :
This is no place; this houfe is but a butchery;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.
ORLA. Why, whither Adam, wouldst thou have me go?
ADAM. No matter whither, so you come not here.
ORLA. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg
my food?
Or with a bafe and boisterous fword enforce
A thievish living on the common road ?
This muft I do, or know not what to do:
Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
I rather will fubject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother.
ADAM. But do not fo; I have five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I fav'd under your father,
Which I did store to be my foster-nurse
When fervice fhould in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown :
Take that; and he that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the fparrow,
Be comfort to my age! here is the gold;
All this I give you, let me be your fervant :
Tho' I look old, yet I am ftrong and lufty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did I with unbafhful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lufty winter,
Frofty, but kindly; let me go with you;
I'll do the fervice of a younger man
In all your business and neceffities.
ORLA. Oh! good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world,
When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat but for promotion;
And, having that, do choak their fervice up
Even with the having; it is not fo with thee;
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
That cannot fo much as a bloffom yield
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.
But come thy ways, we'll go along together,
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon fome settled low content.
ADAM. Mafter, go on, and I will follow thee
To the last gasp with truth and loyalty ;
From feventeen years till now, almost fourscore,
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes feek,
But at fourfcore it is too late a week;
Yet fortune cannot recompence me better
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor.
SCROOP AND RICHARD.
SCROOP. MORE health and happiness betide my Liege,
Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him!
K. RICH. Mine ear is open, and my
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom loft? Why, 'twas my care;
And what lofs is it, to be rid of care?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we ?
Greater he fhall not be ; if he ferve God,
We'll ferve him too, and be his fellow fo.
Revolt our fubjects? That we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God, as well as us.
Cry woe, deftruction, ruin, lofs, decay;
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
SCROOP. Glad am I that your Highness is so arm'd To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unfeasonable ftormy day,
Which makes the filver rivers drown their fhores,
As if the world were all diffolv'd to tears;
So high above his limits fwells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, cov'ring your fearful land
With hard bright steel, and hearts more hard than steel.
White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy Majefty; boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big, and clasp their female joints
In ftiff unwieldy arms, against thy crown;
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew against thy ftate;
Yea, diftaff-women manage rufty bills.
Against thy feat both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have pow'r to tell.
K. RICH. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale fo ill
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
What is become of Bufby? where is Green?
No matter where; of comfort no man speak.
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,
Make duft our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write forrow on the bofom of the earth!
Let's chufe executors, and talk of wills;
And yet not fofor what can we bequeath,
Save our depofed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all, are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own but death:
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which ferves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heav'n's fake, let us fit upon the ground,
And tell fad ftories of the death of Kings;
How fome have been depos'd; fome flain in war;
Some haunted by the ghoft they difpoffefs'd;
Some poifon'd by their wives; fome sleeping kill'd;
All murder'd.-For within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a King,
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic fits,
Scoffing his ftate, and grinning at his pomp ;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks:
Infufing him with felf and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brafs impregnable; and, humour'd thus,
Comes at the laft, and with a little pin
Bores thro' his caftle walls, and farewell King!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With folemn rev'rence: throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live on bread like you, feel want like
you :
Taste grief, need friends, like you: fubjected thus,
How can you fay to me I am a King?
GLEN. SIT, Coufin Percy; fit, good coufin Hotspur; For by that name, as oft as Lancaster
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale! and with
A rifen figh, he wifheth you in heav'n.
HOT. And you in hell, as often as he hears
Owen Glendower spoke of.
GLEN. I blame him not: at my nativity The front of heav'n was full of fiery shapes, Of burning creffets; know that at my birth The frame and the foundation of the earth Shook like a coward.
HOT. So it would have done
At the fame feafon if your mother's cat
Had kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born.
GLEN. I fay, the earth did fhake when I was born.
Hor. I fay, the earth then was not of my mind,
If you fuppofe, as fearing you, it shook.
GLEN. The heav'ns were all on fire, the earth did
tremble.
Hor. O, then the earth fhook to see the heav'ns on fire! And not in fear of your nativity.
Difeafed nature oftentimes breaks forth
In ftrange eruptions; and the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd,
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
Within her womb, which, for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down
High tow'rs and mofs-grown fteeples. At your birth,
Our grandam earth with this diflemperature
In paffion fhook.
GLEN. Coufin, of many men
I do not bear these croffings: give me leave
To tell you once again, that at my birth
The front of heav'n was full of fiery shapes;
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were ftrangely clam'rous in the frighted fields:
Thefe figns have mark'd me extraordinary,
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