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?

K.Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but 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 woeful ages, long ago betid:

And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, 2
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. 3

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;

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.

[2] To retaliate their mournful stories. JOHNS.

[3] This is certainly childish prattle, as Johnson calls it; but it is of the same stamp with the other speeches of Richard, after the landing of Bolingbroke, which are a strange medley of sense and puerility. M. MASON.

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 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; And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.4 -Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north, Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime ; 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.5 K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; Better far off, than-near, be ne'er the near'.6 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;
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.

[4] A kiss appears to have been an established circumstance in our ancient nuptial ceremony. STEEV

[5] So, in the book of Ruth, i 16-"for whither thou goest I will go." STEEV.

[6] To be never the nigher, or as it is commonly spoken in the midiand counties, ne'er the ne'er, is, to make no advance towards the good desired.

JOHNS.

SCENE II.

The same. 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, Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.

York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,— Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,

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!
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 imag'ry, 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,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,

Thinking his prattle to be tedious:

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
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
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.

[7] Our author probably was thinking of the painted clothes that were hung in the streets, in the pageants that were exhibited in his own time; in which the figures sometimes had labels issuing from their mouths, containing sentences of gratulation. MALONE.

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.

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 violets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly 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? 9

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 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 to see.
I fear, I fear,-

Duch. What should you fear?

'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into

For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.

York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond

That he is bound to ? Wife, thou art a fool.

Boy, let me see the writing.

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.

[8] So Milton, in one of his songs,

"--who from her green lap throws

"The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose." STEEV. [9] The seais of deeds were formerly impressed on slips or labels of parchment appendant to them. MAL.

York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.

Treason

[Snatches it, and reads.

foul treason!-villain! traitor! slave!

Duch. What is the matter, my lord?

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?

York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse :Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth,

I will appeach the villain.

Duch. What's the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.

[Exit Servant.

Duch. I will not peace :-What is the matter, son? Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more than My poor life must answer.

Duch. Thy life answer!

Re-enter Servant, with boots.

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king.

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art

amaz'd :

Hence, villain; never more come in my sight.

York. Give me my boots, I say.

[To the Servant.

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?

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 him?
York. Away,

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,