York. Well, well, I fee the iffue of these arms.
I cannot mend it, I must needs confefs,
Because my pow'r is weak, and all ill left.
But if I could, by him that gave me life,
I would attach you all, and make you stoop
Unto the fovereign mercy of the King.
But fince I cannot, be it known to you,
I do remain as neuter. So, farewell;
Unless you please to enter in the castle,
And there repofe you for this night.
Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept;
But we must win your Grace to go with us
To Bristol castle, which, they fay, is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices;
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
Which I have fworn to weed, and pluck away.
York. It may be I will go: but yet I'll paufe;
For I am loath to break our country's laws:
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are;
Things past redrefs are now with me past care
SCENE XI. In Wales.
Enter Salisbury, and a Captain.
Cap. My Lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, And hardly kept our countrymen together,
And yet we hear no tidings from the King:
Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell,
Salif. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welchman:
The King repofeth all his truft in thee.
Cap. "Tis thought the King is dead: we will not stay. "The bay-trees in our country all are wither'd, "And meteors fright the fixed ftars of heav'n; "The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, "And lean-look'd prophets whifper fearful change. "Rich men look fad, and ruffians dance and leap:" The one, in fear to lofe what they enjoy; Th' other, in hope t'enjoy by rage and war. Thefe figns forerun the death of Kings Farewell; our countrymen are gone and fled, As well affur'd Richard their King is dead.
Salif. Ah, Richard, ah! with eyes of heavy mind,
I fee thy glory, like a fhooting star,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament:
Thy fun fets weeping in the lowly weft,
Witneffing ftorms to come, woe, and unreft:
Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Bolingbroke's camp at Bristol.
Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Rofs, Percy, Willoughby, with Bufby and Green prifoners.
Boling. RING forth these men..
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your fouls
(Since prefently your fouls muft part your bodies)
With too much urging your pernicious lives;
For 'twere no charity; yet to wash your blood
From off my hands, here, in the view of men,
I will unfold fome causes of your deaths.
You have misled a Prince, a royal King,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappy'd, and disfigur'd clean.
You have, in manner, with your finful hours
Made a divorce betwixt his Queen and him;
Broke the poffeffion of a royal bed,
And ftain'd the beauty of a fair Queen's cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes, with your foul wrongs.
Myfelf, a prince, by fortune of my birth,
Near to the King in blood, (and near in love,
Till you did make him mifinterpret me,)
Have floop'd my neck under your injuries,
And figh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
While you have fed upon my figniories;
Difpark'd my parks, and fell'd my foreft-woods;
From mine own windows torn my houfhold coat,
Raz'd out my imprefs; leaving me no fign,
Save mens' opinions, and my living blood,
To fhew the world I am a gentleman.
This, and much more, much more than twice all this,
Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd
T'execution, and the hand of death.
Busby. More welcome is the ftroke of death to me, Than Bolingbroke to England.Lords, farewell. Green. My comfort is, that heav'n will take our fouls, And plague injuftice with the pains of hell.
Boling. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd. Uncle, you fay the Queen is at your house; For heav'n's fake, fairly let her be intreated. Tell her, I send to her my kind commends; Take special care my greetings be deliver’d. York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd With letters of your love to her at large.
Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle: come, my Lords, away, To fight with Glendower and his complices;
A while to work, and, after, holiday.
SCENE II. Changes to the coaft of Wales.
Flourish: Drums, and Trumpets.
Enter King Richard, Aumerle, Bishop of Carlisle, and Soldiers.
K. Rich. Barkloughly caftle call you this at hand? Aum. Yea, my good Lord; how brooks your Grace After your toffing on the breaking seas?
[the air, K. Rich. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy
To ftand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do falute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horfes' hoofs.
As a long-parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and fmiles in meeting;
So weeping, fmiling, greet I thee my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy fovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy fweets comfort his rav'nous fenfe:
But let thy fpiders that fuck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with ufurping steps do trample thee,
Yield ftinging nettles to mine enemies;
And, when they from thy bofom pluck a flower,
VOL. IV.
Guard it, I pr'ythee, with a lurking adder;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy fovereign's enemies.
Mock not my fenfelefs conjuration, Lords:
This earth fhall have a feeling; and these stones
Prove armed foldiers, ere her native King
Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms.
Carl. Fear not, my Lord; that pow'r that made you
King,
Hath pow'r to keep you King, in spight of all.
The means that heaven yields must be embrac❜d,
And not neglected: elfe if heaven would,
And we would not heav'n's offer, we refuse
The proffer'd means of fuccour and redress.
Aum. He means, my Lord, that we are too remifs;
Whilft Bolingbroke, through our fecurity,
Grows ftrong and great, in fubftance and in power.
K. Rich. Difcomfortable coufin, know'st thou not,
"That when the searching eye of heav'n is hid
"Behind the globe, and lights the lower world;
"Then thieves and robbers range abroad unfeen,
"In murders, and in outrage bloody here?
"But when from under this terreftrial ball`
"He firés the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through ev'ry guilty hole;
"Then murders, treafons, and detefted fins,
"The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
"Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves."
So when this thief this traitor Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
Whilst we were wand'ring with th' antipodes,
Shall fee us rifing in our throne, the east;
His treafons will fit blufhing in his face,
Not able to endure the fight of day;
But, felf-affrighted, tremble at his fin.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed King;
The breath of worldly men cannot depofe
The deputy elected by the Lord.
For every man that Bolingbroke hath prefs'd,
To lift fharp steel against our golden crown,
Heav'n for his Richard hath in heav'nly pay
A glorious angel; then if angels fight,
Weak men must fall, for heav'n still guards the right.
SCENE III. Enter Salisbury.
Welcome, my Lord, how far off lies your power?
Salif. Nor near, nor farther off, my gracious Lord,
Than this weak arm. Difcomfort guides my tongue,
And bids me fpeak of nothing but defpair.
One day too late, I fear, my noble Lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.
Oh, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men.
To-day, to-day, -unhappy day too late
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy ftate.
For all the Welchmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, difpers'd and fled.
Aum. Comfort, my Liege, why looks your Grace fo pale?
K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled *. All fouls that will be fafe, fly from my fide; For time hath set a blot upon my pride.
Aum. Comfort, my Liege; remember who you are. K. Rich. I had forgot myfelf. Am I not King? Awake, thou coward majefty, thou sleepest. Is not the King's name forty thousand names? Arm, arm, my name; a puny fubject strikes At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, Ye fav'rites of a King! are we not high? High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York Hath pow'r to ferve our turn. But who comes here?
SCENE IV. Enter Scroop.
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 heart prepar'd: The worst is worldly lofs thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom loft? why, 'twas my care;
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