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 steeli
White beards have arm'd their thin and hairlefs fcalps
Against thy Majefty; boys with womens' voices.
Strive to speak big, and clasp their female joints
In ftiff unwieldy arms, against thy crown
Thy very beadfmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew*, againft thy ftate:
Yea, diftaff-women manage rufty bills.
Against thy feat both young and old rebel,
And all goes worfe than I have pow'r to tell.

K. Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'ft a tale fo ill.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is he got?
What is become of Bufhy? where is Green?
That they have let the dang'rous enemy
Measure our confines with fuch peaceful fteps ?/-
If we prevail, their heads fhall pay for it.

I

I warrant they've made peace with Bolingbroke. Scroop. Peace they have made with him, indeed, my Lord.

K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redempDogs, eafily won to fawn on any man! [tion! Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd, that fting my heart! Three Judafes, each one thrice-worfe than Judas! Would they make peace? terrible hell make war Upon their spotted fouls for this offence!

* Called fo, because the leaves of yew are poifon, and the word is employed for inftruments of death.

Scroop.

Scroop. Sweet love, I fee changing his property, Turns to the fourest and most deadly hate. Again uncurse their fouls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands: thofe whom you curfe, Have felt the worst of death's deftroying hand, And lie full low, grav'd in the hallow'd ground. Aum. Is Bufhy, Green, and th' Earl of Wiltshire, dead? Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol loft their heads. Aum. Where is the Duke my father, with his power? K. Rich. 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 fo-for 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 ghofts they difpoffefs'd; 'Some poifon'd by their wives, fome fleeping kill'd; All murther'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 fcene

To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks;
Infufing him with telf 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 through his caftle-walls, and farewel 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;

*Model, for part, portion.

F 2

Tafte

Taste grief, need friends, like you: fubjected thus, How can you fay to me I am a King?

I

[woes,

Carl. My Lord, wife men ne'er wail their prefent But prefently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, fince fear oppreffeth strength, Gives, in your weaknefs ftrength unto your foe; And fo your follies fight against your yourself. * K. Rich. Thou chid'ft me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come

+

Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? ‡
Scroop. I play the torturer, by small and small
To lengthen out the worst, that must be spoken.
Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke,
And all your northern caftles yielded up,
And all your fouthern gentlemen in arms
Upon his faction.

K. Rich. Thou haft faid enough.

Befhrew thee, coufin, which didft lead me forth

Of that fweet way I was into despair!

[To Aumerle.

What fay you now? what comfort have we now !
By heav'n I'll hate him everlatingly,
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go to Flint-castle, there I'll pine away;

A King, woe's flave, fhall kingly woe obey:

gainst yourself.

Fear, and be flain; no worfe can come from fight;
And fight and die, is death deftr ying death:
Where fearing dying, pays dean fervile breath.
Aum My father hath a power, inquire of him,

And learn to make a body of a limb.

+

K. Rich. 'Fnou chid'it me, &c.

I come,

To change blows, with thee, for our day of doom;

This ague fit of fear is overblown;

An eafy tafk it is to win our own.

Say, Scroop, &c.

1 with his power?

Spesk feetly, man, although thy looks be four.

Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the iky
The ftare and inclination of the day;

S may vou, by my full and heavy eye,
My tongue hath tut a heavier tale to say.

I play the torturer, &c.

That

That pow'r I have, * the land,

difcharge; and let 'em go that hath fome hope to grow: Let no man speak again To alter this, for couníel is but vain.

To ear
For I have none.

Aum. My Liege, one word.

г

K. Rich. He does me double wrong, That wounds me with the flatt'ries of his tongue. Difcharge my followers: let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. Bolingbroke's camp near Flint. Enter with drum and colours, Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, and attendants.

Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn
The elchmen are difpers'd; and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed
With fome few private friends upon this coaft.

North. The news is very fair and good, my Lord;
Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head.
York. It would befeem the Lord Northumberland,
To fay King Richard. Ah, the heavy day,
When fuch a facred King fhould hide his head!
North. Your Grace mistakes me; only to be brief,
Left I his title out.

York. The time hath been,

Would you have been fo brief with him, he would
Have been fo brief with you, to fhorten you,
For taking fo the head, the whole head's length.
Boling. Miftake not, uncle, farther than you fhould.
York. Take not, good coufin, farther than you fhould,
Left you mistake; the heav'ns are o'er your head.

Boling. I know it, uncle, nor oppose myself
Against their will. But who comes here?

Enter Percy.

Welcome, Harry; what, will not this caftle yield?
Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my Lord,
Again't your entrance.

Boling. Royally?, why, it contains no King?

*Ear or are, om aro, to plow.

Percy.

Percy. Yes, my good Lord,

It doth contain a King: King Richard lies
Within the limits of yond lime and stone;
And with him Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop, betides a clergyman
Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.
North. Belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
Boling. Noble Lord,

[To North.

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle,
Through brazen trumpet fend the breath of parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:
Henry of Bolingbroke upon his knees

Doth kifs King Richard's hand, and fends allegiance
And faith of heart unto his royal perfon:
Ev'n at his feet I lay my arms and pow'r,
Provided that my banishment repeal'd,
And lands reftor'd again, be freely granted.
If not, I'll use th' advantage of my pow'r,
And lay the fummer's duft with fhow'rs of blood,
Rain'd from the wounds of flaughter'd Englishmen.
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
It is, fuch crimson tempeft fhould bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,
My ftooping duty tenderly fhall fhew.

Go fignify as much, while here we march
Upon the graffy carpet of this plain;

Let's march without the noife of threat'ning drum,
That from this caftle's tatter'd battlements
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd.
Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
With no lefs terror than the elements

Of fire and water, when their thund'ring fhock,
At meeting, tears the cloudy cheeks of heav'n. *
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.

cheeks of heav'n.

Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water;
The rage be is, while on the earth I rain
My waters; on the earth, and not on him,
&c.

March on,

SCENE