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· Taste grief, need friends, like you: subjected thus, • How can you say to me I am a King?

Carl. My Lord, wise men ne'er wail their present But prefently prevent the ways to wail. [woes, To fear the foe, fince fear opprefseth strength, Gives, in your weakness strength unto your foe; And so your follies fight against your yourself, K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well: proud Bolingbroke,

I come- +
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? I

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 castles yielded up,
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
Upon his faction.

K. Rich. Thou hast said enough.
Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth

[To Aumerle.
Of that sweet way I was into despair !
What say you now? what comfort have we now !
By heav'n. I'll hate him everlastingly,
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go to Flint-castle, there I'll pine away ;
A King, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey:

against yourself. Fear, and be Nain; no worse can come from fight;

And fight and die, is death destroying death:
Where fearing dying, pays death tervile breath.

Aum. My fai her hath a power, inquire of him,
And learn to make a body of a limb.

K. Ricb. 'Thou chid'it me, &c.
To change blows with ibee, for our day of doom;
This'ague fit of fear is over blown ;
An easy talk it is to win our own.
Say, Scroop, &c.

with his power? Speak fueetly, man, although thy looks be four.

Scropp. Men judge by the complexion of the sky

The state and inclination of the day; So may you, by my dull and heavy eye,

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. I play the torturer, &i.


I come,


That pow'r I have, discharge ; and let 'em go
To * the land, that hath fome hope to grow :
For I have none. Let no man speak again
To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

Aum. My Liege, one word.

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


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

Northumberland, and aftendants.
Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn
The elchmen are dispers’d; and Salisbury

gone to meet the King, who lately landed With some few private friends upon this coast.

North. The news is very fair and good, my Lord; Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head.

York. It would befcem the Lord Northumberland, To say King Richard. Ah, the heavy day, When such a sacred King should 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 so brief with him, he would Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, For taking so the head, the whole head's length.

Boling. Mistake not, uncle, farther than you shoulda

York. Take not, good cousin, farther than you should, 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 castle yield?

Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my Lord,
Againit your entrance.
Boling. Royally? why, it contains no King ?

* Ear or are, fiom aro, to plow,


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, belides 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 send the breath of parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:
Henry of Bolingbroke upon his knees
Doth kiss King Richard's hand, and sends allegiance
And faith of heart unto his royal person :
Ev'n at his feet I lay my arms and pow'r,
Provided that my banishment repeal’d,
And lands restor'd again, be freely granted.
If not, I'll use th' advantage of my pow'r,
And lay the funnmer's dust with show'rs of blood,
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen.
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
It is, such crimson tempelt should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,
My stooping duty tenderiy thali shew.
Go fignify as much, while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain;
Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum,
That from this castle's tatter'd battlements
Our fair appointments imay be well perus’d.
Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock,
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 y.elding water ;
The rage be iis, while co the carro I rain
My warers; on the earth, and not on him,
March.ob, &c.



Parle without, and after within ; then a flourish. En-

ter, on the walls, King Richard, the Bilicp of Car-
lifle, Aumerle, Scroop, and Salisbury.

York See ! see ! King Richard doth himself appear,
“ As doth the blushing discontented fun,
“ From out the fiery portal of the east,
“ When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
To dim his glory; and to itain the tract
Of his bright passage to the occident.”
Yet looks he like a King: behold his

As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth
Controlling majeity! alack, for woe,
That any harm should stain fo fair a show!

K. Rich. We are amaz’d, and thus long have we stood
To watch the fearful bending of thay knee, [70 North.
Because we thought ourfelt thy lawful King;
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence ?
If we be not, thew us the hand of God,
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship.
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can grip the sacred handle of our sceptre,
Unlels he do profane, steal, or usurp.
And though you think, that all, as you have done,
Have torn their souls, by turning them from us,
And we are barren, and bereft of friends;
Yet know. My master, God omnipotent,
Is must'ring in his clouds on our behalf
Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot,
That lift your vafal-hands against my head,
And threat the glory of my precious crown,
Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond, methinks, he is),
That every stride he makes upon my land
Is dangerous treason. He is come to ope
The purple testament of bleeding war ;
But ere the crown he looks for, light in peace,
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' fons
Shall ill become the flow'r of England's face ;


Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To scarlet indignation ; and bedew
Her pature's grafs with faithful English blood.

North. The King of heav'n forbid our Lord the King
Should so with civil and uncivil arnis
Be rush'd upon ! No; thy thrice-noble cousin,
Harry of Bolingbroke, doth kiss thy hand,
And by the honourable tomb he swears,
That stands upon your royal grandfire's bones,
And by the royalties of both your bloods,
(Currents that spring from one molt gracious head),
And by the warlike hand of bury'd Gaunt,
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Comprising all that may be sworn or said,
His coming hither hath no farther scope,
Than for his lineal royalties, and to' beg
Infranchisement immediate on his knees :
Which on thy royal party granted once,
His glitt’ring arms he will commend tỏ rust;
His barbed steeds to stables ; and his heart
To faithful service of your Majesty.
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just ;
And as I am a gentleman, I credit him.

K. Rich. Northumberland, say, thus the King returns: His noble cousin is right welcome hither, And all the number of his fair de nands Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction, With all the gracious utterance thou halt, Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, [T. Aum. To look fo poorly, and to speak fo fair ? Shall we call back Northumberland, and send Defiance to the traitor, and so die?

Aum. No, good my Lord, let's fight with gentle words, Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. K. Rich. Oh God, oh God! that e'er this tongue

of That laid the sentence of dread banishment [mine, On yon proud man, should take it off again With words of footh; oh that I were as great As is

my grief, or leffer than Or that I could forget what I have been, Or not remember what I must be now !


my name !


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