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Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, • That they are not the first of Fortune's slaves,

And shall not be the last; (like filly beggars, • Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, • That many have, and others must fit there ); • And in this thought they find a kind of ease.

Bearing their own misfortune on the back « Of such as have before endur'd the like. : Thus play I, in one prilon, many people.

And none contented. Sometimes am I King, « Then treason makes me with myself a beggar, . And fo I am. Then crushing penury. • Persuades me, I was better when a King; • Then am I king'd again ; and by and by, - Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, • And straight am nothing

but whate'er I am, nor I, nor any man, that but man is, • With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd • With being nothing Music do I hear? [Mufic. Ha, ha; keep time: how four sweet music is, When time is broke, and no proportion kept ! So is it in the music of mens' lives. And here have I the daintinefs of ear, To check time broke in a disorder'd string; But for the concord of my state and time, Had not an ear to hear my true tine broke : I wasted tiine, and now doth time waste me. For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock: My thoughts are minutes; and with figlis they jar Their. watches to mine eyes the outward watch; Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now, Sir, the sounds that tell what hour it is, Are clamorous groans, that ftrike upon my heart, Which is the bell; fo fighs, and tears,


groans, Șhew minutes, hours, and times—0, but my time Runs posting on, in Bolingbroke's proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his jack o'th' clock. This music mads me, let it iound no more; For though it have help'd mad men to their wits, In me, it seems, it will make wise men mad. Yet blessing on his heart, that gives it me!


For tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch, in this fall-hating world.

SCENE XI. Enter Groom.
Groom. Hail, Royal Prince !

K. Rich. Thanks, Noble Peer. *
What art ? how com'st thou hither ?
Where no man ever comes, but that sad drudge,
That brings me food, to make Misfortune live?

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,
When thou wert King ; who travelling tow'rds York,
With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometime + master's face.
O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld,
In London streets, that coronation-day;
When Bolingbroke rode on Roan Barbary,
That horse that thou so often haft bestrid,
That horse that I so carefully have dress’d.

K. Rich.Rode he on Barbary? tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him ?

Groom. So proudly as he had disdain’d the ground.

K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade had eat bread from my Royal hand. This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble ? would he not fall down, (Since pride must have a fall), and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse ; why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, Walt born to bear ? I was not made a horse ; And yet I bear a burthen like an ass; Spur-gall’d, and tir’d, by jaunting Bolingbroke.

SCENE XII. Enter Keeper, with a dish. Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.

[To the Groom. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.

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Thall say.

Groom. What my tongue

dares not, that my


[Exit. Keep. My Lord, wilt please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it firit, as thou wert wont to do.

Keep. My Lord, I dare not; for Sir Pierce of Exton, Who, late came from the King, commands the contrary.

K.Rich. The dev'l take Henry of Lancaster, and thee! Patience is ftale, and I am weary of it.

[Beats the keeper. Keep. Help, help, help!

Enter Exton, and Servants. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude

assault ? Wretch, thine own hand yields thy death's instrument;

[Snatching a sword from one of the servants, kills him. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [Kills another.

[Exton Arike him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person : thy fierce hand Hath with the King's blood stain'd the King's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high ; Whilst my gross flesh finks downward, here to die. [ Dies.

Exton. As full of valour, as of Royal blood; Both have I spilt : Oh, would the deed were good! For now the devil that told me I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead King to the living King I'll bear; Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.


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Changes to the court at Windfor. Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, York, with other Lords.

and Attendants. Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear, Is, that the rebels have consum'd with fire Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire; But whether they be ta'en or flain, we hear not.



Enter Northumberland.

my Lord : what is the news? North. First, to thy facred state with I all happiness; The next news is, I have to London fent The heads of Sal'sbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here.

[Presenting a paper. Boling: We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains, And to thy worth will add right-worthy gains,

Enter Fitzwater. Fitzw.My Lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Broccas and Sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, That fought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter Percy and the Bishop of Carlisle.
Percy. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster.
With clog of conscience, and four melancholy,
Hath yielded up his body to the grave:
But here is Carlisle, living to abide
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.

Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom :
Chuse out some secret place, some reverend room
More than thou hast, and with it 'joy thy life;
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife.
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High sparks of honour in thee I have seen.

Enter Exton with a coffin.
Exton. Great King, within this coffin I present
Thy bury'd fear. Herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought.

Boling. Exton, I thank theenot;for thou halt wrought
A deed of Nander with thy fatal hand,
Upon my head, and all this famous land.

Exton. From your own mouth, my Lord, did I this

deed, Boling. They love not poison, that do poison need; Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, I hate the murth’rer, love him murthered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour. With Cain go wander through the shade of night, And never Ihow thy head by day or light. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put on tullen black incontinent: I'll make a voyage to the holy land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March fadly after, grace my mourning here, In weeping over this untimely bier. [Exeunt omnes.


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