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Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind, I see thy glory, like a shooting star, Fall to the base earth from the firmament! Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest: Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes; And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol.

Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, Ross: Officers behind with Bushy and GREEN, prisoners,

Boling. Bring forth these men.Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls (Since presently your souls must 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 some causes of your death. You have misled a prince, a royal king, A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean. You have, in manner, with

your

sinful hours, Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him; Broke the possession of a royal bed, And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your fou!

wrongs. Myself—a prince, by fortune of

my

birth; Near to the king in blood; and near in love, Till you did make him misinterpret me, —Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,

And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment:
Whilst you have fed upon my signories,
Dispark'd my parks, and felld my forest woods;
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign-
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,-
To show 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

over To execution and the hand of death. Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to

me, Than Bolingbroke to England.—Lords, farewell. Green. My comfort is,—that heaven will take

our souls, And plague injustice with the pains of hell. Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them

despatch'd.
[Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and Others, with

Prisoners.
Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house;
For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated:
Tell her, I send to her my kind commends;
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd.

York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd
With letters of your love to her at large.

2 Dispark'd my parks,] To dispark is to throw down the hedges of an enclosure.

3 From my own windows torn my household coat,] It was the practice when coloured glass was in use, of which there are still some remains in old seats and churches, to anneal the arms of the family in the windows of the house.

* Raz’d out my impress, &c.] The impress was a device or motto,

Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.-Come, lords,

away; To fight with Glendower and his complices; Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view.

Flourish: Drums and Trumpets. Enter. King Rs

CHARD, Bishop of Carlisle, AUMERLE, and
Soldiers.
K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand?
Aum. Yea, my lord: How brooks

your grace the air, After late tossing on the breaking seas? K. Rich. Needs must I like it well; I weep for

joy, To stand upon my kingdom once again.Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs; As a long parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting; So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favour with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense: But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way; Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies : And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower; Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder; Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.

Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords;
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebellious arms.
Bishop. Fear not, my lord; that Power, that

made

you king,
Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd,
And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse;
The proffer'd means of succour and redress.

Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends.
K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou

not,
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
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 the antipodes, -
Shall see us rising in our throne the east,
His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day,
But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.

He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,] It is not easy to point out an image more striking and beautiful than this, in any poet, whether ancient or modern. STEEVENS.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king:
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord :
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press’d,
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the

right.

Enter SALISBURY.

Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power?

Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm: Discomfort guides my tongue, And bids me speak of nothing but despair. One day too late, I fear, my noble lord, Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: o, 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 state; For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers’d, and fled. Aum. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace

so pale? K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand

men

Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And, till so much blood thither come again,

Have I not reason to look pale and dead? All souls that will be safe, fly from my side; For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you

are.

K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not king? Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep’st.

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