For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.

He, that no more must say, is listen'd more

Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;

More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close,

As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last;

Writ in remembrance, more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,

As, praises of his state: then, there are found
Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound
The open air of youth doth always listen:
Report of fashions in proud Italy;

Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
Limps after, in base imitation,

Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity,
So it be new, there's no respect how vile,)
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
Direct not him, whose way himself will choose;
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou
lose.

Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd; And thus, expiring, do foretell of him:

His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last:
For violent fires soon burn out themselves:

Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that live?

Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st-thou flat ter'st me.

Gaunt. Oh! no; thou diest, though I the sicker be. K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see

thee ill;

He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder:
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise;
This fortress, built by nature for herself,
Acainst infection, and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world;
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Jr, as a moat defensive to a house,
Acainst the envy of less happier lands:
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
For Christian service, and true chivalry,)
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son:
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it)
Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds;
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself:

, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! Enter KING RICHARD, and QUEEN; AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, Ross, and WILLOUGHBY. York. The king is come: deal mildly with his youth;

For young hot colts, being raged, do rage the more.
Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?
K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with
aged Gaunt?

Gaunt. O, how that name bents my composition!
Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old:
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;
And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?
Sleeping England long time have I watch'd;
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt:
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon,

فا

my strict fast, I mean--my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their

names?

Landlord of England art thou now, not king.
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law;
And thou-

K. Rich. a lunatic lean-witted fool,
Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Dar'st with thy frozen admonition

Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood,
With fury, from his native residence.
Now by my seat's right royal majesty,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head,
Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders.
Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son,
For that I was his father Edward's son;
That blood already, like the pelican,
Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd:
My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul,
(Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls!)
May be precedent and witness good,

That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood:
Join with the present sickness that I have;
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,

To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower.
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!-
These words hereafter thy tormentors be,-
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
Love they to live, that love and honor have.

[Exit, borne out by his Attendants. K. Rich. And let them die that age and sullens have;

For both hast thou, and both become the grave.
York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words
To wayward sickliness and age in him:
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here.

K. Rich. Right; you say true: as Hereford's love, so his: As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

Irish soldiers.

The plate, coin revenus, and moveables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess’d.
York. How long shall be patient! Ah, how long
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong!
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment,
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.-
I am the last of noble Edward's sons,

Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first;
In war, was never lion raged more fierce,
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely gentleman:
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;
But, when he frown'd, it was against the French,
And not against his friends: his noble hand
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won:
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
O, Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or else he never would compare between.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter?
York.

O, my liege,
Pardon me if you please; if not, I, pleas'd
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands,
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
Is not his heir a well-deserving son?

Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time
His charters and his customary rights;
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;
Be not thyself, for how art thou a king,
But by fair sequence and succession?
Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true!)
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,
Call in the letters patent that he hath
By his attornies-general to sue

His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
Which honor and allegiance cannot think.

K. Rich. Think what you will; we seize into our hands

His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. York. I'll not be by the while: My liege, fare well:

What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell;
But by bad courses may be understood,
That their events can never fall out good.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight;

Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,
To see this business: To-morrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow;
And we create, in absence of ourself,
Our uncle York lord governor of England,
For he is just and always lov'd us well.-
Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish.
[Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE,
GREEN, and BAGOT.

North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead.
Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke.
Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.
North. Richly in both, if justice had her right.
Ross. My heart is great; but it must break with
silence,

Ere't be disburden'd, with a liberal tongue.

North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er

speak more,

That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm!
Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of
Hereford?

If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.
Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him;
Unless you call it good to pity him,
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

North. Now, atore heaven, 'tis shame, such wrongs are borne,

Clain possession; a law term.

Deprived.

In him a royal prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land.
The king is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform,
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
That will the king severely prosecute
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
Ross. The commons hath he pill'd1 with grievou
taxes,

And lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fined
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd;
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what:
But what, o'God's name, doth become of this?
North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he
hath not,

But basely yielded upon compromise

That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows: More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken

man.

North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him.

Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars,
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.
North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king!
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm:

We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now,

For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of
death,

I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.

Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou

bay

In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence,

That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham,
[The son of Richard earl of Arundel,]
That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
Quoint,-

All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
Are maning hither with all due expedience,♦
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.
If then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
Imps out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt,a
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg:
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.

Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.

Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promis'd when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition.

Queen. To please the king, I did; to please my. self,

I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief.
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest

As my sweet Richard: Yet, again, methinks,
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming towards me; and my inward soul
With nothing trembles: at something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.
Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty
shadows,

Which show like grief itself, but are not so:
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself to wail;
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not; more's

not seen:

lady.

Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary
Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me, it is otherwise: Howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad,
As-though, in thinking, on no thought I think,-
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
Bushy. Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious
Queen. "Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived
From some fore-father grief; mine is not so;
For nothing hath begot my something grief;
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:
'Tis in reversion that I do possess ;
But what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot."
Enter GREEN.

Green. Heaven save your majesty!-and well met, gentlemen:

I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. Queen. Why hop'st thou so! 'tis better hope,

he is,

For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope;
Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd?
Green. That he, our hope, might have retired
his power,

And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land:
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
At Ravenspurg.

Queen.

Now God in heaven forbid!

Green. O, madam, 'tis too true: and that is

worse,

The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry Percy,

The lords or Ross, Beaumont, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland,

And all the rest of the revolting faction

Traitors?

Whilst others come to make him lose at home
Here am I left to underprop his land,
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.
Enter a Servant.

Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came York. He wes-Why, so!-go all which way it will!

The nobles they are fled, the commons cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.-
Sirrah,

Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster;
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:-
Hold, take my ring.

Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship:
To-day, as I came by, I called there;
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
York. What is it, knave?"

Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do:-I would to God, (So my untruth had not provoked him to it,) The king hath cut off my head with my brother's. What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland?How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister,-cousin, I would say, pray, pardon

me.

Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, provide some carts,

And bring away the armor that is there.

[Exit Servant.
Gentlemen, will you go muster men? if I know
How, or which way, to order these affairs,
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen,
The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; the other again,
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd;
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll
Dispose of you:-Go, muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkley-castle.
I should to Plashy too,-

But time will not permit:-All is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven.

[Exeunt YORK and QUEEN, Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,

But none returns. For us to levy power,
Proportionable to the enemy,
Is all impossible.

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love,
Is near the hate of those love not the king.
Bagot. And that's the wavering commons: for

their love

Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,
By so much fills their heart with deadly hate.
Bushy, Wherein the king stands generally con-
demn'd.

Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king.

Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol castle;

The earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office The hateful commons will perform for us; Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.Will you go along with us?

Bagot. No: I'll to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bo lingbroke.

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is-numbering sands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot.

I fear me, never [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The Wilds in Gloucestershire. Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND with Forces.

Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now! North. Believe me, noble lord,

1 Disloyalty.

I am a stranger here in Glostershire.
These high wild hills, a.id rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles and make them wearisome:
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way
From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company;
Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd
The tediousness and process of my travel:
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have
The present benefit which I possess:
And hope to joy, is little less in joy,
Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords
Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath

done

By sight of what I have, your noble company.
Boling. Of much less value is my company,
Than your good words. But who comes here?
Enter HARRY PERCY.

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.
Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.

North. Why, is he not with the queen?

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle:

I am no traitor's uncle; and the word-grace,
In an ungracious mouth, is but profane.
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground?

Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd The household of the king.

North.

What was his reason? He was not so resolv'd when last we spake together. Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed

traitor.

But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg,
To offer service to the duke of Hereford;
And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover
What power the duke of York had levied there;
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg.
North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford,
boy?

Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot, Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him.

North. Then learn to know him now; this is the

duke.

Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; Which elder days shall ripen and confirm To more approved service and desert.

march

So many miles upon her peaceful bosom;
Frighting her pale-faced villages with war,
And ostentation of despised arms?
Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself,
Rescued the black prince, that young Mars of men
From forth the ranks of many thousand French;
O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine,
And minister correction to thy fault!
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee,

Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; On what condition stands it, and wherein!

York. Even in condition of the worst degree,In gross rebellion, and detested treason: Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come, In braving arms against thy sovereign. Before the expiration of thy time,

Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;

But as I come, I come for Lancaster.

I count myself in nothing else so happy,

As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends;
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,
It shall be still thy true love's recompense:

Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye: You are my father, for, methinks, in you

I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father!

it.

A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born!"
If that my cousin king be king of England,
It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster.
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman;
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,
To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay.
I am denied to sue my livery* here,

And yet my letters-patent give me leave:

Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. What would you have me do? I am a subject,

pursues

A banish'd traitor; all my treasury

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd,
Shall be your love and labor's recompense.

Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

Willo. And far surmounts our labor to attain it. Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the

poor;

Which till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?
Enter BERKLEY.

North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess.
Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you.
Boling. My lord, my answer is-to Lancaster;
And I am come to seek that name in England:

9 Know.

And therefore personally I lay my claim
To my inheritance of free descent.

North. The noble duke hath been too much abused.

Ross. It stands your grace upon, to do him right Willo. Base men by his endowments are mace great.

York. My lords of England, let me tell you this.-
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs,
And labor'd all I could to do him right:
But in this kind to come, in braving arms,
Be his own carver, and cut out his way.
To find out right with wrong, it may not be:
And you, that do abet him in this kind,
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.

Time of the king's absence.
The persons who wrong him.
Possession of my land, &c.

• Impartial

It is your interest

SCENE IV.-A Camp in Wales. Enter SALISBURY, and a Captain

North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is

But for his own: and, for the right of that,
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;
And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath.
York. Well, well, I see the issue of these

arms;

I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
Because my power 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 sovereign mercy of the king;
But, since I cannot, be it known to you,
I do remain as neuter. So fare you well;-
Unless you please to enter in the castle,
And there repose 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 say, is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,

Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away.
York. It may be, I will go with you:-but yet I'll
pause;

For I am loth to break our country's laws.
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are:
Things past redress, are now with me past care.
[Exeunt.

Capt. 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. Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman, The king reposeth all his confidence In thee.

Capt. 'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd,
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth,
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,-
The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy,
The other, to enjoy by rage and war:
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.-
Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled,
As well assured, Richard their king is dead. [Exit.
Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy inind,
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.

SCENE 1-Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol. Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, Ross: Officers behind with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners.

Boling. Bring forth these men.-
Busty, 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 untold some causes of your death.
You have misled a prince, a royai 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 foul 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,
ting the bitter bread of banishment:
Whilst you have fed upon my seignories,

spark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods; From my own windows torn my household coat, kaz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign,— Se men's opinions, and my living blood,To show the world I am a gentleman. Tus, and much more, much more than twice all

this.

Condemns you to the death:-see them deliver'd

me,

Than Bolingbroke to England.-Lords, farewell. Green. My comfort is,-that heaven will take our souls,

Ad plague injustice with the pains of hell. Boing. My lord Northumberland, see them despatch'd.

[Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and others with Prisoners.

cle, 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.

Completely

SCENE II.-The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view. Flourish: Drums and Trumpets. Enter KING RICHARD, 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 favor with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle eartn, 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 their 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.

Car. 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 embraced,
And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse;
The proffer'd means of succor 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