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With nothing shall be pleas’d, till he be eas’d
With being nothing.-Musick do I hear? [Musick.
Ha, ha! keep time:—How sour sweet musick is,
When time is broke, and no proportion kepi!
So is it in the musick of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness 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 time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar
Their watches on 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 sound, that tells what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: So sighs, and tears, and groans,
Show minutes, times, and hours:—but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o’the clock.
This musick mads me, let it sound no more;
For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits,
In me, it seems, it will make wise men mad.
Yet, bles:ing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

Enter Groom. Groom. Hail, royal prince! K. Rich.

Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.

What art thou? and how comest thou hither,
Where no man never comes, but that sad dog
That brings me food, to make misfortune live?

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,
With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes master's face.
O, how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld,
In London streets, that coronation day,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary!
That horse, that thou so often hast 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 if he disdain’d the ground. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his

back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? Would be 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, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And yet

I bear a burden like an ass, Spur-galld, and tir’d, by jauncing Bolingbroke.


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

[To the Groom.

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shall say.

K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert

a way Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart

[Erit. Keep. My lord, will’t please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton,

who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and

thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

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

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

rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

[Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

[He kills another; then Exton strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person.-Exton, 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 sinks downward, here to die.

[Dies. Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: Both have I spilt; 0, 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.





Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, and York, with

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 Glo'stershire; But whether they be ta’en, or slain, we hear not.

Enter Northumberland.

Welcome, my lord: What is the news?
North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all hap-

The next news is,—I have to London sent
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent :
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this



[Presenting a paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy

pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

Enter Fitzwater.

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to Lon

don The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be for

got; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle.
Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of West-

With clog of conscience, and sour 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 :-
Choose 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 have I seen.

Enter Erton, with Attendants bearing a coffin.

Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast


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