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Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
And yet, incaged in so small a verge,
O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye,
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, This fortress, built by nature for herself,
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame; Against infection, and the hand of war;
Deposing thee before thou wert possess’d, This happy breed of men, this little world ;
Which art possessid pow to depose thyself. This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, Which serves it in the office of a wall,
It were a sbame, to let this land by lease: Or as a moat defensive to a house,
But, for thy world, enjoying but this land,
Is it not more than shame, to shame it so?
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law ;
K. Rich. -a lupatic lean-witted fool, (For Christian service, and true chivalry,)
Presumning on an ague's privilege, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Darist with thy frozen admonition of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son:
Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood, 'This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, With fury, from his native residence. Dear for her reputation through the world,
Now by my seat's right royal majesty, Is now leasd out (I die pronouncing it,)
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, Like to a tenement, or pelting farm.
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders.. Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, For that I was his father Edward's son; With inky blots, and rotten parchment bands ; That blood already, like the pelican, That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd : Hath made a shameful conquest of itself:
My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, O, would the scandal vanish with my life,
(Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls !) How happy then were my ensuing death!
May be a precedent and witness good, Enter King Richard and Queen; Aumerle, Bushy,
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood : Green, Bagot, Ross, and Willoughby.
Join with the present sickness that I have ;
And thy unkindness be like crooked age, Tork. The king is come : deal mildly with his youth;
To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. young hot eolts, being rag'd, do rage the more.
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee ! Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?
These words bereafter thy tormentors be! K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with aged Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Gaunt?
Love they to live, that love and honour have. Gount. O, how that name befits my composition !
[Exit, borne out by his attendants. Old Gaunt, indeed ; and gaunt in being old :
K. Rich. And let them die that age and sullens have; Widin me grief hath kept a tedious fast;
For both hast thou, and both become the grave. And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?
York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words For sleeping England long time have I watchd ;
To wayward sickliness and age in him : Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt:
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon,
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here. Is my strict fast, I mean-my children's looks ;
K. Rich. Right; you say true: as Hereford's love, And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt:
so his : Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.
Enter Northumberland. K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their
North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your names?
majesty Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself:
K. Rich. What says he now? Since thou dost seek to kill my vame in me,
North. I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee,
Nay, nothing ; all is said: K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that His tongue is now a stringless instrument; live?
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die. K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st-thou flatter'st | Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth be; Gaunt. Oh! Do; thou diest, though I the sicker be. His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be : K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.
So much for that.-Now for our Irish wars: Grunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill; We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns; Hl in myself to see, and in the seeing ill.
Which live like venom, where no venom else, The death-bed is no lesser than the land,
But only they, hath privilege to live. Wherein thou liest in reputation sick:
And for these great affairs do ask some charge, And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Towards our assistance we do seize to us
The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,
York. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long Whose compass is no bigger than thy bead; Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor Englapd's private wrongs,
more, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
That speaks thy words again, to do thee barın! About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of Have ever marie me sour my patient cheek
Hereford ? Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
If it be so, out with it boldly, man; I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
Quick is mine ear, to hear of good towards him. of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first; Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him; In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce,
Unless you call it good, to pity him, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. Than was that young and princely gentleman: North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such wrong His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
are borne, Accomplishd with the number of thy hours;
In him a royal prince, and many more
The king is not himself, but basely led
That will the king severely prosecute
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. O, Richard ! York is too far gone with grief,
Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous Or else he never would compare between.
taxes, K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter?
And lost their hearts: the nobles hath he find Tork.
O, my liege, || For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. Pardon me, if you please ; if not, I, pleasid
Willo. And daily new exactions are devis’d; Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what : Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands, But what, o'God's name, doth become of this? The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford ?
North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath Is not Gaunt dead? and dota not Hereford live?
not, Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true? But basely yielded upon compromise Did not the one deserve to have an heir ?
That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows : Is not his heir a well-deserving son ?
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. His charters, and his customary rights;
Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken Let not to-inorrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself, for how art thou a king,
North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him. But by fair sequence and succession ?
Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true!)
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. Call in the letters patents that he hath
North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! By his attornies-general to sue
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm : You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, You lose a thousand well disposed hearts,
And yet we suike not, but securely perish. And prick my tender patience to those thoughts Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffu; Which honour and allegiance cannot think.
And unavoided is the danger now, K. Rich. Think what you will; we seize into our For suffering so the causes of our wreck. hands
North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.
Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost That their events can never fall out good. [Exit.
K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight; Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland : Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, To see this business: to-morrow next
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow:
North. Then thus :-I have, from Port le Blanc, a And we create, in absence of ourself,
bay Our uncle York, lord governor of England,
In Britanny, received intelligence,
That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham,
and Bagot. Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston, Nrth. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead.
Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke.
Quoint, Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.
All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. With eiglit tall ships, three thousand men of war, Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break with si-' Are making bither with all due expedience, lence,
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.
fear. Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.
[Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. A Room in the Palace. En
ter Queen, Bushy and Bagot. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad : Tot 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 myself, 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, Sonne unborn sorrów, 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. Buchy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shad
OWS, 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, l'inds 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
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
Queen. Now God in beaven forbid !
Green. 0, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse,-
Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester
Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woc,
Bushy. Despair not, madam.
Who shall hinder me?
Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck;
York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts :
Enter a Servant. Sero. My lord, your son was gone before I came. • York. He was ?-Why, so !-go all which way it
Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship :
York. What is it, knave?
York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes
some carts, And bring away the armour that is there.
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Queen. It may be so ; but yet my inward soul
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. grigen. 'Tis nothing less : conceit is still deriv'd From some fore-father grief; mine is not so; Fut 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; 'uis nameless woe, I wot.
Enter Green, Green. God save your majesty!--and well met,
Queen. Why hop'st thou so ? 'tis better hope, he is ;
Green. That he, our hope, might have retird his
Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know
Enter Harry Perey. How, or which way, to order these affairs,
North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ;
Harry, how fares your uncle? The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath
Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his And duty bids defend; the other again,
health of you. Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd ;
Northa Why, is he not with the queen ? Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin, I'll
Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd Dispose of you :-Go, muster up your men,
The household of the king. And meet me presently at Berkley-castle.
What was his reason? I should to Plashy too ;
He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake together. But time will not permit :-All is uneven,
Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. And every thing is left at six and seven.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurz,
What power the duke of York had levied there; Proportionable to the enemy,
Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurg. Is all impossible.
North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy? Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love,
Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot, Is near the hate of those love not the king.
Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge, Bagot. And that's the wavering commons: for their
I never in my life did look on him. love
North. Then learn to know him now; this is the Lies in their purses ; and whoso empties them,
duke. By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; demn'd.
Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm Bagot. If judgement lie in them, then so do we,
To more approved service and desert. Because we ever have been near the king.
Bol. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol cas. I count myself in nothing else so happy, tle;
As in a soul rememb’ring my good friends; The earl of Wiltshire is already there.
And, as ny fortune ripens with thy love, Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office It shall be still thy true love's recompense: The hateful commons will perform for us ;
My heart this covenant makes, my land thus seals it. Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir Will you go along with us?
Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty.
Perry. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain,
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard: We three bere part, that ne'er shall meet again. And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour; Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Boling None else of name, and noble estimate. broke.
Enter Ross and Willoughby. Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes
North. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby, Is-numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry;
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. Where one on his side fights, thousands will fiy.
Bol. Welcome, my lords: I wot, your love pursues Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever.
A banish'd traitor; all my treasury Green. Well, we may meet again.
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, Bagot.
I fear me, never. [Exeunt. || shall be your love and labour's recompense. SCENE III.-The Wilds in Glostershire. Enter Bol. Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.
ingbroke and Northumberland, with Forces. Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it Bol. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?
Bol. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor; North. Believe me, noble lord,
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, I am a stranger here in Glostershire.
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Enter Berkley. Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome : North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to folle Making the bard way sweet and delectable.
Bol. My lori, my answer is--to Lancaster; But, I bethink me, what a weary way
And I am come to seek that name in England: From Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found And I must find that title in your tongue, In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company;
Before I make reply to aught you say. Which, I protest, hath very much beguild
Berk. Mistake me not, my lord : 'tis not my moeanThe tediousness and process of my travel:
ing, But theirs is sweetend with the hope to have
To raze one title of your honour out:The present benefit which I possess :
To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will) And hope to joy, is little less in joy,
From the most glorious regent of this land, Than hope enjoyid : by this the weary lords
The duke of York; to know, what pricks you on Shall make their way seem sbort; as mine hath done | To take advantage of the absent time, By sight of what I have, your noble company.
And fright our native peace with self-born arins. Bol. Of much less value is my company,
Enter York. attended. Than your good words. But who comes here? Bol. I shall not need cransport my words by fou;
Here comes his grace in person.—My noble uncle!
[Kneels. York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whose duty is deceivable and false. Bol. My gracious uncle ! York.
Tut, Tut! Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle: I am no traitor's uncle; and that word-grace, In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. Why have those banishd and forbidden legs Dard once to touch a dost of England's ground? But then more why; Why have they dar'd to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom ; Frighting her pale-fac'd 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 bis power. Were I but now the lord of such hot youth, As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, Reseued 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, Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee, And minister correction to thy fault!
Bol. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;
Tork. Even in condition of the worst degree,-
Bel. As I was banish’d, I was banislı'd Hereford;
you first died, and he been thus trod down,
North. The noble duke hath been too inuch abus'd.
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;
Bol. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.
[Exeunt. SCENE IV.-A Camp in Wales. Enter Salisbury,
and a Captain. 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-fac'd 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 sigus forerun the death or fall of kings.Farewell; our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assurd, Richard their king is dead. [Erit.
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.
SCENE I.-Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol. Enter
Boling broke, York, Northumberland, Percy, Wil. loughby, Ross: Oficers behind with Bushy and Green, prisoners.
Bol. 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 lineamenti, By you unhappied and disfigurd clean.