This, and much more, much more than twice all this, Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd T'execution, and the hand of death. Bufhy. More welcome is the ftroke of death to me, Than Bolingbroke to England.Lords, farewel. Green. My comfort is, that heav'n will take our fouls, And plague injuftice with the pains of hell. [patch'd. Boling. My Lord Northumberland, fee them dif Uncle, you fay the Queen is at your house; For heav'n's fake, fairly let her be intreated. Tell her, I fend to her my kind commends; Take fpecial care my greetings be deliver'd. York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd With letters of your love to her at large. [away. Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle: come, my Lords, To fight with Glendower and his complices; A while to work, and, after, holiday. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Changes to the coast of Wales. Flourish: Drums, and Trumpets. Enter King Richard, Aumerle, Bishop of Carlisle, and Soldiers. K. Rich. Barloughly caftle call you this at hand? Aum. Yea, my good Lord; how brooks your Grace After your toffing on the breaking feas? [the air, K. Rich. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy To ftand upon my Kingdom once again. Though rebels wound thee with their horfes' hoofs. Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting; And, when they from thy bofom pluck a flower, Guard Guard it, I pr'ythee, with a lurking adder; Carl. Fear not, my Lord; that pow'r that made you King, Hath pow'r to keep you King, in fpight of all. Aum. He means, my Lord, that we are too remifs; Whilft Bolingbroke, through our fecurity, Grows ftrong and great, in fubftance and in power. For every man that Bolingbroke hath prefs'd, A glorious angel; then if angels fight, Weak men must fall, for heav'n still guards the right. SCENE III. Enter Salisbury. Welcome, my Lord, how far off lies your power? Aum. Comfort, my Liege, why looks your Grace fo pale ? K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled. * All fouls that will be fafe, fly from my fide; For time hath fet a blot upon my pride. Aum. Comfort, my Liege; remember who you are. K. Rich. I had forgot myfelf. Am I not King? Awake, thou coward majesty, thou sleepest. Is not the King's name forty thousand names? Arm, arm, my name; a puny subject strikes At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, Ye fav'rites of a King! are we not high? High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York Hath pow'r to ferve our turn. But who comes here? SCENE IV. Enter Scroop. Scroop. More health and happiness betide my Liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him! K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd: The worst is worldly lofs thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom loft? why, 'twas my care; And what lofs is it, to be rid of care? Like an unfeafonable ftormy day, Which makes the filver rivers drown their fhores, Of Bolingbroke, cov'ring your fearful land With hard bright steel, and hearts more hard than steel. K. Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'ft a tale fo ill, I warrant they've made peace with Bolingbroke. Scroop. Peace they have made with him, indeed, my Lord. K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redempDogs, easily won to fawn on any man! [tion! Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd, that fting my heart! Three Judafes, each one thrice-worfe than Judas! Would they make peace? terrible hell make war Upon their spotted fouls for this offence! Called fo, because the leaves of yew are poifon, and the word is employed for inftruments of death. Scroop. Scroop. Sweet love, I fee changing his property, Turns to the foureft and most deadly hate. Again uncurfe their fouls; their peace is made Make duft our paper, and with rainy eyes 'Write forrow on the bofom of the earth! 'Let's chufe executors, and talk of wills; And yet not fo- for what can we bequeath, Save our depofed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own, but death; And that small model * of the barren earth, 'Which ferves as palte and cover to our bones. For heav'n's fake, let us fit upon the ground, And tell fad ftories of the death of Kings; How fome have been depos'd, fome flain in war; • Some haunted by the ghosts they difpoffefs'd; Some poifon'd by their wives, fome fleeping kill'd; < All murther'd. For within the hollow crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a King, Keeps Death his court; and there the antic fits, To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks; As if this flesh which walls about our life, 'Bores through his caftle-walls, and farewel King! 'Cover your heads, and mock not fleth and blood With folemn rev'rence: throw away respect, Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, For you have but miftook me all this while. I live on bread like you, feel want like you; * Model, for part, portion F 2 Tafle |