Thoughts tending to content, flatter themfelves, Thus play I, in oné prifon, many people. And none contented. Sometimes am I King, • Then treafon makes me with myself a beggar, And fo I am. Then crushing penury Perfuades me, I was better when a King; Then am I king'd again; and by and by, Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And ftraight am nothing but whate'er I am, nor I, nor any man, that but man is, With nothing fhall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd Is pointing ftill, in cleanfing them from tears. For For tis a fign of love; and love to Richard Is a ftrange brooch, in this fall-hating world. SCENE XI. Enter Groom. Groom. Hail, Royal Prince! K. Rich. Thanks, Noble Peer. * What art? how com'ft thou hither? Where no man ever comes, but that fad drudge, K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him? Groom. So proudly as he had difdain'd the ground. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade had eat bread from my Royal hand. This hand hath made him proud with clapping him, Would he not ftumble? would he not fall down, (Since pride must have a fall), and break the neck Of that proud man that did ufurp his back? Forgiveness, horfe; why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, Waft born to bear? I was not made a horse; And yet I bear a burthen like an afs; Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jaunting Bolingbroke. SCENE XII. Enter Keeper, with a dish. Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. [To the Groom. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my fhall fay. heart [Exit. Keep. My Lord, wilt please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it firft, as thou wert wont to do. Keep. My Lord, I dare not; for Sir Pierce of Exton, Who, late came from the King, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The dev'l take Henry of Lancaster, and thee! Patience is ftale, and I am weary of it. Keep. Help, help, help! [Beats the keeper. Enter Exton, and Servants. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude affault? Wretch, thine own hand yields thy death's inftrument; Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Exeunt. Changes to the court at Windfor. Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, York, with other Lords. and Attendants. Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear, Is, that the rebels have confum'd with fire Our town of Cicefter in Gloucestershire; But whether they be ta'en or flain, we hear not. Enter Enter Northumberland. Welcome, my Lord: what is the news? North. First, to thy facred state wish I all happiness; The next news is, I have to London fent The heads of Sal'fbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: [Prefenting a paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains, And to thy worth will add right-worthy gains. Enter Fitzwater. Fitzw. My Lord, I have from Oxford fent to London The heads of Broccas and Sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous conforted traitors, That fought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, fhall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 1 2 Enter Percy and the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand confpirator, Abbot of Westminster. With clog of confcience, and four melancholy, Hath yielded up his body to the grave: But here is Carlisle, living to abide Thy kingly doom, and fentence of his pride. Chufe out fome fecret place, some reverend room Exton. Great King, within this coffin I prefent. The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. Upon my head, and all this famous land. Exton. From your own mouth, my Lord, did I this deed. Boling. They love not poifon, that do poifon need; Nor do I thee; though I did with him dead, I hate the murth'rer, love him murthered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour. With Cain go wander through the fhade of night, And never show thy head by day or light. Lords, I proteft, my foul is full of woe, That blood fhould fprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put on fullen black incontinent : I'll make a voyage to the holy land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March fadly after, grace my mourning here, In weeping over this untimely bier. [Exeunt omnes.. The |