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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? how com'st thou hither?
Where no man ever comes, but that fad Drudge, (24)
That brings me food, to make misfortune live?

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,
When thou wert King; who travelling tow'rds York,
With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometime Master's face.
O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld,
In London streets, that Coronation day;
When Bolingbroke rode on Roan Barbary,
That horse, that thou so often haft 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 he had 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 he 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 op thee,
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,

(24) Where no Man ever comes, but that fad Dog] I have ventur'd at à Change here, against the Authority of the Copies, by the Direction of Mr. Warburton. Indeed, sad Dog favours too much of the Comedian, the Oratory of the late facetious Mr. Penkethman. And Drudge is the Word of Contempt, which our Author chuses to use on other like Occasions. So in the 2 Henry VI.

Oh, that I were a God, to shoot forth Thunder
Upon these paltry, servile, abject Drudges!
And will you credit this bafe Drudge's words?

Ibid,
And in many other Paflages.'
VOL. III.

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Walt

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Waft born to bear? I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burthen like an ass;
Spur-gall’d, and tir'd by jaunting Bolingbroke.

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 heart shall say.

[Exit. Keep. My lord, will’t please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou were 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 stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the Keeper. Keep. Help, help, help.

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

assault? Wretch, thine own hand yields thy death's instrument;

[Snatching a Sword. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [Kills another.

[Exton strikes him down. That band shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my perfon: thy fierce hand Hath with the King's blood ftain'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: Oh, 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCÉN E changes to the Court at Windsor.

Flourish : Enter Bolingbroke, York, with other Lords

and attendants.

Boling. K is that the Rebels have confum’d with fire
Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire;
But whether they be ta'en or flain, we hear not.

Enter Northumberland.
Welcome, my lord: what is the news?

North. First to thy sacred State wish I all happiness;
The next news is, I have to London fent
The heads of Salsbury, Spencer, Blunt and Kent :
The manner of their Taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.

[Presenting a paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains, And to thy worth will add right-worthy gains.

Enter Fitz-water.
Fitz-w. My lord, I have from Oxford fent to London
The heads of Broccas, and Sir Bennet Seely;
Two of the dangerous consorted traytors,
That fought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

Boling. Thy pains, Fitz-water, shall not be forgot,
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter Percy, and the Bishop of Carlisle.
Percy. The grand Conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,
With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy,
Hath yeilded 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 :
Chuse out some fecret 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.

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For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High sparks of honour in thee I have seen.

Enter Exton, with a coffin.
Exton. Great King, within this Coffin I present
Thy bury'd fear. Herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greateft enemies,
Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought.
Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou haft wrought

(25) A deed of slander with thy fatal hand, Upon my head, and all this famous Land. Exton. From your own mouth, my Lord, did I this

deed. Boling. They love not poison, that do poison need; Nor do I thee; though I did wish 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 shade of night, And never shew thy head by day, or light. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put on sullen 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. (25)

- for Thou hast wrought A Deed of Slaughter with thy fatal Hand] I have chose the Reading of the elder Quarto here, a Deed of Slander, &c. For Richard's Murther might be a Reproach upon the whole Country, tho' his Death could not be laid to their general Charge.

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The

The FIRST PART of

H E N R Y IV.

WITH THE

LIFE and D E A T H

OF

HENRY, Sirnam'd HOT-SPUR.

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