SCENE V. Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle. Enter king RICHARD. As thoughts of things divine,--are intermix'd As thus,Come, little ones; and then again,-- To thread the postern of a needle's eye [7] By the word, I suppose, is meant, the holy word. MALONE. With being nothing.-Music do I hear? [Music, Ha, ha! keep time :-How sour sweet music is, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Groom. Hail, royal prince! K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, To look upon my sometimes master's face. [8] That is, I strike for him. One of these automatons is alluded to in King Richard III. Act iv. sc. iii. "Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke, "Between thy begging and my meditation" STEEVENS. [9] The word sad was in the time of our author used for grave. The expression will then be the same as if he had said, that grave, that gloomy villain. STEEVEN& O, how it yearn ́d my heart, when I beheld, 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 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 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-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing 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. Keep. My lord, wilt please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. [Exit. 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. Keep. Help, help, help! [Beats the Keeper. 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. Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: SCENE VI. [Dies. [Exeunt. Windsor. A Room in the Castle. 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 Glostershire; 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 happiness. The next news is,-I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: 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 FITZWATER. Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Enter PERCY, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, [1] The representation here given of the king's death is perfectly agreeable to Hall and Holinshed. But the fact was otherwise. He refused food for severa! days, and died of abstinence and a broken heart. See Walsingham, Otterbourne, the Monk of Evesham, the continuator of the History of Croyland, and the anonymous Godstow Chronicle. KITSON. With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, Enter EXTON, with Attendants bearing a Coffin. The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought 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 murderer, love him murdered. That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow : I'll make a voyage to the Holy land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand :— [Exeunt. |