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But'tis usurp'd : alack the heavy day,

Were then but subjects ; being now a subject,
That I have worn so many winters out,

I have a king here to my flatterer.
And know not now what name to call myself! Being so great, I have no need to beg.
O that I were a mockery king of snow, 200 Boling. Yet ask.
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,

K. Rich. And shall I have ?
To melt myself away in water-drops !

Boling. You shall.
Good king, great king, and yet not greatly K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.

Boling. Whitler ?
An if my word be sterling yet in England, K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from
Let it command a mirror hither straight,

your sights.
That it may show me what a face I have,

Boling. Go, some of you convey him to the Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.

Tower. Boling. Go some of you and fetch a look- K. Rich. O, good ! convey ? conveyers & re ing-glass.

[Erit un attendunt. you all, North. Read o'er this paper while the glass That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. doth come.

[Eceunt Kiny Richura, come Loris, K. Rich. Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I

arud a Grand come to hell!

270 Boling. On Wednesday next we solemný Boliny. Urge it no more, my Lord North

set down umberland.

Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves. North. The commons will not then be sat- [Eccunt all except the Bishop of Carlisle, the isfied.

Abbot of Westminster, and Aunt'. K. Rich. They shall be satisfied : I'll read

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here ben enough,


321 When I do see the very book indeed

Car. The woe's to come ; the children yet Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself.


Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn
Re-enter Attendant, with a glass.

Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plöt
Give me the glass, and therein will I read. To rid the realm of this pernicious blot ?
No deeper wrinkles yet ? hath sorrow struck

Abbot. My hard,
So many blows upon this face of mine,

Before I freely speak my mind herein,
And made no deeper wounds? O flattering

You shall not only take tlie sacrament glass,

To bury mine intents, but also to effect
Like to my followers in prosperity, 280 Whatever I shall happen to devise. 33
Thou dost beguile ne! Was this face the face I see your brows are full of discontent,
That every day under his household roof Your hearts of sorrow and your eyes of tean
Did keep ten thousand men ? was this the face Come home with me to supper ; and I'll lay
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? A plot shall show us all a merry day. [Exeun
Was this the face that faced so many follies,
And was at last ont-faced by Bolingbroke ?
A brittle glory shineth in this face :
As brittle as the glory is the face :

[Dushes the glass agınst the ground.
For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.

SCENE I. London. A street leading to th
Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, 290

How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.
Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath

Enter QUEEN and Ladies.

Queen. This way the king will come ; thi
The shadow of your face.
K. Rich,
Say that again.

To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,
The shadow of my sorrow! ha ! let's see : To whose flint bosoin my condemned lord
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ;

Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke
And these external manners of lauments

Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortured soul ;

Have any resting for her true king's queen.
There lies the substance : and I thank thee,

Enter RICHARD and Guard.

But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
For thy great bounty, that not only givest 300 My fair rose wither : yet look up, behold,
Me cause to wail but teachest me the way That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, And wash hin fresh again with true-love tea
And then be gone and trouble you no more. Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did tell
Shall I obtain it ?

Thou map of honor, thou King Richard's toe
Name it, fair cousin.

And not King Richard ; thou most beauico
K. Rich. Fair cousin'? I am greater than

inn, a king :

Why should hard-favor'd grief be lodged For when I was a king, my flatterers


is the way



When weeping made you break the story off,
Of our two cousins coming into London.

York. Where did I leave ?

At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands from win

dows' tops Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's

head. York. Then, as I said, the duke, great

Boling broke, Mounted upon a lot and fiery steed Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, With slow but stately pace kept on his course, Whilst all tongues cried God save thee, Bolingbroke!'

11 You would have thought the very windows

spake, So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage, and that all the walls With painted imagery had said at once "Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!' Whilst he, from the one side to the other

turning, Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's

neck, Bespake them thus : 'I thank you, countrymen :'

20 And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duch. Alack, poor Richard ! where rode

he the whilst ? York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious ; Even so, or with much more contempt, men's

eyes Did scowl on gentle Richard ; no man cried

God save him!' No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: But dust was thrown upon his sacred head: Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God, for some strong purpose,

steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have

melted And barbarism itself have pitied him. But heaven hath a hand in these events, To whose liigh will we bound our calm cou

tents. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, Whose state and honor I for aye allow. 40

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.

Aumerle that was ;
But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

Enter AUMERLE. Duch. Welcome, my son : who are the

violets now That strew the green lap of the new come

spring ?

Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly

care not: God knows I had as lief be none as one. York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,

56 Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime, What news from Oxford ? hold those justs and

triumphs ?
Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do.
York. You will be there, I know.
Aum. If God prevent not, I purpose so.
York. What seal is that, that hangs with-

out thy bosom ? Yea, look’st thou pale ? let me see the wri

Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

York. No matter, then, who see it ;
I will be satisfied ; let me see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon

60 It is a matter of small consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have

seen. York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean

to see. I fear, I fear,

Duch. What should you fear? 'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is en

ter'd into For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day. York. Bound to himself ! what doth he

with a bond That he is bound to ? Wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me see the writing. Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may

not show it. York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I

; say. [He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it. Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor!

Duch. What is the matter, my lord ?
York. Ho! who is within there?
Enter a Servant.

Saddle my horse
God for his mercy, what treachery is here!
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ?
York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my

(Exit Serieni. Now, by mine honor, by my life, by my troth, I will appeach the villain. Duch.

What is the matter! York. Peace, foolish woman.

80 Duch, I will not peace. What is the mat

ter, Aumerle. Aum. Good mother, be content ; it is ne Than my poor life must answer. Duch.

Thy life answer York. Bring me my boots: I will unti the king

Re-enter Servant with boots. Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy

thou art amazed. Hence, villain ! never more come in my sight



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York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duck. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?

Have we more sons ? or are we like to have ?
1 Ls not my teeming date drunk up with time ?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine

And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is be not like thee? is he not thine own?
York. Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy ?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacra-

And interchangeably set down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.

He shall be none; We'll keep him here : then what is that to him?

100 Fork. Away, fond woman !

twenty times my son,
I would appeach hin.

Hadst thou groan'd for him
As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.
But now I know thy mind ; thou dost suspect
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
And that he is a bastard, not thy son :
Sweet York, sweet husband, bě not of that

He is as like thee as a man may be,
Not like to me, or any of my kin,
And yet I love him.
York. Make way, unruly woman ! 110

[Exit. Inich. After, Aumerle ! mount thee upon

his horse ;
Spur post, and get before him to the king,
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I'll not be long behind ; though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York :
And never will I rise up from the ground
Till Bollingbroke have pardon’d thee. Away,
be gone!

SCENE III. A royal palace.
Enter BOLINGBROKE, PERCY, and other Lords.
Briling. Can no man tell me of my unthristy

son ? Tis full three months since I did see him

last ; If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. I would to God, my lords, he might be found : Ingaire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, With unrestrained loose companions, Even sach, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ; Which he. young wanton and effeminate boy, lakes on the point of honor to support 11 So dissolute a crew. Perry. My lord, some two days since I saw

the prince. And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford. Boling. And what said the gallant? Percy. His answer was, he would unto the


And from the common'st creature pluck a

glove, And wear it as a favor ; and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. Boling. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both

20 I see some sparks of better hope, which elder

years May happily þring forth. But who comes here?

Enter AUMERLE. Aum. Where is the king ? Boling. What means our cousin, that he

stares and looks So wildly? Aum. God save your grace! I do beseecb

your majesty, To have some conference with your grace

alone. Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave

us here alone. [Exeunt Percy and Lords. What is the matter with our cousin now ? Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,

3C My tongue cleave to my roof within my

mouth, Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. Boling. Intended or committed was this

fault? If on the first, how heinous e'er it be, To win thy after-love I pardon thee. Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn

the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. Boling. Have thy desire. York. [Within] My liege, beware : look to

thysel' ; Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 40 Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe.

[Drawing Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand ; thou hast

no se to fear. York. [Within] Open the door, secure, fool

hardy king : Shall I for love speak treason to thy face? Open the door, or I will break it open.

Enter York. Boling. What is the matter, uncle ? speak, Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it. York. Peruse this writing here, and thou

shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me show.50 Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy

promise pass'd : I do repent me ; read not my name there; My heart is not confederate with my hand. York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set

it down I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king ; Fear, and not love, begets his penitence : Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. Boliny. O heinous, strong and bold con



O loyal father of a treacherous son ! 60 His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain, Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
From whence this stream through muddy pas- Our prayers do out-pray his ; then let them

have Hath held his current and defiled himself ! That mercy which true prayer ought to have, Thy overflow of good converts to bad,

Boling. Good aunt, stand up.

111 And thy abundant goodness shall excuse

Duch. Nay, do not say, 'stand , This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

Say ‘pardon' first, and afterwards 'stani j. York. So shall ny virtile be his vice's And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, bawd ;

* Pardon' should be the first word of thy And he shall spend mine honor with his shame, speech, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. I never long'd to hear a word till now; Mine honor lives when his dishonor dies, 70 Say 'pardon,' king ; let pity teach thee how: Or my shained life in his dishonor lies : The word is short, but not so short as girect; Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath, No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths su The traitor lives, the true inan's put to death.

meet. Duch. [Within] What ho, my liege! for York. Speak it in French, king ; say, 'par God's sake let me in.

donne moi.' Boling. What shrill-voiced suppliant makes Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to this eager cry?

destroy ?

120 Duch. A woman, and thy aunt, great king; Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, 'tis I.

That set'st the word itself against the word! Speak with me, pity me, open the door : Speak . pardon' as 'tis current in our land ; A beggar begs that never begg'd before.

The chopping French we do not understand. Boling. Our scene is alter'd from a serious Thine eye begins to speak; set thy tongue thing,

there ; And now changed to 'The Beggar and the Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; King.'

80 That hearing how our plaints and prayers do My dangerous cousin, let your mother in :

pierce, I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. Pity may move thee 'pardon'to rehearse.

York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, Boling. Good aunt, stand up. More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.


I do not sue to stand This festerd joint cut off, the rest rest sound; Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 13 This let alone will all the rest confound.

Boliny. I pardon him, as God shall pardoz Enter DUCHESS.

Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee Duch, Oking, believe not this hard-hearted Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ; man !

Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain Lore loving not itself none other can.

But makes one pardon strong. York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou Boling.

With all my hear make here ?

I pardon him. Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear ? Duch. A god on earth thou art, Duch. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-la gentle liege.

[Kneels. 91

and the abbot, Boling. Rise up, good aunt.

With all the rest of that consorted crew, Duch.

Not yet, I thee beseech : Destruction straight shall dog them at th For ever will I walk upon my knees,

heels. And never see day that the happy sees, Good uncle, help to order several powers 1 Till thon give joy; until thou bid me joy, To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are : By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy, They shall not live within this world, I swea Aum. Unto my mother's prayers I bend But I will have them, if I once know where. my knee.

Uncle, farewell : and, cousin too, adieu : York. Against them both my true joints Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove to bended be.

true. Il mayst thou thrive, if thon grant any grace! Duch. Come, my old son: I pray God mal Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his thee new.

[Ercan face ;

100 His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in

SCENE IV. The same. jest ;

Enter Exton and Servant. His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast :

Ecton. Didst thou not mark the king, wh "He prays but faintly and would be denied ;

words he spake, We pray with leart and soul and all beside: Have I no friend will rid me of this livit His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;

fear?' Dur knees shali kneel till to the ground they Was it not so ? grow:


These were his very words.


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