[To fight with Glendower and his Complices ;] A while to Work; and, after, Holy-day.

[Exeunt.

Enter King Richard, Aumerle, Bishop of Carlisle, and Soldiers.

K. Rich.

Barklongbly caffle call you this at hand?

Aum. Yea, my good lord; how brooks your Grace the air,

After your toffing on the breaking Seas?

K. Rich. Needs muft I like it well. I weep for joy
To ftand upon my Kingdom once again.
Dear Earth, I do falute thee with my hand,
Though Rebels wound thee with their horfes' hoofs:
As a long-parted mother with her child

Plays fondly with her tears, and fmiles in meeting;
So weeping, filing, greet I thee my Earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy Sovereign's foe, my gentle Earth,
Nor with thy fweets comfort his rav'nous sense;
But let thy fpiders that fuck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lye in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with ufurping fteps do trample thee.

nor is fo far affur'd of the Suc ceffion, as to think of going to fupprefs Infurrections before he is planted in the Throne. Befides, we find, the Oppofition of Glendower begins the First Part of K. Henry IV; and Mortimer's Defeat by that hardy Welfman is the Tidings of the firft Scene of that Play. Again, tho' Glendover, in the very firft Year of K. Henry IV, began to be troublafome, put in for the Supre

macy of Wales, and imprifon'd Mortimer; yet it was not 'till the fucceeding Year, that the King employed any Force against him

THEOBALD.

This emendation, which I think is juít, has been followed by Sir 7. Ha mer, but is neglected by Dr. Warburton.

Here may be properly inferted the laft fcene of the fecond act.

Yield flinging nettles to mine enemies;
And, when they from thy bofom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pr'ythee, with a lurking adder;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy Sovereign's enemies.
Mock not my fenfelefs conjuration, lords;
This Earth fhall have a Feeling, and these stones
Prove armed foldiers, ere her native King
Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms."

Bishop. Fear not, my Lord; that Pow'r, that made you King,

Hath pow'r to keep you King, in fpight of all.
The means, that heaven yields, muft be embrac'd
And not neglected; elfe, if heaven would,
And we would not heav'n's offer, we refuse
The profer'd means of fuccour and redress.

Aum. He means, my lord; that we are too remifs; Whilft Bolingbroke, through our fecurity,

Grows ftrong and great, in fubftance and in power.

K Rich. Difcomfortable Coufin, know'st thou not,
That when the fearching eye of heav'n is hid
* Behind the globe that lights the lower world;
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unfeen,
In murders, and in outrage bloody, here.
But when from under this terreftrial ball
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through ev'ry guilty hole,
Then murders, treafons, and detefted fins,

The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themfelves.
So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke,

Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
Whilst we were wand'ring with the Antipodes,
Shall fee us rifing in our Throne, the east;
His treasons will fit blufhing in his face,
Not able to endure the fight of day;
But, felf-affrighted, tremble at his fin.
Not all the water in the rough rude fea
Can wash the balm from an anointed King
"The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The Deputy elected by the Lord.
For every man that Bolingbroke hath preft,
To lift fharp fteel against our golden Crown,
Heav'n for his Richard hath in heav'nly Pay
A glorious Angel; then if angels fight,
Weak men must fall, for heav'n ftill guards the Right.

Welcome, my lord, how far off lies your Power?
Salif. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm: Difcomfort guides my tongue,
And bids me speak of nothing but Despair:
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.
Oh, call back yefterday, bid time return,

And thou fhalt have twelve thoufand fighting men.

To day, to day,

-unhappy day, too late

O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state.
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, difperft and fled.

6 The breath of averly men.] Here is the doctrine of indefeafible right expreffed in the frongest terms, but our poet did not learn it in the reign of King James, to which it is now the practice of

all writers, whofe opinions are regulated by fashion or intereft, to impute the original of every tenet which they have been taught to think falfe or foolish.

Aum.

Aum. Comfort, my Liège, 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. And till fo much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale, and dead? 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 my felf. Am I not King? Awake, thou coward Majefty, 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 serve our turn. But who comes here?

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my Liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him!

7

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd. The worft 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?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we ?
Greater he fhall not be; if he ferve God,
We'll ferve him too, and be his fellow fo.
Revolt our Subjects? that we cannot mend;

7 Mine ear is open. It feems to be the defign of the poet to raife Richard to cfteem in his fall, and confequently to intereft the reader in his favour. He gives him only paffive fortitude,

the virtue of a confeffor rather than of a king. In his profperity we faw him imperious and oppreffive, but in his diftrefs he is wife, patient, and pious.

E 4

They

They break their faith to God, as well as us.
Cry, Woe, Deftruction, Ruin, Loss, Decay;
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
Scroop. Glad am I, that your Highness is so arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.

Like an unfeasonable stormy day,

Which makes the filver rivers drown their fhores,
As if the world were all diffolv'd to tears;

So high above his limits fwells the rage

Of Bolingbroke, cov'ring your fearful Land

With hard bright steel, and hearts more hard than steel.
White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless fcalps
Against thy Majefty; boys with women's voices
Strive to fpeak big, and clasp their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms, against thy Crown.
Thy very Beadfmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal Ewe, against thy State.
Yea, diftaff-women manage rufty bills.
Against thy Seat both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have pow'r to tell.

K. Rich Too well, too well, thou tell'ft a Tale fo ill.

Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?