North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these articles.

K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see:

And yet salt water blinds them not so much,
But they can see a sort* of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor with the rest.
For I have given here my soul's consent,
To undeck the pompous body of a king;
Make glory base; and sovereignty, a slave;
Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant.
North. My lord,-

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught,†
insulting man,

Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,-
No, not that name was given me at the fout,-
But 'tis usurp'd :-Alack the heavy day,
That I have worn so many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself!
O, that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops!
Good king,-great king,-(and yet not greatly
good,)

An if my word be sterling yet in England,
Let it command a mirror hither straight;
That it may show me what a face I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.

Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-
glass.
[Exit an Attendant.
North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass
doth come.

K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere 1
come to hell.

Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northum

Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, Aud then begone, and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it?

Boling. Name it, fair cousin.

K. Rich. Fair cousin? Why, I am greater than a king:

For, when I was a king, my flatterers
Were then but subjects; being now a subject,
I have a king here to my flatterer.
Being so great, I have no need to beg.
Boling. Yet ask.

K. Rich. And shall I have?
Boling. You shall.

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Boling. Whither?

K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from
your sights.

Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the
Tower.

K. Rich. O, good! Convey?-Conveyers*
are you all,

That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. [Exeunt K. RICHARD, some Lords, and a Guard.

Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down

Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.

[Exeunt all but the ABBOT, Bishop of CARLISLE, and AUMERLE.

Abbot. A woful pageant have we here beheld.

Car. The woe's to come; the children yet

face,

That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?
Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies,
And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory shineth in this face:
As brittle as the glory is the face;

[Dashes the Glass against the ground. For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath The shadow of your face. [destroy'd

K. Rich. Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see:'Tis very true, my grief lies all within; And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul; There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,

For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st ↑ Haughty.

* Pack.

ACT V.

[Exeunt.

I.-London.—A Street leading to the Tower.

Enter QUEEN, and LADIES.
Queen. This way the king will come; this
is the way

To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner, by proud Bolingbroke:
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.

Enter King RICHARD, and Guards.
But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold;
That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love

Duch. Why, what is it, my lord?
York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my

Bespake them thus,-I thank you, country

men;

And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he

the while?

York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-grac'd 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
[him:
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save
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
[melted,
The hearts of men, they must perforce, have
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events;
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for ayet allow.
Enter AUMERLE.

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.
York. 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.
Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the vio-
lets now,
[spring?
That strew the green lap of the new-come
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,

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 it not; I purpose so.
York. What seal is that, that hangs without
thy bosom?

Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

York. No matter then who sees it:

I will be satisfied, let me see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me;
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
York. Which for some reasons, Sir, I mean

horse:

Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain. [Exit Servant.

Duch. What's the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.

Duch. I will not peace :-What is the mat

ter, son?

Aum. Good mother be content; it is no more Than my poor life must answer. Duch. Thy life answer!

Re-enter Servant, with Boots.

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king.

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou
art amaz'd:*

Hence, villain; never more come in my sight.-
[To the Servant.
York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duch. 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?
Is not my teeming† date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he 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 sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.

Duch. He shall be none;
[him?
We ll keep him here: Then what is that to
York. Away,

Fond woman! were he twenty times my son, I would appeach him.

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, As I have done, thou’d'st 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: [mind: Sweet York, sweet husband, be 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.

[Exit.

York, Make way, unruly woman.
Duch. 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 Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away;
Begone.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Windsor.- A Room in the Castle.
Enter BOLINGBROKE as King; PERCY, and

other Lords.

Percy. My Lord, some two days since I saw the Prince; [ford, And told him of these triumphs held at Ox Boling. And what said the gallant? Percy. His answer was, he would unto the stews;

And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,

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

I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Which elder days may happily bring forth.
But who comes here?

Enter AUMERLE, hastily.
Aum. Where is the king?
Boling. What means

Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly?
Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech
[alone
To have some conference with your grace
Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us

your majesty,

here alone.

(Exeunt PERCY and LORDS. What is the matter with our cousin now? Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, [Kneels. My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak.

Boling. Intended, or committed, was this If but the first, how heinous ere it be, (fault? To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.

Aum. Theo give me leave that I may turn
the key.

That no man enter fill my tale be done.
Boling. Have thy desire.

[AUMERLE locks the door. York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to thyself;

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

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; Thou hast no cause to fear.

[Drawing.

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.
[BOLINGBROKE opens the door.
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. Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy pro

mise past:

I do repent me: read not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.
York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set

it down.

Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.
York. So shall my virtue be his vice's -
bawd;
[shame,

And he shall spend mine honour with his
As thriftless sons their scraping father's gold.
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.
Duch. [Within.] What, ho, my liege! for
God's sake let me in.

Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry? ['tis I, Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king, Speak with me, pity me, open the door; A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. Boling. Our scene is alter'd, from a serious thing,

Aud now chang'd to The Beggar and the
King,t

My dangerous cousin, let your mother in;
I know, she's come to pray for your foul sin.
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound;
This, let alone, will all the rest confound.

Enter DUCHESS.

Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted Love, loving not itself, none other can. [man; York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? make‡ here? Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle liege. [Kneels.

Boling. Rise up, good aunt. Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech: For ever will I kueel upon my knees, And never see day that the happy sees, Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my

knee.

[Kneels. [Kneels.

York. Against them both, my true joints bended be.

Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his

face;

[jest; His is eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast:

He prays but faintly, and would be denied; We pray with heart, and soul, and all be

side:

His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they

grow;

[have

His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them
That mercy, which true prayers ought to

have.

Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
Duch. Nay, do not say stand up;
But, pardon, first; and afterwards stand up.
And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon-should be the first word of thy
speech.

I never long'd to hear a word till now;
Sy-pardon, king; let pity teach thee how:
The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
No word like pardon, for king's mouths so

meet. * Transgressing.