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The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view.
Flourish: Drums and Trumpets. Enter King
RICHARD, Bishop of CARLISLE, AUMERLE, and
K. Rich. Needs must I like it well; I weep for joy, To stand upon my kingdom once again. Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs: As a long parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting ; So, weeping, smiling, 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 sweets comfort his rav'nous sense : But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way; Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies : And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder ; Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.. Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords ; This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellious arms. Car. Fear not, my lord; that Power, that made
Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.
He means, my lord, that we are too remiss ;
not, That when the searching eye of heaven is hid Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, In murders, and in outrage, bloody here; But when, from under this terrestrial ball, He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their
backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves ? 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 see us rising in our throne the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day, But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. Not all the water in the rough rude sea 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 press'd, To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious angel; then, if angels fight, Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the
Enter SALISBURY. Welcome, my lord ; How far off lies your power ?
Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm : Discomfort 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 : 0, call back yesterday, bid time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand 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, dispers'd, and fled. Aum. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace
so pale? K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ;
Have I not reason to look pale and dead ?
Aum. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you are,
K. Rich. I had forgot myself: am I not king ?
liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart pre
par'd; VOL. V.
The worst is worldly loss, thou can’st unfold.
Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm's
scalps Against thy majesty ; boys, with women's voices, Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints In stiff unweildy arms against thy crown: Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew against thy state; Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills Against thy seat : both young and old rebel, And all goes worse than I have power to tell. K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell’st a tale
so ill. Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? What is become of Bushy? where is Green? That they have let the dangerous enemy Measure our confines with such peaceful steps ? If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed,
K. Rich. O villains, vipers, lost without redemp
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
dead ? Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their
power. K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man
crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps death his court; and there the antick sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; Allowing him a breath, a little scene To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks ; Infusing him with self and vain conceit,