What is become of Busby? where is Green ?
That they have let the dang'rous enemy
Measure our confines with fuch peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads fhall pay for it.

I warrant they've made peace with Bolingbroke.

Scroop. Peace they have made with him indeed, my Lord. K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption; Dogs, eafily won to fawn on any man ;

Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd, that fting my heart;
Three Judaffes, each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted fouls for this offence !

?

Scroop. Sweet love, I fee, changing his property, Turns to the fow'reft and most deadly hate: Again uncurfe their fouls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands: those whom you curfe Have felt the worst of death's destroying hand, And lye full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. Aum. Is Busby, Green, and th' Earl of Wiltshire dead ? Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol loft their heads. Aum. Where is the Duke my father, with his power K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs, Make duft our paper, and with rainy eyes Write forrow in the bofom of the earth! Let's chufe executors, and talk of wills; And yet not fo for what can we bequeath, Save our depofed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own, but death; And that small model of the barren earth, Which ferves as pafte and cover our bones. For heav'n's fake let us fit upon the ground, And tell fad ftories of the death of Kings: How fome have been depos'd, fome flain in war: Some haunted by the ghofts they difpoffefs'd: Some poifon'd by their wives, fome fleeping kill'd: All murther'd. - For within the hollow crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a King, Keeps Death his Court, and there the Antick fits

Scoffing his ftate, and grinning at his pomp ;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene

To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
Infufing him with felf and vain conceit,
As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brafs impregnable: and humour'd thus,
Comes at the laft, and with a little pin

Bores through his catle-walls, and farewell King!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With folemn rev'rence: throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while :
I live on bread like you, feel want like you,
Tafte grief, need friends, like you: fubjected thus,
How can you fay to me I am a King

Carl. My Lord, wife men ne'er wail their prefent woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail:

To fear the foe, fince fear oppreffeth strength,

Gives, in your weakness, ftrength unto your foe;
And fo your follies fight against your self. *

K. Rich. Thou chid'ft me well; proud Bolingbroke, I come +

Say, Scroop, where lyes our uncle with his power? +
Scroop. I play the torturer, by small and small
To lengthen out the worst, that must be spoken.

...... against your self.

Fear, and be flain, no worfe can come from fight,
And fight and die, is death deftroying death.
Where fearing, dying, pays death fervile breath.
Aum. My father hath a pow'r, enquire of him,
And learn to make a body of a limb.

K. Rich. Thou ----

+ I come

To change blows with thee, for our day of doom;
This ague fit of fear is over-blown,

An eafie task it is to win our own.

Say, Scroop,

Speak fweetly, man, although thy looks be fower.
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The ftate and inclination of the day;

So may you by my dull and heavy eye,

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to fay: 1 play.

Your

Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke,
And all your northern caftleş yielded up,
And all your fouthern gentlemen in arms
Upon his faction.

K. Rich. Thou haft faid enough.

Befhrew thee, coufin, which didft lead me forth
Of that sweet way I was in to defpair!

What fay you now? what comfort have we now?
By heav'n I'll hate him everlastingly
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go to Flint-caftle, there I'll pine away;
A King, woe's flave, fhall kingly woe obey:
That pow'r I have, difcharge, and let 'em go
To ear the land, that hath fome hope to grow:
For I have none. Let no man fpeak again
To alter this, for counfel is but vain.
Aum. My Liege, one word.

K. Rich. He does me double wrong,

That wounds me with the flatt'ries of his tongue.
Difcharge my followers: let them away,
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day.

[Exeunt. SCENE V. Bolingbroke's Camp, near Flint. Enter with drum and colours; Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, and Attendants.

Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn
The Welfomen are difpers'd, and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed
With fome few private friends upon this coaft.
North. The news is very fair and good, my Lord,
Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head.
York. It would befeem the Lord Northumberland
To fay King Richard. Ah, the heavy day,
When fuch a facred King fhould hide his head!
North. Your Grace mistakes me; only to be brief.
Left I his title out.

York. The time hath been,

Would you have been fo brief with him, he would
Have been fo brief to fhorten you the head.

Boling. Miftake not, uncle, farther than you fhould.

York

York. Take not, good coufin, farther than you should,
Left you mistake; the heav'ns are o'er your head.
Boling. I know it, uncle, nor oppofe my self
Against their will. But who come here? 'tis Percy.
Enter Percy.

Well, Harry; what, will not this castle yield?
Percy. The caftle royally is mann'd, my Lord,
Against your entrance.

Boling Royally? why, it doth contain no King?
Percy. Yes, my good Lord.

It doth contain a King: King Richard lyes
Within the limits of yond lime and stone;
And with him Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop, befides a clergy-man
Of holy reverence: who, I cannot learn.
North. Belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
Boling. Noble Lord,

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle,
Through brazen trumpet fend the breath of parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:

Henry of Bolingbroke upon his knees

[To North.

Doth kifs King Richard's hand, and fends allegiance
And faith of heart unto his royal perfon:
Ev'n at his feet I lay my arms and pow'r,
Provided that my banishment repeal'd
And lands reftor'd again be freely granted;
If not, I'll use th' advantage of my pow'r,
And lay the fummer's duft with fhow'rs of blood,
Rain'd from the wounds of flaughter'd Englishmen.
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
It is, fuch crimson tempeft fhould bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,
My ftooping duty tenderly shall fhew.

Go fignifie as much, while here we march
Upon the graffie carpet of this plain;

Let's march without the noife of threat'ning drum,
That from this castle's tatter'd battlements
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd.
Methinks King Richard and my felf should meet
With no less terror than the elements

Cc3

아

Of fire and water, when their thund'ring fhock
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heav'n:*
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.
SCENE VI.

Parle without, and answer within; then a flourish.

Enter

on the walls, King Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Au-
merle, Scroop, and Salisbury.

York. See, fee, King Richard doth himself appear
As doth the blushing difcontented fun

From out the fiery portal of the East,

When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
To dim his glory, and to ftain the tract
Of his bright paffage to the Occident.
Yet looks he like a King; behold his eye,
As bright as is the Eagle's, lightens forth
Controlling Majefty; alack, for woe,
That any harm fhould ftain fo fair a fhow!

[To North.

K. Rich. We are amaz'd, and thus long have we flood
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
Because we thought our felf thy lawful King;
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence?
If we be not, fhew us the hand of God,
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship.
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone,
Can gripe the facred handle of our fcepter,
Unless he do prophane, fteal, or ufurp.

And though you think, that all, as you have done,
Have torn their fouls by turning them from us,
And we are barren, and bereft of friends.
Yet know, my mafter, God omnipotent,
Is muft'ring in his clouds on our behalf
Armies of peftilence; and they fhall strike
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot
That lift your vaffal hands against my head,
And threat the glory of my precious crown.

*----- cheeks of heav'n..

Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain
My waters; on the earth, and not on him.
March on,.

Tell'