THE Tragedy of King Richard the second.  
As it hath been publicly acted by the right Honourable the Lord Chamberlain his Servants.  
LONDON Printed by Valentine Simmes for Androw Wise, and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's church yard at the sign of the Angel. 1597.   
ENTER KING RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, WITH OTHER Nobles and attendants. King Richard. 
Old john of Gaunt time honoured Lancaster,  
Hast thou according to thy oath and band  
Brought hither Henry Herford thy bold son,  
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,  
Which then our leisure would not let us hear  
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?  Gaunt. 
I have my Liege.  King. 
Tell me moreover hast thou sounded him,  
If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,  
Or worthily as a good subject should  
On some known ground of treachery in him.  Gaunt. 
As near as I could sift him on that argument,  
On some apparent danger seen in him,  
Aimed at your highness, no inveterate malice.  King. 
Then call them to our presence face to face,  
And frowning brow to brow ourselves will hear.  
The accuser and the accused freely speak:  
High stomached are they both and full of ire,  
In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.  Enter Bullingbrooke and Mowbray. Bulling. 
Many years of happy days be fall,  
My gracious sovereign my most loving liege.  Mowb. 
Each day still better others happiness,  
Until the heavens envying earth's good hap,  
Add an immortal title to your Crown.  King. 
We Thank you both, yet one but flatters us,  
As well appeareth by the cause you come;  
Namely to appeal each other of high treason:  
Cousin of Herford, what dost thou object  
Against the Duke of Norfolk Thomas Mowbray?  Bull. 
First, heaven be the record to my speech,  
In the devotion of a subjects love,  
Tendering the precious safety of my Prince,  
And free from other misbegotten hate,  
Come I appellant to this princely presence.  
Now Thomas Mowbray do I turn to thee,  
And mark my greeting well: for what I speak  
My body shall make good upon this earth,  
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven:  
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,  
Too good to be so, and too bad to live,  
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,  
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly:  
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,  
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat,  
And wish (so please my Sovereign) ere I move,  
What my tongue speaks, my right drawn sword may prove.  Mow. 
Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal,  
'tis not the trial of a woman's war,  
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues  
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain,  
The blood is hot that must be cooled for this,  
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,  
As to be huisht, and nought at all to say.  
First the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me,  
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech,  
Which else would post until it had returned,  
These terms of treason doubled down his throat:  
Setting aside his high bloods royalty,  
And let him be no kinsman to my Liege,  
I do defy him, and I spit at him,  
Call him a slanderous coward, and a villain,  
Which to maintain, I would allow him odds,  
And meet him were I tied to run afoot,  
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,  
Or any other ground inhabitable,  
Where over Englishman durst set his foot,  
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,  
By all my hopes most falsely doth he lie.  Bull. 
Pale trembling coward there I throw my gage,  
Disclaiming here the kindred of the King,  
And lay aside my high bloods royalty,  
Which Fear, not Reverence makes thee to except.  
If guilty dread have left thee so much strength,  
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop,  
By that, and all the rites of knighthood else,  
Will I make good against thee arm to arm,  
What I have spoke, or thou canst worst devise.  Mow. 
I take it up, and by that sword I swear,  
Which gently laid my Knighthood on my shoulder,  
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,  
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:  
And when I mount, alive may I not light,  
If I be traitor or unjustly fight.  King. 
What doth our ccusin lay to Mowbraies charge?  
It must be great that can inherit us,  
So much as of a thought of ill in him.  Bul. 
Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true,  
That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles  
In name of Lendings for your highness soldiers,  
The which he hath detained for lewd employments,  
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain:  
Besides I say, and will in battle prove,  
Or here, or elsewhere to the furthest Verge  
That ever was surveyed by English eye,  
That all the treason, for these eighteen years,  
Complotted and contrived in this land:  
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring,  
Further I say and further will maintain  
Upon his bad life to make all this good,  
That he did plot the Duke of glocester's death,  
Suggest his soon believing adversaries,  
And consequently like a traitor coward,  
Slucte out his innocent soul through streams of blood,  
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's cries,  
Even from the tounglesse Caverns of the earth,  
To me for justice and rough chastisement:  
And by the glorious worth of my descent,  
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.  King. 
How high a pitch his resolution soars,  
Thomas of Norfolk what sayst thou to this?  Mowb. 
Oh let my sovereign turn away his face,  
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,  
Till I have told this slander of his blood,  
How God and good men hate so foul a liar.  King. 
Mowbray impartial are our eyes and ears,  
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdoms heir,  
As he is but my father's brother's son,  
Now by sceptres awe I make a vow,  
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood  
Should nothing privilege him nor partialize  
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul,  
He is our subject Mowbray so art thou,  
Flee speech and fearless I to thee allow.  Mowb. 
Then Bullingbrooke as low as to thy heart  
Through the false passage of thy throat thou liest,  
Three parts of that receit I had for Calais,  
Disbursed I duly to his highness soldiers,  
The other part reserved I by consent,  
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt.  
Upon remainder of a dear account:  
Since last I went to France to fetch his Queen:  
Now swallow down that lie. For glocester's death,  
I slew him not but to my own disgrace,  
Neglected my sworn duty in that case:  
For you my noble Lord of Lancaster,  
The honourable father to my foe,  
Once did I lay an ambush for your life,  
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul:  
Ah but ere I last received the Sacrament,  
I did confess it, and exactly begged  
Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.  
This is my fault, as for the rest appealed  
It issues from the rancour of a villain,  
A recreant and most degenerate traitor,  
Which in myself I bodily will defend,  
And interchangeably hurl down my gage  
Upon this over weening traitors foot,  
To prove myself a loyal Gentleman▪  
Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom,  
In haste whereof most heartily I pray  
Your highness to assign our trial day.  King. 
Wrath kindled gentleman be ruled by me,  
let's purge this choler without letting blood,  
This we prescribe though no Physician,  
Deep malice makes too deep incision,  
Forget, forgive, conclude and be agreed,  
Our doctors say, this is no month to bleed▪  
Good Uncle let this end where it begun,  
we'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.  Gaunt. 
To be a make-peace shall become my age,  
Throw down (my son) the Duke of Norfolk's gage.  King. 
And Norfolk throw down his.  Gaunt. 
When Harry? when obedience bids▪  
Obedience bids I should not bid again.  King. 
Norfolk throw down we bid, there is no boot.  Mow. 
Myself I throw dread sovereign at thy foot,  
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame,  
The one my duty owes, 〈…〉  
To dark dishonours use thou shalt not have:  
I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here,  
Pierced to the soul with Slanders venomed spear,  
The which no balm can cure but his heart blood  
Which breathed this poison.  King. 
Rage's must be withstood,  
Give me his gage; Lions make Leopards tame.  Mowb. 
Yea but not change his spots: take but my shame,  
And I resign my gage, my dear dear Lord,  
The purest treasure mortal times afford,  
Is spotless Reputation that away  
Men are but guilded loam, or painted clay.  
A jewel in a ten times bar up chest,  
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast:  
Mine honour is my life, both grow in one,  
Take honour from me, and my life is done:  
Then (dear my Liege) mine honour let me try.  
In that I live, and for that will I die.  King. 
Cousin, throw up your gage, do you begin.  Bull. 
O God defend my soul from such deep sin,  
Shall I seem Crestfallen in my father's sight?  
Or with pale beggar-feare impeach my height,  
Before this out-darde Dastard? ere my tongue  
Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong,  
Or sound so base a parley, my teeth shall tear  
The slavish motive of recanting fear,  
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,  
Where Shame doth harbour even in Mowbraies face.  King. 
We were not borne to sue, but to command,  
Which since we cannot do, to make you friends▪  
Be ready as your lives shall answer it,  
At Coventry upon saint Lambert's day,  
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate  
The swelling difference of your settled hate,  
Since we cannot atone you, we shall see  
justice design the, Victors chivalry▪  
Lord Marshal,, Officer at arms.  
Be ready to direct these home alarms.  Exit. Enter john of Gaunt with the Duchess of Gloucester. Gaunt 
Alas, the part I had in Woodstockes blood,  
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims,  
To stir against the butchers of his life,  
But since correction lieth in those hands,  
Which made the fault that we cannot correct:  
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven,  
Who when they see the hours ripe on earth,  
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders heads.  Duchess 
Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?  
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?  
Edward's seven sons whereof thyself art one.  
Were as seven viols of his sacred blood,  
Or seven fair branches springing from one root:  
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,  
Some of those branches by the Destinies cut:  
But Thomas my dear Lord, my life, my Gloucester.  
One viol full of Edward's sacred blood,  
One flourishing branch of his most royal root  
Is cracked, and all the precious liquor spilled,  
Is hacked down, and his summer leaves all faded  
By envies hand, and Murders bloody axe.  
Ah Gaunt, his blood was thine, that bed, that womb▪  
That metal, that self mould, that fashioned thee  
Made him a man: and though thou livest and breathest,  
Yet art thou slain in him, thou dost consent  
In some large measure to thy father's death,  
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,  
Who was the model of thy father's life:  
Call it not patience Gaunt, it is despair,  
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughtered,  
Thou she west the naked path way to thy life,  
Teaching stern Murder how to butcher thee:  
That which in mean men we entitle Patience,  
Is pale cold Cowardice in noble breasts.  
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,  
The best way is to venge my glocester's death.  Gaunt 
God's is the quarrel for God's substitute,  
His deputy anointed in his sight,  
Hath caused his death, the which if wrongfully,  
Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift  
An angry arm against his minister.  Duch. 
Where then alas may I complain myself?  Gaunt 
To God the widows Champion and defence,  Duch. 
Why then I will; far well old Gaunt,  
Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold  
Our Cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight,  
O set my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,  
That it may enter butcher Mowbraies breast:  
Or if misfortune miss the first carrier,  
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom  
That they may break his foaming coursers back,  
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,  
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford,  
Farewell old Gaunt, thy some times brothers wife,  
With her companion Grief must end her life.  Gaunt 
Sister farewell, I must to Coventry,  
As much good stay with thee, as go with me.  Duch. 
Yet one word once, grief boundeth where it false,  
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:  
I take my leave before I have begun,  
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done:  
Commend me to thy brother Edmund York,  
Lo this is all: nay yet depart not so,  
Though this be all, do not so quickly go:  
I shall remember more: Bid him, ah what?  
With all good speed at Plashie visit me,  
Alack and what shall good old York there see,  
But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls,  
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones,  
And what hear there for welcome but my groans?  
Therefore commend me, let him not come there,  
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where,  
Desolate desolate will I hence and die:  
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.  Exeunt. Enter Lord Martial and the Duke Aumerle. Mar. 
My Lord Aumerle is Harry Herford armed?  Aum. 
Yea at all points, and longs to enter in▪  Mar. 
The Duke of Norfolk sprightfully and bold,  
Stays but the summons of the appellants trumpet.  Aum 
Why then the Champions are prepared and stay  
For nothing but his majesties approach.  The trumpets sound and the King enters with his nobles, when they are set, enter the Duke of Norfolk in arms defendant. King 
Marshal demand of yonder Champion,  
The cause of his arrival here in arms,  
ask him his name, and orderly proceed  
To swear him in the justice of his cause.  Mar. 
In God's name and the King's say who thou art▪  
And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,  
Against what man thou comest and what thy quarrel,  
Speak truly on thy knighthood, and thy oath,  
As so defend the heaven and thy valour.  Mow 
My name is Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolk,  
Who hither come engaged by my oath,  
(Which God defend a Knight should violate)  
Both to defend my loyalty and truth,  
To God, my King, and my succeeding issue▪  
Against the Duke of Herford that appeals me.  
And by the grace of God, and this mine arm,  
To prove him in defending of myself,  
A traitor to my God, my King, and me,  
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.  The trumpet's sound. Enter Duke of Hereford appellant in armour. King 
Martial ask yonder Knight in arms,  
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither,  
Thus plated in habiliments of war,  
And formally according to our law,  
Depose him in the justice of his cause.  Mar. 
What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither?  
Before king Richard in his royal lists.  
Against whom comes thou? and what's thy quarrel?  
Speak like a true Knight, so defend thee heaven.  Bul. 
Harry of Herford, Lancaster and Derby  
Am I, who ready here do stand in Arms  
To prove by God's grace, and my body's valour  
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolk,  
That he is a traitor foul and dangerous,  
To God of heaven, king Richard and to me:  
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.  Mar. 
On pain of death, no person be so bold,  
Or daring, hardy, as to touch the lists,  
Except the martial and such officers  
Appointed to direct these fair designs.  Bul. 
Lord martial, let me kiss my sovereign's hand,  
And bow my knee before his Majesty,  
For Mowbray and myself are like two men,  
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage,  
Then let us take a ceremonious leave,  
And loving fare well of our several friends.  Mar. 
The appellant in all duty greets your Highness▪  
And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave.  King 
We will descend and fold him in our arms,  
Cousin of Herford, as thy cause is right,  
So be thy fortune in this royal fight:  
Farewell my blood, which if to day thou shed,  
Lament we may, but not revenge the dead.  Bul. 
O let no noble eye profane a tear  
For me, if I be gored with Mowbraies spear:  
As confident as is the Falcon's flight  
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.  
My loving Lord, I take my leave of you:  
Of you (my noble cousin) Lord Aumarle,  
Not sick although I have to do with death,  
But lusty, young and cheerly drawing breath:  
Lo, as at English feasts so I regret  
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.  
Oh thou the earthly Author of my blood,  
Whose youthful spirit in me regenerate  
Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up,  
To reach at Victory above my head:  
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers,  
And with thy blessings steel my lances point,  
That it may enter Mowbraies waxen cote,  
And furbish new the name of john a Gaunt,  
Even in the lusty haviour of his son.  Gaunt. 
God in thy good cause make thee prosperous,  
Be swift like lightning in the execution,  
And let thy blows doubly redoubled,  
Fall like amazing thunder on the cask  
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy,  
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live,  Bul. 
Mine innocence and saint George to thrive.  Mowb. 
How ever God or Fortune cast my lot,  
There lives or dies true to King Richard's throne,  
A loyal, just, and upright Gentleman:  
Never did captive with a freer heart  
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace  
His golden uncontrolled enfranchisment,  
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate  
This feast of battle with mine adversary,  
Most mighty Liege, and my companion Peers,  
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years,  
As gentle, and as jocund as to jest  
Go I to fight, truth hath a quiet breast.  King 
Farewell (my Lord) securely I espy,  
Virtue with Valour couched in thine eye,  
Order the trial martial, and begin.  Mart. 
Harry of Herford, Lancaster and Derby,  
Receive thy lance, and God defend the right.  Bul. 
Strong as a tower in hope I cry, Amen.  Mart. 
Go bear this lance to Thomas Duke of Norfolk.  Herald 
Harry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derby  
Stands here, for God, his sovereign, and himself,  
On pain to be found false and recreant,  
To prove the Duke of Norfolk Thomas Mowbray  
A traitor to his God, his king, and him,  
And dares him to set forward to the fight.  Herald 2 
Here standeth Thomas Mowbray D▪ of Norfolk  
On pain to be found false and recreant,  
Both to defend himself, and to approve  
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,  
To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,  
Courageously, and with a free desire,  
Attending but the signal to begin.  Mart. 
Sound trumpet's, and set forward Combatants:  
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.  King. 
Let them lay by their helmets, and their spears,  
And both return back to their chairs again,  
Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound,  
While we return these dukes what we decree.  
Draw near and list  
What with our counsel we have done:  
For that our kingdoms earth should not be soiled  
With that dear blood which it hath fostered:  
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect  
Of civil wounds ploughed up with neighbour's sword,  
And for we think the Egle-winged pride  
Of skie-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,  
With rivall-hating envy set on you  
To wake our peace, which in our Country's cradle  
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep  
Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums,  
With harsh resounding trumpets dreadful bray,  
And grating shock of wrathfully on arms,  
Might from our quiet confines frighten fair Peace,  
And make us wade even in our kindreds blood;  
Therefore we banish you our territories:  
You cousin Hereford upon pain of life,  
Till twice five summers have enriched our fields,  
Shall not regreet our fair dominions▪  
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.  Bul. 
Your will be done; this must my comfort be,  
That Sun that warms you here, shall shine on me.  
And those his golden beams to you here lent,  
Shall point on me, and guild my banishment.  King 
Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,  
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce,  
The sly slow hours shall not determinate  
The dateless limit of thy dear exile,  
The hopeless word of never to return,  
breath I against thee, upon pain of life.  Mowb. 
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign Liege,  
And all unlooked for from your highness mouth,  
A dearer merit not so deep a maim,  
As to be cast forth in the common air  
Have I deserved at your highness hands:  
The language I have learned these forty years,  
My native English now I must forego,  
And now my tongues use is to me, no more  
Than an unstringed viol or a harp,  
Or like a cunning instrument cased up,  
Or being open, put into his hands  
That knows no touch to tune the harmony:  
Within my mouth you have engaoled my tongue,  
Doubly portcullist with my teeth and lips,  
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance  
Is made my Jailer to attend on me:  
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,  
Too far in years to be a pupil now,  
What is thy sentence but speechless death?  
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath,  King 
It boots thee not to be compassionate,  
After our sentence plaining comes too late.  Mow. 
Then thus I turn me from my country's light,  
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.  King. 
Return again, and take an oath with thee,  
Lay on our royal sword your banished hands,  
Swear by the duty that y'owe to God,  
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves,)  
To keep the oath that we administer:  
You never shall, so help you truth and God,  
Embrace each others love in banishment,  
Nor never look upon each others face,  
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile  
This lowering tempest of your homebred hate,  
Nor never by advised purpose meet,  
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,  
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.  Bul. 
I swear.  Mow. 
And I, to keep all this.  Bul. 
Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:  
By this time, had the King permitted us,  
One of our souls had wandered in the air▪  
Banished this frail sepulchre of our flesh.  
As now our flesh is banished from this land,  
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm,  
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along  
The clogging burden of a guilty soul.  Mow. 
No Bullingbrooke, if ever I were traitor,  
My name be blotted from the book of life,  
And I from heaven banished as from hence:  
But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know,  
And all too soon (I fear) the King shall rue:  
Farewell (my Liege) now no way can I stray,  
Save back to England all the worlds my way.  Exit. King. 
Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes,  
I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect  
Hath from the number of his banished years  
Plucked four away, six frozen winters spent,  
Return with welcome home from banishment.  Bull. 
How long a time lies in one little word.  
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs,  
End in a word, such is the breath of Kings.  Gaunt. 
I thank my liege that in regard of me,  
He shortens four years of my sons exile,  
But little vantage shall I reap thereby:  
For ear the six years that he hath to spend  
Can change their moons, and bring their times about,  
My oil-dried lamp, and time bewasted light  
Shall be extint with age and endless nights,  
My intch of taper will be burnt and done,  
And blindfold Death not let me see my son.  King. 
Why Uncle thou hast many years to live.  Gaunt. 
But not a minute King that thou canst give,  
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,  
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow:  
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,  
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:  
Thy word is currant with him for my death,  
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.  King. 
Thy son is banished upon good advise,  
Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave,  
Why at our justice seemest thou then to lower?  Gaunt. 
Things sweet to taste, prove in digestion sour.  
You urged me as a judge, but I had rather,  
You would have bid me argue like a father:  
Oh had't been a stranger, not my child,  
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild:  
A partial slander sought I to avoid,  
And in the sentence my own life destroyed:  
Alas, I looked when some of you should say,  
I was too strict to make mine own away:  
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue,  
Against my will to do myself this wrong.  King. 
Cousin farewell, and Uncle, bid him so,  
Six years we banish him and he shall go.  Exit. Au. 
Cousin far well, what presence must not know,  
From where you do remain let paper show.  Mar. 
My Lord, no leave take I, for I will ride  
As far as land will let me by your side.  Gaunt. 
Oh to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,  
That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?  Bull. 
I have too few to take my leave of you,  
When the tongues office should be prodigal.  
To breath the abundant dolour of the heart.  Gaunt. 
Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.  Bull. 
joy absent, grief is present for that time.  Gaunt. 
What is six winters? they are quickly gone.  Bul. 
To men in joy, but grief makes one hour ten.  Gaun. 
Call it a travail that thou tak'st for pleasure.  Bul. 
My heart will sigh when I miscall it so.  
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.  Gaun. 
The sullen passage of thy weary steps,  
Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set,  
The precious jewel of thy home return.  Bul. 
Nay rather every tedious stride I make,  
Will but remember me what a deal of world:  
I wander from the jewels that I love.  
Must I not serve a long apprentishood,  
To foreign passages, and in the end,  
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else,  
But that I was a journeyman to grief.  Gaun. 
All places that the eye of heaven visits,  
Are to a wiseman ports and happy havens:  
Teach thy necessity to reason thus,  
There is no virtue like necessity,  
Think not the King did banish thee,  
But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit,  
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne:  
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,  
And not the King exiled thee; or suppose,  
devouring pestilence hangs in our air,  
And thou art flying to a fresher clime:  
Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it  
To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou comest:  
Suppose the singing birds musicians,  
The grass whereon thou treadest, the presence strewed,  
The flowers, fair Ladies, and thy steps, no more  
Than a delightful measure or a dance,  
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite,  
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.  Bul. 
Oh who can hold a fire in his hand,  
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?  
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,  
By bare imagination of a feast?  
Or wallow naked in December snow,  
By thinking on fantastic summers heat?  
Oh no, the apprehension of the good.  
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:  
Fell sorrows tooth doth never rankle more,  
Then when he bites, but lanceth not the soar.  Gaun. 
Come come my son Ile bring thee on thy way,  
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.  Bul. 
Then England's ground far well, sweet soil adieu.  
My mother and my nurse that bears me yet,  
Where care I wander boast of this I can,  
Though banished, yet a true borne English man.  Exeunt. Enter the King with Bushie, etc. at one door, and the Lord Aumarle at another. King 
We did observe. Cousin Aumarle.  
How far brought you high Hereford, on his way?  Aum. 
I brought high Herford, if you call him so,  
But to the next high way, and there I left him.  King 
And say, what store of parting tears were shed?  Aum. 
Faith none for me, except the north hast wind,  
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,  
awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance  
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.  King 
What said our cousin when you parted with him?  Aum. 
Farewell, & for my heart disdained that my tongue  
Should so profane the word that taught me craft,  
To counterfeit oppression of such grief,  
That words seemed buried in my sorrows grave:  
Marry would the word Farewell have long hours,  
And added years to his short banishment,  
He should have had a volume of farewells:  
But since it would not, he had none of me.  King. 
He is our Coosens Cousin, but 'tis doubt,  
When time shall call him home from banishment,  
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.  
Ourself and Bushie,  
Observed his courtship to the common people,  
How he did seem to dive into their hearts,  
With humble and familiar courtesy,  
What reverence he did throw away on slaves,  
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles.  
And patiented underbearing of his fortune,  
As 'twere to banish their affects with him,  
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench,  
A brace of draimen bid, God speed him well,  
And had the tribute of his supple knee,  
With thanks my countrymen my loving friends▪  
As were our England in reversion his,  
And he our subjects next degree in hope.  Greene.. 
Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts,  
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,  
Expedient manage must be made my liege,  
Ere further leisure yield them further means.  
For their advantage and your highness loss.  King. 
We will ourself in person to this war,  
And for our coffers with too great a court,  
And liberal largesse are grown somewhat light,  
We are enforced to farm our royal Realm,  
The revenue whereof shall furnish us,  
For our affairs in hand if that come short,  
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters,  
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,  
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,  
And send them after to supply our wants,  
For we will make for Ireland presently.  Enter Bushy with news. Bush. 
Old john of Gaunt is grievous sick my Lord,  
Suddenly taken, and hath sent post haste,  
To entreat your Majesty to visit him.  King 
Where lies he?  Bush. 
At Ely house.  King 
Now put it (God) in the Physicians mind,  
To help him to his grave immediately▪  
The lining of his coffers shall make coats  
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.  
Come gentlemen, let's all go visit him,  
Pray God we may make haste and come too late,  Amen Exeunt. Enter john of Gaunt sick, with the duke of York etc. Gaunt. 
Will the King come that I may breath my last?  
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth.  York 
Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath,  
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.  Gaunt. 
Oh but they say, the tongues of dying men,  
Enforce attention like deep harmony:  
Where words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain,  
For they breath truth that breath their words in pain:  
He that no more must say, is listened more  
Than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze▪  
More are men's ends marked than their lives before:  
The setting Sun, and Music at the close,  
As the last taste of sweets is sweetest last,  
Writ in remembrance more than things long passed,  
Though Richard my lives counsel would not hear,  
My deaths sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.  York 
No, it is stopped with other flattering sounds.  
As praises of whose taste the wise are found  
Lascivious meeter, to whose venom sound  
The open ear of youth doth always listen.  
Report of fashions in proud Italy,  
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation  
Limps after in base imitation:  
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity.  
So it be new, there's no respect how vile,  
That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?  
Then all too late comes Counsel to be heard,  
Where will doth mutiny with wits regard:  
Direct not him whose way himself will choose.  
'tis breath thou lackest and that breath wilt thou lose.  Gaunt 
Me thinks I am a prophet new inspired.  
And thus expiring do foretell of him,  
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last:  
For violent fires soon burn out themselves.  
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short:  
He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes  
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder,  
Light vanity insatiate cormorant,  
Consuming means soon prays upon itself:  
This royal throne of Kings, this sceptred Isle,  
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,  
This other Eden, demi Paradise,  
This fortress built by Nature for herself,  
Against infection and the hand of war.  
This happy breed of men, this little world,  
This precious stone set in the silver sea,  
Which serves it in the office of a wall,  
Or as moat defensive to a house,  
Against the envy of less happier lands.  
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,  
This nurse, this teeming womb of Royal Kings,  
Feared by their breed, and famous by their birth,  
Renowned for their deeds as far from home▪  
For christian service, and true chivalry,  
As is the sepulchre in stubborn jewry,  
Of the world's ransom blessed Mary's son:  
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,  
Dear for her reputation through the world,  
Is now leasde out; I die pronouncing it,  
Like to a tenement or pelting Farm.  
England bound in with the triumphant sea,  
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege  
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,  
With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds:  
That England that was wont to conquer others▪  
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself:  
Ah would the scandal vanish with my life,  
How happy then were my ensuing death?  York 
The King is come, deal mildly with his youth,  
For young hot colts being raged, do rage the more.  Enter king and Queen, etc. Queen 
How fares our noble uncle Lancaster?  King 
What comfort man? how ist with aged Gaunt?  Gaunt 
O how that name befits my composition!  
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old:  
Within me Grief hath kept a tedious fast.  
And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?  
For sleeping England long time have I watched,  
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt:  
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon  
Is my strict fast; I mean my children's looks,  
And therein fasting haste thou made me gaunt:  
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,  
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.  King 
Can sick men play so nicely with their names?  Gaunt 
No misery makes sport to mock itself,  
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me.  
I mock my name (great King) to flatter thee.  King 
Should dying men flatter with those that live?  Gaunt 
No no, men living flatter those that die.  King. 
Thou now a dying sayest thou flatterest me.  Gaunt. 
Oh no, thou diest, though I the sicker be.  King. 
I am in health, I breath, and see thee ill.  Gaunt. 
Now he that made me knows I see thee ill,  
Ill in myself to see, and in thee, seeing ill.  
Thy deathbed is no lesser than thy land,  
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick,  
And thou too careless patient as thou art  
Commitst thy anointed body to the cure  
Of those Physicians that first wounded thee,  
A thousand flatterers sit within thy Crown,  
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head,  
And yet enraged in so small a verge,  
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land:  
Oh had thy grandsire with a Prophet's eye,  
Seen how his sons son should destroy his sons.  
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame.  
Deposing thee before thou wert possessed,  
Which art possessed now to depose thyself:  
Why cousin wert thou regent of the world.  
It were a shame to let this land by lease:  
But for thy world enjoying but this land,  
Is it not more than shame to shame it so?  
Landlord of England art thou now, 〈◊〉 not King,  
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law,  
And thou  King. 
A lunatic lean-witted fool,  
Presuming on an agues privilege,  
Darest with thy frozen admonition  
Make pale our cheek, chase the royal blood  
With fury from his native residence.  
Now by my seats right royal majesty,  
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,  
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head,  
Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.  Gaunt 
Oh spare me not my brothers Edward's son,  
For that I was his father Edward's son,  
That blood already like the Pelican,  
Hast thou tapped out and drunkenly caroused,  
My brother Gloucester plain well meaning soul,  
Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls,  
May be a precedent and witness good:  
That thou respectst not spilling Edward's blood:  
join with the present sickness that I have,  
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,  
To crop at once a too long withered flower,  
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee,  
These words hereafter thy tormentors be,  
Convey me to my bed then to my grave,  
Love they to live that love and honour have.  Exit. King 
And let them die that age and sullens have,  
For both hast thou, and both become the grave.  York 
I do beseech your Majesty, impute his words  
To wayward sicklines and age in him,  
He loves you on my life, and holds you dear,  
As Harry Duke of Hereford were he here.  King 
Right, you say true, as Hereford's love, so his  
As theirs, so mine, and all be as it is.  North. 
My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty.  King 
What says he?  North. 
Nay nothing, all is said:  
His tongue is now a stringless instrument,  
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.  York 
Be York the next that must be bankrupt so▪  
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal wo.  King 
The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he.  
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be;  
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars,  
We must supplant those rough rugheaded kern,  
Which live like venom, where no venom else,  
But only they have privilege to live.  
And for these great affairs do ask some charge,  
Towards our assistance we do seize to us:  
The plate, coin, revenues, and movables  
Whereof our Uncle Gaunt did stand possessed.  York 
How long shall I be patiented? ah how long  
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?  
Not glocester's death, nor Hereford's banishment,  
Nor Gauntes rebukes, not England's private wrongs,  
Nor the prevention or poor Bulling brook,  
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,  
Have ever made me sour my patiented cheek,  
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereigns' face:  
I am the last of noble Edward's sons,  
Of whom thy father Prince of Wales was first  
In war was never Lion raged more fierce,  
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,  
Then was that young and princely Gentleman:  
His face thou hast, for even so looked he,  
Accomplished with a number of thy hours;  
But when he frowned it was against the french,  
And not against his friends: his noble hand  
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that  
Which his triumphant father's hand had won:  
His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,  
But bloody with the enemies of his kin:  
Oh Richard: York is too far gone with grief,  
Or else he never would compare between.  King 
Why Uncle what's the matter?  York 
Oh my liege, pardon me if you please,  
If not I pleased not to be pardoned, am content with all,  
Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands  
The royalties and rights of banished Hereford:  
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Here ford live?  
Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harrie true?  
Did not the one deserve to have an heir?  
Is not his heir a well deserving son?  
Take hereford's rights away, and take from time  
His charters▪ and his cust omarie rights;  
Let not to morrow then ensue to day:  
Be not thyself. For how art thou a King  
But by fair sequence and succession?  
Now afore God God forbid I say true,  
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,  
Call in the letters patents that he hath  
By his attourneys general to sue  
His livery, and deny his offered homage,  
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,  
You lose a thousand well disposed hearts,  
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts.  
Which honour, and allegiance cannot think.  King 
Think what you will, we cease into our hands  
His plate, his goods, his money and his lands.  York 
I'll not be by the while, my liege farewell,  
What will ensue hereof there's none can tell:  
But by bad courses may be understood  
That their events can never fall out good.  Exit. King 
Go Bushie to the Earl of Wiltshire strait.  
Bid him repair to us to Ely house,  
To see this business: to morrow next  
We will for Ireland, and 'tis time I trow,  
And we create in absence of ourself,  
Our Uncle York Lord governor of England;  
For he is just, and always loved us well:  
Come on our Queen, to morrow must we part,  
Be merry, for our time of stay is short.  Exeunt King and Queen: Manet North. North. 
Well Lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.  Rosse 
And living to, for now his son is Duke.  Will. 
Barely in title, not in revenues.  North. 
Richly in both if justice had her right.  Rosse 
My heart is great, but it must break with silence,  
Eart be disburdened with a liberal tongue.  North. 
Nay speak thy mind, & let him near speak more  
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm.  Wil 
Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Herford  
If it be so, out with it boldly man.  
quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.  Rosse 
No good at all that I can do for him,  
unless you call it good to pity him,  
Bereft, and gelded of his patrimony.  North. 
Now afore God 'tis shame such wrongs are borne,  
In him a royal Prince and many more,  
Of noble blood in this declining land,  
The King is not himself, but basely led  
By flatterers, and what they will inform,  
Merely in hate 'gainst any of us all,  
That will the King severely prosecute,  
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.  Rosse 
The commons hath he piled with grievous taxes,  
And quite lost their hearts▪ The nobles hath he find,  
For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts.  Willo. 
And daily new exactions are devised,  
As blanks, benevolences, and I wots not what:  
But what a God's name doth become of this?  North. 
Wars hath not wasted it, for warred he hath not,  
But basely yielded upon compromise,  
That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows,  
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.  Rosse 
The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.  Will. 
The King grown bankrupt like a broken man.  North. 
Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.  Rosse 
He hath not money for these Irish wars,  
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,  
But by the robbing of the banished Duke.  North. 
His noble kinsman most degenerate King,  
But Lords we hear this fearful tempest sing,  
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm:  
We see the wind sit sore upon our fails.  
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.  Rosse 
We see the very wrack that we must suffer,  
And unavoided is the danger now  
For suffering so the causes of our wrack.  North. 
Not so, even through the hollow eyes of death,  
I spy life peering but I dare not say,  
How near the tidings of our comfort is.  Wil 
Nay let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours.  Rosse 
Be confident to speak Northumberland  
We three are but thyself, and speaking so  
Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold.  North. 
Then thus, I have from le Port Blan  
A Bay in Britain received intelligence,  
That Harry duke of Herford, Rainold L. Cobham  
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter  
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,  
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir john Ramston,  
Sir john Norbery, sir Robert Warerton, and Francis coins;  
All these well furnished by the Duke of Britain  
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,  
Are making hither with all due expedience,  
And shortly mean to touch our Northern shore:  
Perhaps they had ore this, but that they stay  
The first departing of the King for Ireland.  
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,  
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,  
Redeem from Broking pawn the blemished Crown,  
Wipe off the dust that hides our Sceptres guilt,  
And make high Majesty look like itself,  
Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh:  
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,  
Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.  Rosse 
To horse, to horse, urge doubts to them that fear.  Willo. 
Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.  Exeunt. Enter the Queen, Bushie, Bagot. Bush. 
Madam, your majesty is too much sad,  
You promised, when you parted with the King,  
To lay aside life-harming heaviness,  
And entertain a cheerful disposition.  Queen 
To please the king I did, to please myself  
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause  
Why I should welcome such a guest as Grief,  
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest,  
As my sweet Richard: yet again me thinks  
Some unborn sorrow ripe in Fortune's womb.  
Is coming towards me and my inward soul,  
With nothing trembles, at something it grieves,  
More than with parting from my Lord the King.  Bushie 
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows.  
Which shows like grief itself, but is not so:  
For sorrows eyes glazed with blinding tears,  
Divides one thing entire to many objects,  
Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon  
Show nothing but confusion; eyed awry,  
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,  
Looking awry upon your Lord's departure,  
Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail,  
Which looked on as it is, is nought but shadows  
Of what it is not; then thrice (gracious Queen)  
More than your Lord's departure weep not, more is not seen  
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrows eye,  
Which for things true, weeps things imaginary.  Queen 
It may be so; but yet my inward soul  
Persuades me it is otherwise: how ere it be,  
I cannot but be sad: so heavy sad,  
As thought on thinking on no thought I think,  
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.  Bush. 
'tis nothing but conceit my gracious Lady.  Queen 
'tis nothing less: conceit is still derived,  
From some forefather grief, mine is not so,  
For nothing hath begot my something grief,  
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve,  
'tis in reversion that I do possess,  
But what it is that is not yet known what,  
I cannot name, 'tis nameless woe I wots.  Greene. 
God save your majesty, and well met Gentlemen,  
I hope the King is not yet shipped for Ireland.  Queen 
Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is,  
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope:  
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipped?  Greene. 
That he our hope might have retired his power,  
And driven into despair an enemies hope,  
Who strongly hath set footing in this land,  
The banished Bullingbrooke repeals himself,  
And with uplifted arms is safe arrived at Ravenspurgh.  Queen 
Now God in heaven forbidden.  Greene. 
Ah Madam! 'tis too true, and that is worse:  
The lord Northumberland, his son young H. Percy,  
The lords of Rosse, Beaumond, and Willoughby,  
With all their powerful friends are fled to him.  Bush. 
Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland  
And all the rest revolted faction, traitors?  Greene. 
We have, whereupon the earl of Worcester  
Hath broken his Staff, resigned his Stewardship,  
And all the household servants fled with him to Bullingbrook  Queen 
So green, thou art the midwife to my woe,  
And Bullingbrooke my sorrows dismal heir,  
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,  
And I a gasping new delivered mother,  
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined  Bushie 
Despair not Madam.  Queen 
Who shall hinder me?  
I will despair and be at enmity  
With cozening Hope, he is a flatterer,  
A parasite, a keeper back of Death,  
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,  
Which false Hope lingers in extremity.  Greene. 
Here comes the Duke of York.  Queen 
With signs of war about his aged neck,  
Oh full of careful business are his looks!  
Uncle, for God's sake speak comfortable words.  York 
Should I do so I should belly my thoughts,  
Comfort's in heaven, and we are on the earth,  
Where nothing lives but closes, cares and grief:  
Your husband, he is gone to save far off,  
Whilst others come to make him lose at home:  
Hear am I left to underprop his land,  
Who weak with age cannot support myself,  
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made,  
Now shall he try his friends that flattered him.  Servingman 
My Lord, your son was gone before I came.  York 
He was; why so go all which way it will:  
The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold,  
And will (I fear) revolt on Hereford's side.  
sirrah, get thee to Plashie to my sister Gloucester,  
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound,  
Hold take my ring.  Servingman 
My Lord, I had forgot to tell your Lordship:  
To day as I came by I called there,  
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.  York 
What is't knave?  Servingman 
An hour before I came the Duchess died.  York 
God for his mercy, what a tide of woes  
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!  
I know not what to do: I would to God,  
(So my untruth had not provoked him to it)  
The King had cut off my head with my brothers.  
What are there no Posts dispatched for Ireland?  
How shall we do for money for these wars?  
Come sister, cousin I would say, pray pardon me:  
Go fellow get thee home, provide some carts,  
And bring away the armour that is there.  
Gentlemen, will you go muster men?  
If I know how or which way to order these affairs  
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,  
Never believe me: both are my kinsmen.  
T'one is my sovereign, whom both my oath  
And duty bids defend; other again  
Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged,  
Whom conscience, and my kindred bids to right.  
Well somewhat we must do: Come cousin,  
I'll dispose of you: Gentlemen, go muster up your men,  
And meet me presently at Barkly:  
I should to Plashie too, but time will not permit:  
All is uneven, and every thing is left at six and seven.  Exeunt Duke▪ Qu. man▪ Bush. Green, Bush. 
The wind sits fair for news to go for Ireland.  
But none returns. For us to levy power  
Proportionable to the enemy is all unpossible.  Gree. 
Besides our nearness to the King in love,  
Is near the hate of those love not the King.  Bag. 
And that is the wavering commons, for their love  
Lies in their purses, and who so empties them,  
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.  Bush. 
Wherein the King stands generally condemned.  Bag. 
If judgement lie in them, than so do we,  
Because we ever have been near the King.  Gree. 
Well I will for refuge strait to Brist, Castle,  
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.  Bush. 
Thither will I with you, for little office  
Will the hateful commons perform for us.  
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces:  
Will you go along with us?  Bag. 
No, I will to Ireland to his Majesty,  
Farewell if hearts presages be not vain,  
We three here part that near shall meet again.  Bush. 
That's as York thrives to beat back Bullingbrook.  Gree. 
Alas poor Duke the task he undertakes,  
Is numbering sands, and drinking Ocean's dry,  
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly:  
Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.  Bush. 
Well, we may meet again.  Bag. 
I fear me never.  Enter Hereford, Northumberland. Bull. 
How far is it my Lord to Barckly now?  North. 
Believe me noble Lord,  
I am a stranger here in Glocestershire,  
These high wild hills and rough uneven ways,  
Draws out our miles and makes them wearisome,  
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,  
Making the hard way sweet and delectable,  
But I bethink me what a weary way  
From Ravenspurgh to Cotsall will be found,  
In Rosse and Willoughby wanting your company,  
Which I protest hath very much beguiled,  
The tediousness and process of my travel:  
But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have  
The present benefit which I possess.  
And hope to joy is little less in joy,  
Then hope enjoyed: by this the weary Lords  
Shall make their way seem short as mine hath done,  
By sight of what I have, your noble company.  Bull. 
Of much less value is my company,  
Then your good words. But who comes here?  Enter Harry Persie. North. 
It is my son young Harry Persy,  
Sent from my brother Worcester whence soever.  
Harry, how fares your uncle?  H. Per. 
I had thought my Lord to have learned his health of you.  North. 
Why is he not with the Queen?  H. Per. 
No my good Lord, he hath forsook the court.  
Broken his staff of office and dispersed  
The household of the King.  North. 
What was his reason, he was not so resolved,  
When last we spoke together?  H. Per. 
Because your Lo: was proclaimed traitor,  
But he my Lo: is gone to Ravenspurgh,  
To offer service to the Duke of Hereford,  
And sent me over by Barckly to discover,  
What power the Duke of York had levied there,  
Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.  North. 
Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford's boy?  H. Per. 
No my good Lo: for that is not forgot,  
Which near I did remember, to my knowledge  
I never in my life did look on him.  North. 
Then learn to know him now, this is the Duke.  H. Per. 
My gracious Lo: I tender you my service,  
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,  
Which elder days shall ripen and confirm  
To more approved service and desert.  Bull. 
I thank thee gentle Persy, and be sure.  
I count myself in nothing else so happy,  
As in a soul remembering my good friends▪  
And as my fortune ripens with thy love,  
It shallbe still thy true loves recompense,  
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.  North. 
How far is it to Barckly, and what stur  
Keeps good old York there with his men of war?  H. Per. 
There stands the Castle by yond tuft of trees,  
Manned with 300. men as I have heard,  
And in it are the Lords of York Barkly and Seymer,  
None else of name and noble estimate.  North. 
Here come the Lords of Rosse and Willoughby▪  
Bloody with spurring, fiery red with haste.  Bull. 
Welcome my Lords, I wots your love pursues,  
A banished traitor: all my treasury  
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enriched▪  
Shallbe your love and labours recompense.  Rosse 
Your presence makes us rich, most noble Lord.  Wil 
And far surmounts our labour to attain it.  Bul. 
Evermore thanke's the exchequer of the poor.  
Which till my infant fortune comes to years,  
Stands for my bounty: but who comes here?  North. 
It is my Lord of Barkly as I guess.  Barkly 
My Lord of Hereford my message is to you▪  Bul. 
My Lord my answer is to Lancaster,  
And I am come to seek that name in England,  
And I must find that title in your tongue,  
Before I make reply to aught you say.  Bar. 
Mistake me not my Lord, 'tis not my meaning,  
To raze one title of your honour out:  
To you my Lo: I come, what Lo: you will,  
From the most gracious regent of this land  
The Duke of York: to know what pricks you on,  
To take advantage of the absent time,  
And fright out native peace with selfeborne arms?  Bull. 
I shall not need transport my words by you,  
Here comes his grace in person, my noble Uncle.  York 
Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,  
Whose duty is deceivable and false.  Bull. 
My gracious Uncle.  Yor. 
Tut tut, grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle,  
I am no traitors Uncle, and that word Grace  
In an ungracious mouth is but profane:  
Why have those banished and forbidden legs,  
Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground:  
Put then more why? why have they dared to march  
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,  
Frighting her pale faced villadges with war,  
And ostentation of despised arms?  
comest thou because the anointed king is hence?  
Why foolish boy the King is left behind,  
And in my loyal bosom lies his power,  
Were I but now Lord of such hot youth,  
As when brave Gaunt thy father and myself▪  
Rescued the black prince that young Mars of men▪  
From forth the ranks of many thousand french,  
O then how quickly should this arm of mine,  
Now prisoner to the Palsy chastise thee,  
And minister correction to thy fault!  Bull. 
My gracious Uncle let me know my fault,  
On what condition stands it and wherein?  York 
Even in condition of the worst degree,  
In gross rebellion and detested treason,  
Thou art a banished man and here art come,  
Before the expiration of thy time,  
In braving arms against thy sovereign.  Bull. 
As I was banished, I was banished Hereford,  
But as I come, I come for Lancaster.  
And noble uncle I beseech your grace,  
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:  
You are my father, for me thinks in you  
I see old Gaunt alive. Oh than my father,  
Will you permit that I shall stand condemned  
A wandering vagabond, my rights and royalties  
Plucked from my arms perforce; and given away  
To upstart unthrifts? wherefore was I borne?  
If that my cousin King be King in England,  
It must be granted I am duke of Lancaster:  
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin,  
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,  
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,  
To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.  
I am denied to sue my Livery here,  
And yet my letters patents give me leave.  
My father's goods are all distrained and sold,  
And these, and all, are all amiss employed.  
What would you have me do? I am a subject▪  
And I challenge law, Attorneys are denied me,  
And therefore personally I lay my claim  
To my inheritance of free descent.  North. 
The noble Duke hath been too much abused.  Rosse 
It stands your Grace upon to do him right.  Willo. 
Base men by his endowments are made great.  York 
My Lords of England, let me tell you this:  
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs,  
And laboured all I could to do him right:  
But in this kind to come, in braving arms  
Be his own carver, and cut out his way,  
To find out right with wrong it may not be:  
And you that do abet him in this kind,  
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.  North. 
The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is,  
But for his own; and for the right of that,  
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid:  
And let him never see joy that breaks that oath.  York 
Well well▪ I see the issue of these arms,  
I cannot mend it I must needs confess,  
Because my power is weak and all ill left:  
But if I could, by him that gave me life,  
I would attach you all, and make you stoop  
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;  
But since I cannot, be it known unto you,  
I do remain as neuter, so far you well,  
Unless you please to enter in the castle,  
And there repose you for this night.  Bull. 
An offer uncle that we will accept,  
But we must win your Grace to go with us,  
To Bristol castle, which they say is held  
By Bushie, Bagot, and their complices▪  
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,  
Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.  York 
It may be I will go with you, but yet I'll pause,  
For I am loath to break our country's laws▪  
Nor friends, nor foes to me welcome you are:  
Things past redress, are now with me past care.  Exeunt. Enter earl of Salisbury and a Welsh captain. Welch. 
My lord of Salisbury, we have stayed ten days.  
And hardly kept our countrymen together,  
And yet we hear no tidings from the King,  
Therefore we will disperse ourselves, farewell.  Salis. 
Stay yet an other day, thou trusty Welshman,  
The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.  Welch. 
'tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay,  
The bay trees in our country are all withered,  
And Meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven,  
The pale-facde moon looks bloody on the earth,  
And leane-lookt prophets whisper fearful change,  
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,  
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,  
The other to enjoy by rage and war:  
These signs forerun the death or fall of Kings.  
Farewell, our countrymen be gone and fled▪  
As well assured Richard their King is dead.  Salis. 
Ah Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind  
I see thy glory like a shooting star  
Fall to the base earth from the firmament,  
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,  
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest,  
Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,  
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.  Enter Duke of Hereford, York, Northumberland, Bushy and Green prisoners. Bull. 
Bring forth these men.  
Bushy and green, I will not vex your souls,  
Since presently your souls must part your bodies  
With too much urging your pernicious lives,  
For 'twere no charity; yet to wash your blood  
From off my hands, here in the view of men  
I will unfold some causes of your deaths:  
You have misled a Prince, a royal King,  
A happy Gentleman in blood and lineaments,  
By you unhappied, and disfigured clean,  
You have in manner with your sinful hours  
Made a divorce betwixt his Queen and him,  
Broke the possession of a royal bed,  
And stained the beauty of a fair Queen's cheeks  
With tears, drawn from her eyes by your fowl wrongs,  
Myself a Prince, by fortune of my birth,  
near to the King in blood, and near in love,  
Till you did make him misinterpret me,  
Have stooped my neck under your injuries,  
And sighed my English breath In foreign clouds,  
Eating the bitter bread of banishment,  
Whilst you have fed upon my signories▪  
Disparkt my parks, and felled my forest woods,  
From my own windows torn my household coat,  
raced out my impress, leaving me no sign,  
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,  
To show the world I am a gentleman.  
This and much more, much more than twice all this  
Condemns you to the death: see them delivered over  
To execution and the hand of death.  Bush. 
More welcome is the stroke of death to me.  
Than Bullingbrooke to England, Lords farewell.  Greene. 
My comfort is, that heaven will take our souls,  
And plague injustice with the pains of hell.  Bul. 
My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatched:  
Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house,  
For God's sake fairly let her be entreated,  
Tell her I send to her my kind commends;  
Take special care my greetings be delivered▪  York 
A gentleman of mine I have dispatched,  
With letters of your love to her at large.  Bul. 
Thanks (gentle uncle:) Come Lords, away,  
To fight with Glendor and his complices,  
A while to work, and after holiday.  Exeunt. Enter the King▪ Aumerle, Carlisle, etc. King 
Barkloughly castle call they this at hand?  Aum. 
Yea my Lord, How brooks your Grace the air▪  
After your late tossing on the breaking seas?  King 
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 hooves:  
As a long parted mother with her child  
Plays fond with her tears and smiles in meeting;  
So weeping, smiling greet I thee my earth,  
And do thee favours with my royal hands;  
Feed not thy Sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,  
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense,  
But let thy Spiders that suck up thy venom,  
And heavy-gated 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▪ sovereigns 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 rebellions arms.  Carl. 
Fear not my Lord, that power that made you king▪  
Hath power to keep you king in spite of all,  
The means that heavens yield must be embraced  
And not neglected. Else heaven would,  
And we will not, heavens offer, we refuse,  
The proffered means of succours and redress.  Aum. 
He means my Lo: that we are too remiss,  
Whilst Bulling brook through our security,  
Grows strong and great in substance and in power.  King 
Uncomfortable Cousin know'st thou not,  
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,  
Behind the globe that lights the lower world,  
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,  
In murders and in outrage bouldy 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 plucked from off their backs,  
Stand bare and naked trembling at themselves?  
So when this thief, this traitor Bulling brook,  
Who all this while hath reveld in the night,  
Whilst we were wandering 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 off from an anointed King,  
The breath of worldly men cannot depose,  
The deputy elected by the Lord,  
For every man that Bullingbrooke hath priest,  
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,  
God for his Ric: hath in heavenly pay,  
A glorious Angel; then if Angel's fight,  
Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.  Enter Salisb. King 
Welcome my Lo: how far off lies your power?  Salis. 
Nor near nor farther off my gracious Lo:  
Than this weak 〈…〉  
And bids me speak of nothing but despair,  
One day too late I fear me noble Lo.▪  
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth:  
O call 〈…〉  
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fight men,  
To day to day unhappy day too late,  
Overthrows thy joys friends, fortune and thy state▪  
For all the Welshmen hearing thou wert dead,  
Are gone to Bullingbrooke dispersed and fled.  Aum. 
Comfort my liege, why looks your grace so pale.  King 
But now the blood of 20000. men,  
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled:  
And till so much blood thither come again,  
Have I not reason to look pale and dead?  
All souls that will be safe, fly from my side,  
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.  Aum. 
Comfort my liege remember who you are.  King 
I had forgot my self, am I not King?  
Awake thou coward Majesty thou sleepest.  
Is not the King's name twenty thousand names?  
Arm arm, my name a puny subiect-strikes,  
At thy great glory, look not to the ground,  
Ye favourites of a King, are we not high?  
High be our thoughts, I know my Uncle York,  
Hath power enough to serve our turn: but who comes here?  Enter Scroop. Scro. 
More health and happiness betide my liege,  
Then can my care tuned tongue deliver him.  King 
Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared,  
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold,  
Say, is my kingdom lost? why 'twas my care,  
And what! loss is it to be rid of care?  
Strives Bullingbrooke to be as great as we,  
Greater he shall not be, if he serve God,  
we'll serve him to, and be his fellow so:  
Revolt our subjects, that we cannot mend,  
They break their faith to God as well as us:  
Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay,  
The worst is death, and death will have his day,  Scro. 
Glad am I, that your highness is so armed,  
To bear the tidings of calamity,  
Like an unseasonable stormy day,  
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,  
As if the world were all dissolved to tears:  
So high above his limits swells the rage  
Of Bullingbrooke covering your fearful land,  
With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel,  
White beards have armed their thin and haireles scalps  
Against thy majesty: boys with women's voices,  
Strive to speak big and clap their female joints,  
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown,  
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows,  
Of double fatal ewe 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.  King 
Too well too well thou tellest a tale so ill,  
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?  
What is become of Bushie? 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 Bulling.  Scro. 
Peace have they made with him indeed my Lord.  King 
Oh villains, vipers, damned without redemption,  
Dogs easily won to fawn on any man.  
Snakes in my heart blood warmed, that sting my heart,  
Three judasses, each one thrice worse than judas,  
Would they make peace? terrible hell,  
Make war upon their spotted souls for this.  Scro. 
Sweet love I see changing his property,  
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate,  
Again, uncurse their souls, their peace is made  
With heads and not with hands, those whom you curse  
Have felt the worst of deaths destroying wound,  
And lie full low graved in the hollow ground.  Aum. 
Is Bushie, Greene, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead.  Scro. 
I all of them at Bristol lost their heads.  Aum. 
Where is the Duke my father with his power▪  King 
No matter where, of comfort no man speak:  
Letlet talk of graves, of worms, and Epitaphs▪  
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes,  
Writ sorrow on the bosom of the earth.  
Let's choose executors and talk of wills:  
And yet not so▪ for what can we bequeath,  
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?  
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bullingbrook's.  
And nothing can we call our own, but death:  
And that small model of the barren earth,  
Which serves as passed, and cover to our bones,  
For God's sake let us fit upon the ground,  
And tell sad stories of the death of Kings,  
How some have been deposed, some slain in war,  
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,  
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed▪  
All murdered, for within the hollow crown  
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,  
Keeps death his court, and there the antic sits,  
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,  
Allowing him a breathe, a little scene,  
To monarchise be feared, and kill with looks,  
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,  
As if this flesh which walls about our life,  
Were brass impregnable: and humoured thus,  
Comes at the last, and with a little pin  
Boars through his Castle wall, and farewell King;  
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood,  
With solemn reverence, throw a way respect,  
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,  
For you have but mistook me all this while:  
I live with bread like you, feel want,  
Taste grief, need friends, subjecteth thus,  
How can you say to me, I am a King?  Carlisle 
My lord, wisemen near fit and wail their woes,  
But presently prevent the ways to wail,  
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,  
Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe,  
And so your follies fight against yourself:  
Fear and be slain, no worse can come to fight,  
And fight and die, is death destroying death,  
Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath.  Aum. 
My father hath a power, inquire of him,  
And learn to make a body of a limb.  King 
Thou chidst me well, proud Bullingbrooke, I come  
To change blows with thee for our day of doom:  
This ague fit of fear is overblown,  
An easy task it is to win our own.  
Say Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?  
Speak sweetly man although thy looks be sour.  Scroop 
Men judge by the complexion of the sky,  
The state and inclination of the day;  
So may you by my dull and heavy eye:  
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say,  
I play the torturer by small and small  
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:  
Your uncle York is joined with Bullingbrooke,  
And all your Northern castles yielded up,  
And all your Southern Gentlemen in arms  
Upon his party.  King 
Thou hast said enough:  
Beshrew thee cozen which didst lead me forth.  
Of that sweet way I was in to despair▪  
What say you now? what comfort have we now?  
By heaven I'll hate him everlastingly;  
That bids me be of comfort any more.  
Go to Flint Castle, there I'll pine away,  
A King woes slave shall kingly woe obey:  
That power I have, discharge, and let them go  
To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,  
For I have none, let no man speak again,  
To alter this, for counsel is but vain.  Aum. 
My Liege, one word.  King 
He does me double wrong,  
That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.  
Discharge my followers, let them hence away,  
From Richard's night, to Bullingbrook's fair day.  Enter Bull. York, North. Bull. 
So that by this intelligence we learn  
The Welsh men are dispersed, and Salisbury  
Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed  
With some few private friends upon this coast.  North. 
The news is very fair and good my lord▪  
Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.  York 
It would beseem the Lord Northumberland  
To say King Richard; alack the heavy day,  
When such a sacred King should hide his head.  North. 
Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief  
Left I his title out.  York 
The time hath been, would you have been so brief with him,  
He would have been so brief to shorten you,  
For taking so the head. your whole heads length:  Bull. 
Mistake not (uncle) further than you should.  York 
Take not (good cousin) further than you should,  
Lest you mistake the heavens are over our heads.  Bull. 
I know it uncle, and oppose not myself.  
Against their will. But, who comes here?  Enter Percy. 
Welcome Harry; what, will not this castle yield?  H. Per. 
The Castle royally is manned my Lord.  
Against thy entrance.  Bull. 
Royally, why it contains no King.  H. Per. 
Yes (my good Lord,)  
It doth contain a King, King Richard lies  
Within the limits of yond lime and stone,  
And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,  
Sir Stephen scroop, besides a clergy man  
Of holy reverence, who I cannot learn.  North. 
Oh belike it is the bishop of Carlisle.  Bull. 
Noble Lords,  
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient Castle,  
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley  
Into his ruined ears, and thus deliver.  
H. Bull. on both his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand,  
And sends allegiance and true faith of heart  
To his most royal person: hither come  
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power:  
Provided, that my banishment repealed,  
And lands restored again be freely granted;  
If not, I'll use the advantage of my power,  
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood,  
Rained from the wounds of slaughtered English men,  
The which, how far off from the mind of Bulling.  
It is, such crimson tempest should be drench  
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land:  
My stooping duty tenderly shall show:  
Go signify as much while here we march  
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain;  
Let's march without the noise of threatening drum,  
That from this Castles tottered battlements  
Our fair appointments may be well perused.  
Me thinks King Richard and myself should meet  
With no less terror than the elements  
Of fire and water, when their thundering shock  
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.  
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water;  
The rage be his, whilst on the earth I reign.  
My water's on the earth, and not on him.  
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks,  The trumpets sound, Richard appeareth on the walls. Bull. 
See see King Richard doth himself appear.  
As doth the blushing discontented Sun,  
From out the fiery portal of the East,  
When he perceives the envious clouds are bend  
To dim his glory, and to stain the track  
Of his bright passage to the Occident.  York 
Yet looks he like a King, behold his eye.  
As bright as is the Eagles, lightens forth  
Controlling majesty; alack alack for woe,  
That any harm should stain so fair a show.  King 
We are amazed, and thus long have we stood,  
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,  
Because we thought our self thy lawful King:  
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget  
To pay their awful duty to our presence?  
If we be not, show us the hand of God  
That hath dismissed us from our Stewardship;  
For well we know no hand of blood and bone  
Can gripe the sacred handle of our Sceptre▪  
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp,  
And though you think that all as you have done  
Have torn their souls, by turning them from us.  
And we are barren and bereavest of friends:  
Yet know, my master God omnipotent.  
Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf,  
Armies of pestilence, and they shall strike  
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot,  
That lift your vassal hands against my head,  
And threat the glory of my precious crown.  
Tell Bullingbrooke, for yond me thinks he stands,  
That every stride he makes upon my land,  
Is dangerous treason: he is come to open  
The purple testament of bleeding war:  
But ere the crown he looks for, live in peace,  
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mother's sons,  
Shall ill become the flower of England's face,  
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace,  
To scarlet indignation and bedew  
Her pastors grass with faithful English blood.  North. 
The King of heaven forbidden: our Lo: the king  
Should so with civil and uncivil arms,  
be rushed upon. Thy thrice noble cozen,  
Harry Bullingbrooke doth humbly kiss thy hand,  
And by the honourable tomb he swears,  
That stands upon your royal grandsires bones,  
And by the royalties of both your bloods,  
Currents that spring from one most gracious head,  
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,  
And by the worth and honour of himself,  
Comprising all that may be sworn or said.  
His coming hither hath no further scope,  
Then for his lineal royalties, and to beg  
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees,  
Which on thy royal party granted once,  
His glittering arms he will commend to rust,  
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart  
To faithful service of your Majesty.  
This swears he, as he is princess just,  
And as I am a gentleman I credit him.  King 
Northumberland, say thus, the King returns,  
His noble cozen is right welcome hither,  
And all the number of his fair demands,  
Shall be accomplished without contradiction,  
With all the gracious utterance thou hast,  
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.  King 
We do debase ourselves, cozen do we not,  
To look so poorly, and to speak so fair?  
Shall we call back Northumberland and send  
Defiance to the traitor and so die?  Aum. 
No good my Lo: let's fight with gentle words,  
Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful sword's  King 
Oh God oh God that ere this tongue of mine  
That laid the sentence of dread banishment  
On yond proud man should take it off again  
With words of sooth! Oh that I were as great  
As is my grief, or lesser than my name!  
Or that I could forget what I have been!  
Or not remember what I must be now!  
Swellst thou (proud heart) I'll give thee scope to beat,  
Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.  Aum. 
Northumberland comes back from Bullingbrooke  King 
What must the King do now? must he submit?  
The King shall do it: must he be deposed?  
The king shall be contented: must he lose  
The name of King? a God's name let it go:  
I'll give my jewels for a set of Beads:  
My gorgeous palace for a hermitage:  
My gay apparel for an almesmans' gown:  
My figured goblets for a dish of wood:  
My sceptre for a Palmer's walking staff:  
My subjects for a pair of carved Saints,  
And my large kingdom for a little grave,  
A little little grave, an obscure grave,  
Or I'll be buried in the King's high way,  
Some way of common trade, where subjects feet  
May hourly trample on their sovereigns' head;  
For on my heart they tread now whilst I live:  
And buried once, why not upon my head?  
Aumerle thou weepst (my tenderhearted cousin)  
we'll make fowl weather with despised tears;  
Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn,  
And make a dearth in this revolting land:  
Or shall we play the wantoness with our woes,  
And make some pretty match with shedding tears,  
As thus to drop them still upon one place,  
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves  
Within the earth, and therein laid; there lies  
Two kinsmen digged their graves with weeping eyes▪  
Would not this ill do well? well well I see,  
I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.  
Most mighty Prince my Lord Northumberland,  
What says king Bullingbroke, will his majesty  
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die,  
You make a leg and Bullingbroke says I.  North. 
My Lord, in the base court he doth attend,  
To speak with you, may it please you to come down.  King. 
Down, down I come, like glistering Phaeton:  
Wanting the manage of unruly jades.  
In the base court, base court where Kings grow base,  
To come at traitors calls, and do them grace,  
In the base court come down: down court, down King,  
For nightowles' shriek where mounting larks should sing.  Bull. 
What says his majesty?  North. 
Sorrow and grief of heart,  
Makes him speak fond like a frantic man,  
Yet he is come.  Bull. 
Stand all apart,  
And show fair duty to his Majesty:  (he kneels down. 
My gracious Lord.  King. 
fair cousin, you debase your princely knee,  
To make the base earth proud with kissing it:  
Me rather had my heart might feel your love,  
Then my unpleased eye see your courtesy:  
Up cousin up, your heart is up I know,  
Thus high at least, although your knee be low.  Bull. 
My gracious Lord, I come but for mine own▪  King. 
Your own is yours, and I am yours and all.  Bull. 
So far be mine my most redoubted Lord,  
As my true service shall deserve your love.  King. 
Well you deserve: they well deserve to have,  
That know the strongest and surest way to get▪  
Uncle give me your hands, nay dry your eyes,  
Tears show their love, but want their remedies.  
Cousin I am to young to be your Father▪  
Though you are old enough to be my heir,  
What you will have, I'll give, and willing to,  
For do we must, what force will have us do:  
Set on towards London, cozen is it so?  Bul. 
Yea my good Lord:  King. 
Then I must not say no.  Enter the Queen with her attendants Quee. 
What sport shall we devise here in this garden,  
To drive away the heavy thought of care?  Lady 
Madam we'll play at bowls.  Quee. 
'twil make me think the world is full of rubs,  
And that my fortune runs against the bias.  Lady 
Madam we'll dance.  Quee. 
My legs can keep no measure in delight,  
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:  
therefore no dancing girl, some other sport.  Lady 
Madam we'll tell tales.  Quee. 
Of sorrow or of grief.  Lady 
Of either Madam.  Quee. 
Of neither girl:  
For if of joy, being altogether wanting,  
It doth remember me the more of sorrow:  
Or if of grief, being altogether had,  
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy:  
For what I have I need not to repeat,  
And what I want it boots not to complain.  Lady 
Madam I'll sing.  Quee. 
'tis well that thou hast cause,  
But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep.  Lady 
I could weep; Madam would it do you good?  Quee. 
And I could sing would weeping do me good,  
And never borrow any tear of thee.  Enter Gardeners. 
But stay, here come the gardeners,  
Let's step into the shadow of these trees,  
My wretchedness unto a row of pines,  
They will talk of state for every one doth so,  
Against a change woe is forerun with woe.  Gard. 
Go bind thou up young dangling Aphricokes,  
Which like unruly children make their sire,  
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight,  
Give some supportance to the bending twigs,  
Go thou, and like an executioner  
Cut off the heads of two fast growing sprays,  
That look too lofty in our commonwealth,  
All must be even in our government.  
You thus employed, I will go root away  
The noisome weeds which without profit suck  
The soils fertility from wholesome flowers.  Man. 
Why should we in the compass of a pale,  
Keep law and form, and due proportion,  
Showing as in a model our firm estate,  
When our sea-walled garden the whole land  
Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,  
Her fruit trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined,  
Her knots disordered and her wholesome herbs  
Swarming with caterpillars.  Gard. 
Hold thy peace.  
He that hath suffered this disordered spring,  
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:  
The weeds which his broad spreading leaves did shelter,  
That seemed in eating him to hold him up,  
Are plucked up root and all by Bullingbrooke,  
I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushie, green,  Man. 
What are they dead?  Gard. 
They are.  
And Bullingbrooke hath ceased the wasteful king,  
Oh what pity is it that he had not so trimmeth,  
And dressed his land as we this garden at time of year  
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,  
Lest being over proud in sap and blood,  
With too much riches it confound itself  
Had he done so to great and growing men,  
They might have lived to bear▪ and he to taste  
Their fruits of duty: superfluous branches  
We lop away▪ that bearing boughs may live:  
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,  
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down▪  Man. 
What, think you the King shall be deposed?  Gard. 
Depressed he is already, and deposed  
'tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night  
To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's,  
That tell black tidings.  Queen 
Oh I am priest to death through want of speaking  
Thou old Adam's likeness set to dress this garden,  
How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?  
What Eve? what serpent hath suggested thee  
To make a second fall of cursed man?  
Why dost thou say king Richard is deposed?  
darest thou thou little better thing than earth  
Divine his down fall? say, where, when, and how,  
Canst thou by this ill tidings speak thou wretch?  Gard. 
Pardon me Madam, little joy have I  
To breath this news, yet what I say is true:  
King Richard he is in the mighty hold  
Of Bullingbrooke: their fortunes both are weighed  
In your Lo. scale is nothing but himself,  
And some few vanities that make him light:  
But in the balance of great Bullingbrooke,  
Besides himself are all the English peers,  
And with that odds he weighs King Richard down;  
Post you to London and you will find it so,  
I speak no more than every one doth know.  Queen 
Nimble Mischance that art so light of foot,  
Doth not thy embassage belong to me,  
And am I last that knows it? Oh thou thinkest  
To serve me last that I may longest keep  
Thy sorrow in my breast: come, Ladies go  
To meet at London London's king in woe:  
What, was I borne to this that my sad look  
Should grace the triumph of great Bullingbrooke?  
Gardner for telling me these news of woe,  
Pray God the plants thou graftst may never grow.  Exit Gard. 
Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse,  
I would my Skill were subject to thy curse:  
Here did she fall a tear, here in this place  
I'll set a bank of Rew sour herb of grace,  
Rew even for ruth here shortly shall be seen,  
In the remembrance of a weeping Queen.  Exeunt. Enter Bullingbrooke with the Lords to parliament. Bull. 
Call forth Bagot.  Enter Bagot. 
Now Bagot, freely speak thy mind,  
What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death,  
Who wrought it with the King, and who performed  
The bloody office of his timeless end.  Bagot 
Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.  Bull. 
Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.  Bagot 
My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue  
Scorns to unsay what once it hath delivered.  
In that dead time when glocester's death was plotted  
I heard you say, Is not my arm of length,  
That reacheth from the restful English court,  
As far as Calais to mine uncles head?  
Amongst much other talk that very time  
I heard you say▪ that you had rather refuse  
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns,  
Than Bullingbrook's return to England, adding withal,  
How blessed this land would be in this your cousin's death.  Aum. 
Princes and noble Lords,  
What answer shall I make to this base man?  
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars  
On equal terms to give them chastisement?  
Either I must, or have mine honour soiled  
With the attainder of his slanderous lips.  
There is my gage, the manual seal of death,  
That marks thee out for hell, I say thou liest,  
And will maintain what thou hast said is false  
In thy heart blood, though being all too base  
To stain the temper of my knightly sword.  Bull. 
Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up.  Aum. 
Excepting one, I would he were the best  
In all this presence that hath moved me so.  Fitz. 
If that thy valour stand on sympathy,  
There is my gage Aumerle, in gauge to thine;  
By that fair Sun which shows me where thou stand'st,  
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it,  
That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death,  
If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest,  
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,  
Where it was forged with my rapiers point.  Aum. 
Thou darest not (coward) live to see that day.  Fitz. 
Now by my soul, I would it were this hour.  Aum. 
Fitzwaters, thou art damned to hell for this.  L. Per. 
Aumerle, thou liest, his honour is as true  
In this appeal as thou art all unjust,  
And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,  
To prove it on thee to the extremest point  
Of mortal breathing, cease it if thou darest.  Aum. 
And if I do not, may my hands rot off,  
And never brandish more revengeful steel  
Over the glittering helmet of my foe.  Another L. 
I task the earth to the like (forsworn Aumerle)  
And spur thee on with full as many lies  
As it may be hollowed in thy treacherous ear  
From sin to sin: there is my honours pawn  
Engage it to the trial if thou darest.  Aum. 
Who sets me else? by heaven I'll throw at all,  
I have a thousand spirits in one breast,  
To answer twenty thousand such as you.  Sur. 
My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well  
The very time (Aumerle) and you did talk.  Fitz. 
'tis very true you were in presence then,  
And you can witness with me this is true.  Sur 
As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.  Fitz. 
Surrie thou liest.  Sur. 
Dishonourable boy, that lie shall lie so heavy on my sword,  
That it shall render vengeance and revenge,  
Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie do lie,  
In earth as quiet as thy father's skull.  
In proof whereof there is my honour's pawn,  
Engage it to the trial if thou darest.  Fitz. 
How fond dost thou spur a forward horse!  
If I dare eat, or drink, or breath, or live,  
I dare meet Surry in a wilderness,  
And spit upon him whilst I say, he lies,  
And lies, and lies: there is bond of faith,  
To tie thee to my strong correction:  
As I intend to thrive in this new world,  
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.  
Besides I heard the banished Norfolk say,  
That thou Aumerle didst send two of thy men,  
To execute the noble Duke at Calais.  Aum. 
Some honest Christian trust me with a gage,  
That Norfolk lies, here do I throw down this,  
If he may be repealed to try his honour.  Bull. 
These differences shall all rest under gage,  
Till Norfolk be repealed, repealed he shallbe,  
And though mine enemy, restored again  
To all his lands and signiories: when he is returned.  
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.  Carl. 
That honourable day shall never be seen,  
Many a time hath banished Norfolk fought,  
For jesus Christ in glorious Christian field,  
Streaming the ensign of the Christian Cross,  
Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens,  
And toiled with works of war, retired himself  
To Italy, and there at Venice gave  
His body to that pleasant Country's earth,  
And his pure soul unto his Captain Christ,  
Under whose colours he had fought so long.  Bull. 
Why B. is Norfolk dead?  Carl. 
As surely as I live my Lord.  Bull. 
Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom,  
Of good old Abraham: Lords Appellants▪  
Your differences shall all rest under gage.  
Till we assign you to your days of trial.  Enter York York 
Great Duke of Lancaster I come to thee;  
From plume-pluckt Richard, who with willing soul,  
Adopts the heir, and his high sceptre yields,  
To the possession of thy royal hand:  
Ascend his throne, descending now from him,  
And long live Henry fourth of that name.  Bull. 
In God's name I'll ascend the regal throne.  Car. 
Mary God forbid.  
Worst in this Royal presence may I speak.  
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth,  
Would God that any in this noble presence,  
Were enough noble to be upright judge  
Of noble Richard. Then true noblesse would  
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong,  
What subject can give sentence on his King:  
And who sits here that is not Richard's subject?  
thieves are not judged but they are by to hear,  
Although apparent guilt be seen in them,  
And shall the figure of God's Majesty,  
His Captain, steward, deputy, elect,  
Anointed, crowned, planted, many years  
Be judged by subject and inferior breath,  
And he himself not present? Oh forfend it God,  
That in a Christian climate souls refined,  
Should show so heinous black obsceene a deed  
I speak to subjects and a subject speaks,  
Stirred up by God thus boldly, for his King,  
My Lord of Hereford here whom you call King,  
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's King,  
And if you crown him let me prophesy,  
The blood of English shall manure the ground,  
And future ages groan for this foul act,  
Peace shall go sleep with turks and infidels,  
And in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars,  
Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound:  
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny,  
Shall here inhabit, and this land be called,  
The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls.  
Oh if yond raise this house against this house,  
It will the woefullest division prove,  
That ever fell upon this cursed earth:  
Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,  
Lest child, child's children▪ cry against you wo.  North. 
Well have you argued sir, and for your pains,  
Of Capital treason, we arrest you here:  
My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge,  
To keep him safely till his day of trial.  Bull. 
Let it be so, and lo on wednesday next,  
We solemnly proclaim our Coronation,  
Lords be ready all.  Exeunt. Manent West. Carlisle, Aumerle. Abbot. 
A woeful Pageant have we here beheld.  Car. 
The woe's to come, the children yet unborn,  
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.  Aum. 
You holy Clergy men, is there no plot,  
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?  Abbot. 
My Lo. before I freely speak my mind herein,  
You shall not only take the Sacrament,  
To bury mine intents, but also to effect,  
What ever I shall happen to devise:  
I see your brows are full of discontent,  
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears:  
Come home with me to supper, I'll lay a plot,  
Shall show us all a merry day.  Exeunt. Enter the Queen with her attendants. Quee. 
This way the King will come, this is the way,  
To julius Caesar's ill erected Tower,  
To whose flint bosom, my condemned Lord,  
Is doomed a prisoner by proud Bullingbrooke▪  
Hear let us rest, if this rebellious earth,  
Have any resting for her true King's Queen.  (Enter Ric. 
But soft, but see, or rather do not see,  
My fair Rose whither, yet look up, behold,  
That you in pity may dissolve to dew▪  
And wash him fresh again with true love tears.  
Ah thou the model where old Troy did stand!  
Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb,  
And not King Richard: thou most beauteous Inn,  
Why should hard favoured grief be jodged in thee,  
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?  Rich. 
join not with grief fair woman, do not so,  
To make my end too sudden, learn good soul,  
To think our former state a happy dream,  
From which awaked the truth of what we are  
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother (sweet)  
To grim necessity, and he and I,  
Will keep a league till death. High thee to France,  
And cloister thee in some religious house,  
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,  
Which our profane hours here have thrown down.  Quee. 
what is my Richard both in shape and mind  
Transformed and weakened? hath Bullingbrooke,  
Deposed thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?  
The Lion dying thrusteth forth his paw,  
And wounds the earth if nothing else with rage,  
To be ore-powred, and wilt thou pupill-like  
Take the correction, mildly kiss the rod,  
And fawn on Rage with base humility,  
Which art a Lion and the king of beasts.  King. 
a King of beasts indeed, if aught but beasts,  
I had been skill a happy King of men.  
Good (sometimes Queen) prepare thee hence for France,  
Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest  
As from my death bed thy last living leave;  
In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire,  
with good old folks, and let them tell the tales,  
Of woeful ages long ago betide:  
And ere thou bid good night to quite their griefs,  
Tell thou the lamentable tale of me,  
And send the hearers weeping to their beds:  
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize  
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,  
And in compassion weep the fire out,  
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal black,  
For the deposing of a rightful King.  Enter Northum. North. 
My Lord, the mind of Bullingbrooke is changed,  
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.  
And Madam, there is order ta'en for you,  
With all swift speed you must away to France.  King 
Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal  
The mounting Bullingbrooke ascends my throne,  
The time shall not be many hours of age  
More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head  
Shall break into corruption, thou shalt think,  
Though he divide the realm and give thee half▪  
It is too little helping him to all.  
He shall think that thou which knowest the way  
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,  
Being near so little urged another way,  
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne:  
The love of wicked men converts to fear,  
That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both  
To worthy danger and deserved death.  North. 
My guilt be on my head, and there an end:  
Take leave and part, for you must part forthwith.  King 
Doubly divorced (bad men) you violate  
A twofold marriage twixt my crown and me,  
And then betwixt me and my married wife.  
Let me unkisse the oath twixt thee and me:  
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made▪  
Part us Northumberland, I towards the north,  
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime:  
My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp  
She came adorned hither like sweet May,  
Sent back like Hollowmas or shortst of day.  Queen 
And must we be divided? must we part?  King 
I hand from hand (my love) and heart from heart.  Queen 
Banish us both, and send the King with me.  King 
That were some love, but little policy.  Queen 
Then whither he goes, thither let me go.  King 
So two together weeping make one woe,  
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here,  
Better far off than near be near the near,  
Go count thy way with sighs, I mine with groans.  Queen 
So longest way shall have the longest moans.  King 
Twice for one step I'll groan the way being short  
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.  
Come come in wooing sorrow let's be brief,  
Since wedding it, there is such length in grief;  
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part,  
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.  Queen 
Give me mine own again, 'twere no good part  
To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart:  
So now I have mine own again, be gone,  
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.  King 
We make woe wanton with this fond delay,  
Once more adieu, the rest let sorrow say.  Exeunt. Enter Duke of York and the Duchess. Du. 
My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,  
When weeping made you break the story of  
Of our two cousins coming into London.  York 
Where did I leave?  Du. 
At that sad stop my Lord,  
Where rude misgoverned hands from windows tops.  
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.  York. 
Then (as I said) the Duke great Bullingbrooke  
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,  
Which his aspiring rider seemed to know,  
With slow, but stately pace kept on his course,  
Whilst all tongues cried, God save the Bullingbrooke,  
You would have thought the very windows spoke:  
So 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,  
jesus preserve the welcome Bullingbrooke,  
Whilst he from the one side to the other turning  
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steeds neck  
Bespoke them thus; I thank you country men:  
And thus still doing▪ thus he passed along.  Du. 
Alac poor Richard, where road he the whilst?  York 
As in a Theatre the eyes of men,  
After a well-graced Actor leaves the stage,  
Are ydly bend 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 Ric. 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 steeled  
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,  
〈…〉  
But heaven hath a hand in these events,  
To whose high▪ will we bond our calm contents,  
To Bullingbrooke are we sworn subjects now,  
Whose state and honour I for ay allow.  Du. 
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.  Du. 
Welcome my son, who are the violets now  
That strew the green lap of the new come spring.  Au. 
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 cropped before you come to prime.  
What news from Oxford, do these justs & triumphs hold?  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 without thy bosom?  
yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing,  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 me;  
It is a matter of small consequence,  
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.  York 
Which for some reason's sir I mean to see.  
I fear I fear.  Du. 
What should you fear?  
'tis nothing but some band that he is entered 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▪ York 
Treason, foul treason, villain, traitor▪ slave,  Du. 
What is the matter my lord?  York 
Ho, who is within there? saddle my horse,  
God for his mercy! what treachery is here?  Du. 
Why what is it my Lord?  York 
Give me my boots I say, saddle my horse▪  
Now by mine honour, by my life, by my troth  
I will appeach the villain.  Du. 
What is the matter?  York 
Peace foolish woman.  Du. 
I will not peace, what is the matter Aumerle?  Au. 
Good mother be content, it is no more  
Than my poor life must answer.  Du. 
Thy life answer?  your. 
Bring me my boots, I will unto the King.  His man enters with his boots. Du. 
Strike him Aumerle, poor boy thou art amazed,  
Hence villain never more come in my sight.  Yor. 
Give me my boots I say.  Du. 
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 the? is he not thine own?  Yor. 
Thou fond mad woman,  
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?  
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament:  
And interchangeably set down there hands,  
To kill the king at Oxford.  Du. 
He shall be none, we'll keep him here,  
Then what is that to him?  Yor. 
Away fond woman, were he twenty times my son.  
I would appeach him.  Du. 
Hadst thou groaned 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, be not of that mind,  
He is as like thee as a man may be,  
Not like to me, or any of my kin,  
And yet I love him.  Yor. 
Make way unruly woman.  Exit. Du. 
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.  
An never will I rise up from the ground,  
Till Bullingbroke have pardoned thee: away, be gone.  Enter the King with his nobles. King H. 
Can no man tell me of my unthrifty 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:  
Inquire at London, 'mongst the Taverns there,  
For there (they say) he daily doth frequent,  
With unrestrained lose companions,  
Even such (they say) as stand in narrow lanes,  
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers,  
Which he young wanton and effeminate boy,  
Takes on the point of honour to support so dissolute a crew:  H. Percy 
My Lord, some two days since I saw the prince,  
And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.  King. 
And what said the gallant?  Per. 
His answer was, he would unto the stews,  
And from the commonest creature pluck a glove,  
And wear it as a favour, and with that,  
He would unhorsed the lustiest Challenger.  King H. 
As dissolute as desperate, yet through both,  
I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years,  
May happily bring forth. But who comes here?  Enter Aumerle amazed. Aum. 
Where is the King?  King H. 
What means our cozen, that he stars and looks so wildly.  Aum. 
God save your grace, I do beseech your Majesty,  
To have some conference with your grace alone.  King. 
Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.  
What is the matter with our cozen now?  Aum. 
For ever may my knees grow to the earth,  
My tongue, cleave to my roof within my mouth,  
Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.  King 
Intended, or committed, was this fault?  
If on the first, how heinous ere it be  
To win thy after love, I pardon thee.  Aum. 
Then give me leave that May turn the key,  
That no man enter till my tale be done.  King. 
Have thy desire.  The Duke of York knokes at the door and crieth. Yor. 
My liege beware, look to thyself,  
Thou hast a Traitor in thy presence there.  King. 
villain I'll make thee safe.  Aum. 
Stay thy revengeful hand, thou hast no cause to fear  York. 
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.  King 
What is the matter uncle, speak, recover breath,  
Tell us, how near is danger,  
That we may arm us to encounter it?  Yor. 
Peruse this writtng here, and thou shalt know,  
The treason that my haste forbids me show.  Aum. 
remember as thou readst, thy promise past,  
I do repent me, read not my name there,  
My heart is not confederate with my hand.  Yor. 
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.  King. 
O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy;  
O loyal Father, of a treacherous Son,  
Thou shear immaculate and silver Fountain,  
From whence this stream, through muddy passages▪  
Hath held his current, and defiled himself,  
Thy overflow of good, converts to bad:  
And thy abundant goodness, shall excuse,  
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.  Yor. 
So shall my virtue, be his vices bawd,  
An he shall spend mine honour, with his shame,  
As thriftless sons, their scraping Father's gold:  
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies.  
Or my shamed 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.  Du. 
What ho, my Liege, for God's sake let me in.  King H. 
What shrill voice suppliant makes this eager cry?  Du. 
A woman, and thy aunt (great king) 'tis I,  
Speak with me, pity me, open the door,  
A beggar begs that never begged before.  King 
Our scene is altered from a serious thing,  
And now changed to the Beggar and the King:  
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in,  
I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.  York 
If thou do pardon whosoever pray,  
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may:  
This festered joint cut off, the rest rest found,  
This let alone will all the rest confound.  Du. 
Oh king, believe not this hardhearted man,  
Love loving not itself, none other can.  York 
Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?  
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?  Du. 
Sweet York be patiented, hear me gentle Liege.  King H 
Rise up good aunt.  Du. 
Not yet I thee beseech,  
For ever will I walk 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.  york 
Against them both my true joints bended be,  
Ill mayst thou thrive if thou grant any grace.  Du. 
Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face.  
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest,  
His words come from his month, ours from our breast,  
He prays but faintly, and would be denied,  
We pray with heart and soul, and all beside,  
His weary joints would gladly rise I know,  
Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow,  
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy,  
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity,  
Our prayers do out pray his, then let them have  
That mercy which true prayer ought to have.  York 
Good aunt stand up.  Du. 
Nay, do not say, stand up;  
Say 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 longed to hear a word till now,  
Say 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.  york 
Speak it in French, King say, Pardonne moy.  Du. 
Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?  
Ah my sour husband, my hardhearted Lord!  
That sets the word itself against the word:  
Speak pardon as 'tis currant in our land,  
The chopping French we do not understand,  
Thine eye gins to speak, set thy tongue there:  
Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,  
That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,  
Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse.  King H. 
Good aunt stand up.  Du. 
I do not sue to stand.  
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.  King 
I pardon him as God shall pardon me.  Du. 
Oh happy vantage of a kneeling knee,  
Yet am I sick for fear, speak it again,  
Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain,  
But makes one pardon strong.  King H. 
I pardon him with all my heart.  Du. 
A god on earth thou art.  King H. 
But for our trusty brother in law and the Abbot▪  
With all the rest of that consorted crew,  
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels,  
Good uncle, help to order several powers,  
To Oxford, or where ere these traitors are,  
They shall not live within this world I swear,  
But I will have them if I once know where.  
Uncle farewell, and cousin a due,  
Your mother well hath prayed, and prove you true.  Du. 
Come my old son, I pray God make thee new.  Exeunt. Manet sir Pierce Exton, etc. Exton 
Didst thou not mark the K▪ what words he spoke?  
Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?  
Was it not so?  Man 
These were his very words.  Exton 
Have I no friend quoth hethe? spoke spake it twice.  
And urged it twice together, did he not?  Man 
He did.  Exton 
And speaking it, he wishtly looked on me,  
As who should say, I would thou wert the man,  
That would divorce this terror from my heart,  
Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come let's go,  
I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe.  Enter Richard alone. Rich. 
I have been studying how I may compare  
This prison where I live, unto the world:  
And forbecause the world is populous,  
And here is not a creature but myself,  
I cannot do it: yet I'll hammer it out,  
My brain I'll prove, the female to my soul,  
My soul the father, and these two beget  
A generation of still-breeding thoughts:  
And these same thoughts people this little world,  
In humours like the people of this world:  
For no thought is contented: the better sort,  
As thoughts of things divine are intermixed  
With scruples, and do set the word itself  
Against the word, as thus: Come little ones, & then again  
It is as hard to come, as for a Camel  
To thread the postern of a small needle's eye:  
Thoughts tending to ambition they do plot,  
Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails  
May tear a passage thorough the flinty ribs  
Of this hard world my ragged prison walls:  
And for they cannot die in their own pride,  
Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves,  
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,  
Nor shall not be the last like silly beggars,  
Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame,  
That many have, and others must set there.  
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,  
Bearing their own misfortunes on the back  
Of such as have before endured the like.  
Thus play I in one person many people,  
And none contented; sometimes am I King,  
Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,  
And so I am: then crushing penury  
Persuades me I was better when a king,  
Then am I kinged again, and by and by,  
Think that I am unkingd, by Bullingbrooke,  
And straight am nothing. But what ere I be,  
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,  
With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased,  
With being nothing. Music do I hear,  the music plays 
Ha ha keep time, how sour sweet Music is  
When time is broke, and no proportion kept,  
So is it in the music of men's lives:  
And here have I the daintiness of ear  
To check time broke in a disordered string:  
But for the concord of my state and time,  
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke,  
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me:  
For now hath time made me his numbering clock;  
My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar,  
Their watches on unto mine eyes the outward watch  
Whereto my finger like a dials point,  
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.  
Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is,  
Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,  
Which is the bell, so sighs, and tears, and groans,  
Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time,  
Runs posting on in Bullingbrokes' proud joy,  
While I stand fooling here his jack of the clock.  
This music mads me, let it sound no more,  
For though it have holp mad men to their wits,  
In me it seems it will make wise men mad:  
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me,  
For 'tis a sign of love: and love to Richard,  
Is a strange brooch in this al-hating world.  Enter a groom of the stable. Groom. 
Hail royal Prince.  Rich. 
Thanks noble pear:  
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.  
What art thou, and how comest thou hither,  
Where no man never comes, but that sad dog,  
That brings me food to make misfortune live.  Groom. 
I was a poor groom of thy stable King,  
When thou wert King: who travailling towards York,  
With much ado (at length) have gotten leave,  
To look upon my sometimes royal masters face:  
Oh how it ernd my heart when I beheld,  
In London streets, that Coronation day,  
When Bullingbroke road on Roan Barbary,  
That horse, that thou so often hast bestride.  
That horse, that I so carefully have dressed.  Rich. 
Road he on Barbary, tell me gentle friend,  
How went he under him?  Groom. 
So proudly as if he disdained the ground.  Ric. 
So proud that Bullingbroke was on his back:  
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand,  
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him:  
Would he not stumble, would he not fall down  
Since pride must have a fall; and break the neck,  
Of that prond man, that did usurp his back?  
Forgiveness horse why do I rail on thee?  
Since thou created to be awed by man,  
Wast borne to bear; I was not made a horse,  
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,  
Spurrde, galld, and tired by iauncing Bullingbrooke.  Enter one to Richard with meat. Keeper 
Fellow, give place, here is no longer stay.  Rich. 
If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.  Groom 
What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.  Exit Groom. Keeper 
My Lord, wilt please you to fall to▪  Rich. 
Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.  Keeper 
My Lord I dare not, sir Pierce of Exton,  
Who lately came from the King commands the contrary.  Rich. 
The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee.  
Patience is stolen, and I am weary of it.  Keeper 
Help, help, help.  The murderers rush in. Rich. 
How now, what means Death in this rude assault?  
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument▪  
Go thou and fill another room in hell.  Here Exton strikes him down. Rich. 
That hand shall burn in never quenching fire.  
That staggers thus my person: Exton, thy fierce hand  
Hath with the king's blood stained the kings own land.  
Mount mount my soul, thy seat is up on high,  
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to die,  Exton 
As full of valour as of royal blood:  
Both have I spilld, Oh would the deed were good  
For now the devil that told me I did well,  
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell:  
This dead king to the living king I'll bear.  
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.  Enter Bullingbrooke with the duke of York. King 
Kind uncle York, the latest news we heard,  
Is▪ that the rebels have consumed with fire  
Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire,  
But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not.  Enter Northumberland. 
Welcome my Lord, what is the news?  North. 
First to thy sacred state wish I all happiness,  
The next news is, I have to London sent  
The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt and Kent,  
The manner of their taking may appear  
At large discoursed in this paper here.  King 
We thank thee gentle Percy for thy pains,  
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.  Enter Lord Fitzwaters. Fitz. 
My Lord, I have from Oxford sent to London▪  
The heads of Broccas, and sir Benet Seely,  
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors,  
That fought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.  king 
Thy pains Fitz. shall nor be forgot,  
Right noble is thy merit well I wots.  Enter H. Percy. Percy 
The grand conspirator Abbot of Westminster  
With clog of conscience and sour melancholy  
Hath yielded up his body to the grave.  
But here is Carlisle living, to abide  
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.  king 
Carlisle, this is your doom;  
Choose out some secret place, some reverent room  
More than thou baste, and with it joy thy life:  
So as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife,  
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,  
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.  Enter Exton with the coffin. Exton 
Great King, within this coffin I present  
Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies  
The mightiest of thy greacest enemies,  
Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.  king 
Exton, I thank thee not, for thou hast wrought  
A deed of slander with thy fatal hand,  
Upon my head and all this famous Land.  Exton. 
From your own mouth my Lo. did I this deed.  King. 
They love not poison that do poison need,  
Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead,  
I hate the murderer, love him murdered:  
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,  
But neither my good word, nor Princely favour;  
With Cain go wander through shades of night,  
And never show thy head by day nor light.  
Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe,  
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow:  
Come mourn with me, for what I do lament,  
And put on sulleyn black incontinent,  
I'll make a voyage to the holy land,  
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:  
March sadly after, grace my mournings here,  
In weeping after this untimely Beer.  
FINIS.