King Richard II. The first alteration of this play was by Tate, entitled," The Sicilian Usurper." It was prohibited from being performed, on which account it was published by the author in 1681, with a preface, in which he protests against such prohibition. In 1720, an alteration of it was published by Theobald. It was performed at the Lincoln's. Inn-Field's Theatre, with tolerable success.   

THE HISTORY OF King RICHARD The SECOND Acted at the THEATRE ROYAL, Under the Name of the Sicilian Usurper.  
With a Prefatory Epistle in Vindication of the AUTHOR.  
Occasioned by the PROHIBITION of this PLAY on the Stage.  
By N. TATE.  
Inultus ut Flebo Puer?  Hor. 
LONDON, Printed for Richard Tonson, and jacob Tonson, at Grays-Inn Gate, and at the Judges-Head in Chancery-Lane near Fleetstreet, 1681   

TO My Esteemed FRIEND George Raynsford, Esq  
SIR,  
I would not have you surprised with this Address, though I gave you no warning of it. The Buisiness of this Epistle is more Vindication than compliment; and when we are to tell our Grievances 'tis most natural to betake ourselves to a Friend. 'Twas thought perhaps that this unfortunate offspring having been stifled on the Stage, should have been buried in Oblivion; and so it might have happened had it drawn its Being from me Alone, but it still retains the immortal Spirit of its first-Father, and will survive in Print, though forbidden to tread the Stage. They that have not seen it Acted, by its being silenced, must suspect me to have compiled a Disloyal or Reflecting Play. But how far distant this was from my Design and Conduct in the Story will appear to him that reads with half an Eye. To form any Resemblance between the Times here written of, and the Present, had been unpardonable Presumption in Me. If the Prohibiters conceive any such Notion I am not accountable for That. I fell upon the new-modelling of this Tragedy, (as I had just before done on the History of King Lear) charmed with the many Beauties I discovered in it, which I knew would become the Stage; with as little design of satire on present Transactions, as Shakespeare himself that wrote this story before this Age began. I am not ignorant of the posture of Affairs in King Richard the second Reign, how dissolute then the Age, and how corrupt the Court; a Season that beheld Ignorance and Infamy preferred to Office and power, exercised in Oppressing, Learning and Merit; but why a History of those Times should be suppressed as a Libel upon Ours, is past my understanding. 'Tis sure the worst compliment that ever was made to a Prince.  
O Rem ridiculam, Cato, & jocasam,  
Dignámque Auribus, & tuo Cachinno.  
Ride, quicquid amas, Cato, Catullum  
Res est Ridicula, etc.  
Our Shakespeare in this Tragedy, bated none of his Characters an Ace of the Chronicle: be took care to show 'em no worse Men than They were, but represents them never a jot better. His Duke of York after all his buisy pretended Loyalty, is found false to his Kinsman and Sovereign, and joined with the Conspirators. His King Richard Himself is painted in the worst Colours of History. Dissolute, Vnadviseable, devoted to Ease and Luxury. You find old Gaunt speaking of him in this Language 
— Then there are found  
Lascivious metres, to whose Venom found  
The open Ear of Youth does always Listen.  
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 Ear?  
That all too late comes Counsel to be heard.  without the least palliating of his Miscarriages, which I have done in the new Draft, with such words as These. 
Your Sycophants bred from your childhood with you,  
Have such Advantage had to work upon you,  
That scarce your Failings can be called your Faults.  His Reply in Shakespeare to the blunt honest Adviser runs thus. 
And Thou a lunatic Lean-witted-fool, etc.  
Now by my seats right Royal Majesty,  
Were't Thou not Brother to great Edward's Son.  
The Tongue that runs thus roundly in thy Head  
Should run thy Head from the unreverent Shoulders.  On the contrary (though I have made him express some Resentment) yet he is neither enraged with the good Advice, nor deaf to it. He answers Thus—  
— Gentle uncle;  
Excuse the Sally's of my youthful Blood.  
We shall not be unmindful to redress  
(However difficult) our state's Corruptions,  
And purge the Vanities that crowd our Court.  
I have every where given him the Language of an Active, Prudent Prince. Preferring the Good of his Subjects to his own private Pleasure. On his Irish Expedition, you find him thus bespeak his Queen— 
Though never vacant Swain in silent bowers  
Could boast a Passion so sincere as Mine,  
Yet where the interest of the Subject calls  
We wave the dearest Transports of our Love,  
Flying from beauty's Arms to rugged War, etc.  Nor could it suffice me to make him speak like a King (who as Mr. Rhymer says in his Tragedies of the last Age considered, are always in Poëtry presumed Heroes) but to Act so too, viz. with Resolution and Justice. Resolute enough our Shakespeare (Copying the History) has made him, for concerning his seizing old Gaunt's revenues, he tells the wise Diswaders, 
Say what ye will, we seize into our Hands  
His Plate, his Goods, his Money and his Lands.  But where was the justice of this Action? This Passage I confess was so material a Part of the Chronicle (being the very Basis of Bullingbrook's usurpation) that I could not in this new Model so far transgress Truth as to make no mention of it; yet for the honour of my hero I suppose the foresaid revenues to be borrowed only for the present Exigence, not Extorted.  
Be heaven our Judge, we mean him fair,  
And shortly will with Interest restore  
The Loan our sudden straits make necessary.  
My Design was to engage the pity of the Audience for him in his distresses, which I could never have compassed had I not before shown him a Wise, Active and just Prince. Detracting Language (if any where) had been excusable in the Mouths of the Conspirators: part of whose Dialogue runs thus in Shakespeare; North. 
Now afore heaven 'tis shame such Wrongs are born  
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, etc.  Ross. 
The Commons He has piled with grievous Taxes  
And lost their Hearts, etc.  Will. 
And daily new Exactions are devised  
As Blanks, Benevolences, and I wots not what;  
But what o' God's Name doth become of This?  North. 
War hath not wasted it, for warred he has not;  
But basely yielded upon Comprimize.  
That which his ancestors achieved with Blows  
More has He spent in Peace than they in War, etc.  with much more vilifying Talk; but I would not allow even traitors and Conspirators thus to bespatter the Person whom I designed to place in the Love and Compassion of the Audience. Even this very Scene (as I have managed it) though it show the Confederates to be Villains, yet it flings no Aspersion on my Prince.  
Further, to Vindicate even his Magnanimity in Regard of his Resigning the Crown, I have on purpose inserted an entirely new Scene between him and his Queen, wherein his Conduct is sufficiently excused by the Malignancy of his Fortune, which argues indeed Extremity of Distress, but Nothing of Weakness.  
After this account it will be asked why this Play should be suppressed, first in its own Name, and after in Disguise? All that I can answer to this, is, That it was Silenced on the Third Day. I confess, I expected it would have found Protection from whence it received Prohibition; and so questionless it would, could I have obtained my Petition to have it perused and dealt with according as the Contents deserved, but a positive Doom of Suppression without Examination was all that I could procure.  
The Arbitrary Courtiers of the Reign here written, scarcely did more Violence to the Subjects of their Time, than I have done to Truth, in disguising their foul Practices. Take even the Richard of Shakespeare and History, you will find him Dissolute, Careless, and Vnadvisable: peruse my Picture of him and you will say, as Aeneas did of Hector, (though the Figure there was altered for the Worse and here for the Better) Quantum mutatus ab illo! And likewise for his chief Ministers of State, I have laid virtues to their Charge of which they were not Guilty. Every Scene is full of Respect to Majesty and the dignity of Courts, not one altered Page but what breathes Loyalty, yet had this Play the hard fortune to receive its Prohibition from Court.  
For the two days in which it was Acted, the Change of the Scene, Names of Persons, etc. was a great Disadvantage: many things were by this means rendered obscure and incoherent that in their native Dress had appeared not only proper but graceful. I called my Persons Sicilians but might as well have made 'em Inhabitants of the Isle of Pines, or, World in the Moon, for whom an Audience are like to have small Concern. Yet I took care from the Beginning to adorn my Prince with such heroic virtues, as afterwards made his distressed Scenes of force to draw Tears from the Spectators; which, how much more touching they would have been had the Scene been laid at Home, let the Reader judge. The additional Comedy I judged necessary to help off the heaviness of the Tale, which Design, Sir, you will not only Pardon, but Approve. I have heard you commend this Method in Stage writing, though less agreeable to stricktness of Rule; and I find your Choice confirmed by our laureate's last Piece, who confesses himself to have broken a Rule for the Pleasure of Variety. 
* Epst. Ded. to the Span. Friar.  The Audience (says he) are grown weary of melancholy Scenes, and I dare prophesy that few Tragedies (except those in Verse) shall succeed in this Age if they are not lightened with a course of Mirth.  
And now, Sir, I fear I have transgressed too far on your patience. Distress was always Talkative: be pleased to call to Mind your beloved Virgil's nightingale when robbed of her young. 
Qualis populeâ moerens Philomela sub Umbrâ,  
Amissos queritur Foetus, quos durus Arator  
Observans, Nido implumes detraxit; at Illa  
Flet noctem, ramoque sedens, miserabile Carmen  
Integrat, & moest is late looa Questibus implet.  This Simile you know, Sir, is occasioned by Orpheus his lamenting the Loss of Eurydice, which the Mythologists expound the Fruit of his Labours. You find Virgil himself elsewhere condoling his Oppression by Arrius. Such are the Complaints of our Spencer defrauded by Cecil. With these, the melancholy Cowley joins his Note; and, as Mr. Flatman says, 'tis the Language of the whole Tribe. 
I heard 'em Curse their Stars in ponderous Rhymes,  
And in grave Numbers grumble at the Times.  Poetry and Learning, even in Petronius his time, was a barren Province, when villainy of any sort was a thriving Trade. 
Qui Pelago credit magno, se foenore tollit,  
Qui pugnat & Castra petit praecingitur Auro;  
Vilis Adulator picto jacet Ebrius ostro;  
Et qui sollicitat Nuptas, ad praemia peccat:  
Sola pruinosis horret Facundia pannis.  Or to go a step higher in Antiquity— 
Quid est, Catulle, quod moraris emori?  
Sellâ in Curuli Struma Nonius sedet,  
Quid est, Catulle, quod moraris emori?  Aristotle himself confesses Poetry a better School of virtue than Philosophy. Our own Sir Philip Sidney's learned Defence of it, is Demonstration what rewards are due, and our late incomparable Author of Hudibras, is no less Demonstration what returns are made to the best Masters of it. Not Greece or Rome can boast a Genius like His; yet after all, his Poverty was a greater satire on the Age than his Writings.  
Once more, Sir, I beg your Pardon for digressing, and dismiss you to the following Poem, in which you will find some Master Touches of our Shakespeare, that will Vie with the best Roman Poets, that have so deservedly your Veneration. If it yield you any Diversion I have my Desire, who covet all Opportunities of showing myself grateful for your Friendship to me, which I am proud of, and amongst the many whom your ingenious and obliging Temper had devoted to you, there is none that more prizes your Conversation, than  
Your obliged Friend and humble Servant, N. Tate.   

PROLOGUE.  
TO what a wretched state are Poets born,  
Split on the Rocks of Envy or of Scorn?  
Even to the best the promised Wreath's denied,  
And just Contempt attends on all beside.  
This one would think should lessen the Temptation,  
But they are poets by Predestination.  
The fatal Bait undaunted they pursue;  
And claim the Laurel as their Labour's Due.  
But where's the use of Merit, or of Laws,  
When Ingnorance and Malice judge the Cause?  
'Twixt these, like Aesop's Husband, poets far,  
This pulls the black and that the silver Hair,  
Till they have left the poem bald and bare.  
Behold the dreadful spot they ought to fear,  
Whole Loads of Poët-bane are scattered here.  
Where e'er it lights the sad Effects we find,  
Tho' on the tender Hearts of womankind.  
The Men (whose Talents they themselves mistake,  
Or misapply, for Contradiction sake.)  
Spite of their Stars must needs be critics still,  
Nay, tho' prohibited by th' Irish Bill.  
Blessed Age! when all our Actions seem designed  
To prove a War 'twixt Reason and Mankind!  
Here an affected Cocquet perks and prunes,  
Tho' she's below the Level of Lampoons,  
Venting her flyblown Charms till her Own Squire  
Is grown too nice and dainty to Admire.  
There a pretending Fop (a Man of Note  
More for his threadbare jest than gaudy Coat)  
Sees every Coxcomb's Mirth, yet wants the Sense  
To know 'tis caused by his Impertinence.  
Nor rests the Mighty Grievance here alone;  
For not content with follies of our own,  
We plunder the fair Sex of what we can,  
Who seldom miss their dear Revenge on Man.  
Their property of falsehood we invade,  
Whilst they usurp our midnight Scouring Trade.   

SONG for the third ACT.  

I.  
Love's Delights were passed Expressing  
Could our happy Visions last,  
Pity 'tis they fly so fast;  
Pity 'tis so short a Blessing,  
Love's Delights were passed expressing  
Could our happy Visions last;  
Tide's of Pleasure in possessing  
Sweetly Flow, but soon are past.  
Love's Delights, etc.   

II.  
Calms in Love are fleeting Treasure,  
Only Visit and Away;  
Hasty Blessing we enjoy,  
Tedious Hours of Grief we Measure:  
Calms in Love are fleeting Treasure,  
Only Visit and Away,  
Sighs and Tears forerun the Pleasure,  
jealous Rage succeeds the joy..  
Calms in Love, etc.    

SONG For the Prison SCENE in the last ACT.  

I.  
Retired from any Mortals sight  
the Pensive Damon lay,  
He blessed the discontented Night,  
And cursed the Smiling Day.  
The tender sharers of his Pain,  
His Flocks no longer Graze,  
But sadly fixed around the Swain,  
Like silent Mourners gaze.   

2.  
He heard the music of the Wood,  
And with a sigh replied,  
He saw the Fish sport in the Flood,  
And wept a deeper tide.  
In vain the summer's Bloom came on,  
For still the Drooping Swain,  
Like Autumn Winds was heard to Groan,  
Out-weeped the winter's Rain.   

3.  
Some Ease (said he) some Respite give!  
Why, mighty powers, Ah why  
Am I too much distressed to Live,  
And yet forbidden to die?  
Such Accents from the Shepherd flew  
Whilst on the Ground He lay;  
At last so deep a Sigh he drew,  
As boar his Life away.    

The Persons Names, together with those under which the Play was Acted.  

KIng Richard, Oswald.  
Gaunt, Alcidore.  
York, Cleon.  
Bullingbrook, Vortiger.  
Northumberland. Hermogenes.  
Piercie.  
Ross.  
Willoughby.  
Carlisle.  
Aumarl.  
Exton.  
Queen, Aribell.  
Duchess of York.  
Ladies, gardiner's, soldiers, Messengers, Guards, Attendants.    

Books newly Printed for R. Tonson and J. Tonson.  
The Spanish friar, or the Double Discovery. Written by Mr. Dryden.  
Lucius Junius Brutus, Father of his Country. A Tragedy, written by Mr. Lee.  
The Art of making Love, or Rules for the Conduct of Ladies and Gallants in their Amours, Price of each 1 s.   

THE HISTORY OF King Richard the two d.  

ACT I.  
SCENE a Chamber of State. King Richard, John of Gaunt, Northumberland, Piercie, Ross, Willoughby, with other Nobles and Attendants. King 
OLD John of Gaunt time honoured Lancaster;  
Hast thou according to thy Oath and Bond  
Brought hither Harry Herford thy bold Son,  
Here to make good th'Impeachment lately charged  
Against the Duke of Norfolk Thomas Mowbray?  Gaunt. 
I have my Liege.  King. 
Hast thou moreover sifted him to find  
If he Impeach the Duke on private malice;  
Or worthily as a good Subject should.  Gaunt. 
As far as I can sound him in the Business  
On some Apparent danger from the Duke  
Aimed at your Highness, no Inveterate Malice!  King. 
Then set 'em in our presence Face to Face;  
And Frowning, Brow to Brow, ourselves will hear  
Th' Accuser and the accused both freely speak;  
High-Stomacht are they both and in their Rage  
Deaf as the storming Sea, hasty as Fire.  Bullingbrook and Mowbray from several Entrances. Bull. 
Now many years of happy day's befall  
My gracious sovereign my most honoured Liege.  Mow. 
Each day exceeding th' others happiness  
Till heaven in jealousy to Earth's success  
Add an immortal Title to your Crown.  King. 
Cousin of Herford what dost thou object  
Against the Duke of Norfolk Thomas Mowbray?  Bull. 
First then be heaven the Record to my speech.,  
That in devotion to a Subjects love  
(Not on Suggestions of a private Hatred)  
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 Trayter to the King and State,  
A foul Excrescence of a Noble Stem;  
To heaven I speak it, and by heaven 'tis true,  
That thou art Treason spotted, false as Hell,  
And wish (so please my sovereign) ere we move,  
What my Tongue speaks, my right drawn Sword may prove.  Mow. 
Let not the coldness of my Language draw  
My sovereign Liege your Censure on my Zeal,  
'Tis not the trial of a woman's War,  
The senseless clamour of contending Tongues  
Can arbitrate the difference 'twixt us Two,  
The Blood is hot that must be cooled for this:  
The Reverence of this Presence curbs my speech,  
That else had shot like Lightning and returned  
This charge of Treason, to the sland'rers Throat:  
Set but aside his high Blood's Royalty,  
And let him be no kinsman to the King.  
Allow me this, and bullingbrook's a Villain;  
Which to maintain I will allow him odds,  
Pursue him barefoot to the farthest North,  
Whose Chastisement I tamely now forbear,  Bull. 
White-livered Coward there I throw my Gage,  
Disclaiming my Relation to the King,  
Which Fear, not Reverence make thee to object;  
If guilty Dread has left thee so much strength,  
Stoop and take up forthwith my Honour's Pawn;  
By that and all the Rights of knighthood else  
I will make good against thee Arm to Arm  
What I have said, and Seal it with thy Soul.  Mow. 
I seize it Herford as I would seize Thee,  
And by the Sword that laid my knighthood on me  
I'll answer thee in any Knightly trial  
As hot in combat as thou art in Brawl.  King. 
What does our cousin lay to Norfolk's Charge?  Bull. 
First then I say (my Sword shall prove it true)  
That Mow-bray has received eight thousand Nobles  
In Name of lend for your highness' Service,  
All which for lewd Employments he detains  
Like a false traitor and injurious Villain;  
Besides I say and will in combat prove,  
That all the Treasons, Plots, Conspiracies  
Hatched for these eighteen years within this Realm,  
Fetched from false Mowbray their first Spring and Head:  
Farther I say, and on his Heart will prove it,  
That he did Plot the Duke of Gloster's Death,  
Whose Martial Ghost to me for Vengeance cries,  
And by the glorious Worth of my Descent  
This Arm shall give it, or this Blood be spent.  King. 
How high a Pitch his Resolution Soars.  
Thomas of Norfolk what sayest thou to this?  Mow. 
O let my sovereign turn away his Face  
And bid his Ear a little while be Deaf,  
Till I have told this slander of his Blood,  
How heaven and good men hate so foul a Lyar.  King. 
Now by our Sceptres Awe I tell thee Mowbray,  
Were he my Brother, nay my kingdom's Heir,  
Our Blood should nothing privilege him, nor bend  
Our upright Soul from Justice.  Mow. 
Then bullingbrook as low as to thy Heart  
Thou liest; Three parts of my receipts for Calais  
I have disbursed amongst his highness' soldiers;  
The Rest I by the King's consent reserved  
Upon remainder of a dear Account,  
Since last I went to fetch the Queen from France.  
First swallow down that lie— for Gloster's Death  
I slew him not, but rather to my fault  
Neglected my Sworn Duty in that Case,  
Compassion being here all my Offence.  
And for the rest of thy perfidious Charge,  
It Issues from the rancour of a Villain,  
The flowing Gall of a degenerate traitor,  
In proof of which I summon thee to combat,  
Beseeching of his Majesty the Grace  
To my wronged Fame t'appoint our Tryal-day  
Where Herford's Blood shall for his slanders pay,  
And wash the poison of his Tongue away.  King. 
Rash men, thus long we have given you the hearing,  
Now let the pleasure of your King be heard;  
And know our Wisdom shall prescribe a way  
To purge this choler without letting Blood,  
Forget, forgive, conclude and be agreed,  
Gaunt, see this difference end where it begun,  
we'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your Son.  Gaunt. 
To be a peacemaker becomes my Age  
Throw down my Son the Duke of Norfolk's Gage.  King. 
And Norfolk throw down his.  Gaunt. 
When Harry when?  
Obedience bids, I should not bid again.  King. 
Will Norfolk when the King commands be slow?  Mow. 
Myself dread sovereign at your feet I throw;  
My Life you may command, but not my Shame,  
I cannot give, nor will you ask my Fame;  
I am impeached, disgraced before my King,  
Pierced to the Soul with Slanders venomed Sting,  
Incurable but by the traitor's Blood  
That breathed the poison.  King. 
Rage must be withstood;  
Give me his Gage, lions make Leopards tame.  Mow. 
Yes, but not change their Spots, take but my shame,  
And I resign my Gage; my dear dread Lord,  
The purest Treasure Mortal times afford  
Is spotless honour; take but that away  
Men are but guilded Loam and painted Clay.  King. 
Cousin, throw down his Gage, do you begin,  Bull. 
Just heaven defend me from so foul a sin.  
Condemn not Sir your Blood to such disgrace!  
Shall I seem braved before my Father's Face?  
No, Royal Sir, ere my blaspheming Tongue  
Shall do my Loyalty so foul a wrong,  
Or sound so base a parley, by th' Roots I'll tear  
The slavish herald of so vile a fear,  
And spit it bleeding where the worst disgrace,  
And slanders harbour, even in Mowbray's face.  King. 
Now by my sceptre you have waked my spleen,  
And since we sue in vain to make ye friends,  
Prepare to meet before us in the Lists,  
You shall, and he that bauk's the Combat, dies.  
Behold me give your headlong fury Scope,  
Each to chastise the others guilty Pride.  
What Council cannot, let the Sword decide.  Exeunt.  

SCENE the Second.  Enter Duchess of Gloucester in Mourning. Dutch. 
How slow alas the hours of Sorrow fly,  
Whose Wings are dampt with Tears! my dear, dear Gloster,  
I have more than a widows loss to mourn,  
She but laments a Death; but I a Murder.  Enter Gaunt. Gaunt. 
When Sister will you find the way to comfort?  Dutch. 
When Gaunt has found the way to Vengeance, Comfort  
Before that hour were Guilty.  
Edward's seven Sons (whereof thyself art one)  
Where as seven Viols of his sacred Blood,  
Or seven fair Branches springing from one Stock;  
Some of those Streams by nature's course are dried,  
Some of those Branches by the Destinies cut;  
But Thomas, my dear Lord, my Life, my Gloster,  
One flourishing Branch of that most Royal Stem,  
Is hewed and all his verdant Leaves dispersed,  
By envies hand and Murders bloody Axe.  Gaunt. 
Sister, the part I have in Gloster's Blood,  
Does more solicit me than your exclaims,  
To stir against the Butchers of his life;  
But since Revenge is heavens Prerogative,  
Put we our Quarrel to the will of heaven.  Enter York. York. 
Save ye Sister— very hot! oh! hot weather and hot work: come Brother, the Lists are ready; the Fight will be worth the while: besides your concern there is somewhat more than ordinary. I' faith now I could be content to have Harry scape; but for all that I would have the traitor die.  Gaunt. 
Could my impartial eye but find him such,  
Fell mowbray's Sword should come to late.  Dutch. 
Where shall my Sorrows make their last complaint,  
If York deny me too?  York. 
What would our Sister?  Dutch. 
Revenge, and speedy for my Gloucester's death.  York. 
Why there 'tis— Revenge, ho! a fine morsel for a Lady fasting, Gloster was my Brother, true— but Gloster was a traitor and that's true too— I hate a traitor more than I love a Brother.  Dutch. 
A traitor York?  York. 
'Tis somewhat a course name for a Kinsman, but yet to my thinking, to raise an Army, execute Subjects, threaten the King himself, and reduce him to answer particulars, has a very strong smatch with it— go too, you are in fault, your complaints are guilty; your very Tears are Treason. No remedy but Patience.  Dutch. 
Call it not patience, York, 'tis cold despair,  
In suffering thus your Brother to be slaughtered,  
You show the naked path to your own Lives;  
Ah! had his fate been yours my Gloster would  
Have set a Nobler Prince upon your Lives.  York. 
This Air grows infectious: will you go Brother.  Dutch. 
But one word more, grief ever was a Talker,  
But I will teach him silence; of you both  
I take eternal leave. Comforts wait on you  
When I am laid in Earth: to some dark Cell  
Will I betake me, where this weary Life  
Shall with the taper waste: there shall I greet,  
No Visitant but Death— adieu! my Lords!  
If this Farewell your Patience has abused,  
Think 'twas my last, and let it be excused.  Exeunt.  

SCENE the Third.  A Pavilion of State before the Lists. Marshal and Aumerle from several Entrances. Marsh. 
My Lord Aumerle is Harry Herford armed?  Aum. 
Yes, at all points and longs to enter in,  Marsh. 
The Duke of Norfolk sprightfully and bold  
Waits but the Summons of the Appealants Trumpet,  
But see, the King.  Flourish, Enter King, Queen attended, Gaunt, York, Pierce, Northumberland, etc. who place themselves to view the Combat. Mowbray brought in by a Herald. King. 
Marshal demand of yonder Combatant,  
Why he comes here, and orderly proceed  
To swear him in the justice of his cause.  Marsh. 
In the King's name say who thou art and what's thy Quarrel?  
Speak truly on thy Knighthood and thy Oath,  
So heaven defend thee and thy Valour.  Mow. 
Hither is Mowbray come upon his Oath,  
To justify his Loyalty and truth,  
Against false Bullingbrook that has appealed me,  
And as I truly fight defend me heaven.  Trumpet again. Bullingbrook and Herald. King. 
Demand of yonder Knight why he comes here,  
And formally according to our Law,  
Depose him in the justice of his Cause.  Marsh. 
Thy name, and wherefore thou art hither come  
Before King Richard in his Royal Lists,  
Speak like a true Knight: so defend thee heaven,  Bull. 
Harry of Herford, Lancaster and Derby,  
Stands here in Arms to prove on Thomas Mowbray,  
That he's a traitor to the King and State,  
And as I truly fight defend me heaven.  
But first Lord Marshal I entreat the Grace  
To kiss my sovereign's hand and do him homage,  
For Mowbray and myself are like to men  
That vow along and weary Pilgrimage,  
Therefore should take a ceremonious leave  
And tender farewell of our several Friends.  Marsh. 
th'Appealant in all duly greets your Highness,  
Craving to kiss your hand and take his leave.  King. 
We will descend and fouled him in our Arms;  
Now Cousin, as thy Cause is just,  
So be thy Fortune in this Royal Fight;  
Farewell my Blood, which if thou chance to shed,  
Lament we may, but not revenge the dead.  Bull. 
No noble eye be seen to lose a Tear  
On me if I be foiled by Mowbrays Arm;  
As confident as is the Faulcon's flight  
At timorous Birds do I with Mowbray fight.  
O thou the generous Author of my Blood,  [To Gaunt. 
Whose youthful Spirit inflames and lifts me up  
To reach at Victory above my Head,  
Add proof to this my Armour with thy prayers,  
And with thy Blessings point my vengeful Sword  
To furbish new th'illustrious name of Gaunt.  Mow. 
However Heaven or Fortune cast my Lot,  
There lives or dies a just and loyal man:  
Never did wretched Captive greet the hour  
Of freedom with more welcome or delight  
Than my transported soul does celebrate  
This Feast of battle— Blessings on my King,  
And peace on all.  King. 
Farewell my Lord,  
Virtue and Valour guard thee: Marshal finish.  Marsh. 
Harry of Herford, Lancaster and Derby,  
Receive thy Sword and heaven defend thy Right,  
Fear this to Mowbray.  Mow. 
Curse on your tedious Ceremonies, more  
To us tormenting then t'expecting Bridegrooms.  
The signal for heavens sake.  Marsh. 
Sound trumpet's, and set forward Combatants.  
Stay, stay, the King has thrown his Warder down.  King. 
Command the Knights once more back to their Posts,  
And let the Trumpets sound a second charge,  
Whilst with our Lords we briefly do advise.  Another flourish after which the King speaks. 
Command 'em to resign their Arms, and listen  
To what we with our Council have Decreed,  
For that our Eyes detest the spectacle  
Of Civil Wounds, from whence the dire infection  
Of general War may spring, we bar your Combat,  
Suppress those Arms that from our Coast would fright  
Fair Peace, and make us wade in kinsman's Blood:  
And lest your neighbourhood cause after-broils,  
We banish you our Realms to different Climes,  
You Bullingbrook on pain of Death,  
Till twice five Summers have enircht our Fields.  Bull. 
And must this be your Pleasure? well!  
Your pleasure stand, 'twill be my comfort still,  
The Sun that warms you here, shall shine on me  
And gild my Banishment.  King. 
Mowbray for thee remains a heavier doom,  
The slow succeeding hours shall not determine  
The dateless limit of thy dear exile,  
The hopeless word of never to return,  
Breath we against thee upon pain of Death.  Mow. 
A heavy Sentence my most sovereign Lord,  
The Language I have learned these Forty years,  
My native English must I now forgo?  
I am too old to fawn upon a Nurse,  
And learn the Prattle of a foreign tongue.  
What is thy Sentence then, but speechless Death?  
You take the cruelest way to rob my Breath.  King. 
Complaint comes all too late where we decree.  Mow. 
Then thus I turn me from my country's light,  
Pleased with my doom because it pleased the King,  
Farewell my Lord, now Mowbray cannot stray,  
Let me shun England, all the worlds my way.  King. 
Return again and take an Oath with thee.  
Lay on our Royal Sword your banished Hands,  
Swear by the duty that you own to heaven  
Near to embrace each others love in Banishment,  
Nor ever meet, nor write to reconcile  
This lowering tempest of your homebred hate,  
Nor Plot to turn the edge of your Revenge,  
On Us, our State, our Subjects and our landlord.  Bull. 
I Swear.  Mow. 
And I to keep all this!  Bull. 
By this time Mowbray, had the King permitted,  
One of our Souls had wandered in the Air,  
As now our flesh is doomed on Earth to wander,  
Confess thy Treason ere thou fly the Land;  
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along  
Th'encumb'ring Burden of a guilty Soul.  Mow. 
No Bullingbrook, if ever I were false,  
Let heaven renounce me as my Country has;  
But what thou art, heaven, Thou and I do know,  
And all (my heart forbodes) too soon shall rue.  
My absence then shall yet this comfort bring,  
Not to behold the Troubles of my King.  [Exit. King. 
Uncle within thy tear-charged Eyes I read  
Thy hearts fell sorrow, and that troubled Look,  
Has from the number of his banished years  
Plucked four away; Six frozen Winters spent,  
Return with welcome from thy Banishment.  Gaunt. 
I thank my Liege, that in regard to me,  
He cuts off four years from my son's exile,  
But small advantage shall I reap thereby,  
For ere those slow six years can change their Moons,  
My inch of Taper will be spent and done,  
Nor Gaunt have life to welcome home his Son.  King. 
Despair not Uncle, you have long to live.  Gaunt. 
But not a Minute King that thou canst give.  King. 
Thy Son was banished upon advice,  
To which thy Tongue a party— Verdict gave,  Gaunt. 
My interest I submitted to your Will,  
You urged me like a Judge, and I forgot  
A Father's Name, and like a strict Judge doomed Him.  
Alas I looked when some of you should say,  
I was too strict to make my Own away!  
But all gave leave to my unwilling Tongue,  
To do my aged heart this unnatural wrong.  King. 
Now for the Rebels that hold out in Ireland,  
And turn our mild forbearance to contempt,  
Fresh forces must be levied with best speed,  
Ere farther leisure yield them further strength,  
We will ourselves in person to this War,  
And quench this flame before it spread too far.  Ex. with Attendants. Gaunt. 
O to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,  
When thou shouldst breathe dear farewells to thy Friends  
That round thee, all like silent Mourners gaze.  Bull. 
They will not censure me whose scanty time  
And breath's too little to take leave of you.  
My dear Companions you have known my Heart  
Too long, to doubt it on a silent grief—  
Ha! by my swelling blood my Father's pale!  
How fares your honour? good my Lords your hands.  Gaunt. 
I feel a heaviness like Death, and hope  
It is no counterfeit— All shall be well.  Bull. 
By heaven it shall— I feel my veins work high,  
And conscious glory kindling in my breast,  
Inspires a Thought to vast to be expressed;  
Where this disgrace will end the heavens can tell,  
And Herford's Soul divines, that 'twill be well!  
A Beam of royal splendour strikes my Eye,  
Before my charmed sight, Crowns and sceptres fly;  
The minutes big with Fate, too slowly run,  
But hasty Bullingbrook shall push 'em on.  [Ex.  
The End of the First Act.   

ACT II.  
A Chamber. Gaunt Sick, to him York. York. 
NOW Brother, what cheer?  Gaunt. 
Why well, 'tis with me as old Gaunt could wish.  York. 
What, Harry sticks with you still; well I hear he's safe in France and very busy.  Gaunt. 
My Blood were never Idle.  York. 
I fear too busy; come, he's a perilous Boy, I smell a confed'racy betwixt him and his Companions here, Mischief will come on't, cut him off I say; Let him be Kites-meat— I would hang a Son, to kill a traitor.  Gaunt. 
Go sleep good York and wake with better thoughts.  York. 
Heaven grant we sleep not all till alarms wake us. I tell you Brother I liked not the manner of his departure, 'twas the very smooth smiling Face of Infant Rebellion; with what familiar courtesy did he caress the Rabble?  
What reverence did he throw away on Slaves?  
Off goes his Bonnet to an oyster-wench,  
A Brace of Dray-men bid God speed him well  
And had the Tribute of his supple knee,  
Then shakes a shoemaker by the waxed Thumbs,  
With thanks my countrymen, my Friends, my Brothers,  
Then comes a Peal of sighs would knock a Church down,  
Roguery, mechanic Roguery! rank Treason,  Gaunt. 
My sickness grows upon me, set me higher.  York. 
Villainy takes its time, all goes worse and worse in Ireland, Rebellion is there on the Wing, and here in the Egg; yet still the Court dances after the French Pipe, Eternal Apes of Vanity: Mutiny stirring, Discipline asleep, Knaves in Office, all's wrong; make much of your Sickness Brother: if it be Mortal, 'tis worth a dukedom.  Gaunt. 
How happy heaven were my approaching death  
Could my last words prevail upon the King,  
Whose easy gentle Nature has exposed  
His unexperienced Youth to flatterers frauds;  
Yet at this hour, I hope to bend his Ear  
To council, for the Tongues of dying men  
Enforce attention like deep Harmony:  
Where words are scarce, theyare seldom spent in Vain,  
For they breath Truth, that breath their Words in Pain.  Enter King, Queen, Northumberland, Ross, Willoughby, Piercye, etc. With Guards and Attendants. Queen. 
How fares our Noble Uncle Lancaster?  King. 
How is't with aged Gaunt?  Gaunt. 
Aged as your Highness says, and Gaunt indeed.  
Gaunt, as a Grave whose Womb holds nought but Bones,  King. 
Can sick men play so nicely with their Names?  Gaunt. 
Since thou dost seek to kill my Name in me,  
I mock my Name great King to flatter thee.  King. 
Should dying men then, flatter 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 am,  King. 
I am in health breath, free but see thee ill  Gaunt. 
Now he that made me knows I see thee ill.  
Thy deathbed is no less than the whole Land,  
Whereon thou liest in Reputation sick.  
Yet hurried on by a malignant fate  
Committest thy anointed Body to the Cure  
Of those physicians that first poisoned thee!  
Upon thy Youth a Swarm of flatterers hang  
And with their fulsome weight are daily found  
To bend thy yielding Glories to the ground.  King. 
Judge heaven how poor a thing is Majesty,  
Be thou thyself the Judge, when thou sick Wight  
Presuming on an Agues privilege  
Darest with thy Frozen admonition,  
Make pale our Cheek, but I excuse thy weakness.  Gaunt. 
Think not the riot of your Court can last,  
Tho fed with the dear Life blood of your Realms;  
For vanity at last preys of itself.  
This Earth of Majesty, this seat of Mars,  
This Fortress built by Nature in the Floods,  
Whose Rocky shores beat back the foaming Sedge,  
This England conqueror of the neighbouring Lands,  
Makes now a shameful Conquest on itself.  York. 
Now will I stake (my Liege) my Soul upon't;  
Old Gaunt is hearty in his wishes for you,  
And what he speaks, is out of honest Zeal,  
And though thy Anger prove to me as Mortal,  
As is to him this sickness, yet blunt York  
Must echo to his words and cry,  
Thou art abused and flattered.  King. 
Gentle Uncle,  
Excuse the sallies of my youthful Blood,  
I know you're Loyal both and mean us well,  
Nor shall we be unmindful to redress,  
(However difficult) our state's corruption,  
And purge the Vanities that crowned our Court.  Gaunt. 
My gracious Liege your Pardon, this bold duty,  
Was all that stood betwixt my Grave and me,  
Your Sycophants bred from your childhood with you,  
Have such advantage had to work upon you,  
That scarce your failings can be called your faults;  
Now to heavens care and your own Piety,  
I leave my sacred Lord, and may you have  
In life that peace that waits me in the Grave.  King. 
Thanks my good Uncle, bear him to his Bed,  [Exit Gaunt. 
Attend him well, and if a Prince's Prayers  
Have more than common interest with heaven,  
Our Realm shall yet enjoy his honest council.  
And now my soldiers for our Irish Wars,  
We must suppress these rough prevailing Kerns,  
That live like Venom, where no Venom else  
But only they have privilege to live.  
But first our Uncle Gaunt being indisposed,  
We do create his Brother both in Blood  
And Loyalty our Uncle York,  
Lord governor of England, in our absence  
Observe me Lords, and pay him that respect  
You give our Royal Presence.  [Enter Northumberland. North. 
My Liege old Gaunt commends him to your Highness.  King. 
What says our Uncle?  North. 
Nothing; all is said.  
His Tongue is now a stringless instrument,  
But called on your loved name and blessed you dying.  King. 
The ripest fruit falls first and so does He,  
His course is done, our Pilgrimage to come,  
So much for that; return we to our War  
And cause our Coffers with too great a Court  
And liberal Largess, are grown somewhat Light:  
Pressed with this exigence, we for a time  
Do seize on our dead Uncles large Revenues  
In Herford's absence.  York. 
O my Liege pardon me if you please, if not, I please not to be pardoned, spare to seize the Royalties and Rights of banished Herford, I fear already he's too apt t'engage against your Power, and these proceed will give countenance and growth to his Designs, forbear to draw such Dangers on your Head.  King. 
Be heaven our judge we mean him nothing fowl  
But shortly will with interest restore  
The Loan our sudden straits make necessary.—  
Weep not my Love nor drown with boding Tears,  
Our springing Conquest, bear our absence well,  
Nor think that I have joy to part with Thee,  
Tho never vacant Swain in silent Bowers,  
Could boast a passion so sincere as mine,  
Yet where the interest of the Subject calls,  
We wave the dearest Transports of our Love  
Flying from Beauty ' Arms to rugged War;  
Conscience our first, and Thou our second Care.  [Exeunt. Manent, Morthumberland, Piercy, Ross, Willoughby. North. 
Well Lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.  Will. 
And living too if Justice had her right,  
For Herford then were more than a bare Name,  
Who now succeeds departed Gaunt in nothing,  
But in his mind's rich Virtues, the Kings pleased  
To have occasion for his temporal wealth!  
O my heart swells, but let it burst with silence,  
Ere it be disburdened with a liberal tongue.  Perc. 
Now rot the tongue that scants a subject's freedom,  
Loser's at lest are privileged to talk,  
And who accounts not herford's looss his own  
Deserves not the esteem of Herford's friend.  
There's none of us here present but did weep  
At parting, and if there be any one  
Whose tears are not converted now to fire  
He is a crocodile.  North. 
The fate of Bullingbrook will soon be ours,  
We hear the Tempest sing yet seek no shelter,  
We see our wreck and yet securely perish,  
A sure, but wilful Fate— for had ye Spirits  
But worthy to receive it, I could say  
How near the tidings of our comfort is.  Pierc. 
Give us thy thoughts and rate 'em as thou wilt,  
Here's Blood for 'em, but point us to the veins  
That hold the richest, we will empty those,  
To purchase 'em.  North. 
Hold generous Youth.  
This gallantry unlocks my inmost breast,  
Seizing a secret dearer than my heart.  
Attend me Lords, I have from Port le Blanc  
This very day received intelligence,  
That our wronged Herford with Lord Rainold Cobham,  
Sir Thomas Arpingham, bold Sir john Rainston,  
Sir Robert Warerton, acquaint, Norbery,  
With eight tall Ships, three thousand men in Arms,  
Design with speed to touch our Northern shore,  
If then you have a spark of British glory,  
To imp our drooping country's broken Wing,  
Join hands with me and post to Ravenspurg.  Ross. 
Now business stirs and life is worth our while.  Will. 
Nature herself of late hath broke her Order,  
Then why should we continue our dull Round?  
Rivers themselves refuse their wont course,  
Start wide or turn on their own Fountain heads;  
Our laurels all are blasted, rambling Meteors  
Affright the fixst inhabitants of heaven.  
The pale faced Moon looks bloody on the Earth,  
And lean-lookt Prophets whisper dreadful change.  Pierc. 
Away, let's post to th' North, and see for once  
A Sun rise there; the glorious bullingbrook.  
For our Return will not pass a thought,  
For if our courtier's passage be withstood,  
We'll make ourselves a Sea and sail in Blood.  [Exeunt. Enter Queen Attended. Lady. 
Despair not Madam.  Queen. 
Who shall hinder me?  
I will despair and be at enmity,  
With flattering hope, he is a cozener,  
A Parasite, a keeper back of Death,  
That would dissolve at once our pain and Life,  
Which lingering hope holds long upon the Rack;  
Yet Murders at the last the cruelest way.  Lady. 
Here comes the Duke.  [Enter York and Servants. Queen. 
With signs of War about his aged neck,  
And full of careful business are his looks.  York. 
Death and confusion! oh!— set my Corsleet right, fetch my commanding Sword: scour up the brown Bills, Arm, Arm, Arm.  Queen. 
Now Uncle for heavens sake speak comfort.  York. 
Comforts in heaven, and we are on the Earth, nothing but crosses on this side of the Moon; my heart stews in choler, I shall dissolve to a Jelly. That your Husband should have no more wit than to go a Knight Erranting whilst Rogues seize all at home, and that I should have no more wit than to be his Deputy at such a proper time: to undertake to support a crazy Government, that can scarce carry my own Fat: Well Sirrah, have you given my Son orders to strengthen his Forces? if he prove a Flincher too.—  Gent. 
My Lord I know not how he stands affected,  
Not well, I fear, because at my Arrival  
He was withdrawn, at least pretended so  
So that I could not give him your Commands.  York. 
Why so? go all which way it will, the Nobles are all fled, and hid themselves like my ungracious Rascal, or else strike in with the Rebels; the Commons find our Exchequer empty and revolt too, and a blessed bargain I have on't.  Queen. 
Alas my Bank and Jewels are disposed off  
For the Kings wants already, and to wait  
Till fresh recruits come from our father's Court,  
I fear will lose our Cause.  York. 
Get thee to Plashy to my Sister Gloster,  
Her Coffers I am sure are strongly lined,  
Bid her send me presently 50000. Nobles.  
Hold— take my Ring, fly if thou lov'st thy Head.  Gent. 
My Lord I had forgot to tell you that to day  
Passing by there I was informed—  
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.  York. 
What is't Knave?  Gent. 
An hour before I came the Duchess died,  
Her Son your Nephew ere her Blood was cold,  
Makes all secure and flies to Bullingbrook.  York. 
Death what a tide of woes break upon us at once. Perverse Woman to take this time to Die in, and the varlet her Son too to take this time to play the villain in: would to heaven the King had cut off my Head as he did my Brothers, Come Sister— cousin I would say, pray Pardon me, if I know how to order these perplexed Affairs, I am a Sturgeon. Gentlemen go Muster up your Men, and meet me at Barkley Castle. I should to Plashie too, but time will not suffer; the Wind's cross too, and will let us hear nothing from Ireland, nor boots it much, if they have no better News for us, than we have for them. All's wrong, Oh! fie, hot! hot!  [Exeunt.  

SCENE the Third.  The Field, Flourish Enter. Bullingbrook, Northumberland, Piercy, and the Rest with their Powers. Bull. 
And thus like Seamen, scattered in a Storm  
Meet we to Revel on the safer Shore;  
Accept my worthy Friends, my dearest thanks,  
For yet my Infant Fortunes can present  
Returns no Richer but when these are Ripe,—  North. 
Your Presence was the Happiness we sighed for,  
And now made Rich in that we seek no more.  Enter Ross, and Willoughby. Bull. 
My Lords, you're well returned, what News from Wales,  
We hear that Salisbury has levied there  
Full 40000 on the King's behalf.  Ross. 
My Lord, that Cloud's dispersed, the Welshmen hearing  
That all the North here had resigned to you,  
Dispersed themselves and part are hither fled.  Will. 
Fortune so Labours to Confirm your power  
That all Attempts go cross on the enemy's side.  Enter York and servant's. Bull. 
But see our Uncle York, come as I guess  
To Treat with us, being doubtful of his strength,  
His hot and testy humour else would ne'er  
Salute us but with Blows; be ready Guards  
When I shall give Command— My Noble Uncle.  York. 
Show me thy humble Heart and not thy Knee,  
Whose Duty's feigned and false.  Bull. 
My Gracious Uncle.  York. 
Tut, tut, Grace me no Grace, and Uncle me no Uncle,  
I am no traitor's Uncle, I renounce thee,  
Why have these banished and forbidden Feet  
Dared once to touch a Dust of English ground,  
But more than why, why have they dared to march  
So many Miles upon her Peaceful Bosom,  
Frighting her palefaced Villages with War?  
Comest thou because th'anointed King is hence,  
Why graceless Boy the King is left behind  
And in my Loyal Bosom lies the Power:  
Were I but now the Lord of such hot Youth,  
As when brave Gaunt thy Father and myself  
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of Men,  
O then how quickly should this Arm of mine,  
(Now prisoner to the palsy) Chastise thee,  
And this raw Crew of hot-braind Youth about thee?  
Your Boys should have Correction, much Correction.  Bull. 
Why reverend 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 Herford,  
But as I come I come for Lancaster,  
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent Eye,  
You are my Father, for methinks in you,  
I see Old Gaunt Alive: O than my Father  
Will you permit that I shall stand condemned  
A wand'ring Vagabond, my Rights and Royalties  
Snatched from my Hand perforce and given away  
To upstart Unthrifts? wherefore was I Born?  
If that my cousin King, be King of England,  
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster,  York. 
Thy words are all as false as thy Intents,  
The King but for the Service of the State,  
Has borrowed thy Revenue for a time,  
And pawned to me his Honour to repay it,  
Which I as Gaunt executor allowed.  Bull. 
Then Uncle I am sorry you have drawn the gild on your own head, and that of Course Justice must fall there too; we must Commit you to our Guards Custody.  York. 
Perfidious Villain,  
Now he that has a Soul give me a Sword!  
And since my Followers are too few to Engage,  
Give but this Villain here and me a Ring,  
And if you do not see a traitor cudgelled,  
As a Vile traitor should, I'll give ye leave  
To hang my Brawn i'th' Sun.  North. 
The Duke has sworn he comes but for his own,  
And in that Claim we all resolve to Assist him.  York. 
What says Northumberland? thou reverend Rebel,  
Think what a Figure makes thy Beard amongst  
This Callow Crew; allow that he were wronged,  
As on the King's Faith and mine he is not,  
Yet in this kind to come with threatening Arms,  
To Compass right with wrong, it may not be;  
And you that do abet him in this sort  
From the hoared Head to the raw beardless Chin,  
Cherish Rebellion, and are Rebels all.  Bull. 
We have not leisure to debate; strike Drums.  York. 
Now the Villains Curse light on thee, and if thou dost seize the Crown, mayst thou be more plagued with being King, than I am with being Deputy.   

SCENE the Fourth.  Enter Rabble] A shoemaker, Farrier, Weaver, Tanner, Mercer, Brewer, Butcher, Barber, and infinite others with a Confused Noise. 
1. Silence hea! I Revelation Stitch Command Silence.  All. 
Peace hoa!  
1. Am I not Nobly Descended and Honourably Born?  
2. Right, the Field is Honourable, and there was he Born under a Hedge.  
1. Have I not born Commission with Watt Tyler (witness our luminary lost in that Service) and was I not precedent at Jack Straw's council, to kill all the Nobility and Clergy; but the friars mendicant, that in our Reign would soon have starved out o'th' way?  All. 
Hum! hum! Him!  
1. What place then do our gifts desere at such a season, where the temporal King is absent and Usurpers invade?  
2. Why, it behoveth thee to take unto thee a good Conscience, and make thy self King.  
1. Simon Shuttle, I never liked thy politics, our meanest Brethren pretend to the spirit of Governing, our talon is to govern the governor; therefore as Bullingbrook shall approve himself to our liking, we will fix him upon the last of the Government, or cast him out amongst the shreds and shave of the commonwealth.  
4. But pray Neighbour, what is this same commonwealth?  
3. You may see it at Smithfield all the Fair-time, 'tis the Butt End of the Nation.  
5. Peace hea! hear Master Revelation expound it.  
1. Why the commonwealth is akin to your-a-republick, like Man and Wife, the very same thing, only the commonwealth is the commonwealth and the republic is the republic.  
2. What an excellent Spirit of knowledge is here?  
3. We'll have no more Bills nor Bonds, but all shall be reduced to the Score and Tally.  
4. No physic, but what shall be administered in a Horn.  
5. We'll have privileges taken off, and all sorts compelled to pay their Debts.  
7. I except against that, I would rather break, than have gentlemen out of my debt; it gives us privilege of being saucy: how are we fain to cringe till we have got them into our Books? and than I warrant we can cock up with the best of 'em. I hate mortally to be paid off, it makes a man such a sneaking Rascal.  
1. We will have strict and wholesome Laws—  
6. Laws, Strict Laws, so will there be no mischief done, and our Profession starve. I'll ha' no Laws.  
Others, no Laws, no Laws, no Laws.  
Others, Laws, Laws, Laws.  They Scuffle. 
1. Hark, Bullingbrook approaches, put yourselves in posture, and sowgelder, wind me a strong Blast to return their compliment.  Flourish here.] Enter Bullingbrook with his Army. North. 
Behold my Lord an Object strange and sudden,  
The Rabble up in Arms to mock your powers,  
As once the Indian Apes are said to have done  
To Alexander's Army.  Pierc. 
Death my Lord.  
Permit me play for once the Scavinger,  
And sweep this Dirt out of your way.  Bull. 
Gently my valiant Piercy.  
Rage is the proper weapon of these Bruits,  
With which 'tis odds, they foil us, Rainston go to 'em,  
Bespeak 'em fair, and know what caused this Tumult.  
1. Oh an envoy! know of him his Quality.  
4. 'Tis Sir john Rainston, I have wrought for him.  
1. Down on thy knee; now (because we will observe Decorums of State) rise up Sir john Drench and Treat with him.  Bull. 
Hold Rainston, we will treat with 'em in person,  
For in their looks I read a sober judgement,  
All careful to preserve the public weal,  
Chief this awful man, to whose grave Censure  
We do refer the justice of our Arms.  
2. Goodly! what a gracious person he is.  Bull. 
I weep for joy, to see so brave a spirit,  
So jealous of your Liberty and Rights.  
Trust me my Countrymen, my Friends, my Brothers,  
'Tis worthy of the fame the world affords you,  
And that cursed Limb that stirs against your privileges,  
Why, let it Rot, tho' it were this right hand.  All. 
A Bullingbrook! a Bullingbrook! etc.  Bull. 
Mistake not my dear Countrymen our purpose,  
You think perhaps cause we are now arrived,  
With formal Arms, in absence of the King,  
That we take this occasion to Usurp,  
Alas we harbour no such foul design.  
1. How's that? not usurp? hear ye that Neighbours? he refuses to Usurp.  
Others, Fall on then, he is not for our turn, down with him.  
1. Sir, we shall give you to understand that we want a Usurper, and if you refuse to usurp you are a traitor, and so we put ourselves in battle array.  Bull. 
Yet hear me— what you mean by Usurpation,  
I may mistake, and beg to be informed.  
If it be only to ascend the Throne,  
To see that justice has a liberal course,  
In needful Wars to lead you forth to Conquest,  
And then dismiss you laden home with Spoils;  
If you mean this, I am at your disposal,  
And for your profit am content to take  
The burden of the State upon my hands.  All, 
A Bullingbrook, a Bullingbrook, etc.  
1. One word of caution Friend, be not Chicken-hearted, but pluck up a Spirit for the work before thee; it was revealed to me that now there should arise a Son of Thunder, a second Tyler— and I am resolved the vision shall not Lie; therefore I say again pluck up a Spirit; otherwise I shall discharge my Conscience and usurp myself.  Bull. 
Friends think me not made of such easy phlegm,  
That I can timely pocket wrongs; if so  
Why come I thus in Arms to seek my Right?  
No sirs, to give you proof that Bullingbrook  
Can do bold justice, here stands one Example:  
This bold presumer that dares call in question,  
The courage of the Man you choose for King,  
Shall die for his Offence, Guards hang him up.  
1. Why Neighbours will ye thus give up your Light? who shall reveal to ye, to save you from the poison of the Whore and the Horns of the Beast.  
2. He had no Vision to foretell this, therefore deserves Hanging for being a false Prophet.  Bull. 
Thus as a Ruler, justice bids me doom,  
But for my private part I weep to think  
That Blood should be the Prologue to my Reign.  
4. Good Prince he weeps for him! Neighbour Revelation departed in peace. For thy honour it will be recorded that Bullingbrook was crowned and thou hanged all on a Day.  
1. What a spirit of delusion has seized ye? why thus will this ravenous Storck devour ye all? do, do, deliver me to the Gibbet, and let the next turn be yours, thus shall these Nobility Rascals hold you in Slavery, seize your Houses over your heads, hang your Sons and ravish your Daughters.  All, 
Say ye so? they must excuse us for that: fall on neighbours.  
A Rescue, a Rescue, etc.  Bull. 
Hold Gentlemen, if I have done ye wrong,  
The fault is mine and let me suffer for't;  
But be not thus injurious to yourselves,  
To fling your naked Breasts on our Swords points.  
Alas it will not be within my power,  
To save ye, when my Troops are once enraged.  
Therefore give up this vile Incendiary,  
Who as you see, to save his miscreant Life,  
Seeks to expose all yours— trust me I weep  
To think that I must lose a Member— but  
Let justice have its course.  All, 
Ay, ay, Let justice have its course, hang, hang him up.  
A Bullingbrook, a Bullingbrook, a Bullingbrook, &c,  Exeunt.   

ACT the Third.  

SCENE the First.  Enter King Richard, Aumerle, Carlisle, etc. soldiers. King. 
BArklay-Castle, call you this at hand?  Aum. 
The same my Lord, how brooks your Grace the Air,  
After long 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,  
Tho' rebels wound thee with their horse's hoofs;  
Feed not thy sov'raigns' foes my gentle earth,  
Nor with thy fragrant sweets refresh their sense,  
With Thorns and Brambles choke their Treacherous way;  
And when they stoop to Rob thee of a flower,  
Guard it I pray thee with a lurking Adder!  
Serpents with Serpents fitly will engage—  
Mock not my senseless Conjuration Lords,  
This Earth shall have a feeling, and these Stones  
Rise soldiers armed before their Native King,  
Shall falter under foul Rebellious Arms.  Carlisle. 
Doubt not my Lord, the Conduct and the Courage  
With which you have suppressed one Rebel Crew,  
Will Crown your Temples with fresh laurels here;  
How have we else employed our absent time  
But Practising the way to Victory.  Aum. 
I fear my Lord that we are too remiss  
Whilst Bullingbrook through our security,  
Strengthens himself in substance and in Friends.  King. 
Desponding Cousin dost thou not consider  
That when the searching Eye of heaven is hid,  
Then thiefs and Robbers do securely Range,  
Alarm with cries of murder starting sleep,  
And fill with outrages the guilty Shades,  
But when the Day's discovering Rays return,  
Firing the proud tops of the Eastern Pines,  
And dart their Lightnings through each Guilty Nook  
Then Murders, Treasons, and detested Crimes,  
Dismantled from the Cloak of Night, stand bare,  
And Tremble at their own Deformity!  
So, when this Thief Night-rev'ling Bullingbrook  
Shall see our Beams of Majesty returned,  
His Treasons shall sit blushing on his Face,  
Not able to endure the sight of Day.  Carl. 
Not all the Waters of th'unfathomed Sea  
Can wash the Balm from an anointed King.  King. 
Move we secure then in our Royal Right,  
To th' traitor's Executions, not to Fight.  [Exeunt.  

SCENE The Second.  A Garden. Queen Duchess of York, and other Ladies. Queen. 
Our Uncle York's delay brings fresh suspicion,  
That we are prisoners in a larger Chain;  
Besides I fear that our Intelligence  
Is smoothed and tampered ere it reach our Ear.  Dutch. 
Our Servants wear a doubtful Countenance,  
Struck with a gen'ral fear whilst they observe  
Fresh Prodigies start forth with every Hour.  
The frighted Springs retreat to Earth again,  
The Seasons change their Courses, as the Year  
Had found some Months asleep and leapt them over.  Qu. 
Here come the gardiner's; let us step aside,  
They'll talk of State, for every one does so  
Before a Change, and dullest Animals  
Have oft the earliest sense of Alterations.  Enter Gardiner and Servant. Gard. 
Support those Vines, and Bind those Peaches up,  
Then like an Executioner  
Cut off the Heads of Sprigs that grow too fast,  
And look too lofty in our Commonwealth,  
All must be even in our Government.  
But now we speak of Execution,  
2. Are Bushie Green and th' Earl of Wiltshire Dead?  Seru. 
By Bullingbrook's Command they have lost their Heads;  
The King is Landed, but it seems too late  
To Head the Forces raised by Salisbury  
Who had dispersed themselves ere he arrived.  Qu. 
Then all our fears are true, we are betrayed.  Dutch. 
Patience dear Madam, we may get hear further.  Seru. 
Think you the King will be deposed?  Gard. 
Depressed he is already, and 'tis feared  
His fortune will decline from bad to worse,  
Do what we can, you see our laurels whither,  
Our Sun-flowers all are blasted, streams run backward,  
These Prodigies forbade some dreadful change,  
'Tis thought at last the King will be deposed.  Queen. 
I'm pressed to death with silence— boding Peazant,  
More senseless than the Plants or Earth thou tend'st,  
Dar'st thou divine the downfall of a King?  
Old Adam's likeness set to dress this Garden,  
What Eve, what Serpent has seduced thy soul,  
To prophesy this second fall of Man?  Gard. 
Pardon me Madam, little joy have I  
To breathe this News, but fear you'll find 'em true.  Queen. 
Come Ladies, let us post to meet the King,  
This Scretch-Owl yet amongst his bodingcries,  
Has sung the glad news of the King's Arrival!  
Which otherwise we were forbid to know;  
Thou fearest lest York should meet with bushies' Fate,  
Suspend thy Tears, the heavy time may come,  
That thou wilt blush to see thy York alive;  
If Richard fall, 'tis Treason to survive.  Exeunt  

SCENE the Third.  A Heath. King, Aumerle, Carlisle, soldiers. King. 
Command a halt, we will a while refresh,  
Our sultry March, a cool breeze fans this Air—  
The last expresses we received from Wales,  
Spoke of full 20000 fight men,  
Did it not Lords?  Aum. 
And some odd Troops besides.  King. 
Nor will our Uncle York be negligent,  
To muster up what Force he can,  
Sure we shall blush my Lords, at our own strength,  
Heaping such numbers for so just a cause.  Aum. 
Sir, doubt not but the active Foe will find  
Business enough t'employ our outmost Numbers.  Enter Salisbury. 
I fear me we shall more want Hands than Work.  King. 
See cousin who comes here, i'th' very Minute  
To clear thy doubts, our trusty Salisbury.  
Welcome my Lord, how far off lies your Power?  Sal. 
My gracious Lord, no farther off nor nearer  
Than this weak Arm, discomfort guides my tongue,  
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.  
I fear my noble Lord one day too late,  
Has clouded all your happy days on earth!  
O call back yesterday, bid time return,  
Thou shalt have 20000 Fightingmen,  
To day to day! one luckless day too late,  
overthrows thy Friends, thy Fortune and thy State;  
Our Welshmen miss-informed that you were dead,  
Are gone to Bullingbrook 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,  
Have I not reason think you to look pale?  
My Fortune like a wife that has arrived  
The hardness to have once proved open false,  
Will set no Limits to her treach'ries now:  
But turn to every upstart that will court her,  
Now all that will be safe fly from my side,  
For time has set a blast upon my Pride.  Aum. 
My Liege remember who you are.  King. 
I had forgot myself, am I not King?  
Awake thou sluggard Majesty thou sleepest!  
Is not the King's name 40000 names,  
Arm, arm my Name! a puny Subject strikes  
At thy great glory! look not to the ground  
Ye favourites of a King;  
See Salisbury, our hasty Scroop brings Balm  
To salve the Wound thy piercing tidings gave.  [Enter Scroop. 
Come on thou trusty soldier; oh draw near!  
Thou never showd'st thyself more seasonably,  
Not when the flying Battle thou hast turned,  
And from the hands of Conquest forced the Day.  Scroop. 
More health and happiness befall my Liege,  
Then my care burdened Tongue has to deliver.  King. 
How's that? I charge thee on thy Soul speak comfort.  
Ha! wilt thou not speak Comfort? then speak Truth.  
My ear is open and my heart prepared,  
The worst thou canst unfold is worldly loss,  
Say, is my Kingdom lost? why 'twas my Care;  
And what loss is it to be rid of Care?  
Strives Bullingbrook to be as great as we?  
If heaven approve his hopes, why let 'em thrive!  
Revolt our Subjects? that we cannot mend,  
To heaven they first were false and then to us!  
Then give thy heavy heart as heavy speech,  
Cry Woe, Destruction, Ruin, Loss, Decay,  
The worst is Death, and Death will have his Day.  Scroop. 
I'm glad to find your Highness so prepared,  
Like a fierce sudden Storm that swells the Floods,  
As if the world were all dissolved to Tears,  
So rages Bullingbrook above his bounds,  
Covering the fearful Land with clashing Arms;  
Old Sires have bound their hairless Scalps in steel,  
Boys leave their sports and tune their tender Pipes  
To the big voice of War, and strut in Armour;  
The very Beadsmen learn to bend their Bows,  
The very Women throw their Infants by,  
Snatch rusty Bills and flock to the mad War,  
And all goes worse than I have Power to tell.  King. 
Too well, alas, thou tell'sta Tale so Ill!  
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushie, Bagot?  
That they have let these mischiefs spread so far,  
If we prevail their Heads shall answer for't!  
I warrant they have made peace with Bullingbrook.  Scroop. 
Peace have they made with him indeed.  King. 
Oh Villains Vipers, damned without redemption!  
Dogs, quickly won to fawn on any Comer,  
Snakes in my Heartsblood warmed to sting my Heart,  
Would they make Peace? eternal Hell make War  
Upon their spotted souls for this Offence.  Scroop. 
Again uncurse their Souls, their Peace is made  
With Heads and not with Hands, those whom you curse  
Are butchered in your Cause, beheaded all  
And with their last breath wished your Arms success.  Aum. 
Where is the Duke my Father with his Forces?  King. 
No matter where; of Comfort no man speak;  
Let's talk of Graves, of Worms and Epitaphs,  
Make Dust our paper, and with rainy eyes  
Writ sorrow on the bosom of the earth!  
For heavens sake let's sit upon the ground,  
And tell sad stories of the Death of Kings,  
How some have been deposed, some slain in War,  
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 Antique sits,  
Scoffing his State, and grinning at his Pomp!  
Allowing him a short fictitious Scene,  
To play the Prince, be feared, and kill with looks,  
Till swelled with vain conceit the flattered thing  
Believes himself immortal as a God;  
Then to the train fate's Engineer sets fire,  
Blows up his pageant Pride and farewell King.  
Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood,  
With solemn reverence, throw away Respect,  
Obeisance, Form and Ceremonious Duty,  
For you have but mistook me all this while,  
I live with bread like you, feel Wants, taste Grief,  
Therefore am I no King, or a King nothing.  Aum. 
Give to the Foe my Lord, this cold despair,  
No worse can come of Fight, of Death much better.  
My father's Troops are firm let's join with them,  
And manage wisely that last stake o'th' War,  
Vows craft can make a body of a limb.  King. 
You chide me well, proud Bullingbrook I come,  [Rises. 
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?  
My fired heart now longs for the fatal hour.  Scroop. 
Men by the Skies complexion judge the day,  
So may you by my dull and heavy eye,  
Find that my tongue brings yet a heavier Tale,  
I play the Torturer by small and small!  
Your Uncle York treating with Bullingbrook,  
Was seized by him, and's still kept close confined,  
So that the strength which he was mustering up,  
Is quast and come to nought.  King. 
Thou hast said enough,  
Beshrew thee Cousin that didst lead me forth  
Of that sweet I was in to despair!  
What say ye now? what comfort have ye now?  
By heaven I'll hate him everlastingly,  
That bids me be of comfort any more!  Enter Queen, Duchess, Ladies and Attendants. 
Now by despair my Queen and her fair train!  
Come to congratulate our Victory,  
And claim the triumph we at parting promised;  
Go tell 'em Lords, what feats you have performed,  
And if ye please tell my adventures too,  
You know I was no Idler in the War.  
Oh! torture, now I feel my miseries sting,  
And this appearance strikes me dead with shame  Queen. 
Welcome my Lord,  
This minute is our own, and I'll devote it all  
To ecstasy, the Realm receives her King,  
And I my Lover,— thou dost turn away!  
Nor are they tears of joy which thou dost shed,  
I give thee welcome, thou reply'st with sighs!  King. 
What language shall my bankrupt fortunes find,  
To greet such Heavenly excellence as thine?  
I promised thee success and bring thee Tears!  
O couldst thou but devorce me from thy Heart!  
But oh! I know thy virtue will undo thee,  
Thou wilt be still a faithful constant Wife,  
Feel all my Wrongs and suffer in my Fall?  
There is the sting and venom of my Fate,  
When I shall think that I have ruined Thee.  Queen. 
I ask no more my Lord, at fortune's hands  
Then privilege to suffer for your sake!  
Who would not share your Grief to share your Love?  
This Kingdom yet, which once you did prefer  
To the world's sway, this Beauty and this Heart  
Is Richards still, millions of Loyal thoughts  
Are always waiting there to pay you homage.  
That glorious Empire yields to you alone,  
No Bullingbrook can chase you from that Throne.  King. 
We'll march no farther, lead to th' Castle here.  [Exeunt.  

SCENE the Fourth.  A Castle. Flourish. Enter Bullingbrook, York, Northumberland, Piercy, Willoughby, etc. North. 
The News is very fair and good My Lord,  
Richard within this Fort has hid his head.  York. 
It would become the Lord Northumberland  
To say King Richard, that so good a King  
Should be compelled to hid a sacred Head,  
And Thou have leave to show a Villains Face!  Bull. 
Mistake not Uncle farther than you should.  York. 
Talk not thou traitor farther than thou shouldst.  [Enter Ross. Bull. 
What sayest thou Ross? will not this Castle yield?  Ross. 
My Lord the Castle Royally is maned  
Against your entrance, for the King and Queen  
But newly are arrived and entered there,  
With them the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,  
Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman  
Of holy reverence, whom I cannot learn.  North. 
I know him, 'tis the Bishop of Carlisle.  Bull. 
Go Northumberland, through the ribs of this Castle,  
With brazen Trumpets sound the breath of Parle,  
Say thus— that Bullingbrook upon his knees  
Kisses King Richard's hands with true allegiance,  
And that with thoughts of Peace he's hither come.  
Even at his feet to lay his Arms and power,  
Provided his Revenues be restored,  
His Banishment repealed; let this be granted  
Or else he'll use th'advantage of his Power,  
And lay the summer's Dust with showers of Blood:—  Enter King above Aumerle, Carlisle, etc. 
But see where on the walls he does appear,  
As does the blushing discontented Sun,  
When envious Clouds combine to shade his Glory.  York. 
O my dear Liege, heaven guard your Majesty,  
'Fore heaven, my old heart leaps at sight of you,  
Think not that falsely I gave up your power,  
If any Villain of 'em dares to say it,  
I'll call that Villain liar to his teeth,  
He is a Rogue, tho' it be Bullingbrook!  
Lo, here I kneel, and pay thee Homage as a true  
Subject should before the Rebels Faces.  King. 
Rise York, I know thy truth, and pity thee.  
We are amazed, and thus long have we stood  
To watch the fearful bending of his knee;  
Because We thought ourselves his lawful King.  
Tell Bullingbrook, for yond methinks is he,  
That every stride he makes upon Our Land  
Is dangerous Treason: He is come t' unfold  
The purple Testament of bleeding War:  
But e'er the Crown he seeks shall bind his Brow,  
A thousand orphaned Widowed mother's Tears  
Shall wash from Earth their Sons and Husbands Blood.  North. 
Heaven forbidden our Lord the King  
Should thus with civil Arms be rushed upon;  
Lord Bullingbrook does humbly kiss your Hand,  
And swears his coming hither has no other scope  
Then to demand his Royalties, and beg  
Enfrancisement from Exile; grant but this,  
His glittering Arms he will commend to Rust.  King. 
Northumberland say thus,— The King complies  
With his Demands; and so commend us to him.  
We do debase ourselves Cousin, do we not,  
To look so peaceful and to speak so fair?  
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send  
Defiance to the traitor's Heart, and Die.  Aum. 
No, good my Lord, let's fight with gentle words,  
Till time lend Friends, and Friends their conquering Swords.  King. 
That ere this power-changed Tongue  
That laid the Sentence of dread Banishment  
On yond proud Man, should take it off again.  
O that I were as great  
As is my Grief, or lesser than my Name!  
That I could quite forget what I have been,  
Or not remember what I must be now.  Aum. 
Northumberland comes back from Bullingbrook.  King. 
What must the King do now? Must he forgo  
The Name of King? O'God's Name let it pass,  
I'll give my Jewels for a set of Beads,  
My gilded Palace for a Hermitage,  
My Robes of Empire for an Alms-man's Gown,  
My figured Goblets for a Dish of Wood,  
My sceptre for an humble palmer's Staff,  
My Subjects for a pair of Poor carved Saints,  
And my large Kingdom for a little Grave,  
A little, very little obscure Grave!  Aumarle, 
Thou weep'st; my tender hearted Cousin,  
we'll join our Royal with thy Loyal Tears,  
Our sighs and they shall lodge the Summer Corn  
And make a Dearth in this revolting landlord.  North. 
My Lord he thanks your Highness and begs leave  
To speak with you, Sir please you to come down:  
he'll wait your Majesty i'th' Court below.  King. 
Down, down, I come like Blazing Phaeton,  
Wanting the Menage of unruly Steeds;  
Down pomp, down swelling stubborn Heart, down King,  
For Night-Owls shrick where Mounting Larks should sing.  [Exeunt from above. Re-enter Bullingbrook, and his Company in the Court. Bul, 
Northumberland to London, with all speed,  
Summon a Parliament i'th' Commons Name,  
In Order to the King's Appearance there;  [Enter King attended.] 
But see— his Highness comes, stand all apart  
And show fair Duty to his Majesty.  York runs over to the King, knelt and kisses his Hand. York. 
Now left the Rebels seize me if they can,  
For here I'll perish by my Sovereign's side.  King. 
Fie Cousin, you debase your princely Knee  
And make our Earth too proud with Kissing it;  
Methinks my Heart had rather feel your Love,  
Then thus in Eye behold the courtesy:  
Up cousin, up— Your Heart is up, I know.  Bul. 
My gracious Lord I come but for my own.  King. 
And to that Title who must set the Bounds?  Bul. 
Nor even to that do I lay farther claim,  
Than my true Service shall deserve your Love.  King. 
Well you deserve, they best deserve to have,  
That know the strongest surest way to get;  
But heaven rules all— good Uncle dry your Tears—  
Cousin I am to young to be your Father  
Tho' you are Old enuff to be my Heir!  
Methinks one Person's wanting yet  
To this fair Presence, our Old Loyal Gaunt,  
He was thy Father Herford, was he not?  
Excuse me Cousin, Tears but ill become  
A King, at least when Friends and Kinsmen meet,  
And yet I cannot choose but weep to think,  
That whilst you press and I permit this Scorn;  
What Plagues we heap on Children yet unborn.  [Exeunt.   

ACT iu.  
Enter York, Aumarle in their Parliament Robes, Two Messengers from Bullingbrook. York. 
TUt, tut, tut, tell not me of Patience, 'tis a Load a Burden that Knaves will never cease to lay on whilst Asses will carry it! nothing but villainy in this versal World, and nothing plague's me but that I can't turn Villain too, to be revenged.  Aum. 
Perfidious Bullingbrook to bow the knee,  
And do obeisance to our Royal Master;  
To treat of Peace and tend him all the way  
With duteous Ceremony humblest Service,  
Yet basely to confine him after all,  
To call a Senate in King Richard's Name  
Against King Richard, to depose King Richard,  
Is such a Monster to cursed usurpation,  
As ne'er was practised in the barbarous Climes,  
Where Subject hered and Courts themselves are Savage.  York, 
Out on this Sultry Robe! O Spleen! Spleen!— Fat and  
Vexation will be the Death of me,— Behold this Brace  
Of raizor-nosed Rascals, you'd swear that a split  
Groat made both their Faces; lean Pimps,  
That could scarce stop a Cranny in a Door:  
Why? they are sorsooth no less than Rogues of State.  Mess. 
My Lord, this is no Answer to our Message.  York. 
I, the Message! I had rather you had brought me— poison; for certain 'twas sent to be the Death of me: Thou knowst Boy, on what Account we are going this Morning. Woned you think it, this traitor Bullingbrook has sent for me; for me, I say, sent by these Rogues for me, to confer with him in private before the House sits.  Aum. 
That was indeed provoking.  York. 
Nay, let honest men judge if Murder was not in his heart, and that he thought the Message would make me Die with choler.— Now should I clap this pair of Arrows to a bowstring and shoot 'em back to the Usurper.— Go tell the Knave your Master, He's a Fool to send for me, I renounce him: Speak with him in private before the House sits. Why? I would not meet him there but to show myself for Richard, and then tell him he'll see one that that hates a traitor, be Bullingbrook what he will.  [Exit. Enter Duchess of York. Dutch. 
Aumarle, come back, by all the Charms of Duty,  
I do conjure you temper your rash Father,  
His Zeal can do th' abandoned King no good;  
But will provoke th' usurper to our ruin.  Aum. 
Already, I have pressed beyond his Patience,  
What can our poor Endeavours help the King  
When he himself complies with his hard fortune;  
He comes this Morning to Resign the Crown.  Dutch. 
Where then is that amazing Resolution,  
That in his nonage fired his Youthful breast:  
To face Rebellion and strike dead the Monster,  
When Tyler's Deluge covered all the Land?  
Or where the fury that suppressed the Kerns;  
Whilst numbers perished by his Royal Arm?  Aum. 
With such Malignant fortune he is pressed,  
As renders bravest Resolution vain;  
By force and fraud reduced to that Distress,  
That even i'th' best opinion of his Friends  
He is advised to yield his sceptre up,  
This poor reserve being all, to make that seem  
As voluntary, which perforce must be;  
But how resents the Queen this strange Oppression?  Dutch. 
As yet the worst has been dissembled to her,  
A slumber now has seized her wakeful Lids:  
But here she comes, I must attend, Away.  [Ex. Aum. Enter Queen supported by Ladies. Qu. 
Convey me to my Lord, or bring him hither,  
Fate labours in my breast and frights my Dreams;  
No sooner sleep can seize my weeping Eyes,  
But boding Images of Death and horror  
Affright the Infant slumber into Cries,  
A Thousand forms of ruin strike my thoughts;  
A Thousand various Scenes of Fate are shown,  
Which in their sad Catastrophe agree,  
The Moral still concludes in Richard's fall.  Dutch. 
How shall we now dare to inform her Grief  
Of the sad Scene the King must Act to day?  Qu. 
Even now amidst a Chaos of distraction,  
A towering Eagle winged his cloudy way,  
Pursued by ravenous Kites, and clamorous Daws,  
That stripped th' imperial Bird of all his Plumes,  
And with their Numbers sunk him to the ground:  
But as I nearer drew, the Figure changed,  
My Richard there lay weltering in his gore!  
So dreamt Calphurnia, and so fell Caesar.  Enter a Lady. Lad. 
Madam, the King is coming.  Qu. 
Thou bring'st a welcome hearing, and already  
I feel his powerful influence chase my fears,  
For grief itself must smile when Richard's by.  Enter King in Mourning. 
Oh heaven is this? is this my promised joy!  
Not all the terrors of my sleep presented  
A Spectacle like this! O speak, my Lord!  
The Blood starts back to my cold Heart; O speak!  
What means this dark and mournful Pageantry,  
This pomp of Death?  King. 
Command your Waiters forth,  
My space is short, and I have much to say.  Qu. 
Are these the Robes of State? Th' imperial Garb,  
In which the King should go to meet his Senate?  
Was I not made to hope this Day should be  
Your second Coronation, second Birth  
Of Empire, when our Civil Broils should sleep,  
For ever hushed in deep Oblivion's Grave?  King. 
O Isabel! This Pageantry suits best  
With the black Day's more black Solemnity;  
But 'tis not worth a Tear, for, say what part  
Of Life's vain Fable can deserve a Tear,  
A real Sorrow for a feigned Distress!  
My Coronation was (methinks) a Dream,  
Think then my Resignation is no more.  Qu. 
What Resignation? Mean you of the Crown?  
Will Richard then against himself conspire?  
Th' Usurper will have more excuse than he:  
No, Richard, never tamely yield your Honours,  
Yield me; yield if you must your precious Life,  
But seize the Crown, and grasp your sceptre dying.  King. 
Why dost thou fret a lion in the Toil  
To Rage, that only makes his hunter's sport?  
Permit me briefly to recount the steps,  
By which my Fortune grew to this distress.  
Then tell me, what could Alexander do  
Against a Fate so obstinate as mine.  Qu. 
Oh heaven! Is awful Majesty no more?  King. 
First, had I not been absent when th' Invader  
Set footing here; or if being then in Ireland,  
The cross Winds not forbade the News to reach me;  
Or when the shocking Tidings were arrived,  
Had not the veering Winds again obstructed  
My passage back, till rumour of my Death  
Dispersed the Forces raised by Salisbury;  
Or when these hopes were perished, had not Baggot,  
Bushie, and Green, by Bullingbrook been murdered,  
Old York himself (our last reserve) surprised,  
There were some scope for Resolution left.  
But what cursed Accident i'th' power of Chance,  
That did not then befall to cross my Wishes;  
And what strange hit could Bullingbrook, desire,  
That fell not out to push his Forttnes on;  
Whatever outmost Fate could do to blast  
My hopes was done; what outmost Fate could do  
T' advance proud Bullingbrooks as sure befell.  
Now which of these Misfortunes was my fault?  
Or what could I against resisting heaven!  Qu. 
Oh my dear Lord, think not I meant t'upbraid  [Weeps over them] 
Your Misery—  
Death seize my Youth, when any other passion  
For injured Richard in my breasts finds room,  
But tenderest Love and Pity of his Woes.  King. 
That I resign the Crown with seeming will,  
Is now the best my Friends can counsel me,  
Th' usurping House decrees it must be done,  
And therefore best that it seem Voluntary.  Qu. 
Has Loyalty so quite renouneed the World,  
That none will yet strike for an injured King?  King. 
Alas! my sinking bark shall wreck no more  
My generous Friends, let Crowns and sceptres go  
Before I swim to 'em in Subjects blood.  
The King in pity to his Subjects quits  
His Right, that have no pity for their King!  
Let me be blessed with cool Retreat and thee,  
Thou World of Beauty, and thou heaven of Love,  
To Bullingbrook I yield the Toils of State:  
And may the Crown sit lighter on his Head  
Than e'er it did on Richard's.  Qu. 
Destiny  
Is Tyrant over King's; heaven guard my Lord.  King. 
Weep not my Love, each Tear thou sheddest is Theft,  
For know, thou robbest the great ones of their due;  
Of Pomp divested we should now put off,  
It's dull Companion Grief— farewell my Love:  
Thy Richard shall return to thee again,  
The King no more.  Qu. 
In spite of me, my sorrow  
In sad Prophetic Language does reply  
Nor Richard, nor the King.  [Exeunt severally.  

SCENE the Parliament.  Bullingbrook, Northumb. Piercie, York, Aumarle, Carlisle, with other Nobles and Officers making a full House. North. 
Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee  
From Richard, who with free and willing Soul  
Adopts thee Heir, and his high sceptre yields  
To the possession of thy Royal Hand;  
Ascend his Throne descending now from him,  
And long live Henry of that Name the Fourth.  Bull. 
Richard Consents, and Lords I have your Voices,  
In heavens Name therefore I ascend the Throne.  Carl. 
No, hasty Bullingbrook, in heavens Name stay,  
Thou meanest of this Presence, yet I'll speak  
A Truth that does beseem me best to speak,  
And would to God, the noblest of this presence  
Were enuff noble to be Richard's Judge:  
What subject can give sentence on his King!  
And who sits here that is not Richard's Subject?  
Thiefs are not judged, but they are by to hear,  
Th' indictment read, and Answer to their Charge,  
And shall the Figure of heavens Majesty,  
His Captain, Steward, Deputy, Elect,  
Anointed, crowned and planted many years,  
Be judged by Subject and inferior Breath,  
And he not present! o' forbidden it God  
That in a Christian Climate Souls refined,  
Should Plot so heinous black obscene a deed;  
I speak to Subjects, and a Subject speaks,  
Stirred up by Heaven thus boldly for his King.  York. 
Now by my Life, I thank thee honest Prelate,  
My Lords what say ye to the Bishop's Doctrine,  
Is't not Heavenly true? you know it is;  
Nor can even graceless Herford's self gain say't.  Carl. 
My Lord of Hereford here whom you call King,  
Is a foul traitor to proud Herford's King,  
And if you Crown him, let me prophesy,  
The blood of English shall manure the Land,  
And future Ages groan for this foul Deed:  
And if you rear this House against its self,  
It will the woefullest Division prove  
That ever yet befell this guilty Earth.  
Prevent, resist it, stop this breach in Time  
Lest children's Children, curse you for this Crime.  North. 
Well have you argued, Sir, and for your pains  
Of Capital Treason we Arrest you here;  
My Lord of Westminster, be it your care  
To keep him safely till his Day of trial.  
wil't please you Lords to grant the Common's Suit?  York. 
First let me move and yield some Knave a Seat.  Bull. 
Bring hither Richard, that in open view  
He may surrender so shall we proceed  
Without suspicion.  King Richard brought in. King. 
Alack why am I sent for to the King,  
Before I have shaken off the Regal thoughts  
With which I reigned— as yet I have not learned  
T' insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend the Knee,  
Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me  
To this submission— Yet I well remember  
The favours these Men! were they not mine?  
To do what service am I sent for hither?  North. 
To do that Office of your own good will,  
Which wearied Majesty did prompt thee to  
The Resignation of thy Crown and State  
To Henry Bullingbrook.  King. 
My own good Will?  
Yes, heaven and you know with what sort of Will!  
You say it is my Will: why be it so,  
Give me the Crown— come Cousin seize the Crown  
Upon this side my Hand, on that side thine.  
Now is this Crown a Well wherein two Vessels  
That in successive Motion rise and fall,  
The emptier ever dancing in the Air,  
Th' oppressed one down, unseen and sunk, that Vessel  
Dejected, pressed and full of Tears am I,  
Drinking my Griefs whilst Herford mounts on high.  Bull. 
I thought you had been willing to Resign.  King. 
My Crown I am, but still my Griefs are mine.  Bull. 
Are you contented to Resign or no?  King. 
Yes— No— yet let it pass,  
From off my Head I give this heavy weight,  
And this unwieldy sceptre from my Hand;  
So with my Tears I wash my Balm away,  
With my own breath release all duteous Oaths,  
My Pomp and Majesty for ever quit,  
My manors, Rents, Revenues I forego,  
My Acts, Decrees and Statutes I repeal,  
Heaven pardon all Oaths that are broke to me;  
Heaven keep unbroke all Vows are made to thee  
Make me that nothing have, to covet nought,  
And thee possessed of all that all hast sought:  
What more remains?  North. 
No more, but that you read  
This Bill of Accusations charged upon your Crimes.  King. 
Distraction! made my own accuser too  
To read a bead-roll of my own defaults,  
Read it myself? by piecemeal to unravel  
My weav'd-up follies? why, Northumberland,  
If thy Offences were upon Record,  
Would it not shame thee in so full a Presence  
To read a Lecture of 'em? if thou shouldst,  
There wouldst thou find one heinous Article,  
Containing the deposing of a King:  
And cracking the strong warrant of an Oath,  
Marked with a blot damned in the book of heaven,  
Nay all of you that stand and look upon me,  
Waiting to see my Misery bait itself;  
Like pilate's have betrayed me to my Cross,  
And water cannot wash away your sin.  North. 
My Lord dispatch, read over the Articles.  King. 
My Eyes are full of Tears! I cannot see.  North. 
My Lord—  King. 
No Lord of thine thou false insulting Man,  
Nor no Man's Lord— I have no Name, no Title;  
Let me Command a mirror hither straight,  
That it may show me what a Face I have  
Since stripped and Bankrupt of its Majesty.  Bul. 
Fetch him a Glass.  North. 
In the mean time read o'er this Paper.  King. 
Hell!— for a Charm to lay  
This foul Tormenting Fiend.  Bul. 
Urge it no more Northumberland.  Nor. 
The Commons Sir will not be satisfied,  
Unless he Read, Confess, and Sign it too.  King. 
They shall be satisfied, I'll Read enuff  
When I shall see the very Book indeed  
Where all my faults are writ, and that's myself,  
Give me that mirror—  [Views himself in the Glass. 
No deeper wrinkles yet? has Sorrow struck  
So many many blows upon these Cheeks and made  
No deeper wounds?— O' flattering Instrument,  
Like to my followers in prosperity,  
So shall just Fate dash them as I dash thee:  [Breaks it. 
So Pomp and falsehood ends— I'll beg one Boon,  
Then take my leave and trouble you no more,  
Shall I obtain it?  Bul. 
Name it fair Cousin.  King. 
Fair Cousin?— I am greater than a King!  
For when I was a King my Flatterers  
Were then but Subjects, being now a Subject  
I have a King here for my flatterer.  
'Tis only leave to go.  Bul. 
Whether?  King. 
Why, from your sight and then no matter where  Bul. 
Convey him to the Tower.  King. 
Ha! ha'! my fortune's Malice now  
Is grown so strange that 'tis become my sport;  
Convey, Convey, Conveighers are you all  
That rise thus nimbly on your monarch's fall.  Bul. 
Lords, I shall study to requite your Favours:  
On Wednesday next we Solemnly set down  
Our Coronation, so prepare yourselves.  All, 
Long live King Bullingbrook, Henry the Fourth.  York. 
Well, my Allegiance follows still the Crown,  
True to the King I shall be, and thereon  
I kiss his Hand; 'tis equally as true  
That I shall always Love and Guard the King,  
As that I always shall hate Bullingbrook.  
The King's Sacred, be Herford what he will  
Yet 'tis no Treason sure to pity Richard.  Bul. 
Break up the Assembly, so we'll pass in state  
To greet the Loves of our expecting Subjects,  
Led there and bid our Trumpets speak.  Ex. Bullingbrook attended; shouts without. York. 
Peace hellhounds or your own breath poison ye.  King. 
Good Uncle give 'em way, all monster's Act  
To their own kind, so do the Multitude.  Shout again. Carl. 
Why impious hardened wretches, Brands for Hell?  
Forbear this barbarous outrage, Tears of Blood  
Can never wash this Monstrous gild away.  King. 
What must I then preach Patience to my Priest?  
Let no Man's wrongs complain whilst mine are silent,  
How think ye my good Friends, will not  
Succeeding Ages call this Day to witness  
What Changes sway the World; your King must pass  
A Spectacle of scorn through crowded streets,  
That at the same time view th' usurpers Triumph;  
Heaven shut thy Eye till this dire Scene be past,  
The light that sees it, sure will be the last.  Ex. Guarded.   

ACT V.  
Enter Duchess and Aumarle. Dutch. 
AT that sad passage Tears broke off your Story,  
Where rude misgoverned Hands from Windows threw  
Rank weeds and rubbish on King Richard's Head.  Aum. 
Then as I said, the haughty Bullingbrook  
Mounted upon an 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 King Bullingbrook!  
You would have thought the very Windows spoke,  
So many greedy looks of young and old,  
Through Casements darted their desiring Eyes:  
You would have thought the very Walls themselves,  
With all their painted imagery, had cried,  
Hail to the King, all Hail to Bullingbrook!  
Whilst bending lower than his courser's neck,  
The Rabble he saluted on each side;  
Thus praising and thus praised he passed along.  Dutch. 
Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while?  Aum. 
As in the Theatre the Eyes of Men,  
After a well-graced Actor leaves the Stage,  
Are idly bend on him that enters next,  
With such contempt they turned their Eyes from Richard,  
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 Smiles and Fears,  
(The Badges of his Grief and Patience)  
That had not heaven for some strange purpose steeled  
The Hearts of Men, they must of force relented,  
And Cruelty itself have pitied him.  Enter York. York. 
What, in Tears still? Well, heavens will must be— mark me Boy, I cannot blame thy grieving for Richard, because I do it myself; neither can I blame thee for not loving Bullingbrook, because I cannot do it myself: But to be true to him (or rather to our Oath, being now his sworn Subjects) I conjure thee. This I speak, because the King suspects thee, and made me even now pledge for thy truth and fealty: Bear you well therefore in this new Spring of Government, lest you be cropped before your time— Well, what News from Oxford, Boy? Hold th' intended Triumphs there? 'Tis said our new King will grace them with his Presence.  Aum. 
They hold, my Lord, for certain— and as certain  
This upstart King shall die if he comes there.  York. 
Ha! come nearer, what Seal is that which hangs out from thy Bosom? Ha! look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.  Aum. 
I do beseech your Grace to pardon me;  
It is a matter of small consequence,  
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.  York. 
Which for some reasons! Sir, I mean to see,  [Snatches it. 
Just as I feared, Treason, foul Treason, Villain traitor.  Dutch. 
What's the matter my Lord, good York inform me.  York. 
Away fond Woman, give me my Boots, saddle my Horse.  Dutch. 
The matter, Son.  Aum. 
Good Madam, be content.  
It is no more than my poor Life must Answer.  Dutch. 
Thy Life!  [Servant enters. 
Hence Villain, strike him Aumarle.  York. 
My Boots I say, I will away to th' King.  Dutch. 
Why York, what wilt thou do?  
Wilt thou not hid the Trespass of thine own?  York. 
Peace Woman, or I will impeach thee too;  
Wouldst thou conceal this dark Conspiracy?  
A dozen of 'em here have ta'en the Sacrament,  
And interchangeably set down their Hands  
To kill the King at Oxford.  Dutch. 
He shall be none;  
We'll keep him here, then what's that to him?  York. 
Tho' I love not Bullingbrook, yet I hate Treason, and will impeach the Villain.  Dutch. 
Our Son, our only Son, our age's comfort;  
Is he not thine own?  York. 
Wife, I believe it, therefore I impeach him; were he none of mine, let his own Father look to him; but since he is my Villain, I'll see the Villain ordered: My Horse, I say.  Dutch. 
Hadst thou groaned for him, York, as I have done—  York. 
And art even like to groan for him again. Away.  [Exit. Dutch. 
Haste thee Aumarle, mount thee upon his Horse;  
Spur post, and get before him to the King,  
And beg thy pardon ere he come t' accuse thee:  
Born on the wings of Mother's love I'll fly,  
And doubt not to prevent thy Father's speed;  
On thy behalf I'll with the King prevail,  
Or root into the ground whereon I kneel.  [Exeunt.  

SCENE the Second.  Enter QUEEN in Mourning attended. Qu. 
This way the King will come; this is the way  
To Julius Caesar's ill erected tower,  
To whose flint Bosom my dear injured Lord  
Is deemed a prisoner by proud Bullingbrook!  
Here let us rest, if this rebellious Earth  
Have any resting for her true King's Queen.  [Sits down. 
This Garb no less befits our present state,  
Than richest Tissue did our Bridal day;  
Thus dead in Honour, my Lord and I  
Officiate at our own sad Funeral.  Enter King Richard guarded, seeing the Queen, starts, she at the sight of him, after a pause he speaks. King. 
Give grief a Tongue, art thou not Isabel,  
The faithful Wife of the unfortunate Richard?  Qu. 
O! can I speak and live? Yet silence gives  
More torturing Death! O thou King Richard's Tomb,  
And not King Richard!— On thy sacred Face  
I see the shameful Marks of foulest usage;  
Thy Royal Cheeks soiled and besmeared with Dust,  
Foul Rubbish lodged in thy anointed Locks;  
O thou dishonoured Flower of Majesty!  
Lean on my breast whilst I dissolve to Dew,  
And wash thee fair again with Tears of Love.  King. 
Join not with Grief fair Innocence  
To make my end more wretched, learn dear Saint  
To think our former State a happy Dream,  
From which we wake into this true distress!  
Thou most distressed, most Virtuous of thy sex,  
Go cloister thee in some Religious house,  
This vicious World and I can ne'er deserve thee!  
For Shrines and Altars keep keep those precious Tears,  
Nor shed that heavenly Dew on Land accursed.  Lad. 
Never did sorrow triumph thus before.  King. 
Convey thee hence to France,  
Think I am Dead, and that even now thou tak'st  
As from my deathbed the last living leave.  
In winter's tedious Nights sit by the fire,  
With good Old Matrons, let them tell thee Tales  
Of woeful Ages long ago betid,  
And ere thou bid good Night, to quit their Griefs,  
Tell thou the lamentable fall of Me!  
And send the Hearers weeping to their Beds.  Qu. 
Rob not my Virtue of its dearest Triumph!  
Love like the Dolphin shows itself in storms:  
This is the Season for my Truth to prove,  
That I was worthy to be Richard's Wife!  
And would you now command me from your Presence,  
Who then shall lull your raging Griefs asleep,  
And wing the hours of dull Imprisonment?  King: 
O my afflicted Heart!  Qu. 
No, with my Lord I'll be a prisoner too,  
Where my officious Love shall serve him with  
Such ready care, that he shall think he has  
His numerous Train of waiters round him still;  
With wondrous Story's we'll beguile the day,  
Despise the World and Triumph over fortune,  
Laugh at fantastic life and die together.  King. 
Now Heaven I thank thee, all my Griefs are paid!  
I've lost a single frail uncertain Crown,  
And found a Virtue Richer than the World:  
Yes, Bird of Paradise, we'll perch together,  
Sing in our Cage, and make our Cell a Grove.  Enter Northumberland, Guards. North. 
My Lord, King Bullingbrook has changed his Orders,  
You must to Pomfrett Castle, not to th' Tower;  
And for you, Madam, he has given Command  
That you be instantly conveyed to France.  King. 
Must I to Pomfrett, and my Queen to France?  
Patience is stolen, and I am weary onted,  
Blood, Fire, rank Leprosies and blewest Plagues—  Qu. 
But This was wanting to complete our Woe.  King. 
Northumberland Thou Ladder by whose Aid  
The mounting Bullingbrook ascends my Throne,  
The Time shall come when foul Sin gathering Head  
Shall break in to Corruption, Thou shalt think,  
Tho' he divide the Realm and give thee half,  
It is too little, helping him to All:  
He too shall think that thou which knewst the Way  
To plant unrightful Kings, wilt know again  
To cast him from the Throne he has usurped:  
The Love of wicked Friends converts to Fear,  
That Fear to Hate, that still concludes in Death.  North. 
My guilt be on my head, so to our business.  
Take leave and part.  King. 
Doubly divorced! soul Fiends ye violate  
A twofold Marriage, 'twixt my Crown and me,  
And then betwixt me and my tender Wife;  
Oh Isabel, oh my unfortunate Fair,  
Let me unkiss the Oath that bond our Loves,  
And yet not so, for with a Kiss 'twas made.  
Part us Northumberland, me towards the North  
Where shivering Cold and Sickness pines the Clime;  
My Queen to France, from whence set forth in Pomp  
She hither came, decked like the blooming May,  
Sent back like weeping Winter stripped and Bare.  Qu. 
For ever will I clasp these sacred Knees,  
Tear up my breast and bind them to my Heart!  
Northumberland allow me one short minute  
To yield my Life and Woes in one Embrace,  
One Minute will suffice.  North. 
Force her away.  King. 
Permit yet once our Death cold Lips to join,  
Permit a Kiss that must Divorce for ever,  
I'll ravish yet one more, farewell my Love!  
My Royal Constant Dear farewell for ever!  
Give Sorrow Speech, and let thy Farewell come,  
Mine speaks the Voice of Death, but Thine is Dumb.  Ex. Guarded several Ways.  

SCENE the Third.  Bull. 
Can no man tell of my ungracious Son,  
My Young misgoverned and licentious Harry?  
If any Plague hang over us 'tis He!  
Inquire amongst the Taverns where he haunts  
With lose Companions, such as beat Our Watch  
And rob Our Passengers, which he rash Boy  
Mistakes for Feats of Gallantry and Honour.  Pierc. 
My Lord, some two days since I saw the Prince,  
And told him of those tournaments at Oxford.  Bull. 
And what said the Gallant?  Pierc. 
His Answer was, He would to a brothel  
And from the commonest Creature snatch a Glove,  
To wear it as a Mistress favour, and  
With that unhorsed the lustiest Challenger.  Bull. 
As dissolute as desperate.  Enter Aumarl. Aum. 
Where's the King?  Bull. 
What means our Cousin that he looks so wildly?  Aum. 
My Lord, I humbly beg the favour of a word in private with your Majesty.  King. 
Withdraw my Lords; now Cousin to your business.  Aum. 
For ever may my knees root to this Earth,  
And let Eternal silence bind my Tongue,  
Unless you pardon ere I rise or speak.  Bull. 
Intended or committed was this fault?  
If but the first, how heinous e'er it be,  
To win thy future Love I pardon Thee.  Aum. 
Then Sir, permit me to make fast the door,  
That no man Enter e'er my Tale be done.  Bull. 
Have they Desire.  York within. York. 
Beware my Liege, look to thy Life, thou hast a  
Traitor in thy Presence.  Bull. 
Ha! Villain I'll secure Thee.  Aum. 
Stay thy revengeful Hand, Thou hast no cause to fear.  York. 
Open the Door, or I will force my Passage.  Bull. 
The Matter, Uncle, speak, recover Breath.  York. 
Peruse this Writing and read there my business.  Aum. 
Remember as thou readest thy promise past,  
I do repent me, read not my Name There,  
My Heart is not Confederate with my Hand.  York. 
'Twas Villain when thy Hand did set it down,  
I tore it from the traitor's Bosom, King,  
Pardon the Villain, do, and in Return be murdered.  Bull. 
O heinous black Conspiracy! Why Uncle can  
This Kindness come from Thee? Let me Embrace Thee.  York. 
Embrace not me, It was no Kindness, I own thee no kindness,  
It was my Love to Truth, and Hate to Murder.  Bull. 
Give it what Name thou wilt, it shall excuse  
This deadly blot in thy transgressing Son.  York. 
So shall my Virtue be his vice's Bawd:  
Thou killest me if he live, sparing his Life  
The traitor escapes, the True Man's put to Death.  Duchess within. Dutch. 
What hoa my Liege, for heavens sake let me in.  
Speak with me, pity me, Open the Door.  Bull. 
My dangerous Cousin let your Mother in,  
I know she's come to Entreat for you.  York. 
If thou dost pardon whosoever prays,  
Thy Mercy makes thee traitor to thyself.  Dutch. 
O King believe not this hardhearted Man.  York. 
Thou frantic Woman what makes thee here?  
Wilt thou once more a traitor nourish?  Dutch. 
Dear York be patiented, hear me gentle Liege.  Bull. 
Rise up good Aunt.  Dutch. 
No, never more I'll rise,  
Till thou uncharm me from the Ground with sounds  
Of Pardon to my poor transgressing Son:  Aum. 
And to my prayers, I bend my Knee.  York. 
Against 'em Both my Old stiff joints I bend.  Dutch. 
Pleads he in Earnest, see, his Eyes are dry.  
His prayers come from his Mouth, ours from the Heart;  
He begs but faintly, and would be denied.  
His weary joints would gladly rise I know,  
Our Knees shall bend, till to the Earth they grow;  
Deny him, King, he knelt in pain to crave  
A Boon, that would dismiss him to the Grave:  
Granting his Suit, the sure you destroy,  
But yielding ours, you give your Beggar's Joy.  Bull. 
Good Madam rise up.  Dutch. 
Nay do not say rise up,  
But pardon first, and then we rise indeed.  
The word is short, but endless Comfort brings,  
Pardon, the Language both of heaven and Kings.  Bull. 
I pardon him as heaven shall pardon me.  Dutch. Aum. 
Thanks Gracious Liege, a God on Earth thou art.  York. 
So much for that,— one word at parting King, Let me tell thee King, 'twas none of these politics that made thee King, and so farewell to Court.  [Exit. Bull. 
But for the Rest of this Consorted Crew,  
Our Justice shall o'ertake 'em— injured Richard,  
Thy wrongs already are too deep revenged,  
As yet the Crown's scarce settled to my Brow,  
When Royal Cares are rooted in my Heart.  
Have I no Friend, my Lords, in this fair Train?  
No Friend that to his Monarch's Peace will clear  
The Way, and rid me of this Living Fear?  [Exit.  

SCENE, A Prison.  King Richard, Solus. Rich. 
I Have been studying how to compare  
This lonesom Prison to the populous World,  
The Paradox seems hard; but thus I'll prove it,  
I'll call my Brain the Female to my Soul;  
My Soul the Father, and these Two beget  
A Generation of succeeding Thoughts,  
Th'Inhabitants that stock this little World  
In humours like the People of the World,  
No Thought Contented: for, the better sort  
As Thoughts of things Divine, are mixed with doubts  
That set the Faith itself against the Faith,  
Thoughts tending to Ambition, they are plotting  
Unlikely Wonders, how these poor weak Hands  
May force a passage through these stubborn flints;  
And cause they cannot, Die in their own Pride,  
Thoughts tending to Content are whispering to me,  
That I am not the first of fortune's Slaves,  
And shall not be the Last; poor flattering Comfort,  
Thus I and every other Son of Earth  
With nothing shall be pleased, till we be eased  
With being nothing.  A Table and Provisions shown. 
What mean my gaolers by that plenteous Board?  
For three days past I've fed upon my Sighs,  
And drunk my Tears; rest craving Nature, rest,  
I'll humour thy dire Need and taste this food,  
That only serves to make Misfortune Live.  [Going to sit, the Table sinks down. 
Thus Tantalus they say is used below;  
But Tantalus his gild is then his Torture.  
I smile at this fantastic Cruelty.  
Ha', music too!— even what my Torturers please.  [Song and soft music, after which a Messenger Enters. Mess. 
Hail Royal Sir, with dangerous difficulty  Gives him Letters. 
I've entered here to bear These to your hand;  
O kill Spectacle!  Rich. 
From whom?— my Queen,  
My Isabella, my Royal wretched Wife?  
O Sacred Character, oh heaven-born Saint!  
Why! here are words would charm the raging Sea,  
Cure lunatics, dissolve the Wizzard's Spell,  
Check baleful Planets, and make Winter bloom.  
How fares my Angel, say, what Air's made rich  
With her arrival, for she breathes the Spring.  
What Land is by her presence privileged  
From Heavn's ripe Vengeance? O my labouring Heart!  
Inn, hid Thee, and prepare in short to Answer  
To th'infinite inquiries that my Love  
Shall make of this dear Darling of my Soul.  
Whilst undisturbed I seize the present Minute  
To answer the Contents of this blessed Paper.  [Ex. Mess. Sits down to write, Enter Exton and servant's. 
Furies! what means this Pageantry of Death?  
Speak thou the foremost Murderer, thy own hand  
Is armed with th'Instrument of thy own Slaughter,  
Go Thou and fill a room in Hell,  Kills 4 of them. 
Another Thou.  Exton here strikes him down. 
That hand shall burn in never quenching Fire,  
That staggers thus my Person, cruel Exton,  
The blackest Fiend shall see thee lodged beneath him.  
The damned will shun the Villain whose cursed Hand  
Has with the King's blood stained the King's own landlord.  [Dies. Ext. 
Hast and convey his Body to our Master  
Before the very Rumour reach his Ear.  
As full of Valour as of Royal Blood,  
Both have I spilt, O that the Deed were Good.  
Despair already seizes on my Soul;  
Through my dark breast Eternal horrors roll:  
Even that false Fiend that told me I did well,  
cries now, This Deed is registered in Hell.  [Ex.  

SCENE a Palace.  Bullingbrook, Lords and Attendants. Bull. 
Our last Expresses speak the Rebels high,  
Who have consumed with Fire Our Town of Gloster.  Enter Northumberland and Pierce. 
Welcome Northumberland, what News?  North. 
Health to my Liege, I have to London sent  
The Heads of Spencer, Blunt and Salisbury.  Pierc. 
Broccas and Seelye too are headless Trunks,  
The dangerous Chiefs of that consorted Crew  
That sought your Life at Oxford.  Ross. 
Our Abbot grieved to see his plot defeated,  
Has yielded up his Body to the Grave.  
But here's Carlisle yet living to receive  
Your Royal Doom.  Bull. 
Carlisle I must confess,  
Tho' thou hast ever been my Enemy,  
Such sparks of Honour always shined in Thee,  
As privilege Thee from our Justice now;  
Choose out some secret place, some reverend Cell,  
There live in peace, and we shall not disturb  
The Quiet of thy Death— what sudden Damp  
Congeals my Blood— ha' Exton? then comes Mischief.  Enter Exton and servant's bearing in a Coffin. Ext. 
Great Sir, within this Coffin I present  
Thy buried Fear, possess the Crown secure,  
Which breathless Richard never more will claim.  Bull. 
Exton I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought  
A Deed of Slaughter fatal for my Peace,  
Which Thou and I, and all the Land shall rue.  Ext. 
From your own Mouth, my Lord, did I this Deed.  Bull. 
They love not poison that have need of poison,  
Nor do I Thee, I hate his Murderer.  
Tho' I did wish him Dead: Hell thank thee for it,  
And guilt of Royal Blood be thy Reward;  
Cursing and cursed go wander through the World,  
Branded like Cain for all Mankind to shun Thee.  
Wake Richard, wake, give me my Peace again,  
And I will give Thee back thy ravished Crown.  
Come Lords prepare to pay your last Respects  
To this great Hearse, and help a King to Mourn  
A King's untimely Fall: O torturing gild!  
In vain I wish The happy Change could be,  
That I slept There, and Richard mourned for Me.     

EPILOGUE, Spoken by M ris. Cook.  
NOw we expect to hear our rare Blades say  
Dam' me, I see no Sense in this dull Play;  
Tho' much of it our abler judges know,  
Was famous Sense 'bove Forty Years ago.  
Sometimes we fail to Please for want of wit  
i'th' Play— but more for want on't in the Pitt;  
For many a ruined poets Work 'twould Save,  
Had you but half the Sense you think you have.  
Poets on your forefathers pamed dull Plays,  
And shrewdly you revenge it in our Days  
In troth we far by't as your Tradesmen do,  
For whilst they raise Estates by Cheating You:  
Into Acquaintance with their Wives you fall,  
And get 'em Graceless Sons to spend it All.  
'Tis plain theyare Yours, 'cause All our Arts miscarry,  
For just like You, They'll Damn before they'll. Marry.  
Of honest Terms I now almost Despair,  
Unless retrieved by some rich Yeoman's Heir,  
In Grannam's Ribbans and his Own straight Hair!  
What Comforts such a Lover will afford,  
jointure, Dear jointure, O the Heavenly Word!  
But— ere of You my Sparks my Leave I take,  
For your unkindness past these prayers I make—  
So very Constant may Your Misses be,  
Till You grow cloyed for Want of jealousy!  
Into such Dullness may your poet's Tire,  
Till They shall write such Plays as You Admire:  
May You, instead of Gaming, Whoring, Drinking,  
Be doomed to your Aversion— Books and Thinking:  
And for a Last Wish— What I'm sure You'll Call  
The Curse of Curses— Marriage Take ye All.  
FINIS.