Allowing him a breath, a little scene
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks
Infusing him with felf and vain conceit,
As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brafs impregnable: and humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores thro' his caftle-walls, and farewel King!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With folemn rev'rence: throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while :
I live on bread like you, feel want like you,
Tafte grief, need friends, like you: subjected thus,
How can you fay to me I am a King?
Car! My Lord, wife men ne'er wail their present woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail:
To fear the foe, fince fear oppreffeth strength,
Gives, in your weakness, ftrength unto your foe;
And fo your follies fight against your self. *
K. Rich. Thou chidft me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come 一十
Say, Scroop, where lyes our uncle with his power? +
Scroop. I play the torturer, by fmall and small
Fear, and be flain, no worfe can come from fight,
And fight and die, is death deftroying death.
Where fearing, dying, pays death fervile breath.
Aum. My father hath a pow'r, enquire of him,
And learn to make a body of a limb.
To change blows with thee for our day of doom;.
This ague-fit of fear is over-blown,
An easy task it is to win our own.
Speak fweetly, man, although thy looks be fower.
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The ftate and inclination of the day.
So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to fay':
To lengthen out the worst, that must be spoken.
Your uncle is join'd with Bolingbroke,
And all your northern caftles yielded up,
And all your fouthern gentlemen in arms
Upon his faction.
K. Rich. Thou haft faid enough.
Befhrew thee, coufin, which didft lead me forth
Of that fweet way I was in to despair!
What fay you now? what comfort have we now?
By heav'n, I'll hate him everlastingly
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go to Flint-castle, there I'll pine away;
A King, woe's flave, fhall kingly woe obey :
That pow'r I have, difcharge, and let 'em go
To ear the land, that hath fome hope to grow:
For I have none. Let no man fpeak again
To alter this, for counfel is but vain.
Aum. My Liege, one word.
K, Rich. He does me double wrong,
That wounds me with the flatt'ries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers; let them away,
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. Bolingbroke's Camp, near Flint.
Enter with drum and colours, Bolingbroke, York, Northum-
berland, and Attendants.
Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn
The Welshmen are difpers'd, and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed
With fome few private friends upon this coaft.
North. The news is very fair and good, my Lord,
Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head.
York. It would befeem the Lord Northumberland,
To fay King Richard. Ah, the heavy day,
When fuch a facred King fhould hide his head!
North. Your Grace mistakes me; only to be brief
Left I his title out.
York. The time hath been,
Would you have been fo brief with him, he would
Have been fo brief to fhorten you the head.
Boling. Miftake not, uncle, farther than you should.
York. Take not, good coufin, farther than you should,
Left you mistake; the heav'ns are o'er your head.
Boling. I know it, uncle, nor oppose myself
Against their will. But who comes here? 'tis Percy.
Enter Percy.
Well, Harry; what, will not this castle yield?
Percy. The caftle royally is mann'd, my Lord,
Against your entrance.
Boling. Royally? why, it doth contain no King?
Percy. Yes, my good Lord,
It doth contain a King: King Richard lyes
Within the limits of yond lime and stone;
And with him Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop, befides a clergy-man
Of holy reverence: who, I cannot learn.
North. Belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
Boling. Noble Lord,
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle,
Through brazen trumpet fend the breath of parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:
Henry of Bolingbroke upon his knees
Doth kifs King Richard's hand, and fends allegiance
And faith of heart unto his royal perfon:
Ev'n at his feet I lay my arms and pow'r,
Provided that my banishment repeal'd
And lands reftor'd again be freely granted;
If not, I'll use th' advantage of my pow'r,
And lay the fummer's duft with fhow'rs of blood,
Rain'd from the wounds of flaughter'd Englishmen.
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
It is, fuch crimson tempeft fhould bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,
My ftooping duty tenderly fhall fhew.
Go fignifie as much, while here we march
Upon the graffie carpet of this plain;
Let's march without the noife of threat'ning drum,
That from this caftle's tatter'd battlements
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd.
Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
With no lefs terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring thock
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heav'n:
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.
Parle without, and answer within : then a flourish. Enter on the walls, King Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop, and Salisbury.
York. See, fee, King Richard doth himfelf appear
As doth the blushing difcontented fon
From out the fiery portal of the East,
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
To dim his glory, and to ftain the tract
Of his bright paffage to the Occident.
Yet looks he like a King; behold his eye,
As bright as is the Eagle's, lightens forth
Controlling Majefty; alack, for woe,
That any harm should ftain fo fair a show!
K. Rich. We are amaz'd, and thus long have we food To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
[To North.
Because we thought our felf thy lawful King;
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence?
If we be not, fhew us the hand of God,
That hath difmifs'd us from our stewardship.
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can gripe the facred handle of our scepter,
Unless he do prophane, fteal, or ufurp.
And though you think, that all, as you have done,
Have torn their fouls by turning them from us,
And we are barren, and bereft of friends:
Yet know, my mafter, God omnipotent,
Is muft'ring in his clouds on our behalf
Armies of peftilence; and they fhall'ftrike
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot,
That lift your vaffal hands again't my head.
- cheeks of heav'n':
Be he the fire; I'll be the yielding water:
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain
My waters; on the garth, fand not on him.
March on, &
And threat the glory of my precious crown.
Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond methinks he is)
That every ftride he makes upon the land
Is dangerous treafon; he is come to ope
The purple teftament of bleeding war.
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers fons
Shall mif- become the flow'ry England's face,
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To fcarlet indignation, and bedew
Her pafture's grafs with faithful English blood.
North. The King of heav'n forbid, our Lord the King Should fo with civil and uncivil arms
Be rufh'd upon! no, thy thrice-noble coufin,
Harry of Bolingbroke, doth kifs thy hand,
And by the honourable tomb he swears,
That ftands upon your royal grandfire's bones,
And by the royalties of both your bloods,
(Currents that spring from one moft gracious head)
And by the bury'd hand of warlike Gaunt,
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Comprising all that may be fworn, or faid:
His coming hither hath no farther fcope,
Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg
Infranchisement immediate on his knees:
Which on thy royal party granted once,
His glitt'ring arms he will commend to ruft;
His barbed feeds to ftables; and his heart
To faithful service of your Majefty,
This fwears he, as he is a Prince, is juft;
And as I am a gentleman, I credit him.
K. Rich. Narthumberland, fay thus the King returns:
His noble coufin is right welcome hither,
And all the number of his fair demands
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction.
With all the gracious utterance thou haft,
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends,
We do debase our felf, coufin, do we not,
To look fo poorly, and to speak so fair?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and fend
Defiance to the traitor, and fo die?
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