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heart;

Ser. He did.

Exton. And, speaking it, he wistly look'd on me; As who shall say I would, thou wert the man That would divorce this terror from

my Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go : I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.
Changes to the prison at Pomfret-castle.

Enter king Richard.
K. Rich. I have been studying how to compare
This prison, where I live, unto the world :
And, for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it ; yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul ;
My soul, the father : and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts ;
And these same thoughts people this little word;
In humour, like the people of this world;
For no thought is contented. The better fort,
As thoughts, of things divine, are intermix'd
With scruples, and do set the world itself
Against the world :
As thus, Come little ones ; and then again,
Is is as hard to come, as for a camel
To thread the postern of a needle's eye.
Thoughts, tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the finty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison-walls ;
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts, tending to content, fatter themselves
That they are not the first of fortune's Naves,
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars,
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuse their shame
That many have, and others must sit there:
And, in this thought, they find a kind of ease,

Bearing

'O 3

Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people,
And none contented. Sometimes am I king;
Then treason makes me with myself a beggar,
And so I am. Then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king ;
Then am I king'd again : and, by-and-by,
Think, that I am unking’d by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing. But, what-e'er I am,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is
With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be easid
With being nothing.-Music do I hear? Mufic.
Ha, ha! keep time: how four sweet music is,
When time is broke, and no proportion kept?
So is it in the music of mens' lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear,
To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
But for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock;
My thoughts are minutes; and 5 with sighs they jar,
Their watches to mine eyes, the outward watch;

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quarto reads,

with highs they jor, Their watches, &c.- -J I think this expression must be corrupt, but I know not well how to make it better. The first

“ My thoughts are minutes; and with fighs they jar,

“ I here watches on unto mine eyes the outward watch.” The second quarto :

My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar,

" There watches to mine eyes the outward watch." The first folio agrees with the second quario.

Perhaps out of these two readings the right may be made. Watch seems to be used in a double fense, for a quantity of time, and for the instrument that measures time. I read, but with no great confidence, thus :

“ My thoughts are minutes, and with fighs they jar
“ Their watches on ; mine eyes the outward watch,
" Where to," @c. JOHNSON.

Whereto

Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, Sir, the founds that tell what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: fo fighs, and tears, and groans, ,
Shew minutes, times, and hours. But my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o’the clock.
This music mads me, let it sound no more ;
For, though it have holpe mad men to their wits,
In me, it seems, it will make wise men mad.
Yet, bieffing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch 7 in this all-hating world.

Enter Groom.
Groom. Hail, royal prince !

K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer :
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou ? and how comeft thou hither?
8 Where no man ever comes, but that fad dog,
That brings me food, to make misfortune live?

7

his Jack o'the clock.] That is, I ftrike for him. One. of these automatons is alluded to in King Richard the Third:

“ Because that like a Jack thou keepst the stroke,

“ Between thy begging and my meditation.” The same expression occurs in an old comedy, intitled, If this be not a good play the Devil is in it:

so would I, “ And we their Jacks o'the clock-house." STEEVENS.

in this ALL-HATING world.] I believe the meaning is, this world in which I am univerfally hated. JOHNSON.

* Where no man ever comes, but that jad dog,] I have ventured at a change here, against the authority of the copies, by the direction of Dr. Warburton. Indeed, sad dog favours too much of the comedian, the oratory of the late facetious Mr. Penketh

And drudge is the word of contempt, which our author chuses to use on other like occasions. THEOBALD.

Dr. Warburton fays peremptorily, read drudge ; but I still perlift in the old reading. JOHNSON.

It should be remembered that the word fad was in the time of our author used for grave. The expression will then be the same as if he had said, that grave, that gloomy villain. Steevens.

Groom.

man.

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado, at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometime royal master's face. O, how it yearn’d my heart, when I beheld, In London streets, that coronation-day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary ! That horfe, that thou so often hast bestrid; That horfe, that I so carefully have dress’d!

K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him?

Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground.
K. Rich. So proud, that Bolingbroke was on his

back!
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand,
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble ? would he not fall down,
(Since pride must have a fall) and break the neck
Of that proud man, that did usurp his back ?
Forgiveness, horte! why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be aw’d by man,
Waft born to bear? I was not made a horse ;
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spur-gaild, and tir’d, 9 by jauncing Bolingbroke.

Enter Keeper, with a dish. Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay,

[To the Groom. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that shall fay.

[Exit. Keep. My lord, wilt please you to fall to ? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou wert wont to do.

my heart

9 by jauncing Boling broke.] Jaunce and jaunt were synopimous words. B. Johnson ufes geances in his Tale of a Tub :

" I would I had a few more geances of it:
" And you say the word, send me to Jericho,"

STEEVENS,

Keep. . Keep. My lord, I dare not ; Sir Pierce of Exton, Who late came from the king, commands the con

trary. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and

thee ! Patience is ftale, and I am weary of it.

[Beats the Keeper. Keep. Help, help, help!

Enter Exton and servants. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude

affault? Wretch, thine own hand yields thy death's instrument.

(Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [Kills another.

[Exton strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person. Thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain’d the king's own

land. Mount, mount, my soul ! thy feat is up on high; Whilft my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die,

[Dies. Exton. As full of valour as of royal blood : Both have I spilt : oh, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me, I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bearTake hence the rest, and give them burial here.

[Exeunt. SCENE VI.

The court at Windsor. Flourish: Enter Boling broke, York, with other lords and

attendants, Boling. Kind, uncle York, the latest news we hear, Is, that the rebels have consum'd with fire Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire But whether they be ta’en, or Rain, we hear not.

Enter

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