Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm: Discomfort guides my tongue, And bids me speak of nothing but despair. One day, too late, I fear, my noble lord, Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: O, call back yesterday, bid time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; Aum. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace so pale ? K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And, till so much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale and dead? All souls that will be safe, fly from my side; For time hath set a blot upon my pride. Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not king? Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st. Is not the king's name forty thousand names? Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes At thy great glory.-Look not to the ground, Ye favourites of a king: Are we not high? High be our thoughts: I know, my uncle York Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who Comes here? Enter Scroop. Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd; The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care; And what loss is it, to be rid of care? Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, Like an unseasonable stormy day, Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices, Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke. Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my lord. K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption ! Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart! Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! Would they make peace? terrible hell make war Upon their spotted souls for this offence! Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate: Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands: those whom you curse, Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire, dead? Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. Aum. Where is the duke, my father, with his power? K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speak : Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; How some have been depos'd, some slain in war ; To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus, How can you say to me-I am a king? Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be slain; no worse can come, to fight: And fight and die, is death destroying death; Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath. Aum. My father hath a power, enquire of him; And learn to make a body of a limb. K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well:-Proud Bolingbroke, I come 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.—— Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. I play the torturer, by small and small, To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken :· And all your southern gentlemen in arms K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. * Part. * Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth [To Aumerle. Of that sweet way I was in to despair! What say you now? What comfort have we now ? Aum. My liege, one word. SCENE III. Wales. Before Flint Castle. Enter, with drum and colours, Bolingbroke and forces; York, Northumberland, and others. Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn, North. The news is very fair and good, my lord; Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, To say-King Richard :-Alack the heavy day, When such a sacred king should hide his head! North. Your grace mistakes me; only to be brief§, |