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SCENE I.-Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol.
Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND,
Percy, WILLOUGHBY, Ross : Officers behind with Bushy and GREEN, prisoners.
Boling. Bring forth these men.Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls (Since presently your souls must part your bodies,) With too much urging your pernicious lives, For 'twere no charity : yet, to wash your blood From off my hands, here, in the view of men, I will unfold some causes of your death. You have misled a prince, a royal king, A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean. You bave, in manner, with your sinful hours, , Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him ; Broke the possession of a royal bed, And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. Myself—a prince, by fortune of my birth ; Near to the king in blood; and near in love, Till you did make him misinterpret me,-Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment:
Whilst you have fed upon my signories,
Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me,
souls, And plague injustice with the pains of hell. Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them des
York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd
Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.—Come, lords, away; To fight with Glendower and his complices; Awhile to work, and, after, holiday.
SCENE II.-The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view.
Flourish: Drums and Trumpets. Enter King RICHARD,
Bishop of Carlisle, AUMERLE, and Soldiers. K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand?
Aum. Yea, my lord: How brooks your grace the air, After late tossing on the breaking seas ?
K. Rich. Needs must I like it well; I weep for joy, To stand upon my kingdom once again.--Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs : As a long parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting; So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favour with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense ; But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way; Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies : And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder; Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords ; This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellious arms.
Bishop. Fear not, my lord: that Power, that made
Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st thou not, That when the searching eye of heaven is hid Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, In murders, and in outrage, bloody here; But when, from under this terrestrial ball, He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, Who all this while hath revell’d in the night, Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes,Shall see us rising in our throne the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day, But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed king : The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord:
For every man that Bolingbroke hath pressid,
Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord,
pale ? K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand
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 bath set a blot upon my pride.
Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.
K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not king?