Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Waft born to bear? I was not made a horse,
And yet I bear a burthen like an afs,
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jaunting Bolingbroke.

Enter Keeper, with a difb.

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 my heart fhall fay.

[Exit. Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? K. Rich. Tafte of it first, as thou wert wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not; for Sir Pierce of Exton, Who late came from the King, commands the contrary.

K. Rich. The Dev'l take Henry of Lancaster, and

thee!

Patience is ftale, and I am weary of it.

Keep. Help, help, help!

[Beats the Keeper.

Enter Exton, and Servants.

K. Rich. How now, what means death in this rude affault?

Wretch, thine own hand yields thy death's inftrument; [Snatching a Sword, and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [Kills another. [Exton ftrikes bim down. That hand fhall burn in never-quenching fire,

That ftaggers thus my perfon; thy fierce hand

Hath with the King's blood ftain'd the King's own

Land.

Mount,

Mount, mount, my foul! thy feat is up on high; Whilft my gross flesh finks downward, here to die. [Dies.

Exton. As full of valour as of royal blood; Both have I fpilt: 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 bear; Take hence the reft, and give them burial here.

SCENE XIII.

Changes to the Court at Windfor.

[Exeunt.

Flourifb: Enter Bolingbroke, York, with other Lords and attendants.

Boling,

K

Ind Uncle York, the latest news we hear, Is, that the Rebels have confum'd with fire

Our town of Cicefter in Gloucestershire;

But whether they be ta'n or flain, we hear not.

Enter Northumberland.

Welcome, my lord: what is the news?

North. First to thy facred State wish I all happiness; The next news is, I have to London fent

The heads of Sal'sbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent; The manner of their Taking may appear

At large difcourfed in this paper here.

[Prefenting a Paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains, And to thy worth will add right-worthy gains.

Enter Fitz-water.

Fitz-w. My Lord, I have from Oxford sent to London

H 4

The

The heads of Broccas, and Sir Bennet Seely;
Two of the dangerous conforted traytors,
That fought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

Boling. Thy pains, Fitz-water, fhall not be forgot, Right noble is thy merit, well I wet.

Enter Percy, and the Bishop of Carlife.

Percy. The grand Confpirator, Abbot of Westminster, With clog of confcience, and four melancholy, Hath yielded up his body to the Grave:

But here is Carlisle, living to abide

Thy kingly doom, and fentence of his pride.
Beling. Carlife, this is your doom:

Chufe out fome fecret place, fome reverend room
More than thou haft, and with it joy thy life;
So, as thou liv'ft in peace, die free from ftrife.
For though mine enemy thou haft ever been,
High fparks of honour in thee I have seen.

Enter Exton, with a coffin.

Exton. Great King, within this Coffin I prefent Thy bury'd fear; herein all breathless lies

The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,

Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.

Boling Exton, I thank thee not; for thou haft wrought

A deed of flander with thy fatal hand,

Upon my head, and all this famous Land.

Exton. From your own mouth, my Lord, did I this deed.

Boling. They love not poifon, that do poifon need; Nor do I thee; though I did with him dead, I hate the murth'rer, love him murthered. The Guilt of Confcience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour; With Cain go wander through the fhade of night, And never fhew thy head by day, or light.

Lords,

Lords, I proteft, my foul is full of woe,

That blood fhould fprinkle me, to make me grow.
Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,
And put on fulien Black, incontinent :
I'll make a voyage to the Holy-land,

To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.
March fadly after, grace my Mourning here,
In weeping over this untimely Bier.

[Exeunt omnes.

ignoble writers. But Shakespeare had more of his own than JohnSon, and, if he fometimes was willing to spare his labour, shewed by what he performed at other times, that his extracts were made by choice or idleness rather than neceffity

This play is one of thofe which Shakespeare has apparently revised; but as fuccefs in works of invention is not always proportionate to labour, it is not finifhed at laft with the happy force of fome other of his tragedies, nor can be faid much to affect the paffions, or enlarge the understanding.

THE