North. The Commons will not then be fatisfy'd.

K. Rich. They fhall be fatisfy'd; I'll read enough, When I do fee the very Book, indeed,

Where all my fins are writ, and that's myself.

Enter One, with a Glafs.

Give me that Glafs, and therein will I read.
-No deeper wrinkles yet? hath Sorrow ftruck
So many blows upon
this face of mine,

And made no deeper wounds? oh, flatt'ring Glafs,
Like to my Followers in profperity,

Thou doft beguile me. Was this face, the face
That every day under his houfhold roof

Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face,
That, like the Sun, did make beholders wink?
Is this the face, which fac'd fo many follies,
That was at laft out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle Glory fhineth in this face;

[Dafbes the Glafs against the Ground. As brittle, as the glory, is the face;

For there it is, crackt in an hundred fhivers.
Mark, filent King, the Moral of this fport;
How foon my forrow hath deftroy'd my face.
Boling. The fhadow of your forrow hath destroy'd
The fhadow of your face.

K. Rich. Say that again.

The fhadow of my forrow! ha, let's fee;
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
And these external manners of laments

Are merely fhadows to the unfeen grief,
That fwells with filence in the tortur'd foul;
There lies the substance. And I thank thee, King,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'ft
Me caufe to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the caufe. I'll beg one boon;
And then be gone, and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?

Boling.

Boling. Name it, fair Coufin.

K. Rich. Fair Coufin! I am greater than a King For when I was a King, my flatterers

Were then but Subjects; being now a Subject,
I have a King here to my flatterer:
Being fo great, I have no need to beg.
Boling. Yet afk.

K. Rich. And fhall I have?
Boling. You fhall.

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Boling. Whither?

K. Rich. Whither you will, fo I were from your fight.
Boling. Go fome of you, convey him to the Tower.
K. Rich. Oh, good! convey:

you all.

Conveyers are

[Exit.

That rife thus nimbly by a true King's fall.
Boling. On Wednesday next we folemnly fet down
Our Coronation: lords, prepare yourfelves.
Let it be fo, and to be ready all.

[Ex. all but Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle and Aumerle,

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Carl. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. Aum. You holy Clergy-men, is there no Plot, To rid the Realm of this pernicious blot. Abbot. Before I freely fpeak my mind herein, You fhall not only take the Sacrament,

To bury mine intents, but to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devise.

I fee, your brows are full of difcontent,
Your hearts of forrow, and your eyes of tears.
Come home with me to fupper, and I'll lay
A Plot, fhall fhew us all a merry day.

[Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

TH

A Street in LONDON.

Enter Queen, and Ladies.

QUEEN.

HIS way the King will come: this is the way
7 To Julius Cæfar's ill-erected Tower;

To whofe flint bofom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prifoner, by proud Bolingbroke.
"Here let us reft, if this rebellious earth
Have any Refting for her true King's Queen.
Enter King Richard, and Guards.
But foft, but fee, or rather do not fee,
My fair rose wither; yet look up; behold,
That you in pity may diffolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
O thou, the model where old Troy did ftand,

[To K. Richard. Thou,

To bury, to conceal; to keep faid to have been the work of fecret. Julius Cæfar.

6 In the first edition there is no perfonal appearance of King Richard, fo that all to the line at which he leaves the stage was inferted afterwards.

7 To Julius Cæfar's, &c.] The Tower of London is traditionally

8 Here let us reft, if, &c.] Here reft, if any reft can har bour bere. MILTON, 9 - thou, the model where

old Troy did ftand.] The Queen ufes comparative terms abfolutely. Inftead of faying,

Thou

Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb,
And not King Richard; thou most beauteous Inn,
Why fhould hard-favour'd grief te lodg'd in thee,
When Triumph is become an ale- house Guest?
K.Rich. Join not with grief, fair Woman, do not fo,
To make my End too fudden. Learn, good foul,
To think our former ftate a happy dream,

From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shews us but this. I am fworn brother, Sweet,
To grim Neceffity; and he and I

Will keep a league till death. Hye thee to France,
And cloister thee in fome Religious House;
Our holy lives muft win a new world's Crown,
Which our profane hours here have ftricken down.
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transform'd and weak? hath Bolingbroke depos'd
Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
The Lion, dying, thrufteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing elfe, with rage
To be o'erpower'd: and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly, kifs the rod,
And fawn on rage with bafe humility,

Which art a Lion and a King of beasts?

K. Rich. A King of beafts, indeed-if aught but beasts,

I had been ftill a happy King of men.

Good fometime Queen, prepare thee hence for France; Think, I am dead; and that ev'n here thou tak❜ft,

Then who appearest as the ground
on which the magnificence of
Troy was once erected, fhe fays,
O thou, the model, &c.
Thou map of honour. Thou
picture of greatnefs.

Join not with grief,] Do Lot thou unite with grief against me; do not, by thy additional forrows, enable grief to ftrike

me down at once. My own part of forrow I can bear, but thy affliction will immediately destroy me.

1

1 am fworn brother, To grim neceffity;} I have reconciled myself to neceffity, I am in a state of amity with the conftraint which I have fuf .tained.

As from my death-bed, my last living Leave.
In winter's tedious nights fit by the fire

With good old folks, and let them tell thee Tales
Of woeful ages, long ago betid;

And ere thou bid good Night, to quit their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable Fall of me,

And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why? the fenfelefs brands will fympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,
And in compaffion weep the fire out;

And fome will mourn in ashes, fome coal-black,
For the depofing of a rightful King.

SCENE II.

Enter Northumberland attended.

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd: You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. And, Madam, there is order ta'en for you, With all swift speed, you must away to France.

K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
The mounting Bolingbroke afcends my Throne,
The time fhall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul fin, gath'ring head,
Shall break into corruption; thou shalt think,
Though he divide the Realm, and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to all;.

And he fhall think, that thou, which know'ft the way
To plant unrightful Kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er fo little urg'd, another way

To pluck him headlong from th' ufurped Throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear to hate; and hate turns one, or both,

2 to quit their grief.] To retaliate their mournful stories.

3 For why? -] The poet fhould have ended this

fpeech with the foregoing line, and have fpared his childish prattle about the fire.

To