To worthy danger, and deferved death. North. My guilt be on my head, and there's an end. -Take leave and part, for you must part forthwith. K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd? Bad men, ye violate A two-fold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me; And then betwixt me and my married wife. Let me unkifs the oath 'twixt thee and me. [To the Queen. -And yet not fo, for with a kifs 'twas made. Part us, Northumberland. I, towards the North, Where fhiv'ring cold and fickness pines the clime; My Queen to France, from whence, fet forth in She came adorned hither like fweet May; Sent back like Hollowmas, or shortest day. pomp, Queen. And muft we be divided? muft we part? K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my Love, and heart from heart. Queen. Banish us both, and fend the King with me. And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Better far off, than near, be ne'er the near,] To be never the nigher, or as it is commonly fpoken in the mid land counties, ne'er the ne-er, is, to make no advance towards the good defired. G4 Queen. Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part, To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. [Kifs again, So, now I have mine own again, be gone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan. K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay: Once more, adieu; the reft let forrow fay. Dutch. MY [Exeunt. Y lord, you told me, you would tell the When Weeping made you break the ftory off, Dutch. At that fad ftop, my lord, Where rude mif-govern'd hands, from window-tops, Which his afpiring Rider feem'd to know, With flow, but stately pace, kept on his course; Dutch, Dutch. Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the while? Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's eyes That had not God, for fome ftrong purpose, steel'd But heaven hath a hand in these events, But that is loft, for being Richard's Friend. And lafting fealty to the new-made King. Dutch. Welcome, my fon; who are the Violets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come fpring? Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care; God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. York. Well, * bear you well in this new Spring of time, Left you be cropt before you come to Prime. Are idly bent] That is, carelefly turned, thrown withput attention. This the poet learned by his attendance and practice on the stage. bear you well] That is, conduct yourself with prudence. York. What news from Oxford? hold thefe Jufts and Triumphs ? Aum. For aught I know, they do. York. You will be there? Aum. If God prevent me not, I purpose fo. York. What Seal is that, which hangs without thy bofom? Yea, look'ft thou pale? let me fee the Writing. t York. No matter then who fees it. Which for fome reafons I would not have seen. York. Which, for fome reasons, Sir, I mean to fee. I fear, I fear Dutch. What fhould you fear, my lord? 'Tis nothing but fome bond he's enter'd into, For gay apparel, against the triumph. York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond, That he is bound to? wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me fee the Writing. Aum. I do befeech you, pardon me; I may not fhew it. York. I will be fatisfied, let me fee it, I fay. [Snatches it and reads. Treafon! foul treafon! villain, traitor, flave! York. Hoa, who's within there? faddle my horse. Heav'n, for his mercy! what treachery is here? Dutch. Why, what is't, my lord? York. Give me my boots, I fay. Saddle Now by my honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain. Yea, look thou pale? let me fee the Writing] Such harsh and defective lines as this, are probably corrupt, and might my horfe. be eafily fupplied, but that it would be dangerous to let conjecture look on fuch flight occafions. * loose Dutch. Dutch. What is the matter? York. Peace, foolish woman. Dutch. I will not Peace: what is the matter, fon? Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more Than my poor life muft answer. Dutch. Thy life answer! SCENE V. Enter Servant with boots. York. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King. Dutch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art amaz'd. Hence, villain, never more come in my fight. York. Give me my boots. [Speaking to the Servant. Dutch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou conceal this dark Confpiracy? A dozen of them here have ta'en the Sacrament, To kill the King at Oxford. Dutch. He fhall be none : We'll keep him here; then what is that to him? York. Away, fond woman: were he twenty times My fon, I would appeach him. Dutch. Hadft thou groan'd for him, As I have done, thou'dft be more pitiful. But now I know thy mind; thou doft fufpect, And |