King. I pardon him as God fhall pardon me, Dutc. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee. Yet am I ficke for feare, speake it againe ; Twice faying pardon, doth not pardon twaine, But makes one pardon ftrong.
King. I pardon him with all my heart.
Dutch. A God on earth thou art.
King. But for our truftie brother in law and the abbot, With all the rest of that conforted crew, Destruction strait fhall dog them at the heeles, Good vnckle, helpe to order feuerall powers To Oxford, or where ere these traitours are, They fhall not liue within this world I fweare, But I will haue them, if I once know † where. Vnckle farewell, and coofin ‡ adue,
Your mother well hath prayed, and prooue you true.
Dutc. Come my old fonne, I pray God || make thee new.
Exeunt. Manet Sir Pierce Exton, &c. §
Exton. Didst thou not marke the K**. what words he spake Haue I no friend will rid me of this liuing feare?
Man. Thefett were his very ‡‡ words.
Exton. Haue I no friend quoth he? he spake it twice,
And vrgde it twice together, did he not?
Exton. And fpeaking it, he wiftly lookt on me,
As who fhould fay, I would thou wert the man,
That would diuorce this terrour from my heart,
Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, lets go,
I am the kings friend, and will rid his foe.
Heaven. very omitted. Scena Quarta.
Rich. I haue been studying how to compare
This prifon where I liue, vnto the world:
And for because the world is populous,
And heere is not a creature but my felfe,
I can not do it: yet Ile hammer it out:
My braine Ile prooue the female to my foule;
My foule the father, and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts;
And these faime thoughts people this little world,
In humours like the people of this world:
For no thought is contented: the better fort,
As thoughts of things diuine are intermixt
With fcruples, and do fet the word is + felfe
Against thy word, as thus: come little ones, and then againe
It is as hard to come as for a cammell
To thread the small || posterne of a small needles eye:
Thoughts tending to ambition they doe plot
Vnlikelie wonders: how these vaine weake nayles
May teare a paffage thorow the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prifon walles :
And for they cannot die in their owne pride,
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themelues,
That they are not the first of fortunes slaues,
Nor fhall not be the laft, like feely beggars;
Who fitting in the stockes, refnuge § their shame,
That many haue, and others must fit there,
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their owne misfortunes on the backe
Of fuch as haue before indurde the like.
Thus play I in one prifon many people,
And none contented; fometimes am I a king,
Then treafons make me wifh my felfe a begger,
And fo I am: then crufhing penurie
Perfwades me I was better when a king;
Then am I a king * againe, and by and by,
Thinke that I am vnkingd by Bullingbrooke,
And straight am nothing. But what ere I be †,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing, shall be pleafde, till he be eafde
With being nothing muficke do I heare;
muficke plaies.
Ha, ha, keepe time; how fowre fweete muficke is
When time is broke, and no proportion kept,
So is it in the musicke of mens liues :
And heere haue I the daintineffe of care ‡
To checke time broke in difordered string:
But for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an eare to heare my true time broke:
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me:
For now hath time made § his numbring clocke;
My thoughts are minutes, and with fighes they iarre,
There watches on unto ** mine eyes the outward watch,
Whereto my finger like a dials point,
Is pointing ftill, in cleanfing them from teares.
Now fir, the found that tels what howre it is,
Are clamorous groanes, which strike vpon my heart,
Which is the bell: fo fighes, and teares, and groanes,
Shew minutes, times, and houres †† : but ‡‡ my time
Runnes posting on in Bullingbrooks proud ioy,
While I stand fooling heere his iacke of the clocke:
This muficke maddes me, let it found no more,
For though it hath | holp madde men to their wits,
In me it feemes it will make wife men madde.
Yet bleffing on his heart that giues it me,
king'd. tam. ‡eare. | beare. § made me.
‡‡ ob but.
For t'is a figne of loue: and loue to Richard,
Is a strange brooch in this al-hating world.
Enter a groome of the stable *.
Groome. Haile royall prince.
Rich. Thanks noble peere:
The cheapest of vs is ten groats too deare.
What art thou? and how commeft thou hither,
Where no man euer comes but that sad dogge,
That brings me foode to make misfortune liue?
Groome. I was a poore groome of thy stable, king,
When thou wert king: who trauelling towards Yorke,
With much adoe (at length) haue gotten leaue
To looke vpon my fometimes royall maifters face:
Oh how it ernd my heart, when I beheld
In London streets that coronation day,
When Bullingbrooke rode on roane Barbarie,
That horfe, that thou fo often haft beftride,
That horse, that I fo carefully haue drest.
Rich. Rode he on Barbarie, tell me gentle friend,
How went he vnder him?
Groome. So proudlic, as if he † difdaind the ground.
Rich. So proud that Bullingbrooke was on his backe:
That iade hath eate bread from my royall hand;
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him:
Would he not ftumble? would he not fall downe?
Since pride muft haue a fall, and breake the necke
Of that proud man, that did vfurpe his backe?
Forgiueneffe horse, why do I rayle on thee?
Since thou created to be awde by man,
Waft borne to beare, I was not made a horse,
And yet I beare a burthen like an affe,
Spurde, galde ‡, and tyrde by iauncing Bullingbrooke.
*Keeper. Fellow giue place, heere is no longer ftay. Rich. If thou loue me, tis time thou wert away. dares not, that my heart fhall fay.
Enter one to Richard with meat †.
Keeper. My lord, wilt please you to fall to?
Rich. Taft of it firft, as thou wert ‡ wont to do.
Keeper. My lord I dare not, fir Pierce of Exton,
Who lately came from the king, commands the contrary.
Rich. The diuell take Henry of Lancafter and thee:
Patience is ftale, and I am wearie of it.
Keeper. Helpe, helpe, helpe.
The murderers rub in.
Rich. How now, what meanes death in this rude affault? Villaine thine owne hand yeilds thy deaths instrument, Goe thou and fill another roome in hell.
Here Exton ftrikes him downe.
Rich. That hand shall burne in neuer-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my perfon: Exton, thy fierce hand
Hath with the kings blood ftaind the kings owne land:
Mount, mount my foule, thy feate is vp on hie,
Whilft my groffe flesh finkes downeward heere to die.
Exton. As full of valour, as of royall blood:
Both haue I fpild; oh would the deed were good!
For now the deuill that told me I did well,
Sayes that this deed is chronicled in hell :
This dead king to the liuing king Ile beare,
Take hence the reft, and giue them buriall heere.
• Enter keeper with a dish.
tkeeper with a difb. I art.
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