ACT V.

SCENE I. London. A street leading to the
Tower.

Enter QUEEN and Ladies.

Queen. This way the king will come; this is

the way

To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,

To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke :
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.

Enter RICHARD and Guard.

But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold,
That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand,
Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb,
And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodged in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest ?
K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do

not so,

Sc. 1. The scene is imaginary. Richard after performing his abdication in the Tower was conveyed thence to Pomfret by way of Leeds Castle, in Kent. He and Isabelle never met after

his departure for Ireland.

ΤΟ

II. the model where old Troy did stand, the bare shell of greatness, like the ruined site of Troy.

13. inn (a more dignified word than at present), 'hostelry.'

To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream;
From which awaked, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim Necessity, and he and I

Will keep a league till death.

Hie thee to France,

And cloister thee in some religious house:
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and
mind

Transform'd and weaken'd? hath Bolingbroke de-
posed

Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw,

And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod,
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion and a king of beasts?

K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught
but beasts,

I had been still a happy king of men.

Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for
France:

Think I am dead and that even here thou takest,
As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights sit 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 griefs,
Tell thou the lamentable tale of me

20. sworn brother; alluding to the institution of fratres jurati in chivalry, knights naturally bound to share all the adven

tures and perils of war.

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43. quit their griefs, requite their sad stories (by matching them with as sad a one).

And send the hearers weeping to their beds:
For why the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue
And in compassion weep the fire out;

And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
For the deposing of a rightful king.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND and others.

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed;

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 where-
withal

The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is ere foul sin gathering 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 shall think that thou, which know'st the

way

To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,

Being ne'er so little urged, another way

To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked men converts to fear;

That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both
To worthy danger and deserved death.

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.

Take leave and part; for you must part forthwith.
K. Rich. Doubly divorced!
Bad men, you

violate

A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me,
And then betwixt me and my married wife.

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Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.
Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
My wife to France: from whence, set forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day.

Queen. And must we be divided? must we
part ?

K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

Queen. Banish us both and send the king with

me.

North. That were some love but little policy.
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go.
K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one

woe.

Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
Better far off than near, be ne'er the near.
Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest

moans.

K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the

way being short,

And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief:
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.
Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no
good part

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90

'Near,' the old comparative of 'nigh,' was for the most part obsolete as a comparative, but lingered in the combination with 'the.'

225

95. part, part us.

Q

To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
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 rest let sorrow say.

[Exeunt.

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SCENE II. The DUKE OF YORK's palace.

Enter YORK and his DUCHESS.

Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell

the rest,

When weeping made you break the story off,

Of our two cousins coming into London.

York. Where did I leave? Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head. York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed

Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, Boling-

broke !'

You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage, and that all the walls
With painted imagery had said at once
'Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!'
Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,

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