Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welsh
The King reposeth all his confidence
Cap. 'Tis thought, the King is dead: we will not stay.
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd,
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth,
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,-
The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy,
The other, to enjoy by rage and war:
These signs forernu the death or fall of Kings.
Farewell; our countrymen are gone and fled,
As well assur'd, Richard their King is dead.
[Exit.
Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind,
I see thy glory, like a shooting star,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament!
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest:
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes;
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol.
Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, ROSS: Officers behind with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners.
Boling. Bring forth these men. —
Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls
(Since presently your souls must part your bo-
dies,)
With too much urging your pernicious lives,
For 'twere no charity: yet, to wash your blood
From off my hands, here, in the view of men,
I will unfold some causes of your death.
You have misled a Prince, a royal King,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean.
You have, in manner, with your sinful hours,
Made a divorce betwixt his Queen and him;
Broke the possession of a royal bed,
And stain'd the beauty of a fair Queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul
Myself- a Prince, by fortune of my birth;
Near to the King in blood; and near in love,
Till you did make him misinterpret me,
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,
And sigh'd my English breath tn foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment:
Whilst you have fed upon my signories,
Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods;
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign,
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,
To show the world I am a gentleman.
This, and much more, much more than twice all this,
Condemns you to the death ; See them deliver'd over
To execution and the hand of death.
Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death
Than Bolingbroke to England.
Green. My comfort is, that heaven will take our souls,
And plague injustice with the pains of hell. Boling. My Lord Northumberland, see them despatch'd.
[Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and Others, with prisoners.
Uncle, you say, the Queen is at your house;
For heaven's sake, let her be entreated:
Tell her, I send to her my kind commends;
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd.
York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd
Whith letters of your love to her at large.
Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle. —Come, Lords,
To fight with Glendower and his complices;
Awhile to work, and, after, holiday.
The coast of Wales. A castle in view.
Flourish: drums and trumpets. Enter King RICHARD. Bishop of Carlisle. AUMERLE, and Soldiers.
K. Rich, Barkloughly castle call you this at hand?
Aum. Yea, my Lord: How brooks your Grace the air,
After late tossing on the breaking seas?
K. Rich. Needs must I like it well;
To stand upon my kingdom once again,
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horses'
hoofs:
As a long parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting;
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense:
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with usurping steps do trample thee.
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies:
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration, Lords;
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native King
Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.
Bishop. Fear not, my Lord: that Power that
made you King,
Hath power to keep you King, in spite of all.
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd,
And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse;
The proffer'd means of succour and redress.
Aum. He means, my Lord, that we are too
remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great, in substance, and in
friends.
K. Rich, Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou
That, when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines.
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their
backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,-
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes,
Shall see us rising in our throne the east,
His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day,
But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough-rude sea
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