York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
Have we more sons? or are we like to have ?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine
age,

And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?
York. Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?

A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,

And interchangeably set down their hands, To kill the king at Oxford.

Duch.

He shall be none; We'll keep him here: then what is that to him?

100

York. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son,

I would appeach him.
Duch.
Hadst thou groan'd for him
As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.
But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
And that he is a bastard, not thy son :
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that
mind:

He is as like thee as a man may be,
Not like to me, or any of my kin,
And yet I love him.

York.

Make way, unruly woman! 110 [Exit.

Duch. After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse;

Spur post, and get before him to the king,
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
And never will I rise up from the ground
Till Bollingbroke have pardon'd thee. _Away,
be gone!
[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A royal palace.
Enter BOLINGBROKE, PERCY, and other Lords.
Boling. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty
son ?

"Tis full three months since I did see him

Aum. God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty,

To have some conference with your grace alone.

Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. [Exeunt Percy and Lords. What is the matter with our cousin now? Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, 30 My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,

Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

Boling. Intended or committed was this fault?

If on the first, how heinous e'er it be,
To win thy after-love I pardon thee.
Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn
the key,

That no man enter till my tale be done.
Boling. Have thy desire.

York. [Within] My liege, beware: look to thyself;

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 40 Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing.

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.

York. [Within] Open the door, secure, foolhardy king:

Shall I for love speak treason to thy face?
Open the door, or I will break it open.

Enter YORK.

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak, Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it.

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know

The treason that my haste forbids me show.50 Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd:

I do repent me; read not my name there;
My heart is not confederate with my hand.
York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set
it down.

I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king;
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
Boling. O heinous, strong and bold con-
spiracy!

70

And he shall spend mine honor with his shame,
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
Mine honor lives when his dishonor dies,
Or my shamed life in his dishonor lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.
Duch. [Within] What ho, my liege! for
God's sake, let me in.

Boling. What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?

Duch. A woman, and thy aunt, great king; 'tis I.

Speak with me, pity me, open the door :
A beggar begs that never begg'd before.

Boling. Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing,

And now changed to 'The Beggar and the
King.'
80
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in :
I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound;
This let alone will all the rest confound.

I never long'd to hear a word till now;

Say 'pardon,' king; let pity teach thee how: The word is short, but not so short as sweet; No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet.

York. Speak it in French, king; say, 'pardonne moi.'

Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?

120

Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That set'st the word itself against the word! Speak pardon' as 'tis current in our land; The chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak; set thy tongue there;

Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,

Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse.
Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
Duch.
I do not sue to stand;
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 130
Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon

Good uncle, help to order several powers 140 To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell and, cousin too, adieu : Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.

Duch. Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The same.

Enter EXTON and Servant.

Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what

words he spake,

'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?' Was it not so?

That would divorce this terror from my heart;' Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go: I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. 11 [Exeunt.

SCENE V. Pomfret castle.

Enter KING RICHARD.

K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare

This prison where I live unto the world:
And for because the world is populous
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,
My soul the father; and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
And these same thoughts people this little
world,

10

In humors like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better sort,
As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
With scruples and do set the word itself
Against the word:

As thus, Come, little ones,' and then again,
'It is as hard to come as for a camel
To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 20
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls,
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars
'Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame,
That many have and others must sit there;
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
Of such as have before endured the like.
Thus play I in one person many people,
And none contented sometimes am I king;
Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again and by and by
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing but whate'er I be,
Nor I nor any man that but man is
With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased
With being nothing. Music do I hear? 41
[Music.

30

Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,
When time is broke and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear
To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
But for the concord of my state and time

My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar

Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,

Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,

Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart,

Which is the bell so sighs and tears and groans

Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the
clock.
60
This music mads me; let it sound no more;
For though it have holp madmen to their wits,
In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Enter a Groom of the Stable.
Groom. Hail, royal prince!
K. Rich.

Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live? Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,

When thou wert king; who, travelling towards
York,

With much ado at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes royal master's

face.

O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld
In London streets, that coronation-day,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary,
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,
That horse that I so carefully have dress'd! 80
K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me,
gentle friend,

How went he under him?

Groom. So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground.

K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!

That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping

him.

Would he not stumble ? would he not fall down,

Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck

Of that proud man that did usurp his back?
Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee, 90
Since thou, created to be awed by man,
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burthen like an ass,
Spurr'd, gall'd and tired by jauncing Boling-
broke.

Enter Keeper, with a dish. Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.

K. Rich. If thou love me, tis time thou wert away.

Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. [Exit. Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.

99 Keep. My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, who lately came from the king, commands the contrary.

K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee !

Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the keeper.

Keep. Help, help, help!

Enter EXTON and Servants, armed.

K. Rich. How now! what means death in this rude assault?

Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instru

10

The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.
Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for
thy pains;

And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Enter FITZWATER.

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to
London

The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely,
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be
forgot;

Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter PERCY, and the BISHOP OF CARLISLE.

Percy. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,

21

With clog of conscience and sour melancholy
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle living, to abide
Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.
Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom:
Choose out some secret place, some reverend
room,

More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;

So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife : For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honor in thee have I seen.

Enter EXTON, with persons bearing a coffin.

Exton. Great king, within this coffin I pre

sent

30