SCENE II.

In Wales.

Enter Salisbury, and a Captain.

Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have ftaid ten days, And hardly kept our countrymen together,

And yet we hear no tidings from the king;
Therefore we will difperfe ourselves: farewell.

Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trufty Welshman ;
The king repofeth all his confidence in thee.

Cap. 'Tis thought, the king is dead; we will not stay.
The bay-trees in our country all are wither'd,
And meteors fright the fixed ftars of heaven;
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth,
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look fad, and ruffians dance and leap,-
The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy,
The other, to enjoy by rage and war :
These figns forerun the death of kings-
Farewell; our countrymen are gone and fled,
As well affur'd, Richard their king is dead.

Sal. Ah, Richard! with eyes of heavy mind,
I fee thy glory, like a shooting star,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament!
Thy fun fets weeping in the lowly weft,
Witneffing storms to come, woe, and unreft:
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foés;
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

[Exit.

[Exeunt.

to enjoy by rage and war:]-in hopes of enjoying by rapine and violence.

SCENE

SCENE III.

The Coaft of Wales. A Caftle in View.

Flourish: drums and trumpets.

Enter King Richard, Aumerle, Bishop of Carlisle, and Soldiers.

K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand? Aum. Yea, my lord: How brooks your grace the air, After your late toffing on the breaking seas ?

K. Rich. Needs muft I like it well; I weep for joy, To ftand upon my kingdom once again.

Dear earth, I do falute thee with my hand,

Though rebels wound thee with their horfes' hoofs:
As a long-parted mother 2 from her child

Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting;
So, weeping, fmiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy fovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy fweets comfort his rav'nous sense;
But let thy fpiders, that fuck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with ufurping fteps do trample thee.
Yield ftinging nettles to mine enemies :
And when they from thy bofom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder
Whofe double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy fovereign's enemies.
Mock not my fenfelefs conjuration, lords
This earth fhall have a feeling, and these stones

a with.

;

weeping.
Guard it,]-Place an adder there by way of guard.

Prove armed foldiers, ere her native king

Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms.

Bishop. Fear not, my lord; that Power, that made you king,

Hath power to keep you king, in spight of all.
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd,
And not neglected; elfe, if heaven would,
And we would not heaven's offer, we refufe
The proffer'd means of fuccour and redress.

Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remifs;
Whilft Bolingbroke, through our fecurity,
Grows ftrong and great, in fubftance, and in friends.
K. Rich. Difcomfortable coufin! know'st thou not,
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, treafons, and detefted fins,
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 fee us rifing in our throne the eaft,
His treasons will fit blufhing in his face,
Not able to endure the fight of day,
But, felf-affrighted, tremble at his fin.
Not all the water in the rough rude fea

.

eye of heaven, that lights

The lower world, is hid behind the globe.

Can

Can wash the balm from an anointed king;
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord :

For every man that Bolingbroke hath preft,
To lift fhrewd fteel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay

A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,

Weak men must fall; for heaven ftill guards the right.
Enter Salisbury.

Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power?
Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm: Discomfort guides my tongue,
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth:
Oh, call back yesterday, bid time return,

And thou fhalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,

O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy ftate;
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, difpers'd, and fled.

Aum. Comfort, my liege; Why looks your grace fo pale?
K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand men
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;
And, 'till fo much blood thither come again,
Have I not reason to look pale and dead ?
All fouls that will be fafe, fly from my fide;
For time hath fet a blot upon my pride.

Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not king? Awake, thou fluggard majesty! thou sleepest.

* Is not the king's name forty thousand names?
Arm, arm, my name ! a puny fubject' strikes
At thy great glory.-Look not to the ground,
Ye favourites of a king; Are we not high?
High be our thoughts: I know, my uncle York
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who
Comes here?

Enter Scroop.

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege
Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him!

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd;
The worst is worldly lofs, thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom loft? why, 'twas my care;
And what lofs is it, to be rid of care?

Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?..
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow fo:
Revolt our fubjects? that we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God, as well as us:
Cry, woe, deftruction, ruin, lofs, decay;

The worst is-death, and death will have his day.
Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.

Like an unfeasonable stormy day,

Which makes the filver rivers drown their fhores,
As if the world were all diffolv'd to tears;
So high above his limits fwells the rage

Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land

With hard bright fteel, and hearts harder than steel.
White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless fcalps

× Is not the king's name forty thousand names?]—
"Befides, the king's name is a tower of ftrength."

KING RICHARD III. A&t V. S. 3. K. Rich.

ftrikes]-the flag, vails to.

Against

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