Against thy majefty; boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big, and clasp their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
Thy very beadfmen learn to bend their bows
"Of double-fatal yew against thy ftate;
Yea, distaff women manage rufty bills
Against thy feat: both young and old rebel,

And all goes worse than I have power to tell.

K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale fo ill. "Where is the earl of Wiltshire ?

What is become of Bufhy? where is Green?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with fuch peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads fhall pay for it.

I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my lord.
K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!
Dogs, eafily won to fawn on any man!

Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that fting my heart!
Three Judaffes, each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace ? terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted fouls for this offence!

Scroop. Sweet love, I fee, changing his property,
Turns to the foureft and most deadly hate:-
Again uncurse their fouls; their peace is made
With heads, and not with hands: those whom you curse,
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound,
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground.

Aum. Is Bufhy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire, dead?
Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol loft their heads.
Aum. Where is the duke my father with his
father with his power?

2

clap.

2 Thy very beadfmen]-Almfmen fed by thy bounty. Of double-fatal yew]-Its leaves are poisonous, and its branches, when converted into bows, the inftruments of death.

Where is the earl of Wiltshire ?- where is Bagot?

K. Rich.

K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speak:

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;

Make duft our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write forrow on the bofom of the earth.
Let's chufe executors, and talk of wills;-
And yet not fo, for what can we bequeath,
Save our depofed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own, but death;
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which ferves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heaven's fake, let us fit upon the ground,
And tell fad stories of the death of kings:-
How some have been depos'd, fome flain in war;
Some haunted by the ghofts they have depos'd;
Some poifon'd by their wives, fome sleeping kill'd;
All murder'd:-For within the hollow crown,
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Keeps death his court: and there the antic fits,
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene

To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with felf and vain conceit,-
As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin

Bores through his castle wall, and-farewell king!
Cover your head, and mock not flesh and blood
With folemn reverence; throw away respect,

* Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,

Small model of the barren earth,]-mould, that takes the form of the body. depos'd;]-difpoffefs'd.

e

fbumour'd thus,]—having so far indulged his mirth. Tradition,]-Cuttomary homage, established practice—Addition— honourable title.

VOL. III.

E e

For

For you have but mistook me all this while :

I live on bread like you, feel want, tafte grief,
Need friends;-Subjected thus,

How can you fay to me—I am a king?

Carl. My lord, wife men ne'er wail their prefent woes, But prefently prevent the ways to wail.

To fear the foe, fince fear oppreffeth ftrength,
Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,
And fo your follies fight against yourself.

Fear, and be flain; no worfe can come, to fight:
And fight and die, is death deftroying death;
Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath.
Aum. My father hath a power, enquire of him;
And learn to make a body of a limb.

K. Rich. Thou chid'ft me well:-Proud Bolingbroke,
I come

To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
This ague-fit of fear is over-blown ;
An eafy task it is, to win our own.

Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power
Speak fweetly, man, although thy looks be four.
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The state and inclination of the day;

So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
I play the torturer, by fmall and small,

To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:
Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke;
And all your northern caftles yielded up,

And all your fouthern gentlemen in arms
Upon his party.

ħ fit and wail their woes.

?

▲ And fight and die, is death destroying death ;]—To die fighting, is to destroy our destroyers, to return what we fuffer.

K. Rich.

K. Rich. Thou haft faid enough.

Befhrew thee, coufin, which didft lead me forth

Of that sweet way I was in to despair!

[To Aumerle.

What say you now? What comfort have we now?
By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly,

That bids me be of comfort any more.

Go, to Flint castle; there I'll pine away;
A king, woe's flave, fhall kingly woe obey.
That power I have, discharge; and let them go
*To ear the land that hath fome hope to grow,
For I have none :-Let no man fpeak again
To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

Aum. My liege, one word.

K. Rich. He does me double wrong,

That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers, let them hence ;-Away,
From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The Camp of Bolingbroke, before Flint Caftle.

Enter with drum and colours, Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, and attendants.

Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn,
The Welshmen are difpers'd; and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed,
With fome few private friends, upon this coaft.

North. The news is very fair and good, my lord;
Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head.

To ear]-To till.
E e 2

York.

York. It would befeem the lord Northumberland, To fay-king Richard :-Alack the heavy day, When fuch a facred king fhould hide his head! North. Your grace miftakes; only to be brief, Left I his title out.

York. The time hath been,

Would you have been fo brief with him, he would
Have been fo brief with you, to shorten you,

'For taking fo the head, your whole head's length.
Boling. Miftake not, uncle, farther than you should.
York. Take not, good coufin, farther than you should,
Left you mif-take: The heavens are o'er your head.
Boling. I know it, uncle; and oppose not
Myfelf against their will. But who comes here?

Enter Percy.

Welcome, Harry; what, will not this caftle yield?
Percy. The caftle royally is mann'd, my lord,
Against thy entrance.

Boling. Royally! Why, it contains no king?
Percy. Yes, my good lord,

It doth contain a king; king Richard lies
Within the limits of yon lime and stone :
And with him lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop; befides a clergyman
Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn.
North. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle.
Boling. Noble lord,

[To North.

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient caftle;
Through brazen trumpet fend the breath of parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver.

Harry of Bolingbroke, on both his knees,
Doth kifs king Richard's hand;

For taking fo the bead,]-For taking fuch undue liberties.

And