Taste grief, need friends, like you: fubjected thus, How can you fay to me I am a King?
Carl. My Lord, wife men ne'er wail their present But prefently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, fince fear oppreffeth ftrength, Gives, in your weakness ftrength unto your foe; And fo your follies fight against your yourself. *
K. Rich. Thou chid'ft me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come-- +
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? ‡ Scroop. I play the torturer, by small and small To lengthen out the worst, that must be spoken. Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke, And all your northern caftles yielded up,
And all your fouthern gentlemen in arms Upon his faction.
K. Rich. Thou haft faid enough.
Befhrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth
Of that sweet way I was into despair!
What fay you now? what comfort have we now ! By heav'n 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, shall kingly woe obey:
Fear, and be flain; no worfe can come from fight; And fight and die, is death deftroying death: Where fearing dying, pays death fervile breath. Aum. My father hath a power, inquire of him, And learn to make a body of a limb.
K. Rich. Thou chid'it me, &c.
To change blows with thee, for our day of doom;' This ague fit of fear is overblown ;
An eafy tak it is to win our own.
Speak fweetly, man, although thy looks be four. Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the fky The ftate 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, &c.
That pow'r I have, difcharge; and let 'em go To ear * the land, that hath fome hope to grow: For I have none. Let no man fpeak again
To alter this, for counfel is but vain.
Aum. My Liege, one word.
K. Rich. He does me double wrong,
That wounds me with the flatt'ries of his tongue. Ditcharge my followers: let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day.
SCENE V. Bolingbroke's camp near Flint. Enter with drum and colours, Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, and attendants.
Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn The elchmen 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.
Tork. It would befeem the Lord Northumberland, To fay King Richard. Ah, the heavy day, When fuch a facred King should hide his head! North. Your Grace mistakes me; 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, the whole head's length. Boling. Miftake not, uncle, farther than you should York. Take not, good coufin, farther than you fhould, Left you mistake; the heav'ns are o'er your head. Boling. I know it, uncle, nor oppose myself 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 your entrance.
Boling. Royally? why, it contains no King?
*Ear or are, from aro, to plow.
Percy. Yes, my good Lord,
It doth contain a King: King Richard lies Within the limits of yond 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,
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: Henry of Bolingbroke upon his knees
Doth kifs King Richard's hand, and fends allegiance And faith of heart unto his royal perfon: Ev'n at his feet I lay my arms and pow'r, Provided that my banishment repeal'd, And lands reftor'd again, be freely granted. If not, I'll use th' advantage of my pow'r, And lay the fummer's duft with fhow'rs of blood, Rain'd from the wounds of flaughter'd Englishmen. The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke It is, fuch crimfon tempeft thould bedrench The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land, My stooping duty tenderly fhall fhew.
Go fignify as much, while here we march Upon the graffy carpet of this plain;
Let's march without the noife of threat'ning drum, That from this caftle's tatter'd battlements Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. Methinks King Richard and myself should meet With no lefs terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring fhock, At meeting, tears the cloudy cheeks of heav'n.* March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.
Be he the fire, I'll be the y elding water; The rage be his, while on the earth. I rain My warers; on the earth, and not on him. Marchion, &c.
Parle without, and anfwer within; then a flourish. Enter, on the walls, King Richard, the Bishop of Carlifle, Aumerle, Scroop, and Salisbury.
York See! fee! King Richard doth himself appear, "As doth the blushing discontented fun,
"From out the fiery portal of the east, "When he perceives the envious clouds are bent "To dim his glory; and to stain the tract “Of his bright paffage to the occident." Yet looks he like a King: behold his eye, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth Controlling majefty! alack, for woe, That any harm fhould ftain fo fair a fhow!
K. Rich. We are amaz'd, and thus long have we stood To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, [70 North. Because we thought ourself thy lawful King; And if we be, how dare thy joints forget To pay their awful duty to our prefence? If we be not, fhew us the hand of God, That hath difmifs'd us from our stewardship. For well we know, no hand of blood and bone Can grip the facred handle of our fceptre, Unlefs he do profane, fteal, or ufurp.
And though you think, that all, as you have done, Have torn their fouls, by turning them from us, And we are barren, and bereft of friends; Yet know. My mafter, God omnipotent, Is muft'ring in his clouds on our behalf Armies of peftilence; and they fshall strike Your children yet unborn, and unbegot, That lift your vaffal-hands against my head, And threat the glory of my precious crown, Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond, methinks, he is), That every ftride he makes upon my land Is dangerous treafon. He is come to ope The purple teftament of bleeding war; But ere the crown he looks for, light in peace, Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' fons Shall ill become the flow'r of England's face;
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To fcarlet indignation; and bedew
Her pafture's grafs with faithful English blood. North. The King of heav'n forbid our Lord the King Should fo with civil and uncivil arms
Be rush'd upon! No; thy thrice-noble coufin, Harry of Bolingbroke, doth kifs thy hand, And by the honourable tomb he swears, That ftands upon your royal grandfire's bones, And by the royalties of both your bloods, (Currents that fpring from one most gracious head), And by the warlike hand of bury'd Gaunt, And by the worth and honour of himself, Comprising all that may be fworn or faid, His coming hither hath no farther scope, Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg Infranchisement immediate on his knees: Which on thy royal party granted once, His glitt ring arms he will commend tỏ rust; His barbed feeds to ftables; and his heart To faithful service of your Majesty.
This fwears he, as he is a prince, is just; And as I am a gentleman, I credit him.
K. Rich. Northumberland, fay, thus the King returns: His noble coufin is right welcome hither, And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction, With all the gracious utterance thou halt, Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.
We do debafe ourself, coufin, do we not, [T, Aum. To look fo poorly, and to speak so fair?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and fend Defiance to the traitor, and fo die?
Aum. No, good my Lord, let's fight with gentle words, Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful fwords. K. Rich. Oh God, oh God! that e'er this tongue of That laid the fentence of dread banishment On yon proud man, fhould take it off again With words of footh; oh that I were as great As is my grief, or leffer than my name ! Or that I could forget what I have been, Or not remember what I must be now!
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