Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
Of such as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people,
And none contented: Sometimes am I king,
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am: Then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king;

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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 am,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd
With being nothing. Music do I hear?

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,
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.

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[Music.

For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:
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 sounds that tell what hour it is

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35

40

45

50

55

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Are clamorous groans, that 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."
This music mads me, let it sound no more;

60

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For, though it have holpe 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 Groom.

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 ever comes, but that sad dog,
That brings me food, to make misfortune live?

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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'd11 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! K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary?

friend,

How went he under him?

Tell me, gentle

Groom. So proudly as if he had 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,

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70

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80

85

90

Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;.
And yet I bear a burthen like an ass,

Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing 12 Bolingbroke.

Enter Keeper, with a dish.

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95

Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.'
[To the Groom.

K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart

shall say.

Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? 14

[Exit.

K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.

Keep. My lord, I dare not; Sir Pierce of Exton, who 100 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.

Keep. Help, help, help!

[Beats the Keeper.

Enter EXTON, and Servants, armed.

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

assault?

Villain, thine own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon and killing one.

Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

[He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down.

That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,

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That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. 110 Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;

Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

[Dies.

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Exton. As full of valour as of royal blood:

Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were good!

115

For now the devil, that told me I did well,

Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.

This dead king to the living king I'll bear.

Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Ex.

Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE and YORK, with Lords and

Attendants.

Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear

Is, that the rebels have consum'd with fire

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Our town of Cicester in Glostershire;

But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.

Welcome, my lord: what is the news?

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North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happi

ness.

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