The Life And Death Of King Richard The Second By William Shakespeare

Scanner’s Notes: What this is and isn’t. This was taken from a copy of Shakespeare’s first folio and it is as close as I can come in ASCII to the printed text. The elongated S’s have been changed to small s’s and the conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling, punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the Geneva Bible and Shakespeare’s First Folio and have unified spellings according to this template), typo’s and expanded abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don’t like that you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a purer Shakespeare. Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer’s habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn’t thrown away but incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is. The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different First Folio editions’ best pages. If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuation errors, or if you disagree with my spelling choices please feel free to email me those errors. I wish to make this the best etext possible. My email address for right now are haradda@aol.com and davidr@inconnect.com. I hope that you enjoy this. David Reed The life and death of King Richard the Second Actus Primus, Scaena Prima. Enter King Richard, Iohn of Gaunt, with other Nobles and Attendants. King Richard. Old Iohn of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster, Hast thou according to thy oath and band Brought hither Henry Herford thy bold son: Heere to make good y boistrous late appeale, Which then our leysure would not let vs heare, Against the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt. I haue my Liege King. Tell me moreouer, hast thou sounded him, If he appeale the Duke on ancient malice, Or worthily as a good subiect shouldOn some knowne ground of treacherie in him Gaunt. As neere as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparant danger seene in him,Aym’d at your Highnesse, no inueterate malice Kin. Then call them to our presence face to face, And frowning brow to brow, our selues will heare Th’ accuser, and the accused, freely speake; High stomack’d are they both, and full of ire, In rage, deafe as the sea; hastie as fire. Enter Bullingbrooke and Mowbray. Bul. Many yeares of happy dayes befall My gracious Soueraigne, my most louing Liege Mow. Each day still better others happinesse, Vntill the heauens enuying earths good hap, Adde an immortall title to your Crowne King. We thanke you both, yet one but flatters vs, As well appeareth by the cause you come, Namely, to appeale each other of high treason. Coosin of Hereford, what dost thou obiect Against the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray? Bul. First, heauen be the record to my speech, In the deuotion of a subiects loue,Tendering the precious safetie of my Prince, And free from other misbegotten hate,Come I appealant to this Princely presence. Now Thomas Mowbray do I turne to thee,And marke my greeting well: for what I speake, My body shall make good vpon this earth, Or my diuine soule answer it in heauen.Thou art a Traitor, and a Miscreant; Too good to be so, and too bad to liue,Since the more faire and christall is the skie, The vglier seeme the cloudes that in it flye: Once more, the more to aggrauate the note, With a foule Traitors name stuffe I thy throte, And wish (so please my Soueraigne) ere I moue, What my tong speaks, my right drawn sword may proue Mow. Let not my cold words heere accuse my zeale: ‘Tis not the triall of a Womans warre,The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt vs twaine: The blood is hot that must be cool’d for this. Yet can I not of such tame patience boast, As to be husht, and nought at all to say. First the faire reuerence of your Highnesse curbes mee, From giuing reines and spurres to my free speech, Which else would post, vntill it had return’d These tearmes of treason, doubly downe his throat. Setting aside his high bloods royalty,And let him be no Kinsman to my Liege, I do defie him, and I spit at him,Call him a slanderous Coward, and a Villaine: Which to maintaine, I would allow him oddes, And meete him, were I tide to runne afoote, Euen to the frozen ridges of the Alpes,Or any other ground inhabitable,Where euer Englishman durst set his foote. Meane time, let this defend my loyaltie, By all my hopes most falsely doth he lie Bul. Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming heere the kindred of a King, And lay aside my high bloods Royalty,Which feare, not reuerence makes thee to except. If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, As to take vp mine Honors pawne, then stoope. By that, and all the rites of Knight-hood else, Will I make good against thee arme to arme, What I haue spoken, or thou canst deuise Mow. I take it vp, and by that sword I sweare, Which gently laid my Knight-hood on my shoulder, Ile answer thee in any faire degree,Or Chiualrous designe of knightly triall: And when I mount, aliue may I not light, If I be Traitor, or vniustly fight King. What doth our Cosin lay to Mowbraies charge? It must be great that can inherite vs,So much as of a thought of ill in him Bul. Looke what I said, my life shall proue it true, That Mowbray hath receiu’d eight thousand Nobles, In name of lendings for your Highnesse Soldiers, The which he hath detain’d for lewd employments, Like a false Traitor, and iniurious Villaine. Besides I say, and will in battaile proue, Or heere, or elsewhere to the furthest Verge That euer was suruey’d by English eye,That all the Treasons for these eighteene yeeres Complotted, and contriued in this Land,Fetch’d from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say, and further will maintaine Vpon his bad life, to make all this good. That he did plot the Duke of Glousters death, Suggest his soone beleeuing aduersaries, And consequently, like a Traitor Coward, Sluc’d out his innocent soule through streames of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abels cries, (Euen from the toonglesse cauernes of the earth) To me for iustice, and rough chasticement: And by the glorious worth of my discent, This arme shall do it, or this life be spent King. How high a pitch his resolution soares: Thomas of Norfolke, what sayest thou to this? Mow. Oh let my Soueraigne turne away his face, And bid his eares a little while be deafe, Till I haue told this slander of his blood, How God, and good men, hate so foule a lyar King. Mowbray, impartiall are our eyes and eares, Were he my brother, nay our kingdomes heyre, As he is but my fathers brothers sonne;Now by my Scepters awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour-neerenesse to our sacred blood, Should nothing priuiledge him, nor partialize The vn-stooping firmenesse of my vpright soule. He is our subiect (Mowbray) so art thou, Free speech, and fearelesse, I to thee allow Mow. Then Bullingbrooke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat; thou lyest: Three parts of that receipt I had for Callice, Disburst I to his Highnesse souldiers;The other part reseru’d I by consent, For that my Soueraigne Liege was in my debt, Vpon remainder of a deere Accompt,Since last I went to France to fetch his Queene: Now swallow downe that Lye. For Glousters death, I slew him not; but (to mine owne disgrace) Neglected my sworne duty in that case:For you my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable Father to my foe,Once I did lay an ambush for your life, A trespasse that doth vex my greeued soule: But ere I last receiu’d the Sacrament,I did confesse it, and exactly begg’d Your Graces pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the rest appeal’d, It issues from the rancour of a Villaine, A recreant, and most degenerate Traitor, Which in my selfe I boldly will defend,And interchangeably hurle downe my gage Vpon this ouer-weening Traitors foote,To proue my selfe a loyall Gentleman, Euen in the best blood chamber’d in his bosome. In hast whereof, most heartily I prayYour Highnesse to assigne our Triall day King. Wrath-kindled Gentlemen be rul’d by me: Let’s purge this choller without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no Physition,Deepe malice makes too deepe incision. Forget, forgiue, conclude, and be agreed, Our Doctors say, This is no time to bleed. Good Vnckle, let this end where it begun, Wee’l calme the Duke of Norfolke; you, your son Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age, Throw downe (my sonne) the Duke of Norfolkes gage King. And Norfolke, throw downe his Gaunt. When Harrie when? Obedience bids, Obedience bids I should not bid agen King. Norfolke, throw downe, we bidde; there is no boote Mow. My selfe I throw (dread Soueraigne) at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame, The one my dutie owes, but my faire name Despight of death, that liues vpon my graue To darke dishonours vse, thou shalt not haue. I am disgrac’d, impeach’d, and baffel’d heere, Pierc’d to the soule with slanders venom’d speare: The which no balme can cure, but his heart blood Which breath’d this poyson King. Rage must be withstood:Giue me his gage: Lyons make Leopards tame Mo. Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame, And I resigne my gage. My deere, deere Lord, The purest treasure mortall times afford Is spotlesse reputation: that away,Men are but gilded loame, or painted clay. A Iewell in a ten times barr’d vp Chest, Is a bold spirit, in a loyall brest.Mine Honor is my life; both grow in one: Take Honor from me, and my life is done. Then (deere my Liege) mine Honor let me trie, In that I liue; and for that will I die King. Coosin, throw downe your gage, Do you begin Bul. Oh heauen defend my soule from such foule sin. Shall I seeme Crest-falne in my fathers sight, Or with pale beggar-feare impeach my hight Before this out-dar’d dastard? Ere my toong, Shall wound mine honor with such feeble wrong; Or sound so base a parle: my teeth shall teare The slauish motiue of recanting feare,And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, euen in Mowbrayes face. Exit Gaunt. King. We were not borne to sue, but to command, Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be readie, (as your liues shall answer it) At Couentree, vpon S[aint]. Lamberts day: There shall your swords and Lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your setled hate: Since we cannot attone you, you shall see Iustice designe the Victors Chiualrie.Lord Marshall, command our Officers at Armes, Be readie to direct these home Alarmes. Exeunt. Scaena Secunda. Enter Gaunt, and Dutchesse of Gloucester. Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Glousters blood, Doth more solicite me then your exclaimes, To stirre against the Butchers of his life. But since correction lyeth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrell to the will of heauen, Who when they see the houres ripe on earth, Will raigne hot vengeance on offenders heads Dut. Findes brotherhood in thee no sharper spurre? Hath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire? Edwards seuen sonnes (whereof thy selfe art one) Were as seuen violles of his Sacred blood, Or seuen faire branches springing from one roote: Some of those seuen are dride by natures course, Some of those branches by the destinies cut: But Thomas, my deere Lord, my life, my Glouster, One Violl full of Edwards Sacred blood,One flourishing branch of his most Royall roote Is crack’d, and all the precious liquor spilt; Is hackt downe, and his summer leafes all vaded By Enuies hand, and Murders bloody Axe.Ah Gaunt! His blood was thine, that bed, that wombe, That mettle, that selfe-mould that fashion’d thee, Made him a man: and though thou liu’st, and breath’st, Yet art thou slaine in him: thou dost consent In some large measure to thy Fathers death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother dye, Who was the modell of thy Fathers life.Call it not patience (Gaunt) it is dispaire, In suffring thus thy brother to be slaughter’d, Thou shew’st the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching sterne murther how to butcher thee: That which in meane men we intitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble brests:What shall I say, to safegard thine owne life, The best way is to venge my Glousters death Gaunt. Heauens is the quarrell: for heauens substitute His Deputy annointed in his sight,Hath caus’d his death, the which if wrongfully Let heauen reuenge: for I may neuer lift An angry arme against his Minister Dut. Where then (alas may I) complaint my selfe? Gau. To heauen, the widdowes Champion to defence Dut. Why then I will: farewell old Gaunt. Thou go’st to Couentrie, there to behold Our Cosine Herford, and fell Mowbray fight: O sit my husbands wrongs on Herfords speare, That it may enter butcher Mowbrayes brest: Or if misfortune misse the first carreere, Be Mowbrayes sinnes so heauy in his bosome, That they may breake his foaming Coursers backe, And throw the Rider headlong in the Lists, A Caytiffe recreant to my Cosine Herford: Farewell old Gaunt, thy sometimes brothers wife With her companion Greefe, must end her life Gau. Sister farewell: I must to Couentree, As much good stay with thee, as go with mee Dut. Yet one word more: Greefe boundeth where it falls, Not with the emptie hollownes, but weight: I take my leaue, before I haue begun,For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done. Commend me to my brother Edmund Yorke.Loe, this is all: nay, yet depart not so, Though this be all, do not so quickly go, I shall remember more. Bid him, Oh, what? With all good speed at Plashie visit mee. Alacke, and what shall good old Yorke there see But empty lodgings, and vnfurnish’d walles, Vn-peopel’d Offices, vntroden stones?And what heare there for welcome, but my grones? Therefore commend me, let him not come there, To seeke out sorrow, that dwels euery where: Desolate, desolate will I hence, and dye, The last leaue of thee, takes my weeping eye. Exeunt. Scena Tertia. Enter Marshall, and Aumerle. Mar. My L[ord]. Aumerle, is Harry Herford arm’d Aum. Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in Mar. The Duke of Norfolke, sprightfully and bold, Stayes but the summons of the Appealants Trumpet Au. Why then the Champions, are prepar’d, and stay For nothing but his Maiesties approach. Flourish. Enter King, Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Greene, & others: Then Mowbray in Armor,and Harrold. Rich. Marshall, demand of yonder Champion The cause of his arriuall heere in Armes, Aske him his name, and orderly proceedTo sweare him in the iustice of his cause Mar. In Gods name, and the Kings say who y art, And why thou com’st thus knightly clad in Armes? Against what man thou com’st, and what’s thy quarrell, Speake truly on thy knighthood, and thine oath, As so defend thee heauen, and thy valour Mow. My name is Tho[mas]. Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, Who hither comes engaged by my oath(Which heauen defend a knight should violate) Both to defend my loyalty and truth,To God, my King, and his succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Herford, that appeales me: And by the grace of God, and this mine arme, To proue him (in defending of my selfe)A Traitor to my God, my King, and me, And as I truly fight, defend me heauen. Tucket. Enter Hereford, and Harold. Rich. Marshall: Aske yonder Knight in Armes, Both who he is, and why he commeth hither, Thus placed in habiliments of warre:And formerly according to our LawDepose him in the iustice of his cause Mar. What is thy name? and wherfore comst y hither Before King Richard in his Royall Lists? Against whom com’st thou? and what’s thy quarrell? Speake like a true Knight, so defend thee heauen Bul. Harry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derbie, Am I: who ready heere do stand in Armes, To proue by heauens grace, and my bodies valour, In Lists, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolke, That he’s a Traitor foule, and dangerous, To God of heauen, King Richard, and to me, And as I truly fight, defend me heauen Mar. On paine of death, no person be so bold, Or daring hardie as to touch the Listes, Except the Marshall, and such OfficersAppointed to direct these faire designes Bul. Lord Marshall, let me kisse my Soueraigns hand, And bow my knee before his Maiestie:For Mowbray and my selfe are like two men, That vow a long and weary pilgrimage,Then let vs take a ceremonious leaue And louing farwell of our seuerall friends Mar. The Appealant in all duty greets your Highnes, And craues to kisse your hand, and take his leaue Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our armes. Cosin of Herford, as thy cause is iust,So be thy fortune in this Royall fight: Farewell, my blood, which if to day thou shead, Lament we may, but not reuenge thee dead Bull. Oh let no noble eye prophane a teare For me, if I be gor’d with Mowbrayes speare: As confident, as is the Falcons flightAgainst a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My louing Lord, I take my leaue of you,Of you (my Noble Cosin) Lord Aumerle; Not sicke, although I haue to do with death, But lustie, yong, and cheerely drawing breath. Loe, as at English Feasts, so I regreete The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet. Oh thou the earthy author of my blood,Whose youthfull spirit in me regenerate, Doth with a two-fold rigor lift mee vpTo reach at victory aboue my head,Adde proofe vnto mine Armour with thy prayres, And with thy blessings steele my Lances point, That it may enter Mowbrayes waxen Coate, And furnish new the name of Iohn a Gaunt, Euen in the lusty hauiour of his sonne Gaunt. Heauen in thy good cause make thee prosp’rous Be swift like lightning in the execution, And let thy blowes doubly redoubled,Fall like amazing thunder on the Caske Of thy amaz’d pernicious enemy.Rouze vp thy youthfull blood, be valiant, and liue Bul. Mine innocence, and S[aint]. George to thriue Mow. How euer heauen or fortune cast my lot, There liues, or dies, true to Kings Richards Throne, A loyall, iust, and vpright Gentleman:Neuer did Captiue with a freer heart, Cast off his chaines of bondage, and embrace His golden vncontroul’d enfranchisement, More then my dancing soule doth celebrate This Feast of Battell, with mine Aduersarie. Most mighty Liege, and my companion Peeres, Take from my mouth, the wish of happy yeares, As gentle, and as iocond, as to iest,Go I to fight: Truth, hath a quiet brest Rich. Farewell, my Lord, securely I espy Vertue with Valour, couched in thine eye: Order the triall Marshall, and begin Mar. Harrie of Herford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receiue thy Launce, and heauen defend thy right Bul. Strong as a towre in hope, I cry Amen Mar. Go beare this Lance to Thomas D[uke]. of Norfolke 1.Har. Harry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derbie, Stands heere for God, his Soueraigne, and himselfe, On paine to be found false, and recreant, To proue the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray, A Traitor to his God, his King, and him, And dares him to set forwards to the fight 2.Har. Here standeth Tho[mas]: Mowbray Duke of Norfolk On paine to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himselfe, and to approueHenry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his Soueraigne, and to him disloyall: Couragiously, and with a free desireAttending but the signall to begin. A charge sounded Mar. Sound Trumpets, and set forward Combatants: Stay, the King hath throwne his Warder downe Rich. Let them lay by their Helmets & their Speares, And both returne backe to their Chaires againe: Withdraw with vs, and let the Trumpets sound, While we returne these Dukes what we decree. A long Flourish. Draw neere and listWhat with our Councell we haue done. For that our kingdomes earth should not be soyld With that deere blood which it hath fostered, And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of ciuill wounds plowgh’d vp with neighbors swords, Which so rouz’d vp with boystrous vntun’d drummes, With harsh resounding Trumpets dreadfull bray, And grating shocke of wrathfull yron Armes, Might from our quiet Confines fright faire peace, And make vs wade euen in our kindreds blood: Therefore, we banish you our Territories. You Cosin Herford, vpon paine of death,Till twice fiue Summers haue enrich’d our fields, Shall not regreet our faire dominions,But treade the stranger pathes of banishment Bul. Your will be done: This must my comfort be, That Sun that warmes you heere, shall shine on me: And those his golden beames to you heere lent, Shall point on me, and gild my banishment Rich. Norfolke: for thee remaines a heauier dombe, Which I with some vnwillingnesse pronounce, The slye slow houres shall not determinate The datelesse limit of thy deere exile:The hopelesse word, of Neuer to returne, Breath I against thee, vpon paine of life Mow. A heauy sentence, my most Soueraigne Liege, And all vnlook’d for from your Highnesse mouth: A deerer merit, not so deepe a maime,As to be cast forth in the common ayre Haue I deserued at your Highnesse hands. The Language I haue learn’d these forty yeares (My natiue English) now I must forgo,And now my tongues vse is to me no more, Then an vnstringed Vyall, or a Harpe,Or like a cunning Instrument cas’d vp, Or being open, put into his handsThat knowes no touch to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you haue engaol’d my tongue, Doubly percullist with my teeth and lippes, And dull, vnfeeling, barren ignorance,Is made my Gaoler to attend on me:I am too old to fawne vpon a Nurse, Too farre in yeeres to be a pupill now:What is thy sentence then, but speechlesse death, Which robs my tongue from breathing natiue breath? Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate, After our sentence, plaining comes too late Mow. Then thus I turne me from my countries light To dwell in solemne shades of endlesse night Ric. Returne againe, and take an oath with thee, Lay on our Royall sword, your banisht hands; Sweare by the duty that you owe to heauen (Our part therein we banish with your selues) To keepe the Oath that we administer:You neuer shall (so helpe you Truth, and Heauen) Embrace each others loue in banishment,Nor euer looke vpon each others face, Nor euer write, regreete, or reconcileThis lowring tempest of your home-bred hate, Nor euer by aduised purpose meete,To plot, contriue, or complot any ill, ‘Gainst Vs, our State, our Subiects, or our Land Bull. I sweare Mow. And I, to keepe all this Bul. Norfolke, so fare, as to mine enemie, By this time (had the King permitted vs) One of our soules had wandred in the ayre, Banish’d this fraile sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish’d from this Land. Confesse thy Treasons, ere thou flye this Realme, Since thou hast farre to go, beare not along The clogging burthen of a guilty soule Mow. No Bullingbroke: If euer I were Traitor, My name be blotted from the booke of Life, And I from heauen banish’d, as from hence: But what thou art, heauen, thou, and I do know, And all too soone (I feare) the King shall rue. Farewell (my Liege) now no way can I stray, Saue backe to England, all the worlds my way. Enter. Rich. Vncle, euen in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy greeued heart: thy sad aspect, Hath from the number of his banish’d yeares Pluck’d foure away: Six frozen Winters spent, Returne with welcome home, from banishment Bul. How long a time lyes in one little word: Foure lagging Winters, and foure wanton springs End in a word, such is the breath of Kings Gaunt. I thanke my Liege, that in regard of me He shortens foure yeares of my sonnes exile: But little vantage shall I reape thereby. For ere the sixe yeares that he hath to spend Can change their Moones, and bring their times about, My oyle-dride Lampe, and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age, and endlesse night: My inch of Taper, will be burnt, and done, And blindfold death, not let me see my sonne Rich. Why Vncle, thou hast many yeeres to liue Gaunt. But not a minute (King) that thou canst giue; Shorten my dayes thou canst with sudden sorow, And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow: Thou canst helpe time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:Thy word is currant with him, for my death, But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath Ric. Thy sonne is banish’d vpon good aduice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gaue, Why at our Iustice seem’st thou then to lowre? Gau. Things sweet to tast, proue in digestion sowre: You vrg’d me as a Iudge, but I had rather You would haue bid me argue like a Father. Alas, I look’d when some of you should say, I was too strict to make mine owne away: But you gaue leaue to my vnwilling tong, Against my will, to do my selfe this wrong Rich. Cosine farewell: and Vncle bid him so: Six yeares we banish him, and he shall go. Enter. Flourish. Au. Cosine farewell: what presence must not know From where you do remaine, let paper show Mar. My Lord, no leaue take I, for I will ride As farre as land will let me, by your side Gaunt. Oh to what purpose dost thou hord thy words, That thou returnst no greeting to thy friends? Bull. I haue too few to take my leaue of you, When the tongues office should be prodigall, To breath th’ abundant dolour of the heart Gau. Thy greefe is but thy absence for a time Bull. Ioy absent, greefe is present for that time Gau. What is sixe Winters, they are quickely gone? Bul. To men in ioy, but greefe makes one houre ten Gau. Call it a trauell that thou tak’st for pleasure Bul. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so, Which findes it an inforced Pilgrimage Gau. The sullen passage of thy weary steppes Esteeme a soyle, wherein thou art to set The precious Iewell of thy home returne Bul. Oh who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frostie Caucasus?Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a Feast?Or Wallow naked in December snowBy thinking on fantasticke summers heate? Oh no, the apprehension of the goodGiues but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrowes tooth, doth euer ranckle more Then when it bites, but lanceth not the sore Gau. Come, come (my son) Ile bring thee on thy way Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay Bul. Then Englands ground farewell: sweet soil adieu, My Mother, and my Nurse, which beares me yet: Where ere I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish’d, yet a true-borne Englishman. Scoena Quarta. Enter King, Aumerle, Greene, and Bagot. Rich. We did obserue. Cosine Aumerle, How far brought you high Herford on his way? Aum. I brought high Herford (if you call him so) But to the next high way, and there I left him Rich. And say, what store of parting tears were shed? Aum. Faith none for me: except the Northeast wind Which then grew bitterly against our face, Awak’d the sleepie rhewme, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a teare Rich. What said our Cosin when you parted with him? Au. Farewell: and for my hart disdained y my tongue Should so prophane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such greefe, That word seem’d buried in my sorrowes graue. Marry, would the word Farwell, haue lengthen’d houres, And added yeeres to his short banishment, He should haue had a volume of Farwels,But since it would not, he had none of me Rich. He is our Cosin (Cosin) but ’tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends, Our selfe, and Bushy: heere Bagot and Greene Obseru’d his Courtship to the common people: How he did seeme to diue into their hearts, With humble, and familiar courtesie,What reuerence he did throw away on slaues; Wooing poore Craftes-men, with the craft of soules, And patient vnder-bearing of his Fortune, As ’twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an Oyster-wench,A brace of Dray-men bid God speed him well, And had the tribute of his supple knee,With thankes my Countrimen, my louing friends, As were our England in reuersion his,And he our subiects next degree in hope Gr. Well, he is gone, & with him go these thoughts: Now for the Rebels, which stand out in Ireland, Expedient manage must be made my LiegeEre further leysure, yeeld them further meanes For their aduantage, and your Highnesse losse Ric. We will our selfe in person to this warre, And for our Coffers, with too great a Court, And liberall Largesse, are growne somewhat light, We are inforc’d to farme our royall Realme, The Reuennew whereof shall furnish vsFor our affayres in hand: if that come short Our Substitutes at home shall haue Blanke-charters: Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large summes of Gold, And send them after to supply our wants: For we will make for Ireland presently.Enter Bushy. Bushy, what newes? Bu. Old Iohn of Gaunt is verie sicke my Lord, Sodainly taken, and hath sent post haste To entreat your Maiesty to visit him Ric. Where lyes he? Bu. At Ely house Ric. Now put it (heauen) in his Physitians minde, To helpe him to his graue immediately:The lining of his coffers shall make Coates To decke our souldiers for these Irish warres. Come Gentlemen, let’s all go visit him:Pray heauen we may make hast, and come too late. Enter. Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. Enter Gaunt, sicke with Yorke. Gau. Will the King come, that I may breath my last In wholsome counsell to his vnstaid youth? Yor. Vex not your selfe, nor striue not with your breth, For all in vaine comes counsell to his eare Gau. Oh but (they say) the tongues of dying men Inforce attention like deepe harmony;Where words are scarse, they are seldome spent in vaine, For they breath truth, that breath their words in paine. He that no more must say, is listen’d more, Then they whom youth and ease haue taught to glose, More are mens ends markt, then their liues before, The setting Sun, and Musicke in the close As the last taste of sweetes, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance, more then things long past; Though Richard my liues counsell would not heare, My deaths sad tale, may yet vndeafe his eare Yor. No, it is stopt with other flatt’ring sounds As praises of his state: then there are found Lasciuious Meeters, to whose venom sound The open eare of youth doth alwayes listen. Report of fashions in proud Italy,Whose manners still our tardie apish Nation Limpes after in base imitation.Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, So it be new, there’s no respect how vile, That is not quickly buz’d into his eares? That all too late comes counsell to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wits regard: Direct not him, whose way himselfe will choose, Tis breath thou lackst, and that breath wilt thou loose Gaunt. Me thinkes I am a Prophet new inspir’d, And thus expiring, do foretell of him,His rash fierce blaze of Ryot cannot last, For violent fires soone burne out themselues, Small showres last long, but sodaine stormes are short, He tyres betimes, that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding, food doth choake the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,Consuming meanes soone preyes vpon it selfe. This royall Throne of Kings, this sceptred Isle, This earth of Maiesty, this seate of Mars, This other Eden, demy paradise,This Fortresse built by Nature for her selfe, Against infection, and the hand of warre: This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone, set in the siluer sea, Which serues it in the office of a wall, Or as a Moate defensiue to a house,Against the enuy of lesse happier Lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this Realme, this England, This Nurse, this teeming wombe of Royall Kings, Fear’d by their breed, and famous for their birth, Renowned for their deeds, as farre from home, For Christian seruice, and true Chiualrie, As is the sepulcher in stubborne IuryOf the Worlds ransome, blessed Maries Sonne. This Land of such deere soules, this deere-deere Land, Deere for her reputation through the world, Is now Leas’d out (I dye pronouncing it) Like to a Tenement or pelting Farme.England bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beates backe the enuious siedge Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With Inky blottes, and rotten Parchment bonds. That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shamefull conquest of it selfe. Ah! would the scandall vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death?Enter King, Queene, Aumerle, Bushy, Greene, Bagot, Ros, and Willoughby. Yor. The King is come, deale mildly with his youth, For young hot Colts, being rag’d, do rage the more Qu. How fares our noble Vncle Lancaster? Ri. What comfort man? How ist with aged Gaunt? Ga. Oh how that name befits my composition: Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me greefe hath kept a tedious fast, And who abstaynes from meate, that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time haue I watcht, Watching breeds leannesse, leannesse is all gaunt. The pleasure that some Fathers feede vpon, Is my strict fast, I meane my Childrens lookes, And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the graue, gaunt as a graue, Whose hollow wombe inherits naught but bones Ric. Can sicke men play so nicely with their names? Gau. No, misery makes sport to mocke it selfe: Since thou dost seeke to kill my name in mee, I mocke my name (great King) to flatter thee Ric. Should dying men flatter those that liue? Gau. No, no, men liuing flatter those that dye Rich. Thou now a dying, sayst thou flatter’st me Gau. Oh no, thou dyest, though I the sicker be Rich. I am in health, I breath, I see thee ill Gau. Now he that made me, knowes I see thee ill: Ill in my selfe to see, and in thee, seeing ill, Thy death-bed is no lesser then the Land, Wherein thou lyest in reputation sicke,And thou too care-lesse patient as thou art, Commit’st thy ‘anointed body to the cure Of those Physitians, that first wounded thee. A thousand flatterers sit within thy Crowne, Whose compasse is no bigger then thy head, And yet incaged in so small a Verge,The waste is no whit lesser then thy Land: Oh had thy Grandsire with a Prophets eye, Seene how his sonnes sonne, should destroy his sonnes, From forth thy reach he would haue laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possest,Which art possest now to depose thy selfe. Why (Cosine) were thou Regent of the world, It were a shame to let his Land by lease: But for thy world enioying but this Land, Is it not more then shame, to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou, and not King: Thy state of Law, is bondslaue to the law, And- Rich. And thou, a lunaticke leane-witted foole, Presuming on an Agues priuiledge,Dar’st with thy frozen admonitionMake pale our cheeke, chasing the Royall blood With fury, from his natiue residence?Now by my Seates right Royall Maiestie, Wer’t thou not Brother to great Edwards sonne, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, Should run thy head from thy vnreuerent shoulders Gau. Oh spare me not, my brothers Edwards sonne, For that I was his Father Edwards sonne: That blood already (like the Pellican)Thou hast tapt out, and drunkenly carows’d. My brother Gloucester, plaine well meaning soule (Whom faire befall in heauen ‘mongst happy soules) May be a president, and witnesse good,That thou respect’st not spilling Edwards blood: Ioyne with the present sicknesse that I haue, And thy vnkindnesse be like crooked age, To crop at once a too-long wither’d flowre. Liue in thy shame, but dye not shame with thee, These words heereafter, thy tormentors bee. Conuey me to my bed, then to my graue,Loue they to liue, that loue and honor haue. Exit Rich. And let them dye, that age and sullens haue, For both hast thou, and both become the graue Yor. I do beseech your Maiestie impute his words To wayward sicklinesse, and age in him:He loues you on my life, and holds you deere As Harry Duke of Herford, were he heere Rich. Right, you say true: as Herfords loue, so his; As theirs, so mine: and all be as it is. Enter Northumberland. Nor. My Liege, olde Gaunt commends him to your Maiestie Rich. What sayes he? Nor. Nay nothing, all is said:His tongue is now a stringlesse instrument, Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent Yor. Be Yorke the next, that must be bankrupt so, Though death be poore, it ends a mortall wo Rich. The ripest fruit first fals, and so doth he, His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be: So much for that. Now for our Irish warres, We must supplant those rough rug-headed Kernes, Which liue like venom, where no venom else But onely they, haue priuiledge to liue. And for these great affayres do aske some charge Towards our assistance, we do seize to vs The plate, coine, reuennewes, and moueables, Whereof our Vncle Gaunt did stand possest Yor. How long shall I be patient? Oh how long Shall tender dutie make me suffer wrong? Not Glousters death, nor Herfords banishment, Nor Gauntes rebukes, nor Englands priuate wrongs, Nor the preuention of poore Bullingbrooke, About his marriage, nor my owne disgrace Haue euer made me sowre my patient cheeke, Or bend one wrinckle on my Soueraignes face: I am the last of noble Edwards sonnes,Of whom thy Father Prince of Wales was first, In warre was neuer Lyon rag’d more fierce: In peace, was neuer gentle Lambe more milde, Then was that yong and Princely Gentleman, His face thou hast, for euen so look’d he Accomplish’d with the number of thy howers: But when he frown’d, it was against the French, And not against his friends: his noble hand Did win what he did spend: and spent not that Which his triumphant fathers hand had won: His hands were guilty of no kindreds blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kinne: Oh Richard, Yorke is too farre gone with greefe, Or else he neuer would compare betweene Rich. Why Vncle,What’s the matter? Yor. Oh my Liege, pardon me if you please, if not I pleas’d not to be pardon’d, am content with all: Seeke you to seize, and gripe into your hands The Royalties and Rights of banish’d Herford? Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Herford liue? Was not Gaunt iust? and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserue to haue an heyre? Is not his heyre a well-deseruing sonne? Take Herfords rights away, and take from time His Charters, and his customarie rights: Let not to morrow then insue to day,Be not thy selfe. For how art thou a King But by faire sequence and succession?Now afore God, God forbid I say true, If you do wrongfully seize Herfords right, Call in his Letters Patents that he hath By his Atturneyes generall, to sueHis Liuerie, and denie his offer’d homage, You plucke a thousand dangers on your head, You loose a thousand well-disposed hearts, And pricke my tender patience to those thoughts Which honor and allegeance cannot thinke Ric. Thinke what you will: we seise into our hands, His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands Yor. Ile not be by the while: My Liege farewell, What will ensue heereof, there’s none can tell. But by bad courses may be vnderstood,That their euents can neuer fall out good. Enter. Rich. Go Bushie to the Earle of Wiltshire streight, Bid him repaire to vs to Ely house,To see this businesse: to morrow next We will for Ireland, and ’tis time, I trow: And we create in absence of our selfeOur Vncle Yorke, Lord Gouernor of England: For he is iust, and alwayes lou’d vs well. Come on our Queene, to morrow must we part, Be merry, for our time of stay is short. Flourish. Manet North. Willoughby, & Ross. Nor. Well Lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead Ross. And liuing too, for now his sonne is Duke Wil. Barely in title, not in reuennew Nor. Richly in both, if iustice had her right Ross. My heart is great: but it must break with silence, Er’t be disburthen’d with a liberall tongue Nor. Nay speake thy mind: & let him ne’r speak more That speakes thy words againe to do thee harme Wil. Tends that thou’dst speake to th’ Du[ke]. of Hereford, If it be so, out with it boldly man,Quicke is mine eare to heare of good towards him Ross. No good at all that I can do for him, Vnlesse you call it good to pitie him,Bereft and gelded of his patrimonie Nor. Now afore heauen, ’tis shame such wrongs are borne.In him a royall Prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining Land;The King is not himselfe, but basely led By Flatterers, and what they will informe Meerely in hate ‘gainst any of vs all,That will the King seuerely prosecute ‘Gainst vs, our liues, our children, and our heires Ros. The Commons hath he pil’d with greeuous taxes And quite lost their hearts: the Nobles hath he finde For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts Wil. And daily new exactions are deuis’d, As blankes, beneuolences, and I wot not what: But what o’ Gods name doth become of this? Nor. Wars hath not wasted it, for war’d he hath not. But basely yeelded vpon comprimize,That which his Ancestors atchieu’d with blowes: More hath he spent in peace, then they in warres Ros. The Earle of Wiltshire hath the realme in Farme Wil. The Kings growne bankrupt like a broken man Nor. Reproach, and dissolution hangeth ouer him Ros. He hath not monie for these Irish warres: (His burthenous taxations notwithstanding) But by the robbing of the banish’d Duke Nor. His noble Kinsman, most degenerate King: But Lords, we heare this fearefull tempest sing, Yet seeke no shelter to auoid the storme: We see the winde sit sore vpon our sailes, And yet we strike not, but securely perish Ros. We see the very wracke that we must suffer, And vnauoyded is the danger nowFor suffering so the causes of our wracke Nor. Not so: euen through the hollow eyes of death, I spie life peering: but I dare not sayHow neere the tidings of our comfort is Wil. Nay let vs share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours Ros. Be confident to speake Northumberland, We three, are but thy selfe, and speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold Nor. Then thus: I haue from Port le Blan A Bay in Britaine, receiu’d intelligence, That Harry Duke of Herford, Rainald Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother Archbishop, late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Iohn Rainston, Sir Iohn Norberie, & Sir Robert Waterton, & Francis Quoint, All these well furnish’d by the Duke of Britaine, With eight tall ships, three thousand men of warre Are making hither with all due expedience, And shortly meane to touch our Northerne shore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the King for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slauish yoake, Impe out our drooping Countries broken wing, Redeeme from broaking pawne the blemish’d Crowne, Wipe off the dust that hides our Scepters gilt, And make high Maiestie looke like it selfe, Away with me in poste to Rauenspurgh,But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay, and be secret, and my selfe will go Ros. To horse, to horse, vrge doubts to them y feare Wil. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Exeunt. Scena Secunda. Enter Queene, Bushy, and Bagot. Bush. Madam, your Maiesty is too much sad, You promis’d when you parted with the King, To lay aside selfe-harming heauinesse,And entertaine a cheerefull disposition Qu. To please the King, I did: to please my selfe I cannot do it: yet I know no causeWhy I should welcome such a guest as greefe, Saue bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard; yet againe me thinkes, Some vnborne sorrow, ripe in fortunes wombe Is comming towards me, and my inward soule With nothing trembles, at something it greeues, More then with parting from my Lord the King Bush. Each substance of a greefe hath twenty shadows Which shewes like greefe it selfe, but is not so: For sorrowes eye, glazed with blinding teares, Diuides one thing intire, to many obiects, Like perspectiues, which rightly gaz’d vpon Shew nothing but confusion, ey’d awry,Distinguish forme: so your sweet Maiestie Looking awry vpon your Lords departure,Finde shapes of greefe, more then himselfe to waile, Which look’d on as it is, is naught but shadowes Of what it is not: then thrice-gracious Queene, More then your Lords departure weep not, more’s not seene; Or if it be, ’tis with false sorrowes eie, Which for things true, weepe things imaginary Qu. It may be so: but yet my inward soule Perswades me it is otherwise: how ere it be, I cannot but be sad: so heauy sad,As though on thinking on no thought I thinke, Makes me with heauy nothing faint and shrinke Bush. ‘Tis nothing but conceit (my gracious Lady.) Qu. ‘Tis nothing lesse: conceit is still deriu’d From some fore-father greefe, mine is not so, For nothing hath begot my something greefe, Or something, hath the nothing that I greeue, ‘Tis in reuersion that I do possesse,But what it is, that is not yet knowne, what I cannot name, ’tis namelesse woe I wot. Enter Greene. Gree. Heauen saue your Maiesty, and wel met Gentlemen: I hope the King is not yet shipt for Ireland Qu. Why hop’st thou so? Tis better hope he is: For his designes craue hast, his hast good hope, Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipt? Gre. That he our hope, might haue retyr’d his power, and driuen into dispaire an enemies hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this Land. The banish’d Bullingbrooke repeales himselfe, And with vp-lifted Armes is safe arriu’d At Rauenspurg Qu. Now God in heauen forbid Gr. O Madam ’tis too true: and that is worse, The L[ord]. Northumberland, his yong sonne Henrie Percie, The Lords of Rosse, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powrefull friends are fled to him Bush. Why haue you not proclaim’d Northumberland And the rest of the reuolted faction, Traitors? Gre. We haue: whereupon the Earle of Worcester Hath broke his staffe, resign’d his Stewardship, And al the houshold seruants fled with him to Bullinbrook Qu. So Greene, thou art the midwife of my woe, And Bullinbrooke my sorrowes dismall heyre: Now hath my soule brought forth her prodegie, And I a gasping new deliuered mother,Haue woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow ioyn’d Bush. Dispaire not Madam Qu. Who shall hinder me?I will dispaire, and be at enmitieWith couzening hope; he is a Flatterer, A Parasite, a keeper backe of death,Who gently would dissolue the bands of life, Which false hopes linger in extremity.Enter Yorke. Gre. Heere comes the Duke of Yorke Qu. With signes of warre about his aged necke, Oh full of carefull businesse are his lookes: Vncle, for heauens sake speake comfortable words: Yor. Comfort’s in heauen, and we are on the earth, Where nothing liues but crosses, care and greefe: Your husband he is gone to saue farre off, Whilst others come to make him loose at home: Heere am I left to vnder-prop his Land,Who weake with age, cannot support my selfe: Now comes the sicke houre that his surfet made, Now shall he try his friends that flattered him. Enter a seruant. Ser. My Lord, your sonne was gone before I came Yor. He was: why so: go all which way it will: The Nobles they are fled, the Commons they are cold, And will I feare reuolt on Herfords side. Sirra, get thee to Plashie to my sister Gloster, Bid her send me presently a thousand pound, Hold, take my Ring Ser. My Lord, I had forgotTo tell your Lordship, to day I came by, and call’d there, But I shall greeue you to report the rest Yor. What is’t knaue? Ser. An houre before I came, the Dutchesse di’de Yor. Heau’n for his mercy, what a tide of woes Come rushing on this wofull Land at once? I know not what to do: I would to heauen (So my vntruth had not prouok’d him to it) The King had cut off my head with my brothers. What, are there postes dispatcht for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these warres? Come sister (Cozen I would say) pray pardon me. Go fellow, get thee home, prouide some Carts, And bring away the Armour that is there. Gentlemen, will you muster men?If I know how, or which way to order these affaires Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,Neuer beleeue me. Both are my kinsmen, Th’ one is my Soueraigne, whom both my oath And dutie bids defend: th’ other againeIs my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong’d, Whom conscience, and my kindred bids to right: Well, somewhat we must do: Come Cozen,Ile dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster vp your men, And meet me presently at Barkley Castle: I should to Plashy too: but time will not permit, All is vneuen, and euery thing is left at six and seuen. Exit Bush. The winde sits faire for newes to go to Ireland, But none returnes: For vs to leuy powerProportionable to th’ enemy, is all impossible Gr. Besides our neerenesse to the King in loue, Is neere the hate of those loue not the King Ba. And that’s the wauering Commons, for their loue Lies in their purses, and who so empties them, By so much fils their hearts with deadly hate Bush. Wherein the king stands generally condemn’d Bag. If iudgement lye in them, then so do we, Because we haue beene euer neere the King Gr. Well: I will for refuge straight to Bristoll Castle, The Earle of Wiltshire is alreadie there Bush. Thither will I with you, for little office Will the hatefull Commons performe for vs, Except like Curres, to teare vs all in peeces: Will you go along with vs? Bag. No, I will to Ireland to his Maiestie: Farewell, if hearts presages be not vaine, We three here part, that neu’r shall meete againe Bu. That’s as Yorke thriues to beate back Bullinbroke Gr. Alas poore Duke, the taske he vndertakes Is numbring sands, and drinking Oceans drie, Where one on his side fights, thousands will flye Bush. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and euer. Well, we may meete againe Bag. I feare me neuer.Enter. Scaena Tertia. Enter the Duke of Hereford, and Northumberland. Bul. How farre is it my Lord to Berkley now? Nor. Beleeue me noble Lord,I am a stranger heere in Gloustershire, These high wilde hilles, and rough vneeuen waies, Drawes out our miles, and makes them wearisome. And yet our faire discourse hath beene as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable: But I bethinke me, what a wearie wayFrom Rauenspurgh to Cottshold will be found, In Rosse and Willoughby, wanting your companie, Which I protest hath very much beguildThe tediousnesse, and processe of my trauell: But theirs is sweetned with the hope to haue The present benefit that I possesse;And hope to ioy, is little lesse in ioy, Then hope enioy’d: By this, the wearie Lords Shall make their way seeme short, as mine hath done, By sight of what I haue, your Noble Companie Bull. Of much lesse value is my Companie, Then your good words: but who comes here? Enter H[arry]. Percie. North. It is my Sonne, young Harry Percie, Sent from my Brother Worcester: Whence soeuer. Harry, how fares your Vnckle? Percie. I had thought, my Lord, to haue learn’d his health of you North. Why, is he not with the Queene? Percie. No, my good Lord, he hath forsook the Court, Broken his Staffe of Office, and disperst The Household of the King North. What was his reason?He was not so resolu’d, when we last spake together Percie. Because your Lordship was proclaimed Traitor. But hee, my Lord, is gone to Rauenspurgh, To offer seruice to the Duke of Hereford, And sent me ouer by Barkely, to discouer What power the Duke of Yorke had leuied there, Then with direction to repaire to Rauenspurgh North. Haue you forgot the Duke of Hereford (Boy.) Percie. No, my good Lord; for that is not forgot Which ne’re I did remember: to my knowledge, I neuer in my life did looke on him North. Then learne to know him now: this is the Duke Percie. My gracious Lord, I tender you my seruice, Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young, Which elder dayes shall ripen, and confirme To more approued seruice, and desert Bull. I thanke thee gentle Percie, and be sure I count my selfe in nothing else so happy, As in a Soule remembring my good Friends: And as my Fortune ripens with thy Loue,It shall be still thy true Loues recompence, My Heart this Couenant makes, my Hand thus seales it North. How farre is it to Barkely? and what stirre Keepes good old Yorke there, with his Men of Warre? Percie. There stands the Castle, by yond tuft of Trees, Mann’d with three hundred men, as I haue heard, And in it are the Lords of Yorke, Barkely, and Seymor, None else of Name, and noble estimate.Enter Rosse and Willoughby. North. Here come the Lords of Rosse and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fierie red with haste Bull. Welcome my Lords, I wot your loue pursues A banisht Traytor; all my TreasurieIs yet but vnfelt thankes, which more enrich’d, Shall be your loue, and labours recompence Ross. Your presence makes vs rich, most Noble Lord Willo. And farre surmounts our labour to attaine it Bull. Euermore thankes, th’ Exchequer of the poore, Which till my infant-fortune comes to yeeres, Stands for my Bountie: but who comes here? Enter Barkely. North. It is my Lord of Barkely, as I ghesse Bark. My Lord of Hereford, my Message is to you Bull. My Lord, my Answere is to Lancaster, And I am come to seeke that Name in England, And I must finde that Title in your Tongue, Before I make reply to aught you say Bark. Mistake me not, my Lord, ’tis not my meaning To raze one Title of your Honor out.To you, my Lord, I come (what Lord you will) From the most glorious of this Land,The Duke of Yorke, to know what pricks you on To take aduantage of the absent time,And fright our Natiue Peace with selfe-borne Armes. Enter Yorke. Bull. I shall not need transport my words by you, Here comes his Grace in Person. My Noble Vnckle York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whose dutie is deceiuable, and false Bull. My gracious Vnckle York. Tut, tut, Grace me no Grace, nor Vnckle me, I am no Traytors Vnckle; and that word Grace, In an vngracious mouth, is but prophane. Why haue these banish’d, and forbidden Legges, Dar’d once to touch a Dust of Englands Ground? But more then why, why haue they dar’d to march So many miles vpon her peacefull Bosome, Frighting her pale-fac’d Villages with Warre, And ostentation of despised Armes?Com’st thou because th’ anoynted King is hence? Why foolish Boy, the King is left behind, And in my loyall Bosome lyes his power.Were I but now the Lord of such hot youth, As when braue Gaunt, thy Father, and my selfe Rescued the Black Prince, that yong Mars of men, From forth the Rankes of many thousand French: Oh then, how quickly should this Arme of mine, Now Prisoner to the Palsie, chastise thee, And minister correction to thy Fault Bull. My gracious Vnckle, let me know my Fault, On what Condition stands it, and wherein? York. Euen in Condition of the worst degree, In grosse Rebellion, and detested Treason: Thou art a banish’d man, and here art come Before th’ expiration of thy time,In brauing Armes against thy Soueraigne Bull. As I was banish’d, I was banish’d Hereford, But as I come, I come for Lancaster.And Noble Vnckle, I beseech your Grace Looke on my Wrongs with an indifferent eye: You are my Father, for me thinkes in you I see old Gaunt aliue. Oh then my Father, Will you permit, that I shall stand condemn’d A wandring Vagabond; my Rights and Royalties Pluckt from my armes perforce, and giuen away To vpstart Vnthrifts? Wherefore was I borne? If that my Cousin King, be King of England, It must be graunted, I am Duke of Lancaster. You haue a Sonne, Aumerle, my Noble Kinsman, Had you first died, and he beene thus trod downe, He should haue found his Vnckle Gaunt a Father, To rowze his Wrongs, and chase them to the bay. I am denyde to sue my Liuerie here,And yet my Letters Patents giue me leaue: My Fathers goods are all distraynd, and sold, And these, and all, are all amisse imployd. What would you haue me doe? I am a Subiect, And challenge Law: Attorneyes are deny’d me; And therefore personally I lay my claime To my Inheritance of free Discent North. The Noble Duke hath been too much abus’d Ross. It stands your Grace vpon, to doe him right Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great York. My Lords of England, let me tell you this, I haue had feeling of my Cosens Wrongs,And labour’d all I could to doe him right: But in this kind, to come in brauing Armes, Be his owne Caruer, and cut out his way, To find out Right with Wrongs, it may not be; And you that doe abett him in this kind, Cherish Rebellion, and are Rebels all North. The Noble Duke hath sworne his comming is But for his owne; and for the right of that, Wee all haue strongly sworne to giue him ayd, And let him neu’r see Ioy, that breakes that Oath York. Well, well, I see the issue of these Armes, I cannot mend it, I must needes confesse, Because my power is weake, and all ill left: But if I could, by him that gaue me life, I would attach you all, and make you stoope Vnto the Soueraigne Mercy of the King.But since I cannot, be it knowne to you, I doe remaine as Neuter. So fare you well, Vnlesse you please to enter in the Castle, And there repose you for this Night Bull. An offer Vnckle, that wee will accept: But wee must winne your Grace to goe with vs To Bristow Castle, which they say is held By Bushie, Bagot, and their Complices,The Caterpillers of the Commonwealth, Which I haue sworne to weed, and plucke away York. It may be I will go with you: but yet Ile pawse, For I am loth to breake our Countries Lawes: Nor Friends, nor Foes, to me welcome you are, Things past redresse, are now with me past care. Exeunt. Scoena Quarta. Enter Salisbury, and a Captaine. Capt. My Lord of Salisbury, we haue stayd ten dayes, And hardly kept our Countreymen together, And yet we heare no tidings from the King; Therefore we will disperse our selues: farewell Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trustie Welchman, The King reposeth all his confidence in thee Capt. ‘Tis thought the King is dead, we will not stay; The Bay-trees in our Countrey all are wither’d, And Meteors fright the fixed Starres of Heauen; The pale-fac’d Moone lookes bloody on the Earth, And leane-look’d Prophets whisper fearefull change; Rich men looke sad, and Ruffians dance and leape, The one in feare, to loose what they enioy, The other to enioy by Rage, and Warre:These signes fore-run the death of Kings. Farewell, our Countreymen are gone and fled, As well assur’d Richard their King is dead. Enter. Sal. Ah Richard, with eyes of heauie mind, I see thy Glory, like a shooting Starre, Fall to the base Earth, from the Firmament: Thy Sunne sets weeping in the lowly West, Witnessing Stormes to come, Woe, and Vnrest: Thy Friends are fled, to wait vpon thy Foes, And crossely to thy good, all fortune goes. Enter. Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, Northumberland, Rosse, Percie, Willoughby,with Bushie and Greene Prisoners. Bull. Bring forth these men:Bushie and Greene, I will not vex your soules, (Since presently your soules must part your bodies) With too much vrging your pernitious liues, For ’twere no Charitie: yet to wash your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men, I will vnfold some causes of your deaths. You haue mis-led a Prince, a Royall King, A happie Gentleman in Blood, and Lineaments, By you vnhappied, and disfigur’d cleane: You haue in manner with your sinfull houres Made a Diuorce betwixt his Queene and him, Broke the possession of a Royall Bed,And stayn’d the beautie of a faire Queenes Cheekes, With teares drawn fro[m] her eyes, with your foule wrongs. My selfe a Prince, by fortune of my birth, Neere to the King in blood, and neere in loue, Till you did make him mis-interprete me, Haue stoopt my neck vnder your iniuries, And sigh’d my English breath in forraine Clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment;While you haue fed vpon my Seignories, Dis-park’d my Parkes, and fell’d my Forrest Woods; From mine owne Windowes torne my Household Coat, Raz’d out my Impresse, leauing me no signe, Saue mens opinions, and my liuing blood, To shew the World I am a Gentleman.This, and much more, much more then twice all this, Condemnes you to the death: see them deliuered ouer To execution, and the hand of death Bushie. More welcome is the stroake of death to me, Then Bullingbrooke to England Greene. My comfort is, that Heauen will take our soules, And plague Iniustice with the paines of Hell Bull. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch’d: Vnckle, you say the Queene is at your House, For Heauens sake fairely let her be entreated, Tell her I send to her my kind commends; Take speciall care my Greetings be deliuer’d York. A Gentleman of mine I haue dispatch’d With Letters of your loue, to her at large Bull. Thankes gentle Vnckle: come Lords away, To fight with Glendoure, and his Complices; A while to worke, and after holliday. Exeunt. Scena Secunda. Drums: Flourish, and Colours. Enter Richard, Aumerle, Carlile, andSouldiers. Rich. Barkloughly Castle call you this at hand? Au. Yea, my Lord: how brooks your Grace the ayre, After your late tossing on the breaking Seas? Rich. Needs must I like it well: I weepe for ioy To stand vpon my Kingdome once againe.Deere Earth, I doe salute thee with my hand, Though Rebels wound thee with their Horses hoofes: As a long parted Mother with her Child,Playes fondly with her teares, and smiles in meeting; So weeping, smiling, greet I thee my Earth, And doe thee fauor with my Royall hands. Feed not thy Soueraignes Foe, my gentle Earth, Nor with thy Sweetes, comfort his rauenous sence: But let thy Spiders, that suck vp thy Venome, And heauie-gated Toades lye in their way, Doing annoyance to the trecherous feete, Which with vsurping steps doe trample thee. Yeeld stinging Nettles to mine Enemies;And when they from thy Bosome pluck a Flower, Guard it I prethee with a lurking Adder, Whose double tongue may with a mortall touch Throw death vpon thy Soueraignes Enemies. Mock not my sencelesse Coniuration, Lords; This Earth shall haue a feeling, and these Stones Proue armed Souldiers, ere her Natiue King Shall falter vnder foule Rebellious Armes Car. Feare not my Lord, that Power that made you King Hath power to keepe you King, in spight of all Aum. He meanes, my Lord, that we are too remisse, Whilest Bullingbrooke through our securitie, Growes strong and great, in substance and in friends Rich. Discomfortable Cousin, knowest thou not, That when the searching Eye of Heauen is hid Behind the Globe, that lights the lower World, Then Theeues and Robbers raunge abroad vnseene, In Murthers and in Out-rage bloody here: But when from vnder this Terrestriall Ball He fires the prowd tops of the Easterne Pines, And darts his Lightning through eu’ry guiltie hole, Then Murthers, Treasons, and detested sinnes (The Cloake of Night being pluckt from off their backs) Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselues. So when this Theefe, this Traytor Bullingbrooke, Who all this while hath reuell’d in the Night, Shall see vs rising in our Throne, the East, His Treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of Day;But selfe-affrighted, tremble at his sinne. Not all the Water in the rough rude SeaCan wash the Balme from an anoynted King; The breath of worldly men cannot deposeThe Deputie elected by the Lord:For euery man that Bullingbrooke hath prest, To lift shrewd Steele against our Golden Crowne, Heauen for his Richard hath in heauenly pay A glorious Angell: then if Angels fight, Weake men must fall, for Heauen still guards the right. Enter Salisbury. Welcome my Lord, how farre off lyes your Power? Salisb. Nor neere, nor farther off, my gracious Lord, Then this weake arme; discomfort guides my tongue, And bids me speake of nothing but despaire: One day too late, I feare (my Noble Lord) Hath clouded all thy happie dayes on Earth: Oh call backe Yesterday, bid Time returne, And thou shalt haue twelue thousand fighting men: To day, to day, vnhappie day too lateOrethrowes thy Ioyes, Friends, Fortune, and thy State; For all the Welchmen hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bullingbrooke, disperst, and fled Aum. Comfort my Liege, why lookes your Grace so pale? Rich. But now the blood of twentie thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled, And till so much blood thither come againe, Haue I not reason to looke pale, and dead? All Soules that will be safe, flye from my side, For Time hath set a blot vpon my pride Aum. Comfort my Liege, remember who you are Rich. I had forgot my selfe. Am I not King? Awake thou sluggard Maiestie, thou sleepest: Is not the Kings Name fortie thousand Names? Arme, arme my Name: a punie subiect strikes At thy great glory. Looke not to the ground, Ye Fauorites of a King: are wee not high? High be our thoughts: I know my Vnckle Yorke Hath Power enough to serue our turne.But who comes here?Enter Scroope. Scroope. More health and happinesse betide my Liege, Then can my care-tun’d tongue deliuer him Rich. Mine eare is open, and my heart prepar’d: The worst is worldly losse, thou canst vnfold: Say, Is my Kingdome lost? why ’twas my Care: And what losse is it to be rid of Care?Striues Bullingbrooke to be as Great as wee? Greater he shall not be: If hee serue God, Wee’l serue him too, and be his Fellow so. Reuolt our Subiects? That we cannot mend, They breake their Faith to God, as well as vs: Cry Woe, Destruction, Ruine, Losse, Decay, The worst is Death, and Death will haue his day Scroope. Glad am I, that your Highnesse is so arm’d To beare the tidings of Calamitie.Like an vnseasonable stormie day,Which make the Siluer Riuers drowne their Shores, As if the World were all dissolu’d to teares: So high, aboue his Limits, swells the Rage Of Bullingbrooke, couering your fearefull Land With hard bright Steele, and hearts harder then Steele: White Beares haue arm’d their thin and hairelesse Scalps Against thy Maiestie, and Boyes with Womens Voyces, Striue to speake bigge, and clap their female ioints In stiffe vnwieldie Armes: against thy Crowne Thy very Beads-men learne to bend their Bowes Of double fatall Eugh: against thy State Yea Distaffe-Women manage rustie Bills:Against thy Seat both young and old rebell, And all goes worse then I haue power to tell Rich. Too well, too well thou tell’st a Tale so ill. Where is the Earle of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? What is become of Bushie? where is Greene? That they haue let the dangerous EnemieMeasure our Confines with such peacefull steps? If we preuaile, their heads shall pay for it. I warrant they haue made peace with Bullingbrooke Scroope. Peace haue they made with him indeede (my Lord.) Rich. Oh Villains, Vipers, damn’d without redemption, Dogges, easily woon to fawne on any man, Snakes in my heart blood warm’d, that sting my heart, Three Iudasses, each one thrice worse then Iudas, Would they make peace? terrible Hell make warre Vpon their spotted Soules for this Offence Scroope. Sweet Loue (I see) changing his propertie, Turnes to the sowrest, and most deadly hate: Againe vncurse their Soules; their peace is made With Heads, and not with Hands: those whom you curse Haue felt the worst of Deaths destroying hand, And lye full low, grau’d in the hollow ground Aum. Is Bushie, Greene, and the Earle of Wiltshire dead? Scroope. Yea, all of them at Bristow lost their heads Aum. Where is the Duke my Father with his Power? Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speake: Let’s talke of Graues, of Wormes, and Epitaphs, Make Dust our Paper, and with Raynie eyes Write Sorrow on the Bosome of the Earth. Let’s chuse Executors, and talke of Wills: And yet not so; for what can we bequeath, Saue our deposed bodies to the ground?Our Lands, our Liues, and all are Bullingbrookes, And nothing can we call our owne, but Death, And that small Modell of the barren Earth, Which serues as Paste, and Couer to our Bones: For Heauens sake let vs sit vpon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of Kings: How some haue been depos’d, some slaine in warre, Some haunted by the Ghosts they haue depos’d, Some poyson’d by their Wiues, some sleeping kill’d, All murther’d. For within the hollow Crowne That rounds the mortall Temples of a King, Keepes Death his Court, and there the Antique sits Scoffing his State, and grinning at his Pompe, Allowing him a breath, a little Scene,To Monarchize, be fear’d, and kill with lookes, Infusing him with selfe and vaine conceit, As if this Flesh, which walls about our Life, Were Brasse impregnable: and humor’d thus, Comes at the last, and with a little Pinne Bores through his Castle Walls, and farwell King. Couer your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemne Reuerence: throw away Respect, Tradition, Forme, and Ceremonious dutie, For you haue but mistooke me all this while: I liue with Bread like you, feele Want,Taste Griefe, need Friends: subiected thus, How can you say to me, I am a King? Carl. My Lord, wise men ne’re waile their present woes, But presently preuent the wayes to waile: To feare the Foe, since feare oppresseth strength, Giues in your weakenesse, strength vnto your Foe; Feare, and be slaine, no worse can come to sight, And fight and die, is death destroying death, Where fearing, dying, payes death seruile breath Aum. My Father hath a Power, enquire of him; And learne to make a Body of a Limbe Rich. Thou chid’st me well: proud Bullingbrooke I come To change Blowes with thee, for our day of Doome: This ague fit of feare is ouer-blowne,An easie taske it is to winne our owne. Say Scroope, where lyes our Vnckle with his Power? Speake sweetly man, although thy lookes be sowre Scroope. Men iudge by the complexion of the Skie The state and inclination of the day;So may you by my dull and heauie Eye: My Tongue hath but a heauier Tale to say: I play the Torturer, by small and smallTo lengthen out the worst, that must be spoken. Your Vnckle Yorke is ioyn’d with Bullingbrooke, And all your Northerne Castles yeelded vp, And all your Southerne Gentlemen in Armes Vpon his Faction Rich. Thou hast said enough.Beshrew thee Cousin, which didst lead me forth Of that sweet way I was in, to despaire: What say you now? What comfort haue we now? By Heauen Ile hate him euerlastingly,That bids me be of comfort any more. Goe to Flint Castle, there Ile pine away, A King, Woes slaue, shall Kingly Woe obey: That Power I haue, discharge, and let ’em goe To eare the Land, that hath some hope to grow, For I haue none. Let no man speake againe To alter this, for counsaile is but vaine Aum. My Liege, one word Rich. He does me double wrong,That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers: let them hence away, From Richards Night, to Bullingbrookes faire Day. Exeunt. Scaena Tertia. Enter with Drum and Colours, Bullingbrooke, Yorke, Northumberland,Attendants. Bull. So that by this intelligence we learne The Welchmen are dispers’d, and Salisbury Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed With some few priuate friends, vpon this Coast North. The newes is very faire and good, my Lord, Richard, not farre from hence, hath hid his head York. It would beseeme the Lord Northumberland, To say King Richard: alack the heauie day, When such a sacred King should hide his head North. Your Grace mistakes: onely to be briefe, Left I his Title out York. The time hath beene,Would you haue beene so briefe with him, he would Haue beene so briefe with you, to shorten you, For taking so the Head, your whole heads length Bull. Mistake not (Vnckle) farther then you should York. Take not (good Cousin) farther then you should. Least you mistake the Heauens are ore your head Bull. I know it (Vnckle) and oppose not my selfe Against their will. But who comes here?Enter Percie. Welcome Harry: what, will not this Castle yeeld? Per. The Castle royally is mann’d, my Lord, Against thy entrance Bull. Royally? Why, it containes no King? Per. Yes (my good Lord)It doth containe a King: King Richard lyes Within the limits of yond Lime and Stone, And with him, the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroope, besides a Clergie man Of holy reuerence; who, I cannot learne North. Oh, belike it is the Bishop of Carlile Bull. Noble Lord,Goe to the rude Ribs of that ancient Castle, Through Brazen Trumpet send the breath of Parle Into his ruin’d Eares, and thus deliuer: Henry Bullingbrooke vpon his knees doth kisse King Richards hand, and sends allegeance And true faith of heart to his Royall Person: hither come Euen at his feet, to lay my Armes and Power, Prouided, that my Banishment repeal’d,And Lands restor’d againe, be freely graunted: If not, Ile vse th ‘aduantage of my Power, And lay the Summers dust with showers of blood, Rayn’d from the wounds of slaughter’d Englishmen; The which, how farre off from the mind of Bullingbrooke It is, such Crimson Tempest should bedrench The fresh greene Lap of faire King Richards Land, My stooping dutie tenderly shall shew.Goe signifie as much, while here we march Vpon the Grassie Carpet of this Plaine:Let’s march without the noyse of threatning Drum, That from this Castles tatter’d Battlements Our faire Appointments may be well perus’d. Me thinkes King Richard and my selfe should meet With no lesse terror then the ElementsOf Fire and Water, when their thundring smoake At meeting teares the cloudie Cheekes of Heauen: Be he the fire, Ile be the yeelding Water; The Rage be his, while on the Earth I raine My Waters on the Earth, and not on him.March on, and marke King Richard how he lookes. Parle without, and answere within: then a Flourish. Enter on the