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Are merely shadows to the unseen grief,
That swells with silence in the tortur'a foul.
There lies the fubstance: and I thank thee, King,
For. thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
Me cause to wail, but teacheft me the way
How to·lament the cause. I'll beg one boon;
And then be


and trouble you: no more. Shall I obtain it?'

Boling: Name it, fair Cousin.

K. Rith. Fair. Cousin! I am greater than a King:
For when I was a King, my, flatterers
Were then but Subjects; being now a Subject,
I have a King here to my flatterer :
Being fo great, I have no need to beg.

Boling. Yet ask.
K. Rich: And' shall I have?
Boling. You shall:
K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Boling. Whither?
K. Rich. Whither you will, so I'were from your sight.
Boling. Go Some of you, convey him to the Tower.

K. Rich. Oh, good! convey: - Conveyers are
That rise thus nimbly by a true King's Fall.

Boling. On Wednesday next we folemnly. sét down Our Coronation : lords, prepare your felves. [Ex, all but Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle and Aumerle.

S C E N E IV. Abbot.: A woeful pageant have we here beheld.

Bishop. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.

Aum. You holy Clergy-men, is there no Plot, To rid the Realm of this pernicious blot?

Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, You shall not only take the Sacrament,


you all,

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To bury mine intents, but to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devise.
I see, your brows are full of discontent,
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears,
Come home with me to fupper, and I'll lay
A Plot, shall shew us all a merry day: [Exeunt.


A Street in LO N. O. N.
Enter Queen, and Ladies.


the King will come: this is the way
To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected Tow'r ;
To whose fint bosom my, condemned lord
Is doom'd, a prisoner, by proud Bolingbroke.
Here let us reft, if this rebellious earth
Have any Resting for her true King's Queen:

Enter King Richard, and Guards.
But soft, bụt see, or- rather do not see,
My fair rose wither; yet look-up; behold,
That you in pity may diffolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
O thou, the model where old Troy did stand,

[To K. Rich, Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb, And not King Richard; thou most beauteous Inn,Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg?d in thee; When Triumph is become an ale-house Guest?

K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair Woman, do not so, To make my End too sudden : learn, good soul, To think our former state a happy dream, From which awak?d, the truth of what we are:


Shews us but this. :I am sworn brother, Sweet,
To grim Necessity; and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Hye thee to France,
And cloister thee in fome Religious House ;
Our holy lives must win a new world's Crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.

Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transform’d and weak? hath Bolingbroke depos'd
Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
The Lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o'erpower'd: and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod,
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a Lion and a King of beasts? (beasts,

K. Rich. A King of beasts, indeed; if aught but I had been still a happy King of men. Good fometime Queen, prepare thee hence for France ; Think, I am dead; and that ev'n here thou tak'st, As from my death-bed, my last living Leave. “ In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire “ With good old folks, and let them tell thee Tales « Of woeful ages, long ago betid: “ And ere thou bid good Night, to quit their grief,

Tell thou the lamentable Fall of me,
“ And send the hearers weeping to their beds."
For why? the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,
And in compassion weep the fire out :
And fome will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
For the deposing of a rightful King.


Enter Northumberland attended. North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd : You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.


And, Madam, there is order ta'en for you:
With all swift speed, you must away to France.

K. Rich, Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
The mounting Boling broke ascends my Throne,
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gath’ring head,
Shall break into corruption; thou shalt think,
Though he divide the Realm, and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to all :
And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way
To plant unrightful Kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way
To pluck him headlong from th' usurped Throne,
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear to hate ; and hate turns one, or both,
To worthy danger, and deserved death.

North. My guilt be on my head, and there's an end! Take leave and part,



forthwith, K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd? Bad men, ye violate A two-fold marriage ; 'twixt my crown and me: And then betwixt me and my married wife. Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me:

[To the Queen And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. Part us, Northumberland: I, towards the North, Where shiv'ring cold and sickness pines the clime: My Queen to France ; from whence, set forth in pomp, She came adorned hither like sweet May; Sent back like Hollowmas, or shortest day.

Queen. And must we be divided ? must we part? K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my Love, and

heart from heart. Queen. Banish us both, and send the King with me. North. That were some Love, but liccle Policy. Queen. Then whicher he goes, thither let me go. K. Rich. So two together weeping, make one woe.


you must

Weep thou For me in France; I for thee here:
Better far off, than near, be ne'er the near.
Go, count thy way with sighs, I mine with gröañs:

Queen. So longest way thall have the longest moans.
K. Ricb. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way

being thort, And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing forrow let's be brief ; Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief: One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part ; Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. (They kiss. Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good

part, To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. [Kiss again. So, now I have mine own again, be gone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay: Once more, adieu; the rest let forrow say. [Exeunt.

The Duke of YORK's Palace.

Enter York, and his Dutchess.

Y ,

rest, When Weeping made you break the story off, Of our two Cousins coming into London.

York. Where did I leave?

Dutch. At that fad stop, my lord, Where rude mif-govern'd hands, from window-tops, Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

York. “Then, as I said, the Duke, great Boling broke, • Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, • Which his afpiring Rider feem'd to know, • With flow, but stately pace, kept on his courfe: « While all tongues cry'd, God save thee, Bolingbroke!


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