Are merely fhadows to the unfeen grief,
That fwells with filence in the tortur'd foul.
There lies the fubftance: and I thank thee, King,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv❜st
Me caufe to wail, but teacheft me the way
How to lament the caufe. I'll beg one boon;
And then be gone,, and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?
Boling: Name it, fair Coufin.
K. Rich. Fair Coufin!' 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 fhall I have?
Boling: You fhall.
K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Boling: Whither?
K. Rich. Whither you will, fo I were from your fight.
Boling. Go Some of you, convey him to the Tower.
K. Rich. Oh, good! convey:
That rife thus nimbly by a true King's Fall.
Boling. On Wednesday next we folemnly fet down Our Coronation: lords, prepare your felves.
[Ex. all but Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle and Aumerle.
S C ES NE IV.
Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld! Bishop: The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as fharp 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 fhall not only take the Sacrament,
To bury mine intents,, but to effect
Whatever I fhall happen to devife.
I fee, your brows are full of discontent,
Your hearts of forrow, and your eyes of tears,
Come home with me to fupper, and I'll lay
A Plot, fhall fhew us all a merry day:
A Street in L o N. Do N.
Enter Queen, and Ladies.
THIS way the King will come: this is the way
To Julius Cæfar's ill-erected Tow'r;
To whofe flint bofom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prifoner, by proud Bolingbroke.
Here let us reft, if this rebellious: earth
Have any Refting for her true King's Queen.
Enter King Richard, and Guards.
But foft, but fee, or rather do not fee,
My fair rofe 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 Gueft?
K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair Woman, do not fo, To make my End too fudden: learn, good foul, To think our former ftate a happy dream, From which awak?d, the truth of what we are
Shews us but this. I am fworn brother, Sweet,
To grim Neceffity; and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Hye thee to France,
And cloister thee in fome Religious House;
Our holy lives muft win a new world's Crown,
Which our profane hours here have ftricken 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, thrufteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing elfe, with rage
To be o'erpower'd: and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly, kifs the rod,
And fawn on rage with bafe humility,
Which art a Lion and a King of beasts?
K. Rich. A King of beafts, 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 laft living Leave.
"In winter's tedious nights fit 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 fend the hearers weeping to their beds."
For why? the fenfelefs brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,
And in compaffion weep the fire out:
And fome will mourn in afhes, fome coal-black,
For the depofing 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 Bolingbroke afcends my Throne,
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul fin, gath'ring head,
Shall break into corruption; thou fhalt think,
Though he divide the Realm, and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to all:
And he fhall think, that thou, which know'ft the way
To plant unrightful Kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er fo little urg'd, another way
To pluck him headlong from th' ufurped Throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear to hate; and hate turns one, or both,
To worthy danger, and deferved death.
North. My guilt be on my head, and there's an end!
Take leave and part, for
you must
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 unkifs the oath 'twixt thee and me:
[To the Queen. And yet not fo, for with a kifs 'twas made. Part us, Northumberland: I, towards the North, Where fhiv'ring cold and fickness pines the clime: My Queen to France; from whence, fet forth in pomp, She came adorned hither like fweet May;
Sent back like Hollowmas, or fhortest day.
Queen. And muft we be divided? muft we part? K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my Love, and heart from heart.
Queen. Banifh us both, and fend the King with me.
North. That were fome Love, but little Policy.
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go.
K. Rich. So two together weeping, make one woe.
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 fighs, I mine with groans :
Queen. So longeft way fhall have the longest moans
K. Rich. Twice for one ftep I'll groan, the way
being fhort,
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing forrow let's be brief
Since, wedding it, there is fuch 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. [Kifs 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 reft let forrow fay.
The Duke of YORK's Palace.
Enter York, and his Dutchess.
Dutch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the
When Weeping made you break the ftory off,
Of our two Coufins coming into London.
York. Where did I leave?
Dutch. At that fad ftop, my lord,
Where rude mif-govern'd hands, from window-tops,
Threw duft and rubbish on King Richard's head.
York. Then, as I faid, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,
• Mounted upon a hot and fiery fteed,
• Which his afpiring Rider feem'd to know,
With flow, but stately pace, kept on his courfe: • While all tongues cry'd, God fave thee, Bolingbroke!
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