Aum.
My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you break the story off,
Of our two cousins coming into London.

York.
Where did I leave?

Aum.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands, from window-tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.

York.
Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
With slow but stately pace, kept on his course,
While all tongues cry'd—God save thee, Bolingbroke!
You wou'd have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old,
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage; and that all the walls,
With painted imagery, had said at once—
Heav'n preserve thee! Welcome Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus—I thank you, countrymen.
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

Aum.
Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the while?

York.
As in the theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:—
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scoul on Richard: no man cry'd, God save him;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,—
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience!—
That had not heav'n, from some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself, have pity'd him.

Aum.
Ah! gracious lord, these days are dangerous!
Virtue is choak'd with foul ambition,
And charity chac'd hence by rancour's hand.
Foul subornation is predominant,
And equity exil'd this once happy land.

York.
To Bolingbroke are we now sworn subjects,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
Therefore let's hence;—what cannot be avoided,
'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear.

Aum.
Would that my fear were false! Oh, that it were,
For, good king Richard, thy decay I fear.

SCENE II. A Street leading to the Tower. Enter Queen, and Attendants.

Queen.
This way the king will come; this is the way
To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected Tower,
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.
But soft, but see, or rather, do not see,
My fair rose wither: yet look up: behold.
That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true love tears. Enter King Richard, guarded.
Ah! thou, the model where old Troy did stand:
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?

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.

Queen.
What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transform'd and weaken'd? Hath proud 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?

K. Rich.
A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France,
And cloister thee in some religious house—
Think, I am dead; and that even 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 woful ages long ago betid;
And, ere thou bid'st 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 some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
For the deposing of a rightful king. Enter Northumberland, &c.

North.
My lord there's an order come from Bolingbroke,
For your close confinement.
And, madam,
With all swift speed you must away to France.

K. Rich.
Northumberland, thou ladder, wherewithal
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,

The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head,
Shall break into corruption: thou shalt think,
Tho' 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.

North.
My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.

Queen.
And must we be divided? Must we part?
Banish us both, and send the king with me.

K. Rich.
Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, ye violate
A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me,
And then betwixt me and my marry'd wife.
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.
Part us, Northumberland, for ever part us—
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here.

Queen.
O let me entreat thee, cease—Give me thy hand,
That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
To wash away my woful monuments.
If I depart from thee, I cannot live;
And in thy sight to die, what were it else
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle babe;
When from thy sight, I shall be raging mad:
From thee to die, were torture more than death.

K. Rich.
O, now farewell, and farewell life with thee!

Queen.
And take my heart with thee along.

K. Rich.
A jewel lock'd into the wosull'st cask
That ever did contain a gem of worth:
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we—
This way fall I for death—

Queen.
This way for me. [Exeunt severally, guarded. SCENE III. A Palace.

Enter Bolingbroke.
Now climbeth Bolingbroke Olympus' top,
Safe out of fortune's shot, and sits aloft,
Secure of thunder's crack or lightning's flash
Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach;
As when the golden sun salutes the morn,
And having gilt the ocean with his beams,
Gallops the Zodiac in his glistening car,
And overlooks the highest peering hills.
How now, my lord, what is the matter? Enter Northumberland.

North.
My liege, the queen refuses to obey
Your royal mandate, nor will depart, she says,
From England, till another interview
Is granted her with Richard.—And this way,
Almost frantic with her grief, she seeks you. Enter Queen, and Attendant.

Lady.
Be comforted, dear madam.

Queen.
No, I will not—
All strange and terrible events are welcome,

but comforts we despise; our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great
As that which makes it.—Where is this Bolingbroke.

Lady.
Let me intreat you, moderate your grief.

Queen.
Why tell you me of moderation?
The grief is fine, full perfect that I taste,
How can I moderate it?

Lady.
Behold the king.

Queen.
High Bolingbroke! upon my feeble knee,
I beg this boon with tears not lightly shed;
And never will I rise up from the ground,
Never go from hence, till you do grant
Permission to attend my dying husband,
For so my heart presages.—Noblest of men!
And must I, shall I, can I here abide
In this dull world when thou hast left it?
O, that the thought should make so deep a wound,
And yet detested life not shrink thereat!

Bol.
Rise up, good queen—have thy desire at full;
The anguish of thy bosom pierces to my heart:
Go some of you, conduct her to her lord.

Queen.
O quickly, then—my Richard dies this moment.
Lend me ten thousand eyes, and I will fill them
With prophetic tears—O, my ever-lov'd!
If yet thy gentle soul fly in the air,
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,
Hover about me with your airy wings,
Till I have printed on thy clay-cold lips
A dying kiss! shed tears upon thy face,
The last true duties of thy noble wife;
And then united, make death proud to take us. [Exeunt Queen, &c.

Bol.
These miseries are more than may be borne—

Why, Richard, have I follow'd thee to this?
Sated ambition! Nature's powerful voice
Arrests thy arm, and thou must now submit.
I'll follow to the Tower the wretched queen,
And there with joy, with pleasure will resign
The rich advantage of my promis'd glory,
If by the deed I can alleviate
The bleeding sorrows of the royal pair,
And, by restoring them their crown and dignity,
Atone in small degree for all the horrors
Which, O shame! they have endur'd through me. [Exit. SCENE IV. The Tower. Enter Exton, and two Followers.

Exton.
This is my purpose, and the reason why
I brought you hither, which this night,
With your assistance, I will execute;
Nor can there be a doubt of our reward.
Did'st thou not mark the king, what words he spake?
Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?
Was it not so?

Foll.
Those were his very words.

Exton.
Have I no friend? quoth he, he spake it twice,
And urg'd it twice together; did he not?

Foll.
He did.

Exton.
And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me,
As who should say—I would thou wert the man
That would divorce this terror from my heart,
Meaning king Richard.

Foll.
We'll rid him of his fear.

Exton.
But, sirs, we must in the execution

Be quick and sudden—Do not hear him plead;
For Richard is well spoken, and perhaps
May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.

Foll.
Talkers are no doers; be assur'd
We go to use our hands, and not our tongues.

Exton.
He comes this way, let us withdraw awhile;
When time serves, be steady and determinate. [Exeunt.

Enter King Richard.
I have been studying, how to compare
This prison where I live, unto the world:
And, for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it;—Yet I'll hammer 't out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,
My soul the father: And these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
And these same thoughts, people this little world;
In humours, like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better sort,—
As thoughts of things divine,—are intermixt
With scruples, and do set the word itself,
Against the word:
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls:
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves,—
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars,
Who sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame—
That many have, and others must sit there.
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 I was better when a king:
Then am I king'd again; and, by and by,
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing!— Enter Groom.

Groom.
Hail, royal prince!

K. Rich.
Thanks, noble peer:
What art thou? and how cam'st thou hither, man,
Where no man ever comes, but that sad dog
That brings me food, to make misfortune live?

Groom.
I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
When thou wert king.
With much ado, at length I've gotten leave
To look upon my sometime master's face.
O, how it yearn'd 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? tell me, gentle friend,
How went he under him?

Groom.
So proudly, as if he 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,
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 Bolingbroke. Enter Keeper, with a Dish.

Keeper.
Fellow, give place: here is no longer stay.

K. Rich.
If thou dost love me, leave this fatal place,
And blessings on thy heart for looking on me,
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard,
Is a strange broach in this all hating world.

Groom
What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. [Exit Groom.

Keeper.
The meat, my lord:—wilt please you to fall to?

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

Keeper.
My lord, I dare not; for sir Piers of Exton,
Who late came from the king, commands the contrary.

K. Rich.
Out on thee, slave, what means this insolence?
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Strikes him.]

Keeper.
Help! help! help! Enter Exton, and Followers—Attack the King.

K. Rich.
How now? What means death in this rude assault?
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatches a Sword—Exton comes behind, and stabs him—Richard falls.]

K. Rich.
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person.
Open thy gates of mercy, gracious heaven!
My soul flies forth to meet thee. [Dies.] [Queen, without.]

Queen.
Where is my Richard? Quick unbar your gates—
Conduct me to his sight.
I will not be restrain'd! The Queen enters.
My king! my husband!
O horror!—my fears were true, and I am lost! [Faints.] Enter Bolingbroke, and Lords, with Exton.

Bol.
I thank thee not; thou'st wrought a deed
Of slander on my head, and all the land.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour;
With Cain go wander through the shades of night,
And never curse me with thy presence more.
She revives—remove her from the body. [Queen reviving.]

Queen.
Never will we part!—O, you are men of stone.
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so,
That heaven's vault should crack! O, he is gone for ever.
A plague upon you!—Murderers!—Traitors all! [To Bol.]
You might have sav'd him—now he is lost for ever.

Bol.
What words can soothe such aggravated woes!

Queen.
O dearest Richard, dearer than my soul,
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,
It would have madded me—what shall I do,
Now I behold thy lovely body thus?—
Plot some device of further misery,
To make us wonder'd at in time to come.

Bol.
Be comforted, and leave this fatal place.

Queen.
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no more,
Never, never, never!
Pray you undo my lace—Thank you.
Do you see this, look on him, look on his lips,
Look there, look there! [Falls.]

Bol.
Lords, I protest, my soul is full of grief,
Read not my blemishes in this foul report,
But mourn with me for what I do lament.
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
To wash this blood from off my guilty hand,
And shed obsequious tears upon their bier.
O, were the sum of those that I should pay,
Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them;
But let determin'd things to destiny
Hold unbewail'd their way. Thus instructed,
By this example, let princes henceforth learn,
Though kingdoms by just titles prove our own,
The subjects' hearts do best secure a crown. THE END.

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