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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