Groom.
Hail, royal Prince!

K. Rich.
Thanks, noble Peer.
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art? how com'st thou hither?
^{3 note}

Groom.
I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,
When thou wert King; who travelling tow'rds York,
With much ado, at length have 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 he had disdain'd the ground.

K. Rich.
So proud, that Bolingbroke was on his back!
That jade had 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 jaunting Bolingbroke.

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