Introductory matter

1 ^note.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ King Richard the Second. John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, uncle to the King. Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, uncle to the King. Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke Duke of Hereford [Henry Bolingbroke], son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV. Duke of Aumerle, son to the Duke of York. Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. Duke of Surrey. Earl of Salisbury. Lord Berkley^{2 note} [Earl of Berkeley]. Bushy, servant to King Richard. Bagot, servant to King Richard. Green, servant to King Richard. Earl of Northumberland. Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son. Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby. Lord Fitzwater. Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminster. Lord Marshal^{3 note}. Sir Stephen Scroop. Sir Pierce of Exton. Captain of a band of Welshmen^{4 note}. Queen to King Richard. Duchess of York. Duchess of Gloucester. Lady attending on the Queen. Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants^{5 note}. [Herald 1], [Herald 2], [Servant], [Gardener], [Lord], [Groom], [Keeper] Scene: England and Wales^{6 note}.

^note OF KING RICHARD II.

THE TRAGEDY [Footnote: ACT I. ^note Scene I. [Footnote: London. King Richard's palace. ^note Enter King Richard, John of Gaunt, ^note with other Nobles and Attendants.

K. Rich.
Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band ^note,
Brought hither Henry Hereford ^note thy bold son,
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear ^note,
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ^note?

Gaunt.
I have, my liege.

K. Rich.
Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
If he appeal ^note the duke on ancient malice;
Or worthily, as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him?

Gaunt.
As near as I could sift him on that argument,
On some apparent danger seen in him
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice.

K. Rich.
Then call them to our presence; ^note face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear ^note
The accuser and the accused freely speak:
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Enter ^note Bolingbroke and Mowbray.

Boling.
Many ^note years of happy days befal
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

Mow.
Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an ^note immortal title to your crown!

K. Rich.
We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,
As well appeareth by the cause you come ^note;
Namely, to appeal ^note each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

Boling.
First, heaven be the record to my speech!
In the devotion ^note of a subject's love,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other ^note misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant ^note to this princely presence.
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak
My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine ^note soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,

Too good to be so and too bad to live,
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note ^note,
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,
What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove ^note.

Mow.
Let not my cold ^note words here accuse my zeal:
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this:
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
As to be hush'd and nought ^note at all to say:
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
Which else ^note would post until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled ^note down his throat.
Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
And let him ^note be no kinsman to my liege,
I do ^note defy him, and I ^note spit at him;
Call him a slanderous coward and a villain:
Which to maintain I would allow him odds,
And meet him, were I tied ^note to run afoot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable ^note,
Where ever ^note Englishman ^note durst set his foot.
Mean time ^note let this defend my loyalty ^note,
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.

Boling.
Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
Disclaiming here the kindred ^note of the king ^note;
And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
If guilty dread have ^note left thee so much strength
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop:
By that and all the rites ^note of knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse ^note devise.

Mow.
I take it up; and by that sword I swear,
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
Or ^note chivalrous design of knightly trial:
And when I mount, alive ^note may I not light,
If I be traitor or unjustly fight!

K. Rich.
What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?
It must be great that can inherit ^note us
So much as of a thought of ill in him.

Boling.
Look, what I speak ^note, my life shall prove it true;
That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
Besides I say and will in battle prove,
Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English eye,
That all the treasons for ^note these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land
Fetch ^note from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
Further I say and further will maintain

Upon his bad life to make all this good ^note,
That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's ^note death,
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,
And consequently, like a traitor ^note coward,
Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood:
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
To me for justice and rough chastisement;
And, by the glorious worth of my descent ^note,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

K. Rich.
How high a pitch his resolution soars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what ^note say'st thou to this?

Mow.
O, let my sovereign turn away his face,
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
Till I have told this slander ^note of his blood,
How God and good men hate so foul a liar.

K. Rich.
Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:
Were he my brother, nay, my ^note kingdom's heir,
As he is but my ^note father's brother's son,
Now, by my ^note sceptre's awe, I make a vow,
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my ^note upright soul:
He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

Mow.
Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais ^note
Disbursed I duly ^note to his highness' soldiers;
The other part reserved I by consent,
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt

Upon remainder of a dear ^note account,
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's ^note death,
I slew him not; but ^note to my ^note own disgrace
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe,
Once did I ^note lay an ^note ambush for your life,
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul;
But ^note ere I last received the sacrament
I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.
This is my fault: as for the rest appeal'd,
It issues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor:
Which in myself I boldly will defend;
And interchangeably ^note hurl down my ^note gage
Upon ^note this overweening traitor's foot,
To prove myself a loyal gentleman
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his ^note bosom.
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.

K. Rich.
Wrath-kindled gentlemen ^note, be ruled by me;
Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
This we prescribe, though no physician ^note;
Deep malice makes too deep incision:
Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed;
Our doctors say this is no month ^note to bleed ^note.

Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.

Gaunt.
To be a make-peace shall become my age:
Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.

K. Rich.
And, Norfolk, throw down his.

Gaunt.
When, Harry, when?
Obedience bids ^note I should not bid again.

K. Rich.
Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.

Mow.
Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
The one my duty owes; but my fair name,
Despite of death that lives ^note upon my grave,
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here;
Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear,
The which no balm ^note can cure but his heart-blood
Which breathed this poison.

K. Rich.
Rage must be withstood:
Give me his gage: lions make leopards ^note tame.

Mow.
Yea, but not change his spots ^note: take but my shame,
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, ^note
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation: that away, ^note
Men are but gilded loam ^note or ^note painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.

Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;
Take honour from me, and my life is done:
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
In that I live and for that will I die.

K. Rich.
Cousin, throw up ^note your gage; do you begin ^note.

Boling.
O, God ^note defend my soul from such deep ^note sin!
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight?
Or with pale beggar-fear ^note impeach my height
Before this out-dared dastard ^note? Ere my tongue
Shall wound my ^note honour with such feeble wrong,
Or sound so base ^note a parle ^note, my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive of recanting fear,
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. [Exit Gaunt. ^note

K. Rich.
We were not born to sue, but to command;
Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
Be ready, as your lives ^note shall answer it,
At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's ^note day:
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate:
Since we can not atone ^note you, we ^note shall see
Justice design ^note the victor's chivalry.
Lord marshal ^note, command ^note our officers at arms
Be ready to direct these home alarms ^note. [Exeunt ^note.

^note Scene II. [Footnote: The Duke of Lancaster's palace. ^note Enter John of Gaunt with the ^note Duchess of Gloucester.

Gaunt.
Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's ^note blood
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims,
To stir against the butchers of his life!
But since correction lieth in those hands
Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;
Who, when they see ^note the hours ^note ripe on earth,
Will rain ^note hot vengeance on ^note offenders' heads.

Duch.
Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
Were as ^note seven vials of his sacred blood,
Or seven fair branches springing from one root:
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,
One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,
One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt,
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves ^note all faded ^note,
By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb,

That metal ^note, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee
Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest ^note,
Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father's death,
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair:
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou showest ^note the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
That which in mean men we intitle patience
Is pale cold cowardice ^note in noble breasts.
What shall I say? to safeguard thine ^note own life,
The best way is to venge ^note my Gloucester's death.

Gaunt.
God's is the quarrel; for God's ^note substitute,
His deputy anointed in His sight,
Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully,
Let heaven ^note revenge; for I may never lift
An angry arm against His minister.

Duch.
Where then, alas, may I complain ^note myself?

Gaunt.
To God ^note, the widow's ^note champion and defence ^note.

Duch.
Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. ^note
Thou goest ^note to Coventry, there to behold
Our cousin Hereford ^note and fell Mowbray fight:
O, sit ^note my husband's wrongs on Hereford ^note's spear,

That it may enter butcher ^note Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune miss the first career ^note,
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,
That they may break his foaming courser's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff ^note recreant to my cousin Hereford ^note!
Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes ^note brother's wife
With her companion grief must end her life.

Gaunt.
Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry:
As much good stay with thee as go with me!

Duch.
Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it ^note falls,
Not with the empty ^note hollowness, but weight:
I take my leave before I have begun,
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
Commend me to thy ^note brother, Edmund ^note York.
Lo, this is all:—nay, yet depart not so;
Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
I shall remember more. Bid him—ah ^note, what?—
With all good speed at Plashy ^note visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see ^note
But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
And what hear ^note there for welcome but my groans?
Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
To seek out sorrow that ^note dwells every where.
Desolate, desolate ^note, will I hence ^note and die:
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Exeunt.

^note Scene III. [Footnote: The lists at Coventry. ^note Enter the Lord ^note Marshal and the Duke of Aumerle. ^note

Mar.
My Lord ^note Aumerle, is Harry Hereford ^note arm'd?

Aum.
Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.

Mar.
The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully ^note and bold,
Stays but the summons of the appellant's ^note trumpet.

Aum.
Why, then, the champions are prepared and stay
For nothing but his majesty's approach. The trumpets ^note sound, and the King enters with his nobles, Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green, and others. When they are set, enter Mowbray in arms, defendant, with a Herald.

K. Rich.
Marshal, demand of yonder champion
The cause of his arrival here in arms:
Ask him his name and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.

Mar.
In God's name and the king's, say who thou art
And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,
Against what ^note man thou comest, and what thy quarrel:
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath ^note;
As so ^note defend thee ^note heaven and thy valour!

Mow.
My name is Thomas ^note Mowbray, Duke of ^note Norfolk;
Who hither come ^note engaged by my oath—
Which God defend ^note a knight should violate!—

Both to defend my loyalty and truth
To God, my king and my ^note succeeding issue,
Against ^note the Duke of Hereford that appeals me;
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me: ^note
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! The trumpets ^note sound. Enter Bolingbroke, Appellant, in armour, with a Herald.

K. Rich.
Marshal, ask ^note yonder knight in arms,
Both who he is and why he cometh hither
Thus plated ^note in habiliments of war,
And formally ^note, according to our law,
Depose him in the justice of his cause.

Mar.
What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither,
Before King Richard in his royal lists?
Against whom comest ^note thou? and what's ^note thy quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!

Boling.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby ^note
Am I; who ready here ^note do stand in arms,
To prove, by God's ^note grace and my body's valour,
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk ^note,
That he is ^note a traitor, foul and dangerous,
To God of heaven, King Richard and to me;
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

Mar.
On pain of death, no person be so bold
Or daring-hardy ^note as to touch the lists,

Except the marshal and such officers
Appointed to direct these fair designs.

Boling.
Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand,
And bow my knee before his majesty:
For Mowbray and myself are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave
And loving farewell of our several friends.

Mar.
The appellant ^note in all duty greets your highness,
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

K. Rich.
We will descend and fold him in our arms.
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right ^note,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead ^note.

Boling.
O, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gored ^note with Mowbray's spear:
As confident as is the falcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My loving lord, I take my leave of you;
Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;
Not sick, although I have to do with death,
But lusty, young ^note, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most ^note sweet ^note:
O thou, the earthly ^note author of my blood,
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a twofold vigour ^note lift me up
To reach at victory ^note above my head,
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers;
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen ^note coat,

And furbish ^note new the name of John a Gaunt ^note,
Even in the lusty haviour ^note of his son.

Gaunt.
God ^note in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
Be swift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled ^note,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse ^note pernicious enemy:
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant ^note and live ^note.

Boling.
Mine innocency ^note and Saint George to thrive!

Mow.
However God ^note or fortune cast my lot,
There lives ^note or dies, true to King ^note Richard's throne,
A loyal, just and upright gentleman:
Never did captive ^note with a freer heart
Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
More than my dancing soul doth ^note celebrate
This feast of battle with mine adversary.
Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,
Take from my mouth ^note the wish of happy years:
As gentle and as jocund as to jest ^note
Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.

K. Rich.
Farewell, my lord: securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

Mar.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Receive thy lance; and God ^note defend the right ^note!

Boling.
Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.

^note

Mar.
Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke ^note of Norfolk.

First Her. ^note
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God ^note, his king and him;
And dares him to set forward ^note to the fight.

Sec. Her. ^note
Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend ^note himself and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal;
Courageously and with a free desire
Attending but the signal to begin.

Mar.
Sound, trumpets; and set forward ^note, combatants ^note. [A charge sounded. ^note
Stay ^note, the king hath thrown his warder down.

K. Rich.
Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
And both return back to their chairs again:
Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound
While we return these dukes what we decree. [A long flourish. ^note
Draw near, ^note
And list what with our council we have done ^note.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd

With that dear blood which it hath ^note fostered ^note;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil ^note wounds plough'd up with neighbours' ^note sword ^note;
And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
With rival-hating envy, set on you ^note
To wake our peace ^note, which in our country's cradle
Draws ^note the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ^note;
Which so ^note roused up with boisterous untuned drums ^note,
With ^note harsh-resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
And grating shock of wrathful iron ^note arms,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace ^{note note},
And make us wade even in our kindred's ^note blood ^note;
Therefore, we banish you our territories:
You, cousin Hereford, upon ^note pain of life ^note,
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields ^note
Shall not ^note regreet our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

Boling.
Your will be done: this must my comfort be,
That sun that warms you here shall shine on me;
And those his golden beams to ^note you here lent
Shall point on me and gild my banishment.

K. Rich.
Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom ^note,

Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
The sly slow ^note hours shall not determinate
The dateless limit of thy dear ^note exile;
The hopeless word of ‘never to return’
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life ^note.

Mow.
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:
A dearer merit, not ^note so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your highness' hands.
The language I have learn'd ^note these forty years,
My native English, now I must forego:
And now my tongue's use is to me no more
Than an unstringed viol or a harp;
Or like a cunning instrument cased up,
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony:
Within my mouth you have engaol'd ^note my tongue,
Doubly portcullis'd ^note with my teeth and lips;
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler ^note to attend on me ^note.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now:
What is thy sentence then ^note but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?

K. Rich.
It boots thee not to be compassionate ^note:
After our sentence plaining comes too ^note late.

Mow.
Then thus I turn me from my country's light,

To dwell in solemn ^note shades of endless night.

K. Rich.
Return again, and take an oath with thee ^note.
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe ^note to God ^note—
Our part therein we banish with yourselves—
To keep the oath that we administer:
You never ^note shall, so help you truth and God ^note!
Embrace each other's love in banishment;
Nor never ^note look upon each other's face;
Nor never ^note write, regreet ^note, nor ^note reconcile
This louring ^note tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor never ^note by advised purpose meet
To plot, contrive, or complot ^note any ill
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

Boling.
I swear ^note. ^note

Mow.
And I, to keep all this.

Boling.
Norfolk, so far ^note as to mine enemy:— ^note
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our souls had wander'd in the air,
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the ^note realm;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burthen of a guilty soul.

Mow.
No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,

And I from heaven banish'd as from hence!
But what thou art, God ^note, thou, and I do know;
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.
Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;
Save back to England, ^note all the world's my way. [Exit. ^{note note}

K. Rich.
Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banish'd years
Pluck'd four away. [To Boling. ^note] Six frozen winters spent,
Return with welcome home from banishment.

Boling.
How long a time lies in one little word!
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs
End in a word ^note: such is the breath ^note of kings.

Gaunt.
I thank ^note my liege, that in regard of me
He shortens four years of my son's exile:
But little vantage shall I reap thereby;
For, ere the six ^note years that he hath to spend
Can change their moons ^note and bring their times about,
My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light
Shall be extinct ^note with age and endless night ^note;
My inch ^note of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me see my son.

K. Rich.
Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.

Gaunt.
But not a minute, king, that thou canst give:
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen ^note sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him for my death,
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

K. Rich.
Thy son is banish'd upon ^note good advice ^note,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict ^note gave:
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour ^note?

Gaunt.
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour ^note.
You urged ^note me as a judge; but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
O, had it ^note been a stranger, not my child,
To smooth his fault I should ^note have been more mild:
A partial slander sought ^note I to avoid,
And in the sentence my own life destroy'd ^note.
Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
I was too strict to make mine own away;
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
Against my will to do myself this wrong.

K. Rich.
Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so:
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. [Flourish. Exeunt ^note King Richard and train. ^note

Aum.
Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know,
From where you do remain let paper show.

Mar.
My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,
As far as land will let me, by your side.

Gaunt.
O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
That thou return'st ^note no greeting to thy friends?

Boling.
I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue's office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.

Gaunt.
Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.

Boling.
Joy absent, grief is present for that time.

Gaunt.
What is six winters? they are quickly gone.

Boling.
To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten ^note.

Gaunt.
Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure.

Boling.
My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.

Gaunt.
The sullen passage of thy weary steps
Esteem as foil ^note wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home return.

Boling.
Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
Will but remember me what a deal ^note of world ^note
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages, and in the end,
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
But that I was a journeyman to grief? ^note

Gaunt.
All places that the eye of heaven visits
Are to a wise man ^note ports and happy havens.
Teach thy necessity to reason thus;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not ^note the king did banish thee, ^note
But thou the king. Woe ^note doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne ^note.
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour
And not the king exiled thee; or suppose
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air
And thou art flying to a fresher clime:
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest:
Suppose the singing birds musicians,

The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd ^note,
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance;
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it and sets it light ^{note note}.

Boling.
O, who can hold a fire ^note in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December ^note snow
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good
Gives ^note but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never ^note rankle more
Than ^note when he ^note bites, but lanceth ^note not the sore.

Gaunt.
Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way:
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.

Boling.
Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;
My mother, and my nurse, that ^note bears me yet!
Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,
Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. [Exeunt. ^note

^note Scene IV. [Footnote: The court. ^note Enter the King, with Bagot and Green ^note at one door; and the Duke of Aumerle at another.

K. Rich.
We did observe ^note. Cousin Aumerle ^note,
How far brought you high Hereford on his way?

Aum.
I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
But to the next highway, and there I left him.

K. Rich.
And say, what store of parting tears were shed?

Aum.
Faith, none for me ^note; except the north-east wind,
Which then blew ^note bitterly against our faces ^note,
Awaked the sleeping ^note rheum, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

K. Rich.
What said our ^note cousin when you parted with him?

Aum.
‘Farewell:’
And, for my heart disdained that ^note my tongue ^note
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
To counterfeit oppression of such grief,
That words ^note seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
Marry ^note, would the word ‘farewell’ have ^note lengthen'd hours
And added years to his short banishment,

He should have had a volume of farewells;
But since it would not, he had none of me.

K. Rich.
He is our cousin, cousin ^note; but 'tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come ^note to see his friends.
Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green ^note
Observed his courtship to the common people;
How he did seem to dive into their hearts
With humble and familiar courtesy,
What ^note reverence he did throw away on slaves,
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles ^note
And patient underbearing of his fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affects ^note with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
A brace of draymen bid God speed him well
And had the tribute of his supple knee,
With ‘Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;’
As were our England in reversion his,
And he our subjects' ^note next degree in hope.

Green.
Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts.
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,
Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
Ere further leisure yield them further ^note means
For their advantage and your highness' loss.

K. Rich.
We will ourself in person to this war:
And, for our coffers, with too great a court
And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
We are inforced to farm our royal realm;
The revenue whereof shall furnish us

For our affairs in hand: if that ^{note note} come short, ^note
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold
And send them after to supply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter Bushy.
Bushy, what news? ^note

Bushy.
Old John of Gaunt ^note is grievous ^note sick, my lord,
Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste
To entreat your majesty to visit him.

K. Rich.
Where lies he ^note?

Bushy.
At Ely House ^note.

K. Rich.
Now put it, God ^note, in the ^note physician's mind
To help him to his grave immediately!
The lining of his coffers shall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him:
Pray God ^note we may make haste, and come too late!

All.
Amen. ^note [Exeunt. ^note

ACT II. Scene I. Ely House ^note. Enter John of Gaunt sick, with the Duke of York, &c. ^note

Gaunt.
Will the king come, that I may breathe my last
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?

York.
Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

Gaunt.
O, but they say the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention like deep harmony:
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain,
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
He that no more must say is listen'd more
  Than they whom youth and ease have ^note taught to glose;
More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before:
  The setting sun, and music at the close ^note,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last ^note,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past:
Though Richard my life's ^note counsel would not hear,
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. ^note

York.
No; it ^note is stopp'd with other flattering sounds ^note,
As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond ^note,

Lascivious metres ^note, to whose venom sound ^note
The open ear ^note of youth doth always listen;
Report ^note of fashions in proud Italy,
Whose manners still our tardy apish ^note nation
Limps after in base ^note imitation.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity—
So it be new, there's no respect how vile—
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ^note ears?
Then ^note all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
Direct not him whose way himself will choose:
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose ^note. ^note

Gaunt.
Methinks I am a prophet new inspired
And thus expiring do foretell of him:
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
For violent fires soon burn ^note out themselves;
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;
He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:
Light vanity, insatiate ^note cormorant,
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise ^note;
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection ^note and the hand of war;

This happy breed of men ^note, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a ^note moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier ^note lands;
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England ^note,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed and famous by ^note their birth, ^note
Renowned for ^note their deeds as far from home,
For Christian ^note service and true chivalry,
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry ^note
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son;
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement or ^note pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege ^note
Of watery Neptune, is now ^note bound in with shame,
With inky blots ^note and rotten parchment bonds:
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, ^note would the scandal vanish ^note with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!

Enter ^note King Richard and Queen, Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Ross, ^note and Willoughby. ^note

York.
The king is come: deal mildly with his youth;
For young hot colts being raged ^note do rage the more.

Queen.
How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?

K. Rich.
What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt?

Gaunt.
O, how that name befits my composition!
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old:
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;
And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?
For sleeping England long time have I watch'd;
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt:
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon,
Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks;
And therein fasting, hast thou ^note made me gaunt:
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.

K. Rich.
Can sick men play so nicely with their names?

Gaunt.
No, misery makes sport to mock itself:
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
I mock ^note my name, great king, to flatter thee.

K. Rich.
Should dying men flatter with ^note those that live?

Gaunt.
No, no, men living flatter those that die.

K. Rich.
Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest ^note me.

Gaunt.
O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.

K. Rich.
I am in health, I breathe, and see ^note thee ill.

Gaunt.
Now, He that made me knows I see thee ill ^note;

Ill in myself to see ^note, and ^note in thee seeing ill ^note.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land ^note
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Commit'st ^note thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head ^note;
And yet, incaged ^note in so small a verge,
The ^note waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,
Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd,
Which ^note art possess'd now to depose thyself.
Why, cousin, wert ^note thou regent of the world,
It were a shame to let this ^note land by lease;
But for thy world enjoying but this land,
Is it not more than shame to shame it so?
Landlord of England art thou now, not ^note king:
Thy state of law ^note is bondslave to the law;
And thou—

K. Rich.
A lunatic ^note lean-witted fool,
Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Darest with thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheek, chasing ^note the royal blood

With fury from his native residence. ^note
Now, by my seat's right royal majesty,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head
Should run thy head from thy unreverent ^note shoulders.

Gaunt.
O, spare me not, my brother ^note Edward's son,
For that I was his father Edward's son;
That blood already, like the pelican,
Hast thou ^note tapp'd out ^note and drunkenly caroused:
My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul,
Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls!
May be a precedent and witness good
That thou respect'st ^note not spilling Edward's blood:
Join with the present sickness that I have; ^note
And thy unkindness be like crooked age ^note,
To crop at once a too long wither'd flower.
Live ^note in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
These words hereafter thy tormentors be!
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
Love they to live that love and honour have. [Exit, borne off by his Attendants ^note.

K. Rich.
And let them die that age and sullens have;
For both hast thou, and both become the grave ^note.

York. ^note
I do beseech ^note your majesty, impute his words
To wayward sickliness and age in him:
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.

K. Rich.
Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his;
As theirs, so mine; and all ^note be as it is. Enter Northumberland. ^{note note}

North.
My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.

K. Rich.
What says he? ^note

North.
Nay ^note, nothing ^note; all is said:
His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Words life and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

York.
Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

K. Rich.
The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars:
We must supplant those ^note rough rug-headed kerns ^note,
Which live like venom where no venom else
But only they have ^note privilege to live.
And for these great affairs do ask some charge,
Towards our assistance we do seize to us
The plate, coin, revenues ^note and moveables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.

York.
How long shall I be patient? ah ^note, how long
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
Not Gloucester's death, nor ^note Hereford's banishment,
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,

Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
I am the last of noble ^note Edward's sons,
Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first:
In war ^note was never lion raged ^note more fierce,
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely gentleman.
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the ^note number of thy hours;
But when he frown'd, it was against the French
And not against his friends; his noble hand
Did win what he did spend and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won;
His hands were guilty of no kindred ^note blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or else he never would compare between. ^note

K. Rich.
Why, uncle, what's the matter?

York.
O my liege,
Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. ^{note note}
Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
Take Hereford's rights ^note away, and take from time
His charters and his customary rights;
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;
Be not thyself; for how art thou a king

But by fair sequence and succession?
Now, afore God—God forbid I say true!— ^note
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights ^note,
Call in the ^note letters patents that he hath
By his attorneys-general to sue
His livery and deny his offer'd homage,
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
You lose ^note a thousand well-disposed hearts
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

K. Rich.
Think what you will, we seize ^note into our hands
His plate, his goods, his money and his lands ^note.

York.
I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell:
What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell;
But by bad courses may be understood
That their events can never fall out good. [Exit.

K. Rich.
Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight:
Bid him repair to us to Ely House
To see this business ^note. To-morrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow:
And we create, in absence of ourself,
Our uncle York lord governor of England;
For he is just and always loved us well.
Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish. Exeunt ^note King, Queen, Aumerle, Bushy, Green, and Bagot. ^note

North.
Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

Ross.
And living too; for now his son is duke.

Willo.
Barely in title, not in revenue ^note.

North.
Richly in both, if justice had her right.

Ross.
My heart is great; but it must break with silence,
Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.

North.
Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!

Willo.
Tends that thou wouldst ^note speak to the Duke ^note of Hereford?
If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.

Ross.
No good at all that I can do for him;
Unless you call it good to pity him,
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

North.
Now, afore God ^note, 'tis ^note shame such wrongs are borne
In him a royal prince and many moe ^note
Of noble blood in this declining land.
The king is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform,
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
That will the king severely prosecute
'Gainst ^note us, our lives ^note, our children, and our heirs.

Ross.
The commons hath he pill'd ^note with grievous taxes,
And quite ^note lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts ^note.

Willo.
And daily new exactions are devised,
As blanks, benevolences, and I ^note wot not what:

But ^note what, o' ^note God's name, doth become of this?

North.
Wars have ^note not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not,
But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his noble ^note ancestors achieved with blows:
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. ^note

Ross.
The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

Willo.
The king's ^note grown bankrupt, like a broken man.

North.
Reproach and dissolution ^note hangeth over ^note him.

Ross.
He hath not money for these Irish wars,
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.

North.
His noble kinsman: most degenerate king!
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm;
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails ^note,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

Ross.
We see the very wreck that we must suffer;
And unavoided is ^note the danger now,
For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

North.
Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death
I spy ^note life peering ^note; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.

Willo.
Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.

Ross.
Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so,
Thy words are but as thoughts ^note; therefore, be bold.

North. ^note
Then thus ^note: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay

In Brittany ^note, received ^note intelligence
That Harry Duke of ^note Hereford, Rainold ^note Lord Cobham,


That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
His brother ^note, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston ^note,
Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint ^note,
All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our slavish ^note yoke,
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking ^note pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our ^note sceptre's gilt ^note
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away with me in post ^note to Ravenspurgh;
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay and be secret, and myself will go.

Ross.
To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.

Willo.
Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. [Exeunt.

^note Scene II. [Footnote: The palace. ^note Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.

Bushy.
Madam, your majesty is too much ^note sad:
You promised, when you parted with the king,
To lay aside life-harming ^note heaviness,
And entertain a cheerful disposition.

Queen.
To please the king I did; to please myself
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks,
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming towards ^note me, and my inward soul ^note
With nothing trembles: at ^note some thing ^{note note} it ^note grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.

Bushy.
Each substance of a grief hath ^note twenty shadows,
Which shows like grief itself, but is ^note not so;
For sorrow's eye ^note, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perspectives, which, rightly gazed upon;
Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry ^note,
Distinguish ^note form: so your sweet majesty,

Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Find ^note shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which, look'd on as it is, is ^note nought but shadows
Of what it is ^note not. Then, thrice-gracious queen ^note,
More than your lord's departure weep not ^note: more's ^note not seen;
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye ^note,
Which for things true weeps ^note things imaginary.

Queen.
It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is ^note otherwise: howe'er it be ^note,
I cannot but be sad; so ^note heavy sad,
As, though ^note on thinking on ^note no ^note thought ^note I think,
Makes ^note me with heavy nothing faint and shrink ^note.

Bushy.
'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

Queen.
'Tis nothing ^note less: conceit is still derived
From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
For nothing hath begot my something grief ^note;
Or ^note something hath the nothing that I grieve ^note:
'Tis in reversion that I do possess ^note;
But what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot ^{note note}.

Enter Green ^note. ^note

Green.
God ^note save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.

Queen.
Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is;
For his designs crave ^note haste, his haste ^note good hope:
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?

Green.
That he, our hope, might have retired his power,
And driven into despair an enemy's hope ^note,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land:
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arrived
At Ravenspurgh ^{note note}.

Queen.
Now God in heaven forbid!

Green.
Ah ^note madam, 'tis too true: and that ^note is worse,
The Lord ^note Northumberland, his son young Henry ^note Percy ^note,
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

Bushy.
Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland
And all the rest ^note revolted ^note faction traitors?

Green.
We have: whereupon ^note the Earl of Worcester
Hath broke ^note his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him
To Bolingbroke ^{note note}.

Queen.
So, Green, thou art the midwife to my ^note woe,
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd ^note mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.

Bushy.
Despair not, madam.

Queen.
Who shall hinder me?
I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening ^note hope: he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper back of death,
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false hope lingers ^note in extremity. Enter York ^note. ^note

Green.
Here comes ^note the Duke of York.

Queen.
With signs of war about his aged neck;
O ^note, full of careful business are his looks!
Uncle, for God's ^note sake ^note, speak ^note comfortable words.

York.
Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts ^note:
Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives but crosses, cares ^note and grief.
Your husband, he is gone to save far off,
Whilst others come to make him lose ^note at home:
Here am I left to underprop his land,
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:
Now comes the ^note sick hour that his ^note surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd ^note him.

Enter ^note a Servant.

Serv. ^note
My lord, your son was gone before I came.

York.
He was? Why, so! go all which way it will!
The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold ^note,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
Sirrah ^note, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;
Bid her send me ^note presently a thousand pound:
Hold, take my ring.

Serv. ^note
My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship ^note,
To-day, as I came by, I ^note called there ^note;
But I shall grieve you to report ^note the rest.

York.
What is't, knave ^note?

Serv. ^note
An hour before I came, the duchess died.

York.
God ^note for his mercy! what a tide of woes
Comes ^note rushing on this woeful land at once!
I know not what to do: I would to God,
So my untruth had not provoked him to it,
The king had cut off my head with my brother's.
What, are there no ^note posts dispatch'd for Ireland?
How shall we do for money for these wars?
Come, sister,—cousin, I would say,—pray, pardon me.
Go, fellow ^note, get thee home, provide some carts
And bring away the armour that is there. [Exit ^note Servant.
Gentlemen, will you go ^note muster men?
If I know how or which way ^note to order these affairs

Thus thrust disorderly ^note into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are ^note my kinsmen ^note:
The one ^note is ^note my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; the other ^note again
Is my kinsman ^note, whom the king hath wrong'd,
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll
Dispose of you.
Gentlemen ^note, go, muster up your men ^note,
And meet me presently at Berkeley ^note.
I should to Plashy too;
But time will not permit: all is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven ^note. [Exeunt ^note York and Queen. ^note

Bushy.
The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland ^note,
But none returns. For us to levy power
Proportionable to the enemy
Is all ^note unpossible ^{note note}.

Green.
Besides, our nearness to the king in love
Is near the hate of those love not the king.

Bagot.
And that's ^note the wavering commons: for their love
Lies in their purses, and whoso ^note empties them
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

Bushy.
Wherein ^note the king stands generally condemn'd.

Bagot.
If judgement lie in them, then so do we,
Because we ever have been ^note near the king.

Green.
Well ^note, I will ^note for refuge straight to Bristol ^note castle:
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Bushy.
Thither will I ^note with you; for little office
The hateful commons will ^note perform for us,
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces ^note.
Will you go along ^note with us?

Bagot.
No ^note; I will ^note to Ireland to his majesty.
Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain,
We three here part that ne'er ^note shall meet again.

Bushy.
That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

Green. ^note
Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes
Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry:
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.

Bushy.
Well, we may meet again. ^note

Bagot.
I fear me, never. [Exeunt. ^note

^note Scene III. [Footnote: Wilds ^note in Gloucestershire. Enter ^note Bolingbroke and Northumberland, with Forces.

Boling.
How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

North.
Believe me, noble lord, ^note
I am a stranger here ^note in Gloucestershire:
These high wild ^note hills and rough uneven ways
Draws out our miles, and makes ^note them wearisome;
And yet your ^note fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
But I bethink me what a weary way
From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold ^note will be found
In ^note Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,
Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled
The tediousness and process of my travel:
But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have
The present benefit which ^note I possess;
And hope to joy ^note is little less in joy
Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords
Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done ^note
By sight of what I have, your noble ^note company.

Boling.
Of much less value is my company ^note
Than your good words ^note. But who comes here?

Enter Henry ^note Percy.

North.
It is my son ^note, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. ^note
Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy.
I had ^note thought, my lord, to have learn'd ^note his health of you.

North.
Why ^note, is he not with the queen? ^note

Percy.
No, my good Lord; he hath forsook the court,
Broken his staff of office and dispersed
The household of the king.

North.
What was his reason?
He was not so resolved ^note when last we ^note spake together ^note.

Percy.
Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,
To offer service to the Duke of Hereford,
And sent me over ^note by Berkeley, to discover
What power the Duke of York had levied there;
Then with directions ^note to repair to Ravenspurgh.

North.
Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy ^note?

Percy.
No, my good Lord, for that is not forgot
Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge,
I never in my life did look on him.

North.
Then learn to know him now; this is the duke.

Percy.
My gracious lord, I tender you my service,
Such as it is, being tender, raw and young;
Which elder days shall ripen and confirm
To more approved service and desert.

Boling.
I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure

I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul remembering my good friends;
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love ^note,
It shall be still thy true love's recompense:
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.

North.
How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir
Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

Percy.
There stands the castle, by yon ^note tuft of trees,
Mann'd with three hundred ^note men, as I have heard;
And in it are the Lords of ^{note note} York, Berkeley, and ^note Seymour;
None else of name and noble estimate ^note. Enter ^note Ross and Willoughby.

North.
Here come ^note the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

Boling.
Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues
A banish'd traitor: all my treasury
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd
Shall be your love and labour's recompense.

Ross.
Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

Willo.
And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

Boling.
Evermore thanks ^note, the exchequer of the poor;
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty ^note. But who ^note comes here? Enter Berkeley. ^note

North.
It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.

Berk.
My Lord of ^note Hereford, my message is to you ^note.

Boling.
My lord, my answer is—to ^note Lancaster;
And ^note I am come to seek that name in England;

And I must ^note find that title in your tongue ^note,
Before I make reply to aught you say.

Berk.
Mistake me not, my Lord; 'tis not my meaning
To raze ^note one title ^note of your honour out:
To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,
From the most gracious regent of ^note this land,
The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on
To take advantage of the absent time ^note
And fright our native peace with self-born arms. Enter York attended. ^{note note}

Boling.
I shall not need transport my words by you;
Here comes his grace in person.
My noble ^note uncle! [Kneels. ^note

York.
Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
Whose duty is deceiveable and false.

Boling.
My gracious uncle—

York.
Tut, tut!
Grace me no grace, nor uncle ^note me no uncle ^note:
I am no traitor's uncle; and ^note that word ^note ‘grace’
In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
Why have those ^note banish'd and forbidden legs
Dared once to touch a dust ^note of England's ground?
But then more ‘why?’ ^note why have they dared to march

So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,
Frighting her pale-faced villages with war
And ostentation of despised ^note arms?
Comest thou because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
Were I but now the lord ^note of such hot youth
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself ^note
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand ^note French,
O, then how quickly should this arm of mine,
Now prisoner to the palsy ^note, chastise thee
And minister correction to thy fault!

Boling.
My gracious uncle, let me know my fault:
On ^note what condition stands it and wherein?

York.
Even in the condition of the worst degree,
In gross rebellion and detested treason:
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come
Before the expiration of thy time,
In braving arms against thy ^note sovereign.

Boling.
As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;
But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
You are my father, for ^note methinks in you
I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my ^note father,
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties
Pluck'd from my arms perforce and given away
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
If that my cousin king be King of ^note England,
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.

You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin ^note;
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
To rouse his wrongs ^note and chase them to the bay.
I am denied to sue my livery here,
And yet my letters-patents ^note give me leave:
My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold;
And these and all are all ^note amiss employ'd.
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And I ^note challenge law: attorneys are denied me;
And therefore personally I lay my claim
To my ^note inheritance of free descent.

North.
The noble duke hath been too much abused.

Ross.
It stands your grace upon to do him right.

Willo.
Base men by his endowments are made great.

York.
My lords of England, let me tell you this:
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs
And laboured all I could to do him right;
But in this kind to come, in ^note braving arms,
Be his own carver and cut out his way,
To find out right with wrong ^note, it may not be;
And you that do abet him in this kind
Cherish rebellion and are rebels all.

North. ^note
The noble duke hath sworn his coming is
But for his own; and for the right of that
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;
And let him ne'er ^note see joy that breaks that oath!

York.
Well, well, I see the issue of these arms:
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
Because my power is weak and all ill left:
But if I could, by Him that gave me life,
I would attach you all and make you stoop
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;

But since I cannot, be it known to you
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well ^note;
Unless you please to enter in the castle
And there ^note repose you for this night. ^note

Boling.
An offer, uncle, that we will accept:
But we must win your grace to go with us
To Bristol ^note castle, which they say is held
By Bushy, Bagot and their complices ^note,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.

York.
It may be I will go with you ^note: but yet I'll pause;
For I am loath to break our country's laws.
Nor friends ^note nor foes, to me welcome you ^note are:
Things past redress are now with me past care. [Exeunt. ^{note note} Scene IV. [Footnote: A camp in Wales. ^note Enter ^note Salisbury and a Welsh Captain.

Cap. ^note
My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days,
And hardly kept our ^note countrymen together,
And yet we hear no tidings from the king;
Therefore we will ^note disperse ourselves: farewell.

Sal.
Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman:
The king reposeth all his ^note confidence ^note in thee ^note.

Cap.
'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay.
The bay-trees in our country are all ^note wither'd
And ^note meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap ^note,
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,
The other to enjoy ^note by rage and war:
These signs ^note forerun the death or fall ^note of kings.
Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled,
As well assured Richard their king is dead. [Exit. ^note

Sal.
Ah, Richard, with the ^note eyes of heavy mind
I see ^note thy glory like a shooting star
Fall to the base earth from the firmament.
Thy sun ^note sets weeping in the lowly west,
Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest:
Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit. ^note ACT III. Scene I. Bristol. Before the Castle. ^note Enter Bolingbroke ^note, York, Northumberland, Ross, Percy, Willoughby, with Bushy and Green, prisoners.

Boling.
Bring forth these men.
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls—

Since presently your souls must part your bodies—
With too ^note much urging your pernicious lives,
For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood
From off my hands, here in the view of men
I will unfold some causes of your deaths ^note.
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied and disfigured clean:
You have in manner with your sinful hours
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him,
Broke the possession ^note of a royal bed
And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes by ^note your foul wrongs.
Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,
Near to the king in blood, and near in love
Till you ^note did make him misinterpret me,
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,
And sigh'd ^note my English breath in foreign clouds ^note,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
Whilst ^note you have fed upon my signories,
Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods,
From my ^note own windows torn my household coat,
Razed out my imprese ^note, leaving me no sign,
Save men's opinions and my living blood,
To show the world I am a gentleman.
This and much more, much more than twice all this,
Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd over ^note
To execution and the hand of death.

Bushy.
More welcome is the stroke of death to me
Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell ^note.

Green.
My comfort is that heaven will take our souls

And plague injustice with the pains of hell.

Boling.
My Lord Northumberland, see ^note them dispatch'd. [Exeunt ^note Northumberland and others, with the prisoners.
Uncle, you say the queen is at your house;
For God's ^note sake, fairly let her be entreated:
Tell her I send to her my kind commends;
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd ^note.

York.
A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd
With letters of your love to her at large.

Boling.
Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords ^note, away,
To fight with Glendower ^note and his complices ^note:
Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt. Scene II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view. ^note Drums: flourish and colours. ^note Enter ^note King Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, and Soldiers.

K. Rich.
Barkloughly ^note castle call they ^note this at hand?

Aum.
Yea ^note, my lord ^note. How brooks your grace the air,
After your late ^note tossing on the breaking seas?

K. Rich.
Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy
To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,

Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs:
As a long-parted mother with ^note her child
Plays fondly with her tears and smiles ^note in meeting ^note,
So, weeping, smiling ^note, greet I thee, my ^note earth,
And do thee favours ^note with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet
Which with usurping steps do trample thee:
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
And when they from thy ^note bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee ^note, with a lurking adder
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords:
This earth shall have a feeling and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebellion's ^note arms.

Car.
Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you king
Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
The means that heaven yields ^note must be embraced,
And not neglected; else, if ^note heaven would,
And we will not ^note, heaven's offer we refuse, ^note
The proffer'd ^note means of succour ^note and redress ^note.

Aum.
He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our ^note security,
Grows strong and great in substance and in power ^note.

K. Rich.
Discomfortable cousin! know'st ^note thou not
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,
Behind the globe, that ^note lights the lower world ^note,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen
In murders and in outrage, boldly ^note here;
But when from under this ^note terrestrial ball
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines
And darts his light ^note through every ^note guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons and detested sins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night
Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes ^note,
Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,
His treasons will sit ^note blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day,
But self-affrighted tremble at his sin ^note.
Not all the water in the rough rude ^{note note} sea
Can wash the balm off from ^note an anointed ^note king;
The breath of worldly ^note men cannot ^note depose
The deputy elected by the Lord:
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd ^note
To lift shrewd ^note steel against our golden crown,

God ^note for his Richard ^note hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right. ^note Enter Salisbury.
Welcome, my lord ^note: how far off lies your power?

Sal.
Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm: discomfort guides my tongue
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear me ^note, noble lord ^{note note},
Hath clouded all thy ^note happy days on earth:
O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand ^note fighting men!
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
O'erthrows ^note thy joys, friends ^note, fortune and thy state ^note:
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and ^note fled.

Aum.
Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace so pale?

K. Rich.
But now the blood of twenty thousand ^note men
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;
And, till so much blood thither come again,
Have I not reason to look pale and dead ^note?
All souls that will be safe fly from my side,
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

Aum.
Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.

K. Rich.
I had forgot myself: am I not king?
Awake, thou coward ^note majesty! ^note thou sleepest.
Is not the king's name twenty ^note thousand names?
Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes

At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,
Ye favourites of a king: are we not high?
High be our thoughts: I know my uncle York
Hath power enough ^note to serve our turn. But who comes here? ^{note note}Enter Scroop.

Scroop.
More health and happiness betide my liege
Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him!

K. Rich.
Mine ear is open and my heart prepared:
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care;
And what loss is it to be rid of care?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve Him too and be his fellow so:
Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God as well as us:
Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay ^note;
The worst is death, and death will have his day.

Scroop.
Glad am I that your highness is so arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day,
Which makes ^note the silver rivers drown their shores ^note,
As if the world were all dissolved to tears,
So high above his limits swells ^note the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel and hearts harder ^note than steel.
White-beards ^note have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy majesty; boys ^note, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big and clap ^note their female ^note joints

In stiff unwieldy arms against ^note thy crown: ^note
Thy ^note very beadsmen learn to bend their bows ^note
Of double-fatal ^note yew ^note against thy state; ^note
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat: ^note both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.

K. Rich.
Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot ^{note note}?
What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads ^note shall pay for it:
I warrant they have ^note made peace with Bolingbroke ^note.

Scroop.
Peace have they ^note made with him indeed, my lord.

K. Rich.
O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!
Dogs, easily won ^note to fawn on any man!
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted souls for this offence ^note!

Scroop.
Sweet love, I see, changing ^note his property,
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate:
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
With heads ^note, and not with hands: those whom you curse

Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound ^note
And lie full low, graved in the hollow ^note ground.

Aum.
Is Bushy, Green and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?

Scroop.
Ay ^note, all of them at Bristol ^note lost their heads.

Aum.
Where is the duke my father with his power?

K. Rich.
No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on ^note the bosom of the earth.
Let's choose executors and talk of wills:
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model ^note of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God's ^note sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings:
How some have been deposed; some slain in war;
Some haunted by the ghosts ^note they have deposed ^note;
Some poison'd by their wives; some sleeping kill'd;
All murder'd: for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court and there the antique sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus
Comes at the last and with a little ^note pin