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

Bores through ^note his castle wall ^note, and farewell king!
Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence: ^note throw away respect,
Tradition ^note, form and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while:
I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends: ^note subjected ^note thus,
How can you say ^note to me, I am a king ^note? ^note

Car.
My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes ^note,
But presently prevent the ways to wail.
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,
Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe,
And so your follies fight against yourself ^note.
Fear, and be slain; no worse can come to fight ^note:
And fight and die is death destroying ^note death;
Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.

Aum.
My father hath a power; inquire of him,
And learn to make a body of a limb ^note.

K. Rich.
Thou chidest me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come
To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
This ague fit of fear is over-blown;
An easy task it is to win our own ^note.
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?

Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.

Scroop.
Men judge by the complexion of the sky
  The state and inclination of the day:
So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
  My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say ^note.
I play the torturer, by small and small
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:
Your uncle York is ^note join'd with ^note Bolingbroke,
And all your northern castles yielded up
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
Upon his party ^note.

K. Rich.
Thou hast said enough.
Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth [To Aumerle ^note.
Of that sweet way I was in to despair!
What say you now? what comfort have we now?
By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go to Flint castle: there I'll pine away;
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.
That power I have, discharge; and let them ^note go
To ear the land that hath ^note some hope to grow,
For I have none: let no man speak again
To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

Aum.
My liege, one word.

K. Rich.
He does me double wrong
That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers: let them hence away ^note,
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's ^note fair day. [Exeunt.

^note

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