Queen.
This way the king will come; this is the way
To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,

To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen. Enter Richard and Guard. ^note
But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold,
That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. ^note
Ah, thou ^note, the model ^note where old Troy did stand,
Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb,
And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodged in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

K. Rich.
Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream;
From which awaked, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet ^note,
To grim Necessity, and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Hie ^note thee to France
And cloister thee in some religious house:
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken ^note down.

Queen.
What ^note, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transform'd and weaken'd ^note? hath Bolingbroke ^note deposed
Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,

Take thy ^note correction mildly, ^note kiss the rod,
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion and a king ^note of beasts ^note?

K. Rich.
A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts ^note,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, ^note prepare thee hence for France:
Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest,
As from my death-bed, thy ^note last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire
With good old folks and let them tell thee ^note tales
Of woeful ages long ago betid ^note;
And ere thou bid good night ^note, to quit ^note their griefs ^note,
Tell thou the lamentable tale ^note of me
And send the hearers weeping to their beds:
For why, ^note the senseless brands will sympathize ^note
The heavy ^note accent of thy ^note moving tongue
And in compassion weep the fire out;
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
For the deposing of a rightful king ^note. Enter Northumberland and others ^note. ^note

North.
My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed;
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;
With all swift speed you must away to France.

K. Rich.
Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head
Shall break into corruption ^note: thou shalt think,
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to all;
And he ^note shall think that thou, which know'st ^note the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt ^note know again,
Being ne'er so little urged, ^note another way
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked men ^note converts to fear;
That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both
To worthy danger and deserved death.

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

K. Rich.
Doubly divorced! Bad men, you ^note violate
A twofold marriage; 'twixt ^note my crown and me,
And then betwixt me and my married wife. ^note
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt ^note thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.
Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
My wife ^note to France: from whence, set ^note forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas ^note or short'st of day ^note.

Queen.
And must we be divided? must we part?

K. Rich.
Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart ^note from heart.

Queen.
Banish us both and send the king with me.

North. ^note
That were some love but little policy.

Queen.
Then whither he goes, thither let me go.

K. Rich.
So two, together weeping, make one woe.
Weep thou ^note for me in France, I for ^note thee here;
Better far off than near ^note, be ne'er the near.
Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.

Queen.
So longest way shall have the longest moans.

K. Rich.
Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short,
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief:
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly ^note part ^note; ^note
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.

Queen.
Give me mine ^note own again; 'twere no good part ^note
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
So, now I have mine own again, be gone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

K. Rich.
We make woe wanton with this fond delay:
Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt.

^note Scene II. [Footnote: The Duke of York's palace. ^note Enter ^note York and his Duchess.

Duch.
My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you break the story off ^note
Of our two cousins coming into London.

York.
Where did I leave?

Duch.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' ^note tops
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

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

Duch.
Alack ^note, poor Richard! where rode ^note he the whilst ^note?

York.
As in a theatre, the eyes of men,

After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious;
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on gentle Richard ^note; no man cried ‘God save him!’
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience,
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events,
To whose high will we bound ^note our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects ^note now,
Whose state and honour I for ^note aye allow. ^note

Duch.
Here comes my son Aumerle.

York.
Aumerle that was;
But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to ^note the new made king. Enter Aumerle. ^note

Duch.
Welcome, my son: who are ^note the violets now
That strew the green lap of the new come spring? ^note

Aum.
Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not ^{note note}:
God knows I had as lief be none as one.

York.
Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.

What news from Oxford? hold those ^note justs and triumphs?

Aum.
For aught I know, my lord ^note, they do ^note.

York.
You will be there, I know ^note.

Aum.
If God prevent ^note not, I purpose ^note so.

York.
What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom?
Yea, look'st thou pale? ^note let me ^note see the writing ^note.

Aum.
My lord, 'tis nothing.

York.
No matter, then, who see ^note it:
I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.

Aum.
I do beseech your grace to pardon me:
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

York.
Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear,— ^note

Duch.
What ^note should you fear? ^note
'Tis nothing but some band ^note, that he is ^note enter'd into
For gay ^note apparel 'gainst the triumph day. ^note

York.
Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond ^note
That he is bound to? ^note Wife, thou art a fool.
Boy, let me see the writing.

Aum.
I do beseech ^note you, pardon me ^note; I may not show it.

York.
I will be satisfied; let me see it ^note, I say. [He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it. ^note

Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!

Duch.
What is ^note the matter, my lord?

York.
Ho! who is ^note within there? Enter a Servant. ^note
Saddle ^note my horse.
God ^note for his mercy, what treachery is here! ^note

Duch.
Why, what is it ^note, my lord?

York.
Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse. [Exit Servant. ^note
Now, by mine ^note honour, by my life, by my ^note troth,
I will appeach the villain.

Duch.
What is ^note the matter?

York.
Peace, foolish woman ^note.

Duch.
I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle ^note?

Aum.
Good mother, be content; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.

Duch.
Thy life answer! ^note

York.
Bring me ^note my boots: I will unto the king. Re-enter ^note Servant with boots.

Duch.
Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed. ^note
Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.

York.
Give me my boots, I say ^note.

Duch.
Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not ^note hide the trespass of thine own?
Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?

And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?

York.
Thou fond mad ^note woman,
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down ^note their ^note hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.

Duch.
He shall be none;
We'll keep him here ^note: then what is that to him?

York.
Away, fond woman! were ^note he twenty times my son,
I would appeach him ^note.

Duch.
Hadst thou groan'd for him
As I have done ^note, thou wouldst ^note be more pitiful.
But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
And that he is a bastard, not thy son:
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
He is as like thee as a man may be,
Not ^note like to ^note me, or ^note any of my kin,
And yet I love him.

York.
Make way, unruly woman! [Exit.

Duch.
After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse;
Spur post ^note, and get before him to the king,
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
And never will I rise up from the ground
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone ^note! [Exeunt. ^note

^note Scene III. [Footnote: A royal Palace. ^note Enter ^note Bolingbroke, Percy, and other Lords.

Boling.
Can no man tell me ^note of my unthrifty son?
'Tis full three months since I did see him last:
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.
I would to God ^note, my lords, he might be found:
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loose companions,
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob ^note our passengers;
Which ^note he, young wanton ^note and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour to support
So dissolute a crew ^{note note}.

Percy.
My lord, some two days since I saw the prince,
And told him of those ^note triumphs held at Oxford.

Boling.
And what said the gallant?

Percy.
His answer was, he would unto ^note the stews,
And from the common'st ^note creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

Boling.
As dissolute as desperate; yet through both
I see some sparks ^note of better ^note hope, which elder years ^note
May happily bring forth. But who comes here? ^note

Enter Aumerle. ^note

Aum.
Where is the king?

Boling.
What means our ^note cousin, that he stares and looks
So wildly? ^note

Aum.
God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty,
To have some conference with your grace alone.

Boling.
Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. [Exeunt ^note Percy and Lords.
What is the matter with our cousin now? ^note

Aum.
For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

Boling.
Intended or committed was this fault?
If on ^note the first, how heinous e'er it be,
To win thy after-love I pardon thee.

Aum.
Then give me leave that I may ^note turn the key,
That no man enter till my tale be ^note done. ^note

Boling.
Have thy desire. ^note

York. [Within]
My liege, beware; look to thyself ^{note note};
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

Boling.
Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing. ^note

Aum.
Stay thy revengeful hand ^note; thou hast no cause to fear ^note.

York. [Within ^note]
Open the door, secure, foolhardy ^note king:

Shall I for love speak treason to thy face?
Open the door, or I will break it open. ^noteEnter York. ^note

Boling.
What is the matter, uncle? speak;
Recover ^note breath; tell us how near is danger ^note,
That we may arm us to encounter it.

York.
Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
The treason ^note that my haste forbids me show.

Aum.
Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd:
I do repent me; read not my name there;
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

York.
It was, villain, ere thy hand did set ^note it down.
I tore it ^note from the traitor's bosom, king;
Fear, and not ^note love, begets his penitence:
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the ^note heart.

Boling.
O heinous, strong and bold conspiracy!
O loyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer ^note, immaculate and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy passages
Hath held ^note his current and defiled himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad ^note,
And thy ^note abundant ^note goodness shall excuse ^note
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

York.
So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd;
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.

Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.

Duch. [Within ^note]
What ho, my liege! for God's ^note sake, let me in.

Boling.
What shrill-voiced ^note suppliant makes this eager cry?

Duch.
A woman, and thy ^note aunt, great king; 'tis I.
Speak with me, pity me, open the door:
A beggar begs that never begg'd before.

Boling.
Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
And now ^note changed to ‘The Beggar and the King ^note.’
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in: ^note
I know she is ^note come to pray for your foul sin.

York.
If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins for this ^note forgiveness prosper may.
This fester'd ^note joint cut off, the rest rest ^note sound;
This let alone will all the rest confound. Enter Duchess. ^note

Duch.
O king, believe not this hard-hearted ^note man!
Love loving not itself none other can.

York.
Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make ^note here?
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?

Duch.
Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege. [Kneels.

Boling.
Rise up, good aunt.

Duch.
Not yet, I thee beseech:
For ever will I walk ^note upon my knees,
And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give joy ^note; until thou bid me joy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.

Aum.
Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee.

York.
Against them both my true joints bended be.
Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ^note!

Duch.
Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face;
His eyes do ^note drop no tears, his prayers are in ^note jest;
His words come ^note from his mouth, ours from our breast:
He prays but faintly and would be denied;
We pray with heart and soul and all beside:
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees shall ^note kneel till to the ground ^note they grow:
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them ^note have ^note
That mercy which true prayer ^note ought to have ^note.

Boling. ^note
Good aunt, stand up.

Duch.
Nay, do not say, ‘stand up;’
Say ‘pardon’ first, and ^note afterwards ‘stand up.’
An if ^note I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
‘Pardon’ should be the first word of thy speech.
I never long'd to hear a word till now;
Say ‘pardon,’ king; let pity teach thee ^note how:
The word is short, but not so short as sweet;

No word like ‘pardon’ for kings' mouths ^note so meet.

York.
Speak it in French, king; say ^note, ‘pardonne moi ^note.’

Duch.
Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? ^note
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That set'st ^note the word itself against the word!
Speak ‘pardon’ as 'tis current in our land;
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there:
Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear;
That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,
Pity may move thee ‘pardon’ to rehearse ^note.

Boling. ^note
Good aunt, stand up.

Duch.
I do not sue to stand;
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

Boling.
I pardon him, as God ^note shall pardon me.

Duch.
O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again;
Twice saying ‘pardon’ doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.

Boling.
With all my heart
I pardon him ^note.

Duch.
A god on earth thou art.

Boling.
But for our trusty brother-in-law, and the ^note abbot,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
Good uncle, help to order several powers
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are ^note:
They shall not live within this world, I swear,

But I will have them, if I once know ^note where.
Uncle, farewell: and, cousin too ^note, adieu:
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.

Duch.
Come, my old son: I pray God ^note make thee new ^note. [Exeunt. ^{note note} Scene IV. [Footnote: The same. Enter ^note Exton and Servant.

Exton.
Didst thou not mark the king ^note, what words ^note he spake,
‘Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?’
Was it not so?

Ser. ^note
These ^note were his very ^note words.

Exton.
‘Have I no friend ^note?’ quoth he: he spake it twice,
And urged it twice together, did he not?

Serv. ^note
He did.

Exton.
And speaking it, he wistly ^{note note} look'd on me;
As who should ^note say, ‘I would thou wert the man
That would divorce this terror from my heart;’
Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go:
I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt. ^note

^note Scene V. [Footnote: Pomfret castle. ^note Enter ^note King Richard.

K. Rich.
I have been studying how I may ^note 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 it ^note out ^note.
My brain I'll prove ^note 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 ^note. The better sort,
As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
With scruples and do set the word itself
Against the ^note word ^note:
As thus, ‘Come, little ones,’ and then again ^note,
‘It is as hard to come as for a camel
To thread the postern ^note of a small ^note needle's eye.’
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through ^note 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 ^note shall not be the last; like silly ^note beggars
Who sitting in the stocks refuge ^note their ^note shame,
That many have and others must sit ^note there;
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortunes ^note on the back
Of such as have before endured the like.
Thus play I in one person ^note many people,
And none contented: sometimes am I king ^note;
Then treasons make ^note me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am: then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd ^note again: and by and by
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be ^note,
Nor I nor any man that but man is
With nothing ^note shall be pleased, till he be eased
With being nothing. Music do I hear? ^note [Music. ^note
Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,
When time is broke and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear ^note
To check ^note time broke in a ^note disorder'd ^note string;
But for the concord of my state and time
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;
For now hath time made me ^note his numbering clock:

My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar ^note
Their ^note watches on ^note unto mine ^note eyes, the outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now sir ^note, the sound that tells ^note what hour it is
Are clamorous groans, which ^note strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans ^note
Show minutes, times, and hours ^note: but ^note my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the ^note clock.
This music mads me; let it sound no more;
For though it have ^note holp ^note madmen to their wits,
In me it seems it will make wise men ^note mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch ^note in this all-hating ^note world. Enter a Groom of the Stable. ^{note note}

Groom.
Hail, royal prince!

K. Rich.
Thanks, noble peer;
The cheapest of us is ten groats ^note too dear. ^note
What art thou? and how ^note comest thou hither ^note,
Where no man never ^note comes, but that sad dog ^note

That brings me food to make misfortune live?

Groom.
I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,
With much ado at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes royal ^note master's face.
O, how it yearn'd ^note 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 ^note,
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 ^note 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 awed by man,
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burthen like an ass,
Spurr'd, gall'd ^note and tired by jauncing ^note Bolingbroke. Enter ^note Keeper, with a dish. ^note

Keep.
Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.

K. Rich.
If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.

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

Keep.
My lord ^note, will't ^note please you to fall to?

K. Rich.
Taste of it first, as thou art ^note wont to do. ^note

Keep.

My lord, I dare not: sir ^note Pierce ^note of Exton, who lately ^note came from the king, commands the contrary.

K. Rich.
The devil take Henry of ^note Lancaster and thee!
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats ^note the Keeper.

Keep.
Help, help, help! Enter Exton ^note and Servants, armed. ^note

K. Rich.
How now! what means death in this rude assault? ^note
Villain ^note, thy ^note own hand yields thy death's instrument. ^note [Snatching ^note an axe from a Servant and killing him.
Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [He kills another. ^note Then Exton ^note strikes him down.
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire
That staggers thus my person. Exton ^note, thy fierce hand
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land.
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies. ^note

Exton.
As full of valour as of royal blood:

Both have I spill'd ^note; O would the deed were good!
For now the devil, that told me I did well,
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead king to the living king I'll bear:
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Exeunt. ^{note note} Scene VI. [Footnote: Windsor castle. ^note Flourish. Enter ^note Bolingbroke, York, with other Lords, and Attendants.

Boling. ^note
Kind ^note uncle York, the latest news we hear
Is that the rebels have consumed with fire
Our town of ^note Cicester ^note in Gloucestershire;
But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. Enter Northumberland. ^note
Welcome, my lord: what is the news? ^note

North.
First, to ^note thy sacred state wish I all happiness.
The next news is, I have to London sent
The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt ^note, and Kent:
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.

Boling.
We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

Enter Fitzwater. ^note

Fitz.
My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
The heads of Brocas ^note and Sir Bennet Seely,
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

Boling.
Thy pains, Fitzwater ^note, shall not be forgot;
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter ^note Percy, and the Bishop of Carlisle.

Percy.
The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,
With clog of conscience and sour melancholy
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle living, to ^note abide
Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.

Boling.
Carlisle, this is ^note your doom:
Choose out some secret place, some reverend ^note room,
More than ^note thou hast, and with it joy thy life ^note;
So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife:
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. Enter ^note Exton, with persons bearing a coffin.

Exton.
Great king, within this coffin I present
Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest ^note enemies,
Richard of Bordeaux ^note, by me hither brought.

Boling.
Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought

A deed of slander ^note, with thy fatal hand,
Upon my head and all this famous land.

Exton.
From your own mouth, my lord ^note, did I this deed.

Boling.
They love not poison that do poison need,
Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead,
I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word nor princely favour:
With Cain go wander thorough shades ^note of night,
And never show thy head by day nor ^note light.
Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe,
That blood should sprinkle me to make ^note me grow:
Come, mourn with me for that ^note I do lament,
And put on sullen black incontinent: ^note
I'll make a voyage to the Holy ^note Land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:
March sadly after; grace my mournings ^note here;
In weeping after ^note this untimely bier. [Exeunt. ^note

NOTES. ^note