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}

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