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 Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, son of John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV. Duke of Aumerle, son of the Duke of York. Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. Duke of Surrey. Earl of Salisbury. Earl Berkeley. Bushy, favourite of King Richard. Bagot, favourite of King Richard. Green, favourite of 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. Sir Stephen Scroop. Sir Pierce of Exton. Captain of a band of Welshmen. Two Gardeners. Queen to King Richard. Duchess of York. Duchess of Gloucester, widow of Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester. Lady attending on the Queen. Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. Herald 1, Herald 2, Servant, Lord

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[First section] Enter King Richard, Iohn of Gaunt, with other Nobles and Attendants.

King Richard.
Olde Iohn of Gaunt, time honoured Lancaster;
Hast thou according to thy oth and band,
Brought hither Henrie Herford thy bold sonne,
Here to make good the boystrous late appeale
Which then our leisure would not let vs heare
Against the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray?

Gaunt.
I haue my Leige.

King.
Tell me moreouer; hast thou sounded him
If he appeale the Duke on auncient malice
Or worthily, as a good subiect should,
On some knowne ground of treacherie in him?

Gaunt.
As neare as I could sift him on that argument,
On some apparant danger scene in him,
Aimde at your Highnesse; no inueterate malice.

King.
Then call them to our presence, face to face,
And frowning brow to brow our selues will heare
The accuser, and the accused, freely speake;
Hie stomackt are they both, and full of ire,
In rage, deaf as the sea, hastie as fire. Enter Bullingbrooke, and Mowbray.

Bulling.
Many yeares of happy dayes befall
My gratious Soueraigne, my most louing Liege.

Mowb.
Each day still better others happinesse,
Vntill the Heauens enuying Earths good happe,
Adde in immortall title to your Crowne.

King.
Wee thanke you both: yet one but flatters vs,
As well appreareth by the cause you come;
Namely, to appeale each other her of high treason.
Coosin of Hereford, what dost thou obiect
Against the Duke of Norfolke Thomas Mowbray?

Bul.
First (heauen be the record to my speech)
In the deuotion of a subiectes loue,
Tendring the precious safetie of my Prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appeallant to this princely presence.
Now Thomas Mowbray, do I turne to thee;
And marke my greeting well: for what I speake,
My body shall make good vpon this earth,
Or my divine soule answere it in heauen.
Thou art a Traytor, and a miscreant
Too good to be so, and too bad to liue:
Since the more faire and cristall is the skie,
The vglier see me the cloudes that in it flie.
Once more, the more to agrauate the note,
With a foule tray tours name stuffe I thy throate,
And wish (so please my Soueraigne) ere I moue,
What my tong speaks, my right drawne sword may proue.

Mowb.
Let not my cold wordes here accuse my zeale.
Tis not the tryall of a Womans warre,
The bitter clamor of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt vs twaine:
The blood is hotte that must be coold for this,
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
As to be husht and naugh at all to say.
First the faire reuerence of your highnesse curbes me,
From giuing reynes and spurres to my free speech,
Which else would post vntill it had returnd
These tearmes of treason doubled downe his throat;
Setting a side his high bloods royaltie:
And let him be no kinsman to my Leige,

I doe defie him, and spit at him;
Call him a slaunderous Coward and a Villaine:
Which to maintaine, I would allow him ods,
And meete him, were I tide to runne a foote,
Euen to the frozen ridges of the Alpes,
Or any other ground inhabitable,
Where euer English man durst set his foote.
Meane time, let this defend my loyaltie,
By all my hopes, most falsly doth he lie.

Bul.
Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my gage,
Disclayming here the kinred of a King,
And lay aside my high bloods royaltie;
Which feare, not reuerence makes thee to except.
If guiltie dread haue left thee so much strength,
As to take vp mine honours pawne, then stoope:
By that, and all the rites of Knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee arme to arme,
What I haue spoke, or what thou canst deuise.

Mow.
I take it vp, and by that Sword I sweare,
Which gently layde my Knighthood on my shoulder,
He answere thee in any faire degree!
Or chiualrous designe of Knightly tryall.
And when I mount aliue, aliue may I not light,
If I be Traitour, or vniustly fight.

King.
What doth our Coosin lay to Mowbraies charge?
It must be great that can inherite vs,
So much as of a thought of ill in him.

Bul.
Looke what I sayd, my life shall prooue it true,
That Mowbray hath receiude eight thousand Nobles,
In name of lendinges, for your Highnesse Souldiours:
The which he hath detainde for leawd imployments,
Like a false Traytour, and iniurious Villaine.
Besides I say, and will in battaile prooue,
Or here, or else where, to the furthest Verge
That euer was surueyed by English eye,
That all the treasons for these eighteene yeares,
Complotted and contriued in this Land,
Fetcht from false Mowbray, their first head and spring:

Further I say, and further will maintaine
Vpon his bad life to make all this good,
That he did plotte the Duke of Glosters death,
Suggest his soone beleeuing aduersaries,
And consequently like a Traitour Coward,
Sluc'te out his innocent soule through streames of blood;
Which blood, like sacrificing Abels, cryed,
Euen from the tonguelesse Cauerns of the earth,
To me for iustice, and rough chastisement:
And by the glorious worth of my discent,
This Arme shall do it, or this Life be spent.

King.
How high a pitch his resolution sonres;
Thomas of Norfolke, what sayst thou to this?

Mowb.
Oh let my Soueraigne turne away his face,
And bid his eares a little while be deafe,
Till I haue told this slaunder of his blood,
How God, and good men, hate so foule alyer.

King.
Mowbray, impartiall are our eyes and eares;
Were he my Brother; nay, my kingdomes Heire,
As he is but my fathers brothers Sonne,
Now by Scepters awe I make a vow,
Such neighbour neerenes to our sacred blood,
Should nothing priveledge him, nor partialize
The vnstooping firmenesse of my vpright soule:
He is our subiect Mowbray, so art thou,
Free speech and fearelesse I to thee allow.

Mowb.
Then Bullingbrooke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat thou lyost:
Three partes of that receipt I had for Callice,
Disburst I to his highnesse Souldiours;
The other part reseru'de I, by consent,
For that my Soueraign'de liege was in my debt,
Vpon remainder of a deare account,
Since last I went to France to fetch his Queene:
Now swallow downe that lie. For Glocesters death:
I slew him not, but to mine owne disgrace
Neglected my sworne duetie in that case:
For you my noble Lord of Lancaster,

The honourable Father to my foe,
Once did I lay an ambush for your life;
A trespasse that doth veire my greeued soule:
Ah, but ere I last receiu'de the Sacrament,
I did confesse it, and exactly begd
Your Graces pardon, and I hope I had it.
This is my fault; as for the rest appeald,
It issues from the rancour of a Villaine,
A recreant, and most degenerate Traitour;
Which in my selfe I boldly will defend,
And enterchangeably hurle downe the gage,
Tpon this ouerweening traitours foote,
To prooue my selfe a loyall Gentleman,
Euen in the best blood chamberd in his bosome:
In haste whereof, most hartily I pray
Your highnesse to assigne our triall day.

King.
Wrath kindled Gentleman, be ruled by me,
Lets purge this choler without letting bloud,
This we prescribe, though no Phisition:
Deepe Malice makes too deepe incision:
Forget, forgiue; conclude; and be agreed;
Our Doctors say, this is no month to bleed:
Good Vnckle, let this end, where it begunne;
Weele calme the Duke of Norfolke, you your sonne.

Gaunt.
To be a make-peace, shall become my age:
Throw downe (my sonne) the Duke of Norfolkes gage.

King.
And Norfolke, throw downe his.

Gaunt.
When Harrie, when? obedience bids,
Obedience bids I should not bid againe.

King.
Norfolke, throw downe we bid, there is no boot.

Mowb.
My selfe I throw (dread soueraigne) at thy foote,
My life thou shalt commaund, but not my shame:
The one my dutie owes, but my faire name,
Despight of Death that liues vpon my Graue,
To darke Dishonours vse, thou shalt not haue:
I am disgraste, impeacht, and baffuld heere;
Pierst to the soule with Slaunders venomd speare,
The which no Balme can cure, but his heart blood.

Which breathde this poyson.

King.
Rage must be withstood:
Giue me his gage; Lions make Leopards tame.

Mowb.
Yea, but not change his spots; take but my shame,
And I resigne my gage, my deare deare Lord.
The purest treasure most all times affoord,
Is spotlesse reputation, that away;
Men are but guilded Loame, or painted Clay:
A Iewell in a tenne times bard vp Chest,
Is a bold Spirit in a loyall Breast.
Mine Honour is my life, both grow in one;
Take Honour from me, and my life is done.
Then (deare my Liege) mine Honour let me try,
In that I liue, and for that will I die.

King.
Coosin, throw vp your gage; do you begin.

Bul.
O God defend my soule from such deepe sinne,
Shall I seeme Crest-fallen in my fathers sight?
Or with pale begger-face impeach my hight,
Before this out-darde dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound my Honour with such feeble vvrong,
Or found so base a parlee, my teeth shall teare
The slauish motiue of recanting feare,
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,
Where shame doth harbour, euen in Mowbraies face.

King.
We were not borne to sue, but to commaund;
Which since we can not do, to make you friendes,
Be ready (as your life shall answere it)
At Coxentrie vpon Saint Lambards day:
There shall your Swords and Launces arbitrate
The swelling difference of your setled hate:
Since we cannot atone you, you shall see
Iustice designe the Victors chiualrie.
Lord Marshall, commaund our Officers at Armes,
Be readie to direct these home allarmes. Exit. Enter Iohn of Gaunt, with the Dutchesse of Glocester.

Gaunt.
Alas, the part I had in Woodstocks blood,
Doth more sollicit me, then your exclaimes,

To stirre against the butchers of his life.
But since correction lyeth in those handes,
Which made the fault that we connot correct,
Put we our quarrell to the will of heauen;
Who when they see the hower's ripe on earth,
Will raine hot vengeance on offenders heades.

Dutchesse.
Findes brotherhood in thee no sharper spurre?
Hath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire?
Edwards seauen sonnes, whereof thy selfe art one,
Were seauen Viols of his sacred blood,
Or seauen faire Branches springing from one roote:
Some of those seauen are dryed by Natures course;
Some of those Branches by the Destinies cut:
But Thomas my deare Lord, my life, my Glocester,
One Violl full of Edwards sacred blood,
One flourishing Branch of his most royall roote
Is cract, and all the precious liquor spilt,
Is hackt downe, and his summer leaues all faded
By Enuies hand, and Murders bloodie axe.
Ah Gaunt, his blood was thine, that bed, that wombe,
That metall, that selfe mould, that fashioned thee,
Made him a man: and though thou liuest and breathest,
Yet art thou slaine in him; thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy fathers death,
In that thou seest thy wretched Brother die,
Who was the modell of thy fathers life:
Call it not Patience, Gaunt, it is Dispaire,
In suffering thus thy Brother to be slaughtred;
Thou shewest the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching sterne Murder how to butcher thee:
That which in meane men we intitle Patience,
Is pale cold Cowardice in Noble breastes.
What shall I say? to safegard thy owne life,
The best way is, to venge my Glocesters death.

Gaunt.
Gods is the quarrell, for Gods substitute,
His deputie annoynted in his sight,
Hath causd his death; the which if wrongfully,
Let Heauen reuenge, for I may neuer lift

An angrie arme against his minister.

Duch.
Where then alas may I complaine my selfe?

Gaunt.
To God, the Widowes Champion and defence.

Duch.
Why then I will: farewell old Gaunt,
Thou goest to Couentry, there to behold
Our Coosin Herford and fell Mowbray fight.
O set my husbands wronges on Herfords Speare;
That it may enter butcher Mowbraies breast.
Or if misfortune misse the first carrier,
Be Mowbraies sinnes so heauie in his bosome,
That they may breake his foming Coursers backe,
And throw the rider headlong in the listes,
A catiue recreant to my Coosin Herford.
Farewell old Gaunt, thy sometimes brothers wife,
With her companion, griefe must end her life,

Gaunt.
Sister farewell, I must to Couentrie:
As much good stay with thee, as goe with me.

Duch.
Yet one word more; griefe boundeth where it falles
Not with the emptie hollownesse, but weight:
I take my leaue before I haue begunne;
For sorrow endes not when it seemeth done:
Commende me to my brother Edmund Yorke;
Loe this is all: nay yet depart not so,
Though this be all, do not so quickly goe,
I shall remember more: Bid him; ah what?
With all good speed at Plashie visit me.
Alacke and what shall good old Yorke there see,
But emptie Lodgings and vnfurnisht Walles,
Vnpeopled Offices, vntrodden Stones;
And what heare there for welcome, but my grones?
Therefore commend me, let him not come there,
To seeke out sorrow, that dwels euery where;
Desolate, desolate will I hence and die:
The last leaue of thee takes my weeping eye: Exeunt. Enter the Lord Marshall and the Duke Aumerle.

Mar.
My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Kerford armde?

Aum.
Yea at all poyntes, and longs to enter in.

Mar.
The Duke of Norfolke sprightfully and bold,
Staies but the summons of the appellants trumpet.

Aum.
Why then the Champions are prepard, and stay
For no thing but his Maiesties approach. The trumpets sound, and the King enters with his Nobles: when they are set, enter the Duke of Norfolke in armes defendant.

King.
Marshall demaund of yonder Champion,
The cause of his ariuall here in armes,
Aske him his name, and orderly proceede
To sweare him in the iustice of his cause.

Mar.
In Gods name and the Kinges, say who thou art,
And why thou commest thus Knightly clad in armes?
Against what man thou comst, and what's thy quarrell,
Speake truely on thy Knighthood, and thy oth,
As so defend thee heauen and thy valour

Mow.
My name is Thomas Mowbray, D. of Norfolke
Who hither come ingaged by my oath,
(Which God defend a Knight should violate)
Both to defend my loyaltie and truth,
To God, my King, and my succeeding issue,
Against the Duke of Herford that appeales mee,
And by the grace of God, and this mine arme,
To prooue him in defending of my selfe,
A Traitour to my God, my King, and me:
And as I truly fight, defend me heauen. The Trumpets sound, enter Duke of Herford appellant in armour

King.
Marshall aske yonder Knight in armes,
Both who he is, and why he commeth hither
Thus plated in habillements of Warre,
And formally, according to our law,
Depose him in the iustice of his cause.

Mar.
What is thy name, & wherefore comst thou hither,
Before King Richard in his royall lists?
Against whom comes thou? and what's thy quarrell?
Speake like a true Knight, so defend thee Heauen.

Bul.
Harry of Herford, Lancaster, and Darbie
Am I, who readie heere do stand in Armes,
To prooue by Gods grace, and my bodies valour
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Morfolke,
That he a Traitour foule and dangerous,
To God of heauen, King Richard, and to me:
And as I truly fight, defend me heauen.

Mar.
On paine of death no person be so bolde
Or daring, hardie, as to touch the lists,
Except the Martiall and such officers
Appointed to direct these faire designes.

Bul.
Lord Martiall, let me kisse my Soueraignes hand.
And bow my knee before his Maiestie,
For Mowbray and my selfe are like two men,
That vow a long and wearie pilgrimage.
Then let vs take a ceremonious leaue,
And louing farewell of our seuerall friends.

Mar.
The appellant in all dutie greetes your highnesse,
And craues to kisse your hand and take his leaue.

King.
We will descend and folde him in our armes.
Coosin of Herford, as thy cause is right,
So be thy fortune in this royall fight:
Farewell my bloud, which if to day thou shead,
Lament we may, but not reuenge thee dead.

Bul.
O let no noble eie prophane a teare
For me, if I be gorde with Mowbrayes speare:
As confident as is the Falcons flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My louing Lord I take my leaue of you:
Of you (my noble Coosin) Lord Aumarle,
Not sicke, although I haue to do with death,
But lustie, yong, and cheerely drawing breath.
Loe, as at English feasts so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweete.
Oh thou the earthly Author of my bloud,
Whose youthfull spirit in me regenerate,
Doth with a two-folde vigour lift me vp,
To reach a victorie aboue my head,

Adde proofe vnto mine armour with thy prayers,
And with thy blessings steele my launces point,
That it may enter Mowbrayes waxen coate,
And furbish new the name of Iohn a Gaunt,
Euen in the lustie hauiour of his Sonne.

Gaunt.
God in thy good cause make thee prosperous.
Be swift like lightning in the execution,
And let thy blowes doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the caske
Of thy aduerse pernitious enemie,
Rowse vp thy youthfull bloud, be valiant and liue.

Bul.
Mine innocence and Saint George to thriue.

Mow.
How euer God or fortune cast my lotte,
There lies or dies true to King Richards throne,
A loyall, iust, and vpright Gentleman:
Neuer did captiue with a freer heart
Cast off his Chaines of Bondage, and embrace,
His Golden vncontroled Enfranchisement,
More then my dauncing soule doth celebrate
This feast of battle with mine aduersarie.
Most mightie Liege, and my companion Peeres,
Take from my mouth the wish of happie yeares,
As gentle and as iocund as to iest,
Goe I to fight, truth hath a quiet brest.

King.
Farewell (my Lord) securely I espie,
Vertue with valour couched in thine eie,
Order the triall Martiall, and beginne.

Mart.
Harrie of Herforde, Lancaster, and Darby,
Receiue thy launce, and God defend thy right.

Bul.
Strong as a tower in hope I cry, Amen.

Mart.
Go beare this launce to Thomas D. of Norfolke.

Herald.
Harry of Herford, Lancaster, and Darby
Stands heere for God, his Soueraigne, and himselfe,
On paine to be found false and recreant,
To proue the Duke of Norfolke Thomas Mowbray.
A Traitour to his God, his King, and him.
And dares him to set forwards to the sight.

Her.
Here standeth Thomas Mowbray D. of Norfolke,

On paine to be found false and recreant,
Both to befend himselfe, and to approue
Henry of Herford, Lancaster, and Darby,
To God, his Soueraigne, and to him disloyall,
Couragiously, and with a free desire,
Attending but the signall to begin.

Mart.
Sound Trumpets, and set foorth Combatants:
Stay, the King hath throwne his warder downe.

King.
Let them lay by their Helmets, and their Speares,
And both returne backe to their Chaires againe:
Withdraw with vs, and let the Trumpets sound,
While we returne these Dukes what we decree.
Draw neere and list
What with our Counsell we haue done.
For that our kingdomes earth should not be soyld
With that deare blood which it hath fostered:
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of ciuill wounds ploughd vp with neighbours sword:
And for we thinke the Eagle-winged pride
Of skie-aspiring and ambitious thoughts
With riual-hating Enuie set on you,
To wake our peace, which in our Countries cradle
Drawes the sweete infant breath of gentle sleepe,
Which so rouzd vp vvith boysterous vntunde drummes,
With harsh resounding trumpets dreadfull bray,
And grating shock of vvrathfull yron armes,
Might from our quiet confines fright faire Peace,
And make vs vvade euen in our kinreds blood:
Therefore vve banish you our territories.
You Coosin Herford, vpon paine of life,
Till tvvice fiue Summers haue enricht our field,
Shall not regreete our faire dominions,
But tread the stranger pathes of banishment.

Bul.
Your vvill be done; this must my comfort be,
That Sunne that vvarmes you heere, shall shine on me;
And those his golden beames vnto you heere lent,
Shall poynt on me, and guild my banishment.

King.
Norfolke, for thee remaines a heauier doome.

Which I with some vnwillingnes pronounce,
The slie slow houres shall not determinate
The datelesse limit of thy deare exile:
The hopelesse word of neuer to returne,
Breath I against thee, vpon paine of life.

Mow.
A heauie sentence, my most soueraine Liege,
And all vnlookt for from your Highnes mouth.
A dearer merit, not so deepe a mayme,
As to be cast foorth in the common ayre,
Haue I deserued at your Highnesse hands:
The language I haue learnd these fourty yeares,
My natiue English now I must forgoe,
And now my tongues vse is to me no more
Than an vnstringed violl or a harpe,
Or like a cunning instaument casde vp,
Or being open, put into his hands
That knowes no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you haue ingaylde my tongue,
Doubly percullist with my teeth and lippes,
And dull vnfeeling barren ignorance
Is made my Iayler to attende on me:
I am too old to fawne vpon an Nurse,
Too farre in yeares to be a Pupill now.
What is thy sentence but speechlesse death;
Which robbes my tongue from breathing natiue breath?

King.
It bootes thee not to be compassionate,
After our sentence, playning comes too late.

Mowb.
Then thus I turne me from my Countries light,
To dwell in solemne shades of endlesse night.

King.
Returne againe, and take an oth with thee,
Lay on our royall Svvord your banisht hands.
Svveare by the dutie that y'ovve to God,
(Our part therein vve banish vvith your selues)
To keepe the oath that vve administer:
You neuer shall, so helpe you truth and God,
Embrace each others loue in banishment,
Nor neuer looke vpon each others face,
Nor neuer vvrite, regreete, nor reconcile

This louing tempest of your home-bred hate,
Nor neuer by aduised purpose meete,
To plotte, contriue, or complot any ill,
Gainst vs, our state, our subiects, or our land.

Bul.
I sweare.

Mow.
And I, to keepe all this.

Bul.
Norfolke, so fate as to mine enemie:
By this time, had the King permitted vs,
One of our soules had wandred in the ayre,
Banisht this frayle Sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banisht from this land.
Confesse thy treasons ere thou fly the Realme,
Since thou hast farre to go, beare not along
The cloging burthen of a guiltie soule.

Mow.
No Bullingbrooke, if euer I were traytour,
My name be blotted from the Booke of life,
And I from Heauen banisht, as from hence:
But what thou art, God, thou, and I, do know,
And all too soone (I feare) the King shall rew:
Farewell (my Leige) now no way can I stray,
Saue backe to England, all the world's my way.

King.
Vncle, euen in the glasses of thine eyes,
I see thy grieued heart; thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banisht yeares.
Pluckt foure away, sixe frozen Winters spent,
Returne with welcome home from banishment.

Bul.
How long a tune lies, in one little, word?
Foure lagging Winters, and foure wanton Springs,
End in a word, such is the breach of Kings.

Gaunt.
I thanke my Liege, that in regard of mee,
He shortens foure yeares of any Sonnes exile;
But little vantage shall I reape thereby:
For ere the sixe yeares thee he hath to spend
Can change their moones, and bring their times about,
My oyle-dried lampe, and time bewasted light
Shall be extinct with age and endlesse night:
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold Death not let me see my Sonne.

King.
Why Vnckle, thou hast many yeares to liue.

Gaunt.
But not a minute (King) that thou canst giue:
Shorten my dayes thou canst with sullen sorrow,
And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow.
Thou canst helpe Time to furrow me with age,
But stoppe no wrinckle in his pilgrimage:
Thy word is currant with him, for my death,
But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath.

King.
Thy Sonne is banisht with good aduise,
Whereto thy tongue, a party, verdict gaue,
Why at our iustice seemst thou then to lowre?

Gaunt.
Things sweete to taste, prooue in digestion sowre.
You vrge me as a Iudge, but I had rather
You would haue bid me argue like a Father.
Oh had't been a stranger, not my child,
To smooth his fault I would haue been more milde:
A partiall slaunder sought I to auoyde,
And in the sentence, my owne life destroyde.
Alas, I lookt when some of you should say,
I was too strict to make mine owne away:
But you gaue leaue to my vnwilling tongue,
Against my will, to do my selfe this wrong.

King.
Coosin farewell, and Vnckle bid him so;
Sixe yeares we banish him, and he shall go.

Au.
Coosin farewell; what presence must not know
From where you do remaine, let Paper show,

Mar.
My Lord, no leaue take I, for I will ride
As farre as land will let me, by your side.

Gaunt.
Oh to what purpose doest thou hoard thy words,
That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?

Bull.
I haue too few to take my leaue of you,
When the tongues office should be prodigall,
To breath the abundant dolour of the heart.

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

Bul.
Ioy absent, griefe is present for that time.

Gaunt.
What is sixe Winters? they are quickly gone.

Bul.
To men in ioy, but griefe makes one houre ten.

Gaunt.
Call it a trauaile that thou takst for pleasure.

Bul.
My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
Which findes it an inforced pilgrimage.

Gaunt.
The sullen passage of thy wearie steps,
Esteeme a soyle wherein thou art to set,
The precious Iewell of thy home returne.

Bul.
Nay rather euerie tedious stride I make,
Will but remember me what deale of world
I wander from the Iewels that I loue.
Must I not serue a long apprentishood
To forren passages, and in the end,
Hauing my freedome, boast of nothing else,
But that I was a iourney man to griefe?

Gaunt.
All places that the eie of heauen visits,
Are to a wise man ports and happy hauens.
Teach thy necessitie to reason thus.
There is no vertue like necessitie:
Thinke not the King did banish thee
But thou the King, who doth the heauier sit,
Where it perceiues it is but faintly borne:
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not the King exilde thee; or suppose
Deuouring pestilence hangs in our aire,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime:
Looke what thy soule holds deere, imagine it
To by that way thou goest, not whence thou comst:
Suppose the singing birds musitions,
The grasse whereon thou treadst, the presence strowde,
The flowers, faire Ladies, and thy steps, no more
Then a delightfull measure or a daunce,
For gnarling sorrow hath lesse power to bite.
The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

Bul.
Oh who can hold a fier 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 snow,
By thinking on fantastick summers heat?
Oh no, the apprehension of the good

Giues but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrowes tooth doth neuer rancle more
Then when it bites, but lancheth not the soare.

Gaunt.
Come come my sonne, Ile bring thee on thy way,
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.

Bul.
Then Englands ground farewell, sweete soile adiew,
My Mother and my nurse that beares me yet.
Where ere I wander, boast of this I can,
Though banisht, yet a true borne Englishman. Exeunt. Enter the King with Bushia, &c. at one doore, and the Lord Aumarle at the other.

King.
We did obserue Coosin Aumarle,
How farre brought you high Herford on his way?

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

King.
And say, what store of parting teares were shed?

Aum.
Faith none for me, except the Northeast winde,
Which then blew bitterly against our face,
Awakt the sleepie rewme, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a teare.

King.
What said your coosin when you parted with him?

Au.
Farewell, and for my heart disdained that my tongue
Should so prophane the word that taught me craft,
To counterfaite oppression of such griefe,
That words seemd buried in my sorrowes graue:
Marry would the word Farewell haue lengthned houres,
And added yeeres to his short banishment,
He should haue had a volume of farewels:
But since it would not, he had none of me.

King.
He is our Coosins Coosin, but tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman comes to see his friends.
Our selfe and Bushie,
Obserued his courtship to the common people,
How he did seeme to diue into their hearts,
With humble and familiar curtesie,
With reuerence he did throw away on slaues,

Wooing poore Craftsmen with the craft of smiles,
And patient vnderbearing of his fortune,
As twere to banish their affects 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 thankes my Countrey-men, my louing friends,
As were our England in reuersion his,
And he our subiectes next degree in hope.

Greene.
Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts.
Now for the Rebels which stand out in Ireland,
Expedient mannage must be made (my Liege)
Ere further leysure yeeld them further meanes
For their aduantage, and your highnesse losse.

King.
We will our selfe in person to this Warre,
And for our Coffers, with too great a Court
And liberall larges, are growne somewhat light;
We are insorst to farme our royall Realme,
The reuenue whereof shall furnish vs:
For our affaires in hand if that come short,
Our substitutes at home shall haue blancke Charters,
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They shall subscribe them for large summes of Gold,
And send them after to supply our wants,
For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter Bushie with newes.

Bush.
Old Iohn of Gaunt is grieuous sicke, my Lord,
So dainely taken, and hath sent post hast
To intreate your Maiestie to visit him.

King.
Where lies he?

Bush.
At Ely house.

King.
Now put it (God) into the Phisitions minde,
To helpe him to his Graue immediatly:
The lyning of his Coffers shall make coates,
To decke our Souldiours for these Irish Warres.
Come Gentlemen, lets all goe visit him,
Pray God we may make haste, and come too late: Amen. Exeunt.

Enter Iohn of Gaunt sicke, with the Duke of Yorke, &c.

Gaunt.
Will the King come, that I may breath my last,
In holsome counsell to his vnslayed youth?

York.
Vex not your selfe, nor striue not with your breath
For all in vaine comes counsell to his care.

Gaunt.
Oh, but they say, the tongues of dying men,
Inforce attention like deepe harmonie:
Where wordes are scarce, they are seldome spent in vaine,
For they breath trueth that breath their words in paine.
He that no more must say, is listened more
Then they whom youth and ease hath caught to glose.
More are mens ends markt, then their liues before:
The setting Sunne, and Musicke at the glose,
As the last taste of sweetes is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance, more then thinges long past.
Though Richard my liues counsell would not heare,
My deaths sad tale may yet vndeafe his eare.

York.
No, it is stopt with other flattering sounds,
As prayses of his state: then there are found
Lasciuious Meeters, to whose venom sound
The open eare of youth doth alwayes listen.
Report of fashions in proud Italie,
Whose manners still our tardie apish nation
Limps after in base imitation.
Where doth the world thrust foorth a vanitie,
So it be new, there's no respect how vile,
That is not quickly buzd into his eares?
Then all too late comes Counsell to be heard,
Where Will doth mutinie with Wittes regard.
Direct not him whose way himselfe will chouse,
Tis breath thou lackst, and that breath wilt thou loose.

Gaunt.
Mee thinkes I am a Prophet new inspirde,
And thus expiring, do foretell of him;
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last:
For violent fires soone burne out themselues,
Small showers last long, but sodaine stormes are short:
He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes.

With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder,
Light Vanitie, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming meanes soone prayes vpon it selfe:
This royall throne of Kings, this Sceptred Ile,
This earth of Maiestie, this seate of Mars,
This other Eden, demie Paradice,
This Foretresse built by Nature for her selfe,
Against infection, and the hand of Warre;
This happy breede of Men, this little World,
This precious Stone set in the siluer sea,
Which serues it in the office of a Wall,
Or as a Moate defensiue to a house,
Against the enuie of lesse happier Lands:
This blessed plotte, this Earth, this Realme, this England,
This Nurse, this teeming wombe of royall Kings,
Feard by their breed, and famous by their birth,
Renowned in their deedes as farre from home,
For christian seruice and true chiualrie,
As is the Sepulchre in stubborne Iewrie,
Of the worldes ransome, blessed Maries sonne:
This land of such deare soules, this deare deare land;
Deare for her reputation through the world,
Is now leaced out (I die pronouncing it)
Like to a Tenement, or pelting Farme.
England bound in with the triumphant Sea,
Whose rockie shoare beates backe the enuious siege
Of watry Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With Inkie blottes, and rotten Parchment bonds.
That England that was wont to conquere others,
Hath made a shamefull conquest of itselfe:
Ah would the scandall vanisht with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death;

Yorke.
The King is come, deale mildly with his youth,
For young hot Colts being rag'de, do rage the more. Enter the King and Queen, &c.

Queene.
How fares our noble Vncle Lancaster?

King.
What comfort man? how ist with aged Gaunt?

Gaunt.
O how that name befits my composition,
Old Gaunt in deede, and gaunt in being old,
Within me Griefe hath kept a tedious fall.
And who abstaines from meate, that is not gaunt?
For sleeping England, long time haue I watcht;
Watching breedes leanenesse, leanenesse is all gaunt.
The pleasure that some Fathers feede vpon,
Is my strict fast, I meane my Childrens lookes,
And therein, fasting hast thou made me gaunt.
Gaunt am I for the graue, gaunt as a graue,
Whose hollow wombe inherites nought but bones.

King.
Can sicke men play so nicely with their names?

Gaunt.
No, miserie makes sport to mocke it selfe.
Since thou dost seeke to kill my name in me,
O mocke my name (great King) to flatter thee.

King.
Should dying men flatter those that liue?

Gaunt.
No, no; men liuing, flatter those that die.

King.
Thou now a dying sayst, thou flatterest me.

Gaunt.
Oh no, thou diest, though I the sicker be.

King.
I am in health, I breath, I see thee ill.

Gaunt.
Now he that made me, knowes I see thee ill,
Ill in my selfe to see, and in thee seeing ill,
Thy death-bed is no lesser then the land,
Wherein thou liest in reputation sicke,
And thou too carelesse patient as thou art,
Commitst thy annoynted body to the cure
Of those Phisitions that first wounded thee:
A thousand Flatterers sit within thy Crowne,
Whose compasse is no bigger then thy head;
And yet inraged in so small a verge,
The waste is no whit lesser then thy land:
Oh had thy Grandsire with a Prophets eye,
Seene how his sonnes sonne should destroy his sonnes,
From foorth thy reach he would haue laide thy shame,
Deposing thee before thou wert possest,
Which art possest now to depose thy selfe.
Why Coosin, wert thou regent of the world,
It were a shame to let this Land by Lease:

But for thy world enioying but this land,
Is it not more then shame to shame it so?
Land-lord of England art thou now not, not King,
Thy state of law is bondslaue to the law,
And thou.

King.
Ah lunaticke leane-witted foole,
Presuming on an Agues priuiledge,
Darest vvith thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheeke, chasing the royall blood
With furie from his natiue residence.
Novv by my Seates right royall maiestie
Wert thou not brother to great Edwards sonne,
This tongue that runnes so roundly in thy head,
Should runne thy head from thy vnreuerent shoulders.

Gaunt.
Oh spare me not my brother Edwards sonne,
For that I was his father Edwards sonne:
That blood already, like the Pellican,
Hast thou tapt and drunkenly carowst:
My brother Glocester, plaine well meaning soule,
Whom faire befall in heauen mongst happy soules,
May be a president and witnes good,
That thou respectst not spilling Edwards blood.
Ioyne with the present sicknes that I haue,
And thy vnkindnes be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too long withered flower.
Liue in thy shame, but die not shame vvith thee:
These Wordes hereafter, thy tormentors be:
Conuay me to my bed, then to my graue,
Loue they to liue, that loue and honour haue. Exit.

King.
And let them die, that age and sullens haue,
For both hast thou, and both become the graue.

Yorke.
I do beseech your Maiestie impute his words
To wayward sicklynes and age in him:
He loues you on my life, and holdes you deere,
As Harry Duke of Herford, were he heere.

King.
Right, you say true; as Herfords loue, so his:
As theirs, so mine, and be as it is.

North.
My Liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Maiestie.

King.
What sayes hee?

North.
Nothing, all is sayd;
His tongue is now a stringlesse instrument,
Wordes, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

Yorke.
Be Yorke the next that must be banckrout so,
Though Death be poore, it ends a mortall wo.

King.
The ripest Fruite first falles, and so doth he;
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be:
So much for that. Now for our Irish Warres:
We must supplant those rough rug-headed kernes,
Which liue like venome, where no venome else
But onely they, haue priuiledge to liue.
And for these great affayres do aske some charge,
Towards our assistance we do seaze to vs,
The Plate, Coyne, Reueneues, and moueables
Whereof our Vnckle Gaunt did stand possest.

Yorke.
How long shall I be patient? Ah how long
Shall tender duetie make me suffer wrong?
Not Glocesters death, nor Herfords banishment,
Nor Gaunts rebukes, nor Englands priuate wrongs,
Nor the preuention of poore Bullingbrooke
About his marriage, nor my owne disgrace,
Haue euer made me sower my patient cheeke,
Or bend one wrinckle on my Soueraignes face:
I am the last of the noble Edwards sonnes,
Of whom thy father Prince of Wales was first.
In Warre, was neuer Lion ragde more fierce:
In Peace, was neuer gentle Lambe more milde
Then was that young and princely Gentleman:
His face thou hast, for euen so lookt he,
Accomplisht with a number of thy houres;
But when he frowned, it was against the French,
And not against his Friendes: his noble hand
Did winne what he did spend, and spent not that
Which his triumphant Fathers hand had wonne:
His hands were guiltie of no kinred blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kinne.

Oh Richard! Yorke is too farre gone with griefe,
Or else he neuer would compare betweene.

King.
Why Vnckle, whats the matter?

Yorke.
Oh my liege, pardon me if you please,
If not, I pleasd, not to be pardoned, am content with all:
Seeke you to seize and gripe into your hands,
The roialties and rights of banisht Herford?
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Herford liue?
Was not Gaunt iust? and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserue to haue an heyre?
Is not his heyre a well deseruing sonne?
Take Herfordes rights away, and take from time
His Charters and his customarie rights;
Let not to morrow then ensue to day:
Be not thy selfe; For how art thou a King,
But by faire sequence, and succession?
Now afore God, God forbid I say true,
If you doe wrong fully seize Herfords right,
Call in the Letters patents that he hath
By his attournies generall to sue
His liuery, and deny his offered homage,
You plucke a thousand dangers on your head,
You lose a thousand well disposed hearts,
And pricke my tender patience to those thoughts,
Which honour and allegeance cannot thinke.

King.
Thinke what you will, we seize into our hands,
His plate, his goods, his money and his land.

York.
Ile not be by the while, my liege farewell,
What will in sue here of, there's none can tell:
But by bad courses may be vnderstood,
That their euents can neuer fall out good. Exit.

King.
Go Bushie, to the Earle of Wiltshire straight,
Bid him repayre to vs to Ely house,
To see this businesse: to morrow next
We will for Ireland, and t'is time I trow;
And we create in absence of our selfe,
Our Vnckle Yorke Lord Gouernour of England;
For he is iust, and alwayes loued vs well;

Come on our Queene, to morrow must we part,
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. Exeunt King and Queene. Manet North.

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

Rosse.
And liuing too, for now his sonne is Duke.

Willough.
Barely in title, not in reuenewes.

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

Rosse.
My heart is great, but it must breake with silence,
Er't be disburdened with a liberall tongue.

Nort.
Nay speake thy mind, & let him nere speak more,
That speakes thy words againe, to do thee harme.

Willough.
Tend's that thou wouldst speake, to the D. of Herford?
If it be so, out with it boldly man,
Quicke is mine eare to heare of good towards him.

Rosse.
No good at all, that I can doe for him:
Vnlesse you call it good, to pitty him,
Bereft and gelded of his Patrimonie.

Nort.
Now afore God t'is shame, such wrongs are borne
In him a royall Prince, and many mo
Of noble blood in this declining land:
The King is not himselfe, but bacely led
By flatterers, and what they will informe,
Meerely in hate against any of vs all,
That will the King seuerely prosecute,
Against vs, our liues, our children, and our heires.

Rosse.
The Commons hath he pild with grieuous taxes,
And quite lost their hearts. The Nobles hath he fin'd
For auncient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

Wollough.
And dayly new exactions are deuisde,
As Blanckes, Beneuolences, and I wot not what.

North.
But what a Gods name doth become of this?

Willo.
Warres hath not wasted it; for warr'd he hath not,
But bacely yeelded vpon compromise,
That which his noble Auncestors atchiude with blowes:
More hath he spent in peace, then they in Warres.

Rosse.
The Earle of Wiltshire hath the Realme in farme.

Willo.
The King's growne banckrout like a broken man.

North.
Reproach and desolution hangeth ouer him.

Rosse.
He hath not Money for these Irish Warres,
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banisht Duke.

North.
His noble kinsman most degenerate King:
But Lords, we heare this fearefull tempest sing,
Yet seeke no shelter to auoyde the storme.
We see the Winde sit sore vpon our Sayles,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

Rosse.
We see the very Wracke that we must suffer,
And vnauoyded is the danger now,
For suffering so the causes of our wracke.

North.
Not so, euen through the hollow eyes of death,
I espie life peering; but I dare not say,
How neere the tidings of our comfort is.

Wil.
Nay let vs share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.

Rosse.
Be confident to speake Northumberland,
We three are but thy selfe; and speaking so,
Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold.

North.
Then thus: I haue from Le Port Blan
(A Bay in Brittanie) receiude intelligence,
That Harry Duke of Herforde, Raynold L. Cobham,
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter
His brother Archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Iohn Ramston,
Sir Iohn Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, & Francis Coines,
All these, well furnished by the Duke of Brittaine,
With eight tall Ships, three thousand men of Warre,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And shortly meane 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 Countries slauish yoke,
Impe out our drowping Countries broken wing,
Redeeme from broken pawne the blemisht Crowne,
Wipe off the dust that hides our Scepters guilt,
And make high Maiestie looke like it selfe,
Away with me in post to Rauenspurgh:

But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay, and be secret, and my selfe will go.

Rosse.
To horse, to horse, vrge doubts to them that feare.

Willo.
Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Exeunt. Enter the Queene, Bushie, and Bagot.

Bush.
Madam, your Maiestie is too much sadde,
You promist when you parted with the King,
To lay aside halfe-harming heauinesse,
And entertaine a chearefull disposition.

Queene.
To please the King I did, to please my selfe
I cannot doo it; yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as Griefe,
Saue bidding farewell to so sweete a guest,
As my sweete Richard: yet againe me thinkes
Some vnborne Sorrow ripe in Fortunes wombe,
Is comming towards me and my inward soule,
With nothing trembles, at some thing it grieues,
More then with parting from my Lord the King.

Bush.
Each substance of a griefe hath twenty shadowes,
Which shewes like griefe it selfe, but is not so:
For Sorrowes eyes glazed with blinding teares,
Deuides one thing entire to many obiects.
Like perspectiues, which rightly gazde vpon,
Shew nothing but confusion, ey de awry,
Distinguish forme: so your sweete Maiestie,
Looking awry vpon your Lords departure,
Finde shapes of griefe more then himselfe to waile,
Which lookt on as it is, is naught but shadowes
Of what it is not, then thrice (gracious Queene)
More then your Lordes departure weeps not, more is not seene,
Or if it be, tis with false Sorrowes eyes,
Which for things true, weepes things imaginarie.

Queene.
It may be so, but yet thy inward soule
Perswades me it is otherwise: how ere it be,
I cannot but be sad; so heauie sad,
As though on thinking on no thought I thinke,
Makes me with heauie nothing faint and shinke.

Bush.
Tis nothing but conceite (my gracious Lady.)

Queene.
Tis nothing lesse, Conceite is still deriude
From some forefather Griefe, mine is not so;
For nothing hath begot my something griefe,
Or something hath the nothing that I grieue,
Tis in reuersion that I do possesse:
But what it is that is not yet knowne, what
I cannot name, tis namelesse woe I wot.

Greene.
God saue your Maiestie, & well met Gentlemen,
I hope the King is not yet shipt for Ireland.

Queene.
Why hopest thou so? tis better hope he is,
For his designes craue haste, his haste good hope:
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipt?

Greene.
That he our hope might haue retirde his power,
And driuen into despaire an enemies hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land,
The banisht Bullingbrooke repeales himselfe,
And with vplifted armes is safe ariude at Rauenspurgh.

Queene.
Now God in heauen forbid.

Greene.
Ah Madam, tis too true; and that is worse:
The Lord Northumberland, his young sonne H. Piercie,
The Lords of Rosse, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerfull friendes are fled to him.

Bush.
Why, haue you not proclaimde Northumberland
And the rest of the reuolting faction traytours?

Greene.
We haue, wherevpon the Earle of Worcester
Hath broke his Staffe, resigned his Stewardship,
And al the houshold seruants fled with him to Bullingbrook

Queene.
So Greene, thou art the Midwife of my woe,
And Bullingbrooke, my sorrowes dismall heire:
Now hath my soule brought foorth her prodigie,
And I a gasping new deliuered mother,
Haue woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow ioynd.

Bush.
Dispaire not Madam:

Queene.
Who shall hinder me?
I will dispaire and be at enmitie
With couetous Hope, he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper backe of death.

Who gently would dissolue the bands of life,
Which false Hope lingers in extreamitie.

Greene.
Heere comes the Duke of Yorke.

Queene.
With signes of Warre about his aged necke:
Oh full of carefull businesse are his lookes:
Vnckle, for Gods sake speake comfortable wordes.

Yorke.
Should I do so, I should bely my thoughts,
Comfort's in heauen, and we are on the earth,
Where nothing liues but crosses, care, and griefe.
Your Husband he is gone to saue farre off,
Whilst others come to make him loose at home:
Heere am I left to vnderprop his land,
Who weake with age, cannot support my selfe.
Now comes the sicke houre that his surfet made,
Now shall he trie his Friendes that flattered him.

Seruingman.
My Lord, your sonne was gone before I came,

Yorke.
He was, why so; go all which way it will:
The Nobles they are sled, the Commons they are cold,
And will (I feare) reuolt on Herfords side.
Sirra, get thee to Plashie to my sister Glocester,
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound,
Hold take my Ring.

Seruing.
My Lord, I had forget to tell your Lordship,
To day I came by and called there;
But I shall grieue you to report the rest.

York.
What I'll knaue?

Seruingm.
An houre before I came, the Dutchesse died.

Yorke.
God, for his mercie! What a tyde of woes
Comes rushing on this wofull Land at once?
I know not what to doe: I would to God
(So my vntruth had not prouokt him to it)
The King had cut off my head with my brothers.
What are there two Posts dispatcht for Ireland?
How shall we do for money for these Warres?
Come Sister, Coosin I would say; pray pardon me:
Goe fellow, get thee home, prouide some Carts,
And bring away the Armour that is there.
Gentlemen, will you go muster men?

If I know how or which way to order these affayres,
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,
Neuer beleeue mee: both are my kinsemen;
T'one is my Soueraigne, whom both my oath
And dutie bids defend: t'other againe,
Is my Kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd,
Whom Conscience and my Kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must doe I come Coosin,
Ile dispose of you: Gentlemen, goe muster vp your men.
And meete me presently at Barckly:
I should to Plashie too, but time will not permit:
All is vneuen, and euery thing is left at sixe and seauen. Exeunt Duke, & Queene: manent Bushie and Greene.

Bush.
The Wind sits faire for newes to go for Ireland,
But none returnes. For vs to leuie power
Proportionable to the enemie, is all vnpossible.

Greene.
Besides, our neereuesse to the King in loue,
Is neere the hate of those loue not the King.

Bag.
And that is the wauering Commons; for their loue
Lies in their Purses, and who so empties them,
By so much filles their hearts with deadly hate.

Bush.
Wherein the King stands generally condemn'd.

Bag.
If iudgement lie in them, then so do we,
Because we euer haue been neere the King.

Greene.
Well, I will for refuge straight to Brist. Castle,
The Earle of Wiltshire is already there.

Bush.
Thither will I with you, for little office
Will the hatefull Commons performe for vs,
Except like Curres, to teare vs all in peeces:
Will you goe along with vs?

Bag.
No, I will to Ireland to his Maiestie:
Farewell, if hearts presages be not vaine,
We three heere part, that nere shall meete againe.

Bush.
Thats as Yorke thriues to beat backe Bullingbrook.

Greene.
Alas poore Duke, the taske he vndertakes,
Is numbring Sands, and drinking Oceans dry,
Where one on his side fights, thousands will flie:
Farewell at once, for once, for all and euer.

Bush.
Well, we may meete againe.

Bag.
I feare me neuer. Enter Hereford: Northumberland.

Bull.
How farre is it my Lord to Barckly now?

North.
Beleeue me noble Lord,
I am a stranger in Glocestershire,
These high wild hils and rough vneuen wayes,
Drawes out our miles, and makes them wearisome,
And yet your faire discourse hath beene as sugar,
Making the hard way sweete and delectable:
But I bethinke me what a weary way,
From Rauenspurgh to Cotshall will be sound,
In Rosse and Willoughby wanting your company,
Which I protest hath very much beguild
The tediousnesse and processe of my trauell:
But theirs is sweetened with the hope to haue
The present benelite that I possesse,
And hope to ioy is littlelesse in ioy,
Then hope inioyed: by this the weary Lords
Shall make their way seeme short, as mine hath done,
By sight of what I haue, your noble companie.

Bul.
Of much lesse value is my company,
Then your good words. But who comes here? Enter Harry Persie.

North.
It is my sonne, yong Harry Persie,
Sent from my brother Worcester whencesoeuer:
Harry, how fares your Vnckle?

H. Per.
I had thought my Lord to haue learned his health of you.

North.
Why? is he not with the Queene?

H. Per.
No my good Lord, he hath forsooke the Court,
Broken his staffe of office, and disperst
The houshold of the King.

North.
What was his reason? he was not so resolude,
When last we spake together.

H. Per.
Because your Lordship was proclaimed traytour;
But he my Lord, is gone to Rauenspurgh,
To offer seruice to the Duke of Herford,
And sent me ouer by Barckly to discouer,

What power the duke of Yorke had leuied there,
Then with directions; to repaire to Rauenspurgh.

North.
Haue you forgot the duke of Herford, boy?

H. Per.
No my good Lord for that is not forgot
Which ne're I did remember, to my knowledge
I neuer in my life did looke on him.

North.
Then learne to know him now, this is the Duke.

H. Per.
My gratious Lord, I tender you my seruice,
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,
Which elder dayes shall ripen and confirme
To more approued seruice and desert.

Bull.
I thanke thee gentle Pers., and be sure,
I count my selfe in nothing else so happy,
As in a soule remembring my good friends:
And as my fortune ripens with thy loue,
It shall be still thy true loues recompence,
My heart this couenant makes, my hand thus scales it.

North.
How farre is it to Barkley, and what sturre
Keepes good old Yorke there with his men of warre?

H. Per.
There standes the Castle by yon tufe of trees,
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I haue heard:
And in it are the Lordes of Yorke, Barkley, and Seymor,
None else of name and noble estimation.

Nor.
Here come the Lords of Rosse and Willoughby,
Bloudy with spurring, fiery red with haste.

Bul.
Welcome my Lords, I wot your loue pursues
A banish traitour: all my treasury
Is yet but vnfelt thankes, vvhich more enricht,
Shall be your loue and labours recompence.

Rosse.
Your presence makes vs rich, most noble Lord.

Will.
And farre surmounts our labour to attaine it.

Bul.
Euermore thanke's the Exchequer of the poore,
Which till my infant fortune comes to yeares,
Standes for my bounty: but vvho comes heere?

North.
It is my Lord of Barkeley, as I guesse.

Barkeley
My Lord of Herford, my message is to you.

Bull.
My Lord, my ansvvere is to Lancaster,
And I am come to seeke that name in England,

And I must finde that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to ought you say.

Barke.
Mistake me not my Lord, t'is not my meaning
To race one title of your Honour out:
To you my Lord I come, what Lord you will,
From the most glorious of this land,
The Duke of Yorke, to know what prickes you on,
To take aduantage of the absent time,
And fright our natiue peace with selfe-borne Armes?

Bul.
I shall not need transport my words by you,
Heere comes his Grace in person: My noble Vnckle!

Yorke.
Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
Whose duety is deceiueable and false.

Bul.
My gracious Vnckle!

Yorke.
Tut, tut, grace me no grace, nor vnckle me no vnckle,
I am no Traitors vnckle; and that word Grace
In an vngratious mouth, is but prophane:
Why haue those banisht and forbidden legs
Darde once to touch a dust of Englands ground?
But more than why? Why haue they darde to march
So many myles vpon her peacefull bosome,
Fryting her pale-facde Villages with Warre,
And ostentation of despised Armes?
Comst thou because th'annoynted King is hence?
Why foolish boy, the King is left behind,
And in my loyall bosome lyes his power:
Were I but now Lord of such hot youth,
As when braue Gaunt thy father, and thy selfe,
Rescued the blacke Prince that young Mars of men,
From foorth the ranckes of many thousands French,
O then how quickly should this arme of mine,
Now prisoner to the Paulsey, chastise thee,
And minister correction to thy fault!

Bull.
My gratious Vnckle, let me know my fault,
On what condition stands it, and wherein?

Yorke.
Euen in condition of the worst degree,
In grosse rebellion, and detested treason:
Thou art a banisht man, and heere art come,

Before the expiration of thy time,
In brauing armes against my Soueraigne.

Bul.
As I was banisht, I was banisht Herford,
But as I come, I come for Lancaster:
And noble Vnckle, I beseech your Grace,
Looke on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
You are my Father, or me thinkes in you
I see old Gaunt aliue. Oh then Father,
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
A wandering Vagabond, my rights and royalties
Pluckt from my Armes perforce, and giuen away
To vpstart Vnthrifes? wherefore was I borne?
If that my Coosin King be King of England,
It must be graunted I am Duke of Lancaster:
You haue a Sonne, Aumerle, my noble Coosin,
Had you first died, and he been thus trod downe,
He should haue found his Vnckle Gaunt a father,
To rouze his wronges, and chase them to the Bay.
I am denied to sue my liuerie heere,
And yet my letters pattents giue me leaue
My fathers goodes are all distrain'd and sold,
And these, and all, are all amisse employed.
What would you haue me doe? I am a Subiect,
And I challenge Law; Atturnies are denide me,
And therefore personally I lay my claime
To my inheritance of free descent.

North.
The noble Duke hath been too much abusde.

Rosse.
It standes your Grace vpon, to do him right.

Willough.
Base men by his endowments are made great.

Yorke.
My Lords of England, let me tell you this;
I haue had feeling of my Coosins wronges,
And laboured all I could to doe him right,
But in this kind, to come in brauing Armes,
Be his owne caruer, and cut out his way,
To find out right with wrong, it may not be:
And you that do abotte him in this kind,
Cherish Rebellion, and are Rebels all.

North.
The noble Duke hath sworne, his comming is

But for his owne; and for the right of that,
We all haue strongly sworne to giue him ayde:
And let him ne're see ioy that breakes that oath.

Yorke.
Well, well, I see the issue of these Armes;
I cannot mende it, I must needes confesse,
Because my power is weake, and all ill left:
But if I could, by him that gaue me life,
I would attach you all, and make you stoope
Vnto the soueraigne mercy of the King:
But since I cannot, be it knowne to you,
I do remaine as newter; so fare you well,
Vnlesse you please to enter in the Castle,
And there repose you for this night.

Bul.
An offer Vnckle that we will accept,
But we must winne your Grace to go with vs
To Briston Castle, which they say is held
By Bushie, Bagot, and their complicies,
The Caterpillers of the Common-wealth;
Which I haue sworne to weede and plucke away.

Yorke.
It may be I will go with you; but yet Ile pause,
For I am loth to breake our Countries Lawes:
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are,
Things past redresse, are now with me past care. Enter Earle of Salisburie, and a Welch Captaine.

Welch.
My Lord of Salisburie, we haue staide ten dayes,
And hardly kept our Countrymen together;
And yet we heare no tidings from the King,
Therefore we will disperse our selues: farewell.

Salis.
Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welchman,
The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.

Welch.
Tis thought the King is dead, we will not stay,
The Bay-trees in our Countrey all are withered,
And Meteors fright the fixed Starres of heauen:
The pale-fac'd Moone lookes bloody on the earth,
And leane-look't Prophets whisper fearefull change,
Rich men looke sadde, and Ruffians daunce and leape,
The one in feare to loose what they enioy.

The other to enioy by rage and Warre.
These signes fore-run the death of Kinges.
Farewell, our Countrymen are gone and fled,
As well assured Richard their King is dead.

Sal.
Ah Richard! with eyes of heauy minde,
I see thy glory like a shooting starre,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament,
Thy sunne sets, weeping in the lowly West,
Witnessing stormes to come, woe and vnrest:
Thy friendes are fled to waite vpon thy foes,
And crossely to thy good all fortune goes. Enter Duke of Herford, Yorke, Northumberland, Bushie and Greene Prisoners.

Bull.
Bring forth these men.
Bushie and Greene, I will not vexe your soules,
Since presently your soules must part your bodies,
With too much vrging your pernicious liues,
For t'were no charity; yet to wash your blood
From off my hands, here in the view of men,
I will vnfold some causes of your death,
You haue mis-led a Prince, a royall King,
A happy Gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you vnhappied and disfigured cleane,
You haue in manner with your sinfull houres,
Made a diuorce betwixt his Queene and him,
Broke the possession of a royall bed,
And stayed the beutie of a fayre Queenes cheekes,
With teares drawne from her eyes with your foule wrongs,
My selfe a Prince by fortune of my birth,
Neere to the King in blood, and neere in loue,
Till they did make him mis-interpret me,
Haue stoopt my necke vnder your iniuries,
And sigh'd my English breath in forren cloudes,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment,
While you haue fedde vpon my segniories,
Disparkt my Parkes, and felld my forrest woods,
From mine owne windowes torne my houshold coate,
Rac't out my impreess, leauing me no signe,

Saue mens opinions, and my liuing blood,
To shew the world I am a Gentleman.
This, and much more, much more then twice all this,
Condemns you to the death: see them deliuered ouer
To execution and the hand of death.

Bush.
More welcome is the stroke of death to me,
Then Bullingbrooke to England Lords farewell.

Greene.
My comfort is, that heauen will take our soules,
And plague iniustice with the paines of hell.

Bull.
My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatcht:
Vnckle, you say, the Queene is at your house,
For Gods sake fairely let her be intreated,
Tell her, I send to her my kind commends;
Take speciall care my greetings be deliuered.

Yorke.
A Gentleman of mine I haue dispatcht,
With letters of your loue to her at large,

Bull.
Thankes (gentle Vnckle:) come Lords, away,
To fight with Glendor and his complices,
A while to worke, and after, holiday. Exeunt. Enter the King, Aumerle, Carleil, &c.

King.
Barkloughly Castle call you this at hand?

Aum.
Yea my Lord; how brook's your Grace the ayre
After your late tossing on the breaking Seas?

King.
Needs must I like it well, I weepe for ioy,
To stand vpon my Kingdome once againe.
Deare earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though Rebels wound thee with their Horses hoofes:
As a long parted mother with her child,
Playes fondly with her teares and smiles in meeting:
So weeping, smiling, greete I thee my earth,
And do thee fauour with my royall hands;
Feede not thy Soueraignes foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweetes comfort his rauenous sence,
But let thy Spiders, that sucke vp thy venome,
And heauy gated Toads lie in their way,
Doing annoyance to the trecherous feete,
Which with vsurping steps do trample thee:

Yeeld stinging nettles to mine enemies:
And when they from thy bosome plucke a flower,
Guard it I pray thee with a lurking Adder,
Whose double tongue may with a mortall touch,
Throw death vpon thy Soueraines enemies:
Mocke not my senselesse coniuration Lords:
This earth shall haue a feeling, and these stones
Prooue armed Souldiers ere her natiue King
Shall falter vnder foule rebellious armes.

Carl.
Feare not my Lord, that power that made you King,
Hath power to keepe you king in spite of all;
The meanes that heauens yeeld must be imbrac't
And not neglected. Else heauen would,
And we would not; heauens offer, we refuse
The proffered meanes of succours and redresse.

Aum.
He meanes, my Lord, that we are to remisse,
Whilst Bullingbrooke, through our security,
Growes strong and great in substance and in power.

King.
Discomfortable coosin, knowst thou not,
That when the searching eie of heauen is hid
Behind the globe that lights the lower world,
Then theeues and robbers range abroade vnseene,
In murthers, and in outrage bloody heere.
But when from vnder his terrestriall ball,
He fires the proude tops of the esterne pines,
And darts his light through euery guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sinnes,
The cloake of night being pluckt from off their backes,
Stand bare and naked trembling at themselues:
So when this thiefe, this traitour Bullingbrooke,
Who all this while hath reueld in the night
Whilst we were wandring with the Antipodes,
Shall see vs rising in our throne the East,
His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
Nor able to endure the sight of day,
But selfe affrighted, trembled at his sinne,
Not all the water in the rough rude Sea,
Can wash the baline off from an annoynted King.

The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord,
For euery man that Bullingbrook hath prest,
To lift shrewde steele against our golden crowne,
God for his Ric: hath in heauenly pay,
A glorious Angel: then if Angels fight,
Weake men must fall, for heauen still guardes the right. Enter Salisb.

King.
Welcome my Lord: how farre off lies your power?

Salisb.
Nor neere nor farther off, my gratious Lord:
Than this weake arme; discomfort guides my tongue.
And bids me speake of nothing but Despaire,
One day too late, I feare, my noble Lo:
Hath clouded all thy happy dayes on earth,
O call backe yesterday, bid Time returne,
And thou shalt haue twelue thousand fighting men:
To day, to day, vnhappy day, too late,
Ouerthrowes thy ioyes, friends, fortune and thy state:
For all the Welckmen hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bulingbrooke, disperst, and fled.

Aum.
Comfort, my liege, why lookes your Grace so pale?

King.
But now the bloud of twenty thousand men.
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled:
And till so much bloud thither come againe,
Haue I not reason to looke pale and dead?
All soules that will be safe, flie from my side,
For Time hath set a blot vpon my pride.

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

King.
I had forgot my selfe, Am I not King?
Awake thou coward, Maiestie thou sleepest,
Is not the Kings name twentie thousand names?
Arme, arme, my name a puny subiect strikes
At thy great glory, looke not to the ground,
Yee fauourites be a King, are we not high:
High be our thoughts, I know my vnckle Yorke
Hath power enough to serue our turne; but who comes heere? Enter Scroope.

Scroope.
More health and happinesse betide my Liege.

Then can my care tunde tongue deliuer him.

[Second section]

King.
Mine eare is open, and my heart prepard,
The worst is worldly losse thou canst vnfold.
Say, is my Kingdome lost? Why twas my care,
And what losse is it to be rid of care?
Striues Bullingbrooke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be: if he serue God,
Weele serue him too, and be his fellow so.
Reuolt our Subiectes? that we can not mende,
They breake their fayth to God as well as vs:
Cry woe, destruction, ruine, and decay,
The worst is death, and death will haue his day.

Scroo.
Glad am I, that your Highnesse is so armde
To beare the tydings of calamitie,
Like an vnseasonable stormie day,
Which make the siluer Riuers drowne their shores.
As if the world were all dissolude to teares,
So high aboue his limits swels the rage
Of Bullingbrooke, couering your fearefull land
With hard bright steele, and hearts harder then steele:
White beards haue armd their thinne and hairelesse scalps
Against thy Maiestie: and boyes with womens voyces
Striue to speake bigge, and clap their female ioynts
In stiffe vnwildie armes, against thy Crowne,
Thy very beads-men learne to band their browes,
Of double fatall, woe against thy state.
Yea distaffe women mannage rustie billes
Against thy seate both young and old rebell
And all goes worse then I haue power to tell.

King.
To well, to well thou telst a tale so ill.
Where is the Earle of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
What is become of Bushie? where is Greene?
That they haue let the daugerous enemie
Measure our confines with such peacefull steps
If we preuaile their heads shall pay for it
I warrant they haue made peace with Bullingbrooke.

Scro.
Peace haue they made with him indeede my Lord.

King.
Oh villaines wipers damnd without redemption,

Dogs easily wonne to fawne on any man.
Snakes in my heart bloud warmd, that sting my heart;
Three Iudasses, each one thrice worse then Iudas,
Would they make peace? terrible hell
Make warre vpon their spotted soules for this.

Scro.
Sweete loue's (I see) changing; his property
Turnes to the sowrest and most deadly hate.
Againe vncurse their soules, their peace is made,
With head, and not with hands, those whom you curse
Haue felt the worst of deaths destroying wound,
And lie full low grau'd in the hollow ground.

Aum.
Is Bushie, Greene, and the Earle of Wiltshire dead?

Scro.
Yea, all of them at Bristow lost their heads.

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

King.
No matter where, of comfort no man speake.
Lets talke of graues of wormes and Epitaphs,
Make dust our paper, and with ranie eyes
Write sorrow on the bosome of the earth.
Lets choose Executors and talke of wils:
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath,
Saue our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our liues, and all are Bullingbrooks,
And nothing can we call our owne, but death,
And that small modell of the barren earth,
Which serues as paste and couer to our bones.
For Gods sake let vs sit vpon the ground,
And tell sed stories of the death of Kings.
How some haue beene deposde some slaine in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they haue deposed,
Some poysoned by their wiues, some sleeping kild,
All murthered: for within the hollow Crowne
That rounds the mortall temples of a King,
Keepes death his court, and there the antique sits,
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pompe,
Allowing him a breath, a little sceane,
To Monarchise, be feard, and kill with lookes,
Infusing him with selfe and vaine conceit,
As if this flesh which walles a bout our life,

Were Brasse impregnable: and humord thus,
Comes at the last, and with a lettle pin,
Bores through his Castle walles, and farewell King.
Couer your heades, and mocke not flesh and blood,
With solemne reuerence throw away respect,
Tradition, forme, and ceremonious dutie,
For you haue but mistooke me all this while,
I liue with bread like you, feele want,
Taste griefe, need friends: subiected thus,
How can you say to mee, I am a Kin?

Carl.
My Lord, Wise-men ne're sit and waile their woes
But presently preuent the wayes to wayle,
To feare the foe, since feare oppresseth strength,
Giues in your weakenesse strength vnto your foe,
And so your follies fight against yourselfe:
Feare, and be slaine, no worse can come to fight:
And fight and die, is death destroying death,
Where fearing dying payes death seruile breath.

Aum.
My Father hath a power, inquire of him,
And learne to make a body of a limme.

King.
Thou chidst me well; proud Bullingbrooke, I come,
To change blowes with thee for our day of doome:
This Ague-fit of feare is ouerblowne,
An easie taske it is to winne our owne.
Say Scroope. Where lies our Vnckle with his power?
Speake sweetely man, although thy lookes be sower.

Scroope.
Men iudge by the complexion of the skie,
The state and inclination of the day;
So may you by my dull and heauy eye:
My tongue hath but a heauier tale to say,
I play the torturer by small and small,
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:
Your Vnckle Yorke is ioyn'd with Bullingbrooke,
And all your Northerne Castles yeelded vp,
And all your Southerne Gentlemen in armes
Vpon his partie.

King.
Thou hast sayd enough:
Beshrew thee Coosin which didst lead me foorth

Of that sweete way I was in to dispaire.
What say you now? What comfort haue we now?
By heauen Ile hate him euerlastingly,
That bids me be of comfort any more,
Goe to Flint Castle, there Ile pine away,
A King woes slaue, shall kingly woe obey:
That power I haue; discharge, and let them go
To eare the land that hath some hope to grow:
For I haue none; let no man speake againe
To alter this, for counsell is but vaine.

Aum.
My Liege one word.

King.
He does me double wrong,
That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue:
Discharge my followers, let them hence away,
From Richards night, to Bullingbrooks faire day. Enter Bull, Yorke, North.

Bull.
So that by this intelligence we learne,
The Welchmen are dispearst, and Salisbury
Is gone to meete the King, who lately landed
With some few priuate friends, vpon this coast.

North.
The newes is very faire and good, my Lord
Richard not farre from hence hath hid his head.

York.
It would beseeme the Lord Northumberland,
To say, King Richard; alacke the heauie day,
When such a sacred King, should hide his head.

North.
Your Grace mistakes; onely to be briefe,
Left I his title out.

Yor.
The time hath bin, should you haue bin so briefe with him,
He would haue bin so briefe to shorten you,
For taking so the head, your whole heads length.

Bull.
Mistake not (Vnckle) further then you should.

York.
Take not (good Coosin) further then you should,
Least you mistake the heauens are ouer your heads.

Bull.
I know it Vnckle, and oppose not my selfe
Against their willes. But, who comes heere? Enter Percie.
Welcome Harry. What, will not this Castle yeeld?

H. Percie.
The Castle is royally mand my Lord,
Against thy entrance.

Bull.
Royally, why it containes no King.

H. Per.
Yea (my good Lord)
It doth containe a King, King Richard lies
Within the limits of yon lime and stone,
And with him the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisburie,
Sir Stephen Scroope, besides a Cleargie man
Of holy reuerence, who I cannot learne.

North.
Oh belike it is the Bishop of Carleill.

Bull.
Noble Lords,
Go to the rude ribbes of that ancient Castle,
Through brasen Trumpet send the breath of parlee
Into his ruinde eares, and thus deliuer.
H. Bull. on both his knees, doth kisse king Richards hand.
And sends alleageance and erue sayth of heart
To his royall person: hither come
Euen at his feete, to lay my armes and power:
Prouided, that my banishment repeald,
And lands restored againe be freely graunted;
If not, Ile vfe the aduantage of my power,
And lay the summers dust with showres of blood,
Rainde from the woundes of slaughtered Englishmen?
The which, how far off from the minde of Bullingbrooks
It is, such crimson tempest should be drench
The fresh greene lap of faire King Richards land,
My stooping duetie tenderly shall shew.
Go signifie as much, while heere we march
Vpon the grassie carpet of this plaine;
Lets march without the noyse of threatning drumme,
That from this Castles tattered battlements,
Our faire appoyntments may be well perusde.
Me thinkes King Richard and my selfe should meete
With no lesse terrour then the Elements
Of Fire and Water, when their thundring smoake,
At meeting teares the cloudy cheekes of heauen.
Be he the Fire, Ile be the yeelding Water;
The rage be his, whilst on the earth I raigne
My Water's on the earth, and not on him:
March on, and marke King Richard how he lookes.

The Trumpet sound, Richard appeareth on the walles.

Bul.
See see, King Richard doth himselfe appeare,
As doth the blushing discontented Sunne
From out the fiery portall of the East,
When he perceiues the enuious cloudes are bent
To dimme his glory, and to staine the tracks
Of his bright passage to the Occident.

Yorke.
Yet lookes he like a King, behold his eye,
As bright as is the Eagles, lightens foorth
Controlling Maiestie; alacke for woe,
That any harme should staine so faire a shew.

King.
We are amazed, and thus hang haue we stood,
To watch the fearfull bending of thy knee,
Because we thought our selfe the lawfull King:
And if we be, how dare thy ioynts forget
To pay their awefull dutie to our presence?
If we be not, shew vs the hand of God
That hath dismist vs from our Stewardship:
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone,
Can gripe the sacred handle of our Scepter,
Vnlesse he do prophane, steale, or vsurpe:
And though you thinke that all as you haue done,
Haue torne their soules, by turning them from vs,
And we are barren and bereft of friendes:
Yet know, my Maister GOD omnipotent,
Is mustering in his cloudes on our behalfe,
Armies of Pestilence, and they shall strike
Your Children yet vnborne, and vnbegot,
That lift you vassaile handes against my head,
And threat the glory of my precious Crowne,
Tell Bullingbrooke (for yon mee thinkes he stands)
That euery stride he makes vpon my land,
Is dangerous treason: he is come to open
The purple testament of bleeding Warre:
But ere the Crowne he lookes for, liue in peace,
Ten thousand bloody crownes of mothers sonnes,
Shall ill become the flower of Englands face,
Change the complexion of her Mayd-pale peace,

To scarlet indignation, and bedeaw
Her pastors grasse with faythfull English blood.

North.
The King of heauen forbid, our Lord the King
Should so with ciuill and uncivill armes
Be rusht vpon. Thy thrise noble Coosin,
Harry Bullingbrooke doth humbly kisse thy hand,
And by the honourable Tombe he sweares,
That stands vpon your royal Grandfires bones,
And by the royalties of both your bloods
Currents that spring from one most gracious head,
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,
And by the worth and honour of himselfe,
Comprising all that may be sworne or said,
His comming hither hath no further scope,
Then for his liniall royalties, and to begge
Infranchisement immediate on his knees,
Which on thy royall partie graunted once,
His glittering Armes he will commend to rust,
His barbed Steedes to Stables, and his heart
To faythfull seruice of your Maiestie.
This sweares he, as he is a Prince iust:
And as I am a Gentlem, I credit him.

King.
Northumberland, say thus: the King returnes,
His noble Coosin is right welcome hither,
And all the number of his faire demaundes
Shall be accomplisht without contradiction,
With all the gracious vtterance thou hast;
Speake to his gentle hearing kind commendes:
We do debase our selues (Coosin) do we not?
To looke so poorely, and to speake so faire?
Shall we call backe Northumberland and send
Defiance to the traitour, and so die?

Aum.
No good my Lord, lets fight with gentle wordes,
Till time lend friends, and friendes their helpfull swords.

King.
Oh God, oh God that ere this tongue of mine,
That laid the sentence of dread banishment
On yon proud man, should take it off againe,
With words of sooth! Oh that I were as great,

As is my griefe, or lesser then my name!
Or that I could forget what I haue been!
Or not remember what I must be now!
Swell'st thou (proud heart,) He giue thee scope to beat,
Since foes haue scope to beat both thee and mee.

Aum.
Northumberland comes backe fr&obar; Bullingbrooke.

King.
What must the King do now? must he submit?
The King shall do it: Must he be deposde?
The King shall be contented: Must he loose
The name of a King? a Gods name let it goe:
Ile giue my jewels for a set of Beades:
My gorgeous Pallace, for a Hermitage:
My gay Apparell, for an Almes-mans Gowne:
My figurde Goblets, for a dish of Wood:
My Scepter, for a Palmers walking Staffe:
My Subiects, for a payre of carued Saincts:
And my large Kingdome, for a little Graue,
A little little Graue, an obscure Graue;
Or, Ile be buried in the Kings hie way,
Some way of common trade, where subiectes feete
May hourely trample on their Soueraignes head;
For on my heart they tread now whilst I liue:
And buried once, why not vpon my head?
Aumerle, thou weepest (my tender-hearted Coosin)
Weele make foule weather with despised teares;
Our sighes, and they, shall lodge the summer corne,
And make a dearth in this reuolting land:
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes,
And make some pretty match with sheading teares,
And thus to drop them still vpon one place,
Till they hane fretted vs a paire of Graues
Within the earth: and theerein layde; their lies
Two kinsemen digd their Graues with weeping eyes?
Would not this ill doe well? well well I see,
I talke but idlely, and you laugh at mee.
Most mighty Prince, my Lord Northumberland,
What sayes King Bullingbrooke, will his Maiestie
Giue Richard leaue to liue till Richard die?

You make a legge, and Bullingbrooke sayes I.

North.
My Lord, in the hase court he doth attend,
To speake with you: may it please you to come downe.

King.
Downe, downe I come, like glistering Phæton,
Wanting the manage of vnruly Iades.
In the base court, base court where Kings grow base,
To come at traytors calles, and do them grace.
In the base court come downe: downe court, downe King,
For night-owles shreeke where mounting larks should sing.

Bull.
What sayes his Maiestie?

North.
Sorrow and grefe of heart,
Makes him speake fondly like a franticke man:
Yet he is come.

Bull.
Stand all apart,
And shew faire duety to his Maiestie: He kneeles downe.
My gracious Lord.

King.
Faire Coosin you debase your princely knee,
To make the base earth proud with kissing it:
Mee rather had my heart might feele your loue,
Then my vnpleased eye see your curtesie:
Vp Coosin vp, your heart is vp I know,
Thus high at least, although your knee below.

Bull.
My gracious Lord, I come but for mine owne.

King.
Your owne is yours, and I am yours and all.

Bull.
So farre be mine, my most redoubted Lord,
As my true seruice shall deserue your loue.

King.
Well you deserue; they well deserue to haue,
That know the strong'st and surest way to get:
Vnckle; giue me your hands; nay dry your eyes,
Teares shew their loue, but want their remedies.
Coosin, I am too young to be your Father,
Though you are old enough to be Heyre;
What you will haue, Ile giue and willing too:
For doe we must, what force will haue vs doe:
Set on towards London, Coosin is it so?

Bull.
Yea my good Lord.

King.
Then I must not say no. Exeunt.

Enter the Queene with her attendants.

Que.
What sport shall we deuise here in this garden,
To driue away the heauie thought of care?

Lady.
Madam weele play at bowles.

Quee.
Twill make me thinke the world is full of rubs,
And that my fortune runs against the bias.

Lady.
Madam weele daunce.

Quee.
My legs can keepe no measure in delight,
When my poore heart no measure keepes in griefe:
Therefore no dauncing girle, some other sport,

Lady.
Madam weele tell tales,

Quee.
Of sorrow or of griefe?

Lady.
Of either Madame.

Quee.
Of neither girle,
For if of ioy, being altogither wanting,
It doth remember me the more of sorrow:
Or if of griefe, being altogither had,
It addes more sorrow to my want of ioy:
For what I haue I neede not to repeate,
And what I want it bootes not to complaine.

Lady.
Madam ile sing.

Quee.
Tis well that thou hast cause,
But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weepe.

Lady.
I could weepe Madame, would it do you good.

Quee.
And I could sing would weeping do me good,
And neuer borrow any teare of thee.
But stay, here commeth the Gardiners,
Lets step into the shadow of these trees,
My wretchednesse vnto a row of pines.
They will talke of state, for euerie one doth so,
Against a change woe is fore-runne with woe. Enter Gardiners.

Gard.
Goe bind thou vp yon dangling Apricockes,
Which like vnruly children make their sire
Stoope with oppression of their prodigall weight:
Giue some supportance to the bending twigs,
Goe thou, and like an executioner

Cut off the heads of two fast growing sprayes,
That looke too loftie in our Common-wealth:
All must be euen in our gouernement.
You thus imployde, I will goe roote away
The noysome Weedes that without profit sucke
The soyles fertilitie from holsome Flowers.

Man.
Why should we in the compasse of a Pale,
Keepe law and forme, and due proportion,
Shewing in a modell our firme estate,
When our sea-walled Garden, the whole Land
Is full of Weedes; her fairest Flowers choakt vp,
Her fruit trees all vnprund her hedges ruinde,
Her Knots disordered, and her holesome Hearbes
Swarming with Caterpillers.

Gard.
Hold thy peace,
He that hath suffered this disordered Spring,
Hath now himselfe met with the fall of Leafe:
The Weedes that his broade spreading Leaues did shelter,
That seemde in eating him, to hold him vp,
Are puld vp, roote and all, by Bullingbrooke:
I meane the Earle of Wiltshire, Bushie, Greene.

Man.
What, are they dead?

Gard.
They are,
And Bullingbrooke hath seizd the wastfull King.
Oh what pittie it is, that he had not so trimde
And drest his Land; as we this Garden, at time of yeere
Do wound the barke, the skinne of our fruite trees,
Least being ouer-proud with sappo and blood,
With too much riches it confound it selfe.
Had he done so, to great and growing men,
They might haue liude to beare, and he to taste
Their fruites of duetie: superfluous branches
We loppe away, that bearing boughes may liue:
Had he done so, himselfe had borne the Crowne,
Which waste of ille houres hath quite throwne downe.

Man.
What, thinke you the King shall be deposed?

Gard.
Deprest he is already and deposds

T'is doubt he will be. Letters came last night
To a deare friend of the Duke of Yorks,
That tell blacke tidinges.

Queen.
Oh! I am prest to death through want of speaking
Thou old Adams likenesse set to dresse this Garden,
How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this vnpleasing newes;
What Eue? what Serpent hath suggested thee,
To make a second fall of cursed man?
Why dost thou say King Richard is deposde?
Darst thou, thou little better thing then earth
Diuine his downefall? Say, where, when, and how
Camst thou by this ill tidinges? speake thou wretch?

Gard.
Pardon me Madam, litle ioy haue I
To breathe these newes, yet what I say is true:
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
Of Bullingbrooke: their fortunes both are weyde.
In your Lo. scale, is nothing but himselfe,
And some few vanities that make him light:
But in the ballance of great Bullingbrooke,
Besides himselfe, are all the English Peeres,
And with that oddes, he weighes King Richard downe.
Post you to London, and you will finde it so;
I speake no more then euery one doth know.

Queene.
Nimble Mischaunce, that art so light of foote,
Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
And am I last that knowes it? Oh thou thinkest
To serue me last, that I may longest keepe
Thy sorrow in my breast: come Ladyes, goe
To meete at London Londons King in woe.
What, was I borne to this, that my sadd looke,
Should grace the triumph of great Bullingbrooke?
Gardner, for telling me these newes of woe,
Pray God the Plants thou graftst may neuer grow. Exit.

Gard.
Poore Queene, so that thy state might be no worse
I would my skill were subiect to thy curse:
Heere did she drop a teare, heere in this place,
Ile set a bancke of stew sowre Hearth-of-grace;

Rew, euen for Ruth, heere shortly shall be seene,
In remembrance of a weeping Queene, Exeunt. Enter Bullingbrooke, Aumerle, and others.

Bull.
Call foorth Bagot. Enter Bagot.
Now Bagot, freely speake thy minde,
What thou dost know of noble Glocesters death,
Who wrought it with the King, and who performde
The bloodie office of his timelesse end.

Bagot.
Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.

Bull.
Coosin, stand foorth, and looke vpon that man.

Bagot.
My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue
Scornes to vnsay what once it hath deliuered:
In that dead time when Glocesters death was plotted,
I heard you say, Is not my arme of length,
That reacheth from the restfull English court
As farre as Callice to mine Vnckles head?
Amongst much other talke, that very time,
I heard you say, that you had rather refuse
The offer of an hundred thousand Crownes,
Then Bullingbrookes returne to England, adding withall,
How blest this land would be in this your Coosins death.

Aum.
Princes, and noble Lords,
What answere shall I make to this base man?
Shall I so much dishonour my faire starres,
On equall tearmes to giue him chasticement?
Either I must, or haue mine Honour soyld
With the attainder of his slaunderous lips:
There is my gage, the manuall seale of death,
That markes thee out for Hell: thou liest,
And will maintaine what thou hast sayd, is false,
In thy heart blood, though being all too base
To slaine the temper of my knightly Sword.

Bull.
Bagot, forbeare, thou shalt not take it vp.

Aum.
Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this presence, that hath mooud me so.

Fitz.
If that thy valoure stand on simpathie,
There is my gage Aumerle, in gage to thine;

By that faire Sunne that shewes me where thou standst,
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakst it,
That thou wert cause of noble Glocesters death:
If thou deniest it twentie times, thou lyest,
And I will turne thy falshood to thy heart,
Where it was forged, with my Rapiers poynt.

Aum.
Thou darst not (coward) liue I to see the day.

Fitz.
Now by my soule, I would it were this houre.

Aum,
Fitzwaters, thou art damnd to hell for this.

L. Per.
Aumerle, thou liest, his honour is as true,
In this appeale, as thou art all vniust,
And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,
To proue it on thee to the extreamest poynt
Of mortall breathing, seize it if thou dar'st.

Aum.
And if I do not, may my hands rot off,
And neuer brandish more reuengefull steele
Ouer the glittering helmet of my foe.

Another L.
I take the earth to the like (forsworne Aumerle,)
And spur thee on with full as many lies,
As it may be hollowed in thy trecherous eare
From sinne to sinne: there is my honors pawne,
Ingage it to the tryall if thou darst.

Aum.
Who sets me else by heauen Ile throw at all.
I haue a thousand spirits in one breast,
To answer twentie thousand such as you.

Sur.
My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
The verie time Aumerle and you did talke.

Fitz.
Tis very true, you were in presence then,
And you can witnesse with me this is true.

Sur.
As false by heauen, as heauen is selfe is true.

Fitz.
Suerrie thou liest.

Sur.
Dishonourable boy, that ly shall ly so heauie on my sword,
That it shall render vengance and reuenge,
Till thou the lie-giuer, and that lie do lie,
In earth as quiet as thy fathers scull.
In proofe whereof there is my honours pawne,
Ingage it to the tryall if thou darst.

Fitz.
How fondly dost thou spurre a forward horse,
If I dare eate, or drinke, or breathe, or liue,
I dare meete Surry in a Wildernesse,
And spit vpon him whilst I say, he lyes,
And lyes, and lyes: there is my bond of fayth,
To tie thee to my strong correction:
As I intend to thriue in this new world,
Aumerle is guiltie of my true appeale.
Besides, I heard the banished Norffolke say:
That thou Aumerle didst send two of thy men
To execute the noble Duke of Calice.

Aum.
Some honest Christian trust me with a gage,
That Norfolke lyes, heere do I throw downe this,
If he may be replead to try his honour?

Bull.
These differences shall all rest vnder gage,
Till Norffolke be repeald, repeald he shall be,
And though mine enemie, restor'd againe
To all his lands and signories: when he is return'd,
Against Aumerle we will inforce his tryall.

Carl.
That honorable day shall neuer be seene:
Many a time hath banisht Norffolke fought
For Iesus Christ, in glorious Christian field,
Streaming the Ensigne of the Christian Crosse,
Against blacke Pagans, Turkes, and Saracens,
And toyld with workes of Warre, retir'd himselfe
To Italy, and there at Venice gaue
His body to a pleasant countries earth,
And his pure soule vnto his captaine Christ,
Vnder whose colours he had fought so long.

Bul.
Why Bishop, is Norffolke dead?

Carl.
As sure as I liue, my Lord.

Bul.
Sweet peace conduct his sweet soule to the bosome
Of good old Abraham: Lords appeallants,
Your differences shall all rest vnder gage,
Till we assigne you to your dayes of tryall. Enter Yorke.

Yorke.
Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee,

From plume-pluckt Richard, who with willing soule
Adopts thee Heire, and his high Scepter yeeldes
To the possession of thy royall hand:
Ascend his Trone, descending now from him,
And long liue Henrie, fourth of that name.

Bull.
In Gods name, Ile ascend the Regall throne.

Carl.
Mary God forbid.
Worst in this royall presence I may speake:
Yet best beseeming me to speake the trueth:
Would God any in this noble presence,
Were enough noble to be vpright Iudge
Of noble Richard: Then true noblenesse would
Learne him forbearance from so foule a wrong.
What subiect can giue sentence on his King?
And who sits not here that is not Richards subiect:
Theeues are not iudged, but they are by to heare,
Although apparant guilt he seene in them:
And shall the figure of Gods Maiestie,
His Captaine, steward, deputy, elect,
Annointed, crowned, planted many yeeres,
Be iudg'd by subiect and inferior breath,
And he himselfe not present! Oh forsend it God,
That in a Christian Climate soules refinde
Should shew so hainous blacke obscene a deed.
I speake to subiects, and a subiect speakes,
Stird vp by God thus boldly for his King.
My Lord of Hereford here whom you call King,
Is a foule traitour to proud Herefords King,
And if you crowne him, let me prophesie,
The blood of English shall manure the ground,
And future ages groand for his foule act,
Peace shall goe sleepe with Turkes and Infidels,
And in this seate of peace, tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin; and kinde with kinde confound:
Disorder, horror, feare and mutiny,
Shall here inbabit, and this land be cald,
The field of Golgotha and dead mens skuls.

Oh if you rayse this house against his house,
It will the wofullest diuision proue,
That euer fell vpon this cursed earth:
Preuent it, resist it, and let it not be so,
Least child, childes children crie against you woe.

North.
Well haue you argued sir, and for your paynes,
Of Capitall treason, we arrest you here:
My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge,
To keepe him safely till his day of triall.
May it please you Lords, to graunt the common suite,
Fetch hither Richard, that in common view
He may surrender, so we shall proceed without suspition.

Yorke.
I will be his conduct.

Bull.
Lords, you that are heere, are vnder our arest,
Procure your Sureties for your dayes of answere;
Litle are we beholding to your loue,
And litle looke for at your helping hands. Enter king Richard.

Rich.
Alacke why am I sent for to a King,
Before I haue shooke off the regall thoughts
Wherewith I raignd; I hardly yet haue learnt
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbes?
Giue Sorrow leaue a while to tutor me to this submission:
Yet I well remember the fauours of these men,
Were they not mine? did they not sometimes cry all hayle
To me? so Iudas did to Christ; but he in twelue,
Found trueth in all but one; I in twelue thousand none:
God saue the King, will no man say Amen:
Am I both Priest and Clarke; well then, Amen,
God saue the King, although I be not hee,
And yet Amen, if heauen do thinke him mee:
To doe what seruice am I sent for hither?

Yorke.
To doe that office of thine owne good will,
Which tired maiestie did make thee offer;
The resignation of thy State and Crowne
To Harry Bullingbrooke.

Rich.
Sease the Crowne.

Heere Coosin, on this side my hand, and on that side yours:
Now is this golden Crowne like a deepe Well,
That owes two Buckets filling one an other,
The emptier euer dauncing in the ayre,
The other downe vnseene, and full of Water:
That Bucket downe, and full of teares, am I,
Drinking my griefe, whilst you mount vp on high.

Bull.
I thought you had been willing to resigne?

Rich.
My Crowne I am, but still my Griefes are mine:
You may my Glories and my State depose,
But not my Griefes, still am I King of those.

Bul.
Part of your Cares you giue me with your Crowne.

Rich.
Your cares set vp, do not plucke my cares downe:
My care is losse of care, by old care don,
Your care is gaine of care by new care won:
The cares I giue, I haue, though giuen away,
They tend the Crowne, yet still with me they stay.

Bull.
Are you contented to resigne the Crovvne?

Rich.
I, no no I; for, I must nothing bee,
Therefore no no, for I resigne to thee.
Now marke me how I will vndoe my selfe:
I giue this heauie waight from off my head,
And this vnweildie Scepter from my hand,
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart:
With mine owne teares I wash away my balme,
With mine owne hands I giue away my Crowne,
With mine owne tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine owne breath release all duties rites,
All pompe and maiestie I do forsweare,
My Manners, Rentes, Reuenewes I forgoe,
My Actes, Decrees, and Statutes I denie:
God pardon all Oathes that are broke to me,
God keepe all Vowes vnbroke that sweare to thee:
Make me that nothing haue, with nothing grieud,
And thou with all pleasd, that hast all atchieud:
Long mayst thou liue in Richards seat to fit,
And soone lie Richard in an earthy pit:

God saue King Harry, vnkingd Richard sayes,
And send him many yeeres of Sun-shine dayes:
What more remaines.

North.
No more, but that you read
These accusations, and these greeuous crimes,
Committed by your person, and your followers,
Against the State and profit of this Land;
That by confessing them, the soules of men
May deeme that you are worthily deposde.

Rich.
Must I doe so? and must I rauell out
My weaud vp Folly, gentle Northumberland?
If thy offences were vpon record,
Would it not shame thee in so faire a troope,
To read a lecture of them, if thou wouldst,
There shouldst thou finde one haynous article,
Contayning the deposing of a King,
And cracking the strong warrant of an Oath,
Markt with a blot, damd in the booke of heauen:
Nay of you that stand and looke vpon,
Whilst that my wretchednesse doth bate my selfe;
Though some of you (with Pilat) wash your hands,
Shewing an outward pittie, yet you Pilates,
Haue heere deliuer me to my sowre Crosse,
And water can not wash away your sinne.

North.
My Lord dispatch, read ore these Articles.

Rich.
Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see;
And yet salt water blindes them not so much,
But they can see a sort of Traytors heere:
Nay, if I turne mine eyes vpon my selfe,
I find my selfe a Traytor with the rest;
For I haue giuen heere my soules consent
To vndecke the pompous body of a King;
Made Glory bace, and Soueraigntie a slaue;
Proud Maiestie a subiect, State a peasant.

North.
My Lord.

Rich.
No Lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,
Nor no mans Lord; I haue no name, no title,

No not that name was giuen me at the Font,
But tis ysurpt; alacke the heauie day
That I haue worne so many Winters out,
And know not now, what name to call my selfe:
O that I were a mockerie King of Snow,
Standing before the sunne of Bullingbrooke,
To melt my selfe away in water drops.
Good King, great King; and yet not greatly good:
And if my name be starling, yet in Englang
Let it commaund a mirour hether strayte
That it may shew me what a face I haue,
Since it is banckrout of his Maiestie.

Bull.
Goe some of you and fetch a Looking-glasse.

North.
Read ore this paper while the Glasse doth come.

Rich.
Feind, thou torments me ere I come to Hell.

Bull.
Vrge it no more my Lord Northumberland.

North.
The Commons will not then be satisfied.

Rich.
They shall be satisfied, Ile read enough,
When I do see the very Booke indeed,
Where all my sinnes are writ, and that's my selfe.
Giue me the Glasse: no deeper wrinckles yet?
Hath Sorrow stroke so many blowes vpon this
Face of mine, and made no deeper woundes?
Oh flattering Glasse, like to my followers in prosperitie!
Was this the face that euery day vnder his
Houshould roofe did keepe ten thousand men?
Was this the face that faast so many follies,
And was at last outfaast by Bullingbrooke?
A brittle Glorie shineth in this face,
As brittle as the Glorie is the face,
For there it is crackt in a hundred shiuers:
Marke silent King the morall of this sport,
How soone my sorrow hath destroyde my face.

Bull.
The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyd
The shadow of your face.

Rich.
Say that againe: the shadow of my sorrow;
Ha lets see: tis very true, my griefe

Lies all within, and these externall manners
Of laments are meerely shadowes to the vnseene,
Griefe that swelles with silence in the tortured soule:
And I thanke thee King that not onely giuest
Me cause to wayle, but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause: Ile begge one boone,
And then be gone, and trouble you no more.

Bull.
Name it faire Coosin.

Rich.
Faire Coose, why? I am greater then a King:
For when I was a king, my flatterers were then but subiects,
Being now a subiect, I haue a King heere
To my flatterer; being so great, I haue no need to beg.

Bul.
Yet aske.

Rich.
And shall I haue it?

Bul.
You shall.

Rich.
Why then giue me leaue to goe.

Bull.
Whither?

Rich.
Whither you will, so I were from your sights.

Bull.
Goe some of you conuey him to the Tower.

Rich.
O good conuey, conueyers are you all,
That rise thus nimbly by a true Kings fall.

Bull.
On Wednesday next we solemnely set downe
Our Coronation; Lords prepare your selues. Exeunt. Manet West. Carleill, Aumerle.

Abbot.
A wofull Pageant haue we heere beheld.

Carl.
The woe's to come; the children yet vnborne,
Shall feele this day as sharpe to them as thorne.

Aum.
You holy Clergie men, is there no plot,
To rid the Realme of this pernitious blot?

Abbot.
Before I freely speake my minde herein,
You shall not onely take the Sacrament,
To bury mine intentes, but also to effect,
What euer I shall happen to deuise:
I see your browes are full of discontent,
Your heart of sorrow, and your eyes of teares;
Come home with me to supper, Ile lay a plot,
Shall shew vs all a merry day. Exeunt.

Enter Queene, with her attendants.

Queene.
This way the King will come, this is the way
To Iulius Cæsars ill erected Tower,
To whose flint bosome my condemned Lord
Is doomde a prisoner by proud Bullingbrooke.
Heere let vs rest, if this rebellious earth
Haue any resting for her true Kings Queene. Enter Richard.
But soft, but see, or rather, do not see,
My faire Rose wither: yet looke vp, behold,
That you in pittie may dissolue to deaw,
And wash him fresh againe with true loue teares.
Ah thou the modell vvhere old Troy did stand!
Thou mappe of Honour, thou King Richards toombe,
And not King Richard: thou most beauteous Inne,
Why should hard fauourd griefe be lodged in thee,
When triumph is become an Alehouse guest?

Rich.
Ioyne not with griefe, faire woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden, learne good soule,
To thinke our former state a happy dreame,
From which awakt, the trueth of what we are,
Shewes vs but this: I am sworne (brother sweete)
To grimme Necessitie, and he and I
Will keepe a league till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloyster thee in some religious house:
Our holy liues must winne a new worlds Crowne,
Which our praphane houres heere, haue throwne downe.

Queene.
What is my Richard both in shape and minde,
Transformd and weakned? hath Bullingbrooke
Deposde thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
The Lyon dying thrusteth foorth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage,
To be o'repowerd, and wilt thou Pupil-like
Take thy correction, mildely kisse the rodde,
And fawne on Rage with bace humilitie,
Which art a Lion and a King of beastes.

King.
A King of Beastes indeed, if aught but beast,

I had been still a happy King of men.
Good (sometime Queene) prepare thee hence for France,
Thinke I am dead, and that euen heere thou takest
As from my death-bed my last liuing leaue.
In Winters tedious nights sit by the fire
With good old folkes, and let them tell thee tales
Of woefull ages long agoe betide,
And ere thou bid good night, to quite their griefe,
Tell thou the lamentable tale of me,
And sende the hearers weeping to their beds:
For why, the sencelesse brands will simpathy
The heauie accent of thy mouing tongue,
And in compassion weepe the fire out;
And some will mourne in ashes, some cole blacke,
For the deposing of a rightfull King. Enter Northumberland.

North.
My Lord, the minde of Bullingbrooke is changde,
You must to Pomfret, not vnto the Tower.
And Madam, there is order tane for you,
With all swift speed you must away to France.

King.
Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithall
The mounting Bullingbrooke ascendes my throne,
The time shall not be many houres of age
More then it is, ere foule sinne gathering head,
Shall breake into corruption, thou shalt thinke,
Though he deuide the Realme, and giue thee halfe,
It is too little helping him to all:
He shall thinke that thou which knowst the way
To plant vnrightfull Kinges, vvill knovv againe,
Being nere so litle vrgd another vvay,
To plucke him headlong from the vsurped throne.
The loue of vvicked men conuerts to feare,
That feare, to hate; and hate turnes one or both
The vvorthy danger and deserued death.

North.
My guilt be on my head, and there an end:
Take leaue and part, for you must part foorthwith.

King.
Doubly diuorc't, (badde men) you violate

A twofold mariage, betwixt my Crowne and me,
And then betwixt me, and my maried wife.
Let me vnkisse the oath betwixt thee and me:
And yet not so, for with a kisse t'was made,
Part vs Northumberland, I towards the North,
Where sheuering cold and sicknesse pines the clime:
My Wife to France, from whence set foorth in pompe,
She came adorned hither, like sweete May,
Sent backe like Hollowmas, or shortst of day.

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

King.
I, hand from hand (my loue) and heart from heart.

Queene.
Banish vs both, and send the King with me.

King.
That were some loue, but litle policie.

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

King.
So two togither weeping, make one woe;
Weepe for me in France, I for thee heere,
Better farre off then neere be neare the neere:
Goe count thy way with sighes, I mine with groanes.

Queene.
So longest way shall haue the longest moanes.

King.
Twise for one step Ile grone, the way being short,
And peece the way out with a heauie heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow lets be briefe,
Since wedding it, there is such length in griefe:
One kisse shall stoppe our mouthes, and doubly part,
Thus giue I mine, and thus take I thy heart:

Queene.
Giue me my owne againe, twere no good part,
To take on me to keepe, and kill thy heart.
So now I haue mine owne againe, be gone,
That I may striue to kill it with a groane.

King.
We make Woe wanton with this fond delay,
Once more adew, the rest let sorrow say. Exeunt. Enter Duke of Yorke and the Dutchesse.

Dutc.
My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you breake the story
Of our two Coosins comming into London.

Yorke.
Where did I leaue?

Dutc.
At that sad stop my Lord,

Where rude misgouernd hands from windowes tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richards head.

Yorke.
Then (as I sayd) the Duke great Bullingbrooke;
Mounted vpon a hote and fierie steede,
Which his aspiring rider seemde to know,
With slow, but stately pace kept on his course,
While all tongues tride, God saue the Bullingbrooke,
You would haue thought the very Windowes spake:
So many greedy lookes of young and old,
Through Casements darted their desiring eyes
Vpon his visage, and that all the Walles,
With painted imagery had savd at once,
Iesu preserue the welcome Bullingbrooke,
Whilst he from the one side to the other turning
Bare-headed, lower then his proud Steeds necke
Bespake them thus, I thanke you Countrymen:
And thus still doing, thus he past along.

Dut.
Alacke poore Richard, where rides he the whilst?

Yorke.
As in a Theater the eyes of men,
After a well graced Actor leaues the Stage,
Are idely bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious
Euen so, or with much more contempt mens eyes
Did scoule on gentle Richard, no man cried God saue him:
No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home,
But Dust was throwne vpon his sacred head;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shooke off,
His face still combating with teares and smiles,
The badges of his griefe and patience,
That lied not God for some strong purpose steeld
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And Barbarisme it selfe haue pittied him:
But Heauen hath a hand in these euentes,
To whose high will we bound our calme contentes.
To Bullingbrooke are we sworne subiect now,
Whose state and honour I for ay allow.

Dut.
Heere comes my sonne Aumerle. (Enter Aum.

Yorke.
Aumerle that was,
But that is lost, for being Richards friend:
And Madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in Parliament pledge for his trueth
And lasting fealtie to the new made King.

Dut.
Welcome my sonne, who art the Violets now,
That strew the greene lappe of the new-come spring.

Aum.
Madam I know not, nor I greatly care not,
God knowes I had as liefe be none as one.

Yorke.
Well, beare you well in this new spring of time,
Least you be cropt before you come to prime.
What newes from Oxford do these iusts & triumphs hold.

Aum.
For aught I know (my Lord) they do.

Yorke.
You will be there I know.

Aum.
If God preuent not I purpose so.

York.
What seale is that that hangs without thy bosome?
Yea, lookst thou pale? let me see the writing.

Aum.
My Lord, tis nothing.

Yorke.
No matter then who see 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 haue seene.

York.
Which for some reasons (sir) I meane to see.
I feare, I feare.

Dut.
What should you feare?
Tis nothing but some band that he is entred into
For gay apparrell against the triumph.

Yorke.
Bound to himselfe, what doth he with a Bond
That he is bound to: Wife, thou art a foole;
Boy, let me see the writing.

Aum.
I do beseech you pardon me, I may not shew it.

Yorke.
I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say; He plucks it out of his bosome, and reades it.
Treason, soule treason villaine, traytor, slaue.

Dut.
What is the matter, my Lord?

Yorke.
Ho, who is within there? saddle my Horse:

God for his mercy! what trechery is here?

Du.
Why, what is it my Lord?

Yorke.
Giue me my bootes I say, saddle my horse,
Now by mine honour, my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villaine.

Du.
What is the matter?

Yorke.
Peace foolish woman.

Du.
I will not peace, what is the matter Aumerle?

Aum.
Good mother be content, it is no more
Then my poore life must answere.

Du.
Thy life answere?

Yorke.
Bring me my bootes, I will vnto the King. His Man enters with his Bootes.

Du.
Strike him Aumerle, poore boy thou art amazd,
Hence villaine, neuer more come in my sight.

Yorke.
Giue me my bootes I say.

Du.
Why Yorke, what wilt thou do?
Wilt not thou hide the trespasse of thine owne?
Haue we more sonnes? or are we like to haue?
Is not my teeming date drunke vp with time?
And wilt thou plucke my faire sonne from mine age,
And robbe mee of a happie mothers name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine owne?

Yorke.
Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceale this darke conspiracie?
A doozen of them heere, haue tane the sacrament,
And interchangeably set downe their hands,
To kill the King at Oxford.

Du.
He shall be none, weele keepe him heere,
Then what is that to him?

Yor.
A way fond woman, were he twentie times my sonne,
I would appeach him.

Du.
Hadst thou groand for him as I haue done,
Thou wouldst be more pittifull:
But now I know thy minde, thou dost suspect
That I haue beene disloyall to thy bed,
And that he is a bastard, not thy sonne:

Sweete Yorke, sweete husband be not of that minde,
He is as lik thee as a man may be,
Not like me or any of my kinne,
And yet I loue him.

Yorke.
Make way vnruly woman. Exit.

Du.
After Aumerle: mount thee vpon his horse,
Spur, post, and get before him to the King,
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee,
Ile not be long behind, though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as Yorke,
And neuer will I rise vp from the ground,
Till Bullingbrooke haue pardoned thee, away, be gone. Enter the King with his Nobles.

King H.
Can no man tell me of my vnthriftie sonne?
Tis full three months since I did see him last;
If any plague hang ouer vs, tis hee;
I would to God my Lords, he might be found:
Inquire at London mongst the Tauernes there,
For there they say, he daily doth frequent,
With vnrestrained loose companions,
Euen such (they say) as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and robbe our passengers,
Which he yong wanton and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honor to support so dissolute a crew.

H. Per.
My Lord, some two daies since I saw the Prince,
And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.

King.
And what said the gallant?

Percie.
His answere was, he would to the stewes,
And from the commonest creature plucke a gloue,
And weare it as a fauour, and with that
He would vnhorse the lustiest Challenger.

King H.
As dissolute as desperate, yet through both
I see some sparkles of better hope, which elder yeares
May happily bring forth. But who comes heere? Enter Aumerle amazed.

Aum.
Where is the King?

King H.
What meanes our coosin that he stares and lookes so wildly?

Aum.
God saue your Grace; I do besech your Maiestie,
To haue some conference with your Grace alone.

King.
Withdraw your selues, and leaue vs heere alone:
What is the matter with our Coosin now?

Aum.
For euer may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleaue to my roofe within my mouth,
Vnlesse a pardon ere I rise or speake.

King.
Intended, or committed, was this fault?
If on the first, how heynous ere it be,
To winne thy after lone, I pardon thee.

Aum.
Then giue me leaue that I may turne the key,
That no man enter till my tale be done.

King.
Haue thy desire. The Duke of Yorke knockes at the doore and cryeth.

Yorke.
My liege beware, looke to thy selfe,
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

King.
Villaine, Ile make thee safe.

Au.
Stay thy reuengefull hand thou hast no cause to feare.

Yorke.
Open the doore, secure foole hardy King,
Shall I for loue speake treason to thy face?
Open the doore, or I will breake it open.

King.
What is the matter vncle, speake, recouer breath,
Tell vs, how neere is danger,
That we may arme vs to encounter it?

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

Aum.
Remember as thou read'st, thy promise past,
I doe repent me, rende not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

Yorke.
It was (villaine) ere thy hand did set is downe:
I tore it from the traitors bosome (King)
Feare, and not loue, begets his penitence:
Forget to pitty him, lest thy pitty proue
A serpent, that will sting thee to the heart,

King.
O heynous, strong, and bolde conspiracy.
O loyall father of a treacherous sonne!
Thou sheere immaculate and siluer Fountaine,

From whence this streame through muddy passages
Hath hald his current, and defilde himselfe:
Thy ouerflow of good conuertes to bad,
And thy aboundant goodnes shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing sonne.

Yorke.
So shall my Vertue, be his Vices baude,
And he shall spend mine honour, with his shame,
As thriftles Sonnet, their scraping Fathers Gold:
Mine honour liues when his dishonour dies:
Or my shamde life in his dishonour lies:
Thou kilst me in his life giuing him breath,
The traytor hues, the true man's put to death.

Dut.
What ho, my Liege for Gods sake let me in.

King.
What shrill voyc'd suppliant makes this eger cry?

Dut.
A Woman, and thy Aunt (great King) tis I,
Speake with me, pitty me, open the doore,
A Beggar begs, that neuer begd before.

King.
Our scene is altred from a serious thing,
And now changde to the Beggar and the King:
My dangerous Coosin, let your Mother in.
I know she is come to pray for your foule sinne.

Yorke.
If thou do pardon whosoeuer pray,
More sinnes for this forgiueness, prosper may:
This festred ioynt cut off the felt rest sound,
This let alone, will all the rest confound.

Dut.
Oh King, beleeue not this hard-hatred man
Loue louing not it selfe, none other can.

Yorke.
Thou frantike woman, what dost thou make here?
Shall thy old dugs once more a traytor reare?

Dut.
Sweete Yorke be patient, heare me gentle Liege.

King H.
Rise vp good Aunt.

Dut.
Not yet I thee beseech,
For euer will I walke vpon my knees,
And neuer see day that the happy sees,
Till thou giue ioy; vntill thou bid me ioy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.

Aum.
Vnto my mothers prayers I bend my knee.

Yorke.
Against them both my true ioynts bended be,
Ill mayst thou thriue if thou graunt any grace.

Dutc.
Pleades he in earnest? looke vpon his face:
His eyes do drop no teares, his prayers are in iest,
His wordes do come from his mouth, ours from our breast:
He prayes but faintly, and would be denide,
We pray with heart and soule, and all beside:
His weary ioynts vvould gladly rise I knovv,
Our knees still kneele till to the ground they grow:
His prayers are full of false hypocrisie,
Ours of true zeale and deepe integritie;
Our prayers do out-pray his, then let them haue
That mercy which true prayer ought to haue.

King.
Good Aunt stand vp.

Dutc.
Nay, do not say, stand vp;
Say pardon first, and afterwards stand vp,
And if I were thy nurse thy tongue to teach,
Pardon should be the first word of thy speach:
I neuer longd to heare a word till now,
Say pardon King, let pittie teach thee how:
The word is short, but not so short as sweete;
No word like Pardon for Kings mouthes so meete.

Yorke.
Speake it in French, King say, Pardonne moy.

Dutch.
Dost thou teach pardon? pardon to destroy:
Ah my sowre Husband, my hard hearted Lord!
That sets the word it selfe against the word;
Speake pardon as tis currant in our land,
The chopping French we do not vnderstand:
Thine eye begins to speake, set thy tongue there,
Or in thy piteous heart, plant thou thine eare,
That hearing how our plaints and prayers doe pierce,
Pittie may mooue thee pardon to rehearse.

King H.
Good Aunt stand vp.

Dutch.
I doe not sue to stand;
Pardon is all the sute I haue in hand.

King.
I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.

Dutch.
O happy vantage of a kneeling knee.

Yet am I sicke for feare, speake it againe;
Twice saying Pardon, doth not pardon twaine,
But makes one Pardon strong.

King.
I pardon him with all my heart.

Dutc.
A God on earth thou art.

King
But for our trusty brother in law and the Abbot,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction strait shall dog them at the heeles,
Good vncle helpe to order seuerall powers
To Oxford, or where ere these traitours are,
They shall not liue within this world I sweare,
But I will haue them, if I once know where,
Vncle farewell, and coosin adue,
Your mother well hath prayed, and prooue you true.

Dutc.
Come my olde sonne, I pray God make thee new. Exeunt. Manet Sir Pierce Exton &c.

Exton.
Didst thou not marke the K. what works he spake?
Haue I no friend will rid me of this liuing feare?
Was it not so?

Man.
These were his very wordes.

Exton.
Haue I no friend quoth he? he spake it twice,
And vrgde it twice together, did he not?

Man.
He did.

Exton.
and speaking it, he wistly lookt on me,
As wh&obar; should say, I would thou wert the man,
That would diuorce this terrour from my heart,
Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, lets go,
I am the Kings friend, and will rid his foe. Exeunt. Enter Richard alone.

Rich.
I haue been studying how to compare
This Prison where I liue, vnto the world:
And for because the world is populous,
And heere is not a creature out my selfe,
I can not do it: yet Ile hammer it out:
My braine Ile prooue the famale to my soule;
My soule the father, and these two beget
A generation of stil-breeding thoughts:

And these same thoughts people this little world,
In humours like the people of this world:
For no thought is contented: the better sort,
As thoughts of things diuine are intermixt
With scruples, and do set the word it selfe
Against thy word, as thus: Come little ones, and then againe
It is as hard to come as for a Cammell
To threed the small posterne of a small needles eye:
Thoughts tending to ambition they doe plot
Vnlikely wonders: how these vaine weake nayles
May teare a passage thorow the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walles:
And for they cannot die in their owne pride,
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselues,
That they are not the first of Fortunes slaues,
Nor shall not be the last, like seely beggars;
Who sitting in the Stockes, refuge their shame,
That many haue, and others must sit there.
And in this thought they finde a kind of ease,
Bearing their owne misfortunes on the backe
Of such as haue before indurde the like.
Thus play I in one Prison many people,
And none contented; sometimes am I a King,
Then treasons make me wish my selfe a Begger,
And so I am: then crushing Penurie
Perswades me I was better when a King;
Then am I a King againe, and by and by,
Thinke that I am vnkingde by Bullingbrooke,
And straite am nothing. But what ere I be,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleasde, till he be easde
With being nothing. Musicke do I heare; Musicke playes.
Ha, ha, keepe time; how sowre sweete Musicke is
When Time is broke, and no proportion kept;
So is it in the musicke of mens liues:
And heere haue I the daintinesse of eare
To checke Time broke in disordered string:

But for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an eare to heare my true Time broke:
I wasted Time, and now doth Time waste me:
For now hath Time made his numbring clocke;
My thoughts are minuts, and with sighes they farre,
Their watches on vnto mine eyes the outward watch
Whereto my Finger like a Dials poynt,
Is poynting still, in cleansing them from teares.
Now lie, the sound that tels what houre it is,
Are clamorous groanes, which strike vpon my heart,
Which is the Bell: so sighes, and Teares, and Groanes,
Shew Minutes, Times, and Houres: but my Time
Runnes posting on in Bullingbrookes proud ioy,
While I stand fooling heere his iacke of the Clocke:
This Musicke maddes me, let it sound no more,
For though it haue holpe madd men to their wits,
In me it seemes it will make wise men madd.
Yet blessing on his heart that giues it me,
For t'is a signe of loue: aud loue to Richard,
Is a strange Brooch in this al-hating world. Enter a Groome of the Stable.

Groome.
Haile royall Prince.

Rich.
Thankes noble Peare:
The cheapest of vs is ten groats too deare.
What art thou? and how commest thou hither,
Where no man neuer comes but that sad Dogge,
That bringes me food to make misfortune liue?

Groome.
I was a poore Groome of thy stable, King,
When thou wert King: who trauelling towards Yorke,
With much adoe (at length) haue gotten leaue,
To looke vpon my sometimes royall maisters face:
Oh how it ernd my heart, when I beheld
In London streetes that Coronation day,
When Bullingbrooke rode on Roane Barbarie,
That Horse, that thou so often hast bestride,
That Horse, that I so carefully haue drest.

Rich.
Rode he on Barbarie, tell me gentle friend,

How went he vnder him?

Groome.
So proudly, as if he disdaind the ground.

Rich.
So proud that Bullingbrooke was on his backe:
That Iade hath eate bread from my royall hand;
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him:
Would he not stumble? would he not fall downe?
Since pride must haue a fall, and breake the necke
Of that proud man, that did vsurpe his backe?
Forgiuenes Horse, why do I rayle on thee?
Since thou created to be awde by man,
Wast borne to beare, I was not made a Horse,
And yet I beare a burthen like an Asse,
Spurrde, galde, and tyrde by iauncing Bullingbrooke.

Keeper.
Fellow giue place, heere is no longer stay.

Rich.
If thou loue me, tis time thou wert away.

Groo.
What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. Exit Groome. Enter one to Richard with meat.

Keeper.
My Lord, wilt please you to fall to?

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

Keeper.
My Lord I dare not, sir Pierce of Exton,
Who lately came from the king, commands the contrary.

Rich.
The diuell take Henry of Lancaster and thee:
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

Keeper.
Helpe, helpe, helpe. The murderers rush in.

Rich.
How now, what meanes Death in this rude assault?
Villaine, thy owne hand yeelds thy deaths instrument,
Goe thou and fill another roome in Hell. Heere Exton strikes him downe.

Rich.
That hand shall burne in neuer-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person: Exton, thy fierce hand
Hath with the Kings blood staind the Kings owne land:
Mount, mount my soule, thy seate is vp on hie,
Whilst my grosse flesh sinkes downeward heere to die.

Exton.
As full of valoure, as of royall blood:
Both haue I spilld; Oh would the deed were good!
For now the Diuell that told me I did well,

Sayes that this deed is chronicled in Hell:
This dead King to the liuing King Ile beare,
Take hence the rell, & giue them buriall heere. Exit. Enter Bullingbroke with the Duke of York.

King.
Kind vnckle Yorke, the latest newes we heare,
Is, that the Rebels haue consumed with fire
Our towne of Ciceter in Glocestershire:
But whether they be tane or slaine, we heare not:
Welcome my Lord, what is the newes? Enter Northumberland.

North.
First, to thy sacred state wish I all happinesse;
The next newes is, I haue to London sent
The heades of Oxford, Salisburie, and Kent:
The manner of their taking may appeare
At large discoursed in this Paper heere.

King.
We thanke thee gentle Percie for thy paynes,
And to thy worth will adde right worthy gaines. Enter Lord Fitzwaters.

Fitz.
My Lord, I haue from Oxford sent to London,
The heads of Broccas, and sir Benet Seely;
Two of the dangerous consorted Traytors,
That sought at Oxford thy dire ouerthrow.

King.
Thy paines Fitz: shall not be forgot,
Right noble is thy merit well I wot. Enter Henrie Percie.

Per.
The graund conspirator Abbot of Westminster,
With clogge of conscience and sowre melancholie,
Hath yeelded vp his body to the Graue;
But heere is Carleil liuing, to abide
Thy kingly doome, and sentence of his pride.

King.
Carleil, this is your doome,
Choose out some secret place, some reuerend roome
More then thou hast, and with it ioy thy life,
So as thou liu'st in peace, die free from strife:
For though mine enemie thou hast euer been,
High sparkes of honour in thee haue I seene.

Enter Exton with the Coffin.

Exton.
Great King, within this Coffin I present
Thy buried feare: herein all breathlesse lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Burdeaux, by mee hither brought.

King.
Exton, I thanke thee not, for thou hast wrought
A deede of slaughter with thy fatall hand,
Vpon my head, and all this famous land.

Exton.
From your owne mouth (my Lo.) did I this deed.

King.
They loue not poyson, that do poyson need,
Nor doe I thee, though I did wish him dead;
I hate the murtherer, loue him murthered:
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor princely fauour:
With Caine goe wander through the shade of night,
And neuer shew thy head by day nor light.
Lords, I protest my soule is full of woe,
That blood should sprinckle me to make me grow:
Come mourne with me, for what I doe lament,
And put on sullen blacke incontinent:
Ile make a voyage to the Holy land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.
March sadly after, grace my mournings heere,
In weeping after this vntimely Beere.

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