K. Rich.
Barkloughly-castle call you this at hand?

Aum.
Yea, my good lord; how brooks your grace the air,
After your tossing on the breaking seas?

K. Rich.
Needs must I like it well; I weep for joy
To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horses hoofs:
As a long-parted mother with her child,
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting;
So weeping, smiling, greet I thee my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy soveraign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense:
But let thy spiders that suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lye in their way,
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet
Which with usurping steps do trample thee.
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it I pr'ythee with a lurking adder;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy soveraign's enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration, Lords;
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native King
Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms.

Bishop.
Fear not, my lord, that Pow'r that made you King
Hath pow'r to keep you King, in spight of all.
^{a note}The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd,
And not neglected: else if heaven would
And we would not, heav'n's offer we refuse,
The proffer'd means of succour and redress.

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

K. Rich.
Discomfortable cousin, know'st thou not,
That when the searching eye of heav'n is hid
Behind the globe, that lights the lower world;
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders, and in outrage bloody here.
But when from under this terrestrial ball
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his ^{b note}light through ev'ry guilty hole;
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.
So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
^{c note}Whilst we were wand'ring with th'Antipodes,
Shall see us rising in our throne, the east;
His treasons will set blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day;
But self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed King;
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord.
For every man that Bolingbroke hath prest,
To lift sharp steel against our golden crown,
Heav'n for his Richard hath in heav'nly pay
A glorious angel; then if angels fight,
Weak men must fall, for heav'n still guards the right.

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