North.
My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd:

You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.
And, Madam, there is order ta'en for you:
With all swift speed, you must away to France.

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

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

K. Rich.
Doubly divorc'd? Bad men, ye violate
A two-fold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me:
And then betwixt me and my married wife.
Let me unkiss the oath, 'twixt thee and me: [To the Queen.
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.
Part us, Northumberland: I, towards the North,
Where shiv'ring cold and sickness pines the clime:
My Queen to France; from whence, set forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hollowmas, or shortest day.

Queen.
And must we be divided? must we part?
Banish us both, and send the King with me.

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

K. Rich.
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. [They kiss.

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

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

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