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Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?
York. Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?

A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.

Duch. He shall be none;

We'll keep him here: Then what is that to him?
York. Away,

Fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
I would appeach him.

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him,

As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful.

But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect,
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
And that he is a bastard, not thy son:

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
He is as like thee as a man may be,

Not like to me, or any of my kiu,
And yet I love him.

[exit.

York. Make way, unruly woman.
Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his
horse;

Spur, post; and get before him to the king,
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
And never will I rise up from the ground,
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away;
Begone.

[exeunt.

SCENE III. WINDSOR. A ROOM IN THE CASTLE.

Enter Bolingbroke, as King; Percy, and Lords.
Bol. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son?
'Tis full three months, since I did see him last:
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he,

I would to God, my lords, he might be found :
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loose companions;
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour, to support
So dissolute a crew.

Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your majesty,

alone.

To have some conference with your grace alone.
Bol. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here
[exeunt Percy and Lords.
What is the matter with our cousin now?
Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
[kneels.

Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak.

Bol. Intended, or committed, was this fault?
If but the first, how heinous ere it be,
To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.
Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the
That no man enter till my tale be done.

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

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

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

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

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

Per. My lord, some two days since I saw the Mine honour lives, when his dishonour dies, prince;

And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.
Bol. And what said the gallant?

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

Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.
Duch. [within.] What, ho, my licge! for God's
Leager cry?
Bol. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this
Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king,

sake let me in.

Bol. As dissolute, as desperate: yet, through both Speak with me, pity me, open the door; ['tis I.

I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Which elder days may happily bring forth.
But who comes here?

Enter Aumerle hastily.

Aum. Where is the king?

Bol. What means

Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly?

A beggar begs, that never begg'd before.

Bol. Our scene is alter'd,—from a serious thing,
And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King.
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in;
I know, she's come to pray for your foul sin.
York. If thou do pardon whosoever pray,
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may

This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound; This, let alone, will all the rest confound. Enter Duchess.

Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted Love, loving not itself, none other can. [man; York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Duch. Sweet York, be patient: hear me, gentle liege.

Bol. Rise up, good aunt.

Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech:

[kneels.

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Duch. Nay, do not say-stand up; But, pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up. An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, Pardon-should be the first word of thy speech. I never long'd to hear a word till now; Say-pardon, king; let pity teach thee how: The word is short, but not so short as sweet; No word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. York. Speak it in French, king; say, pardon[stroy? Duch. Dost thou teach pardon, pardon to deAh, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That set'st the word itself against the word !-Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land; The chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there: Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. [pierce, Bol. Good aunt, stand up. Duch. I do not sue to stand, Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

Bol. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. Duch. O happy 'vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again; Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong.

Bol. With all my heart

I pardon him.

Duch. A god on earth thou art.

[abbot,

Bol. But for our trusty brother-in-law, and the With all the rest of that consorted crew,—

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Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
Good uncle, help to order several powers
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are:
They shall not live within this world, I swear,
But I will have them, if I once know where.
Uncle, farewell,-and cousin too, adieu :
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.
Duch. Come, my old son; I pray God make
thee new.
[exeunt.
SCENE IV.-.
-Enter Exton and a Servant.

Ext. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake?

Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? Was it not so?

Ser. Those were his very words. [twice, Ext. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake it And urg'd it twice together; did he not? Ser. He did.

[me;

Ext. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on As who should say,—I would, thou wert the man That would divorce this terror from my heart; Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go; I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [exeunt.

SCENE V. POMFRET. DUNGEON OF THE CASTLE.

Enter King Richard.

K. Rich. I have been studying how I may comThis prison, where I live, unto the world. [pare And, for because the world is populous,

And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it ;-Yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul;
My soul, the father; and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
And these same thoughts people this little world ;
In humours, like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better sort,——
As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
With scruples, and do set the word itself
Against the word:

As thus,-Come, little ones; and then again,——
It is as hard to come, as for a camel
To thread the postern of a needle's eye.
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, –
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars,
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,—
That many have, and others must sit there;
And in this thought they find a kind of case
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people,
And none contented; sometimes am I king;
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggan
And so I am; then crushing penury
Persuades me, I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again; and, by-and-by,
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing:-but, whate'er 1 am,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd,
With being nothing.-Music do I hear? [music.
U

Ha, ha! keep time:-how sour sweet music is,
When time is broke, and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear,
To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
But for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock;
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jar
Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,

Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: so sighs, and tears, and groans,
Show minutes, times, and hours:-but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock.
This music mads me, let it sound no more;
For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits,
In me, it seems, it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart, that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Enter Groom.

Gro. Hail, royal prince!

K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer;
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou? and how comest thou hither,
Where no man ever comes, but that sad dog
That brings me food, to make misfortune live?
Gro. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards
York,

With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes master's face.
O, how it yearned my heart, when I beheld,
In London streets, that coronation day,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary!
That horse, that thou so often have bestrid;
That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd!
K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle
How went he under him?
[friend,
Gro. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground.
K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on

his back!

That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down,
(Since pride must have a fall), and break the neck
Of that proud man, that did usurp his back?
Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Wast born to bear! I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke.
Enter Keeper, with a dish.
Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.
[to the Groom.
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert
away.

Gro. What my tongue dares not, that my heart
shall say.
[exit.

Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to?
K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.

Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton, who [trary. Lately came from the king, commands the conK. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [and thee! [beats the Keeper.

Keep. Help, help, help!

Enter Exton and Servants, armed.

K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude assault? [ment. Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instru [snatching a weapon, and killing one.

Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

[he kills another; then Exton strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce hand. [land.

Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's owL Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die

[dies Ext. As full of valour, as of royal blood: Both have I spilt; O, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear ;Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [exeunt.

SCENE VI. WINDSOR. A ROOM IN THE CASTLE.

Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke and York, with Lords and Attendants.

Bol. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire Our town of Ci'cester in Glostershire;

But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. Enter Northumberland.

Welcome, my lord: what is the news?

[ness.

Nor. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiThe next news is,-I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent; The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here.

[presenting a paper.

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

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to

London

The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely;
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors,
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Bol. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot;
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Per. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster,

With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy,
Hath yielded up his body to the grave:
But here is Carlisle living, to abide
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.

Bol. Carlisle, this is your doom :-
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife:
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen

Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a coffin. Ext. Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. Bol. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, [wrought Upon my head, and all this famous land. [deed. Ext. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this Bol. They love not poison, that do poison need, Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered.

The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor princely favour:
With Cain go wander through the shade of night,
And never show thy head by day nor light..
Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe,
That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow
Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,
And put on sullen black incontinent;
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:
March sadly after; grace my mournings here,
In weeping after this untimely bier.

[exunt

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Vincentio, Duke of Vienna.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

Angelo, Lord Deputy in the Duke's absence.

Elbow, a simple Constable. Froth, a foolish Gentleman.

Escalus, an antient Lord, joined with Angelo in the Depu- Clown, Servant to Mrs. Over-done.

tation.

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Abhorson, an Executioner.

Barnardine, a dissolute Prisoner.

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SCENE I. AN APARTMENT IN THE DUKE'S PALACE. Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords, and Attendants. Duke. ESCALUS,

Esc. My lord.

Duke. Of government the properties to unfold, Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse; Since I am put to know that your own science Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice My strength can give you: then no more remains But that to your sufficiency, as your worth is able, And let them work. The nature of our people, Our city's institutions, and the terms For common justice, you are as pregnant in, As art and practice hath enriched any That we remember: there is our commission, From which we would not have you warp.-Call hither,

I say, bid come before us Angelo.

[exit an Attendant. What figure of us think you he will bear? For you must know, we have with special soul Elected him our absence to supply; Lent him our terror, drest him with our love; And given his deputation all the organs Of our own power: what think you of it? Esc. If any in Vienna be of worth To undergo such ample grace and honour, It is lord Angelo.

Enter Angelo.

Duke. Look, where he comes.

Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, I come to know your pleasure.

Duke. Angelo,

There is a kind of character in thy life,
That, to the observer, doth thy history
Fully unfold: thyself and thy belongings
Are not thine own so proper, as to waste
Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee.
Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do;
Not light them for themselves: for if our virtues

Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike [touch'd,
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely
But to fine issues: nor nature never lends
The smallest scruple of her excellence,
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
Herself the glory of a creditor,

Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech
To one that can my part in him advértise;
Hold therefore, Angelo;

In our remove, be thou at full ourself;
Mortality and mercy in Vienna

Live in thy tongue and heart: Old Escalus,
Though first in question, is thy secondary:
Take thy commission.

Ang. Now, good my lord,

Let there be some more test made of my metal,
Before so noble and so great a figure
Be stamp'd upon it.

Duke. No more evasion:

We have, with a leaven'd and prepared choice,
Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition,
That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd
Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,
As time and our concernings shall impórtune,
How it goes with us; and do look to know
What doth befal you here. So, fare you well:
To the hopeful execution do I leave you
Of your commissions.

Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord,

That we may bring you something on the way. Duke. My haste may not admit it;

Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do
With any scruple: your scope is as mine own,
So to enforce, or qualify the laws,

As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand;
I'll privily away: I love the people,
But do not like to stage me to their eyes:
Though it do well, I do not relish well
Their loud applause, and aves vehement;

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