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His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have
That mercy, which true prayers ought to have.

Boling. Good aunt, stand up.

Duch. Nay, do not say—stand up;
But, pardon first; and afterwards stand up.
And 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 pardonnez moy.
Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy ?
Ah, 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 pierce,
Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse.

Boling. Good aunt, stand up.

Duch. I do not sue to stand,
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
Boling. 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.

Boling. With all my heart
I pardon him.
Duch. A God on earth thou art.

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law,-and the abbot,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
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 ;-) pray God make thee new.

[Exeunt SCENE IV.

Enter Exton, and a SERVANT. Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake ? Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? as it not so?

* Forces.

Serv. Those were his very words.
Exton. Have I no friend ? quoth he; he spake it twice,
And urged it twice together; did he not?

Serv. He did.

Exton. And, speaking it, he wistly* look'd on me; 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. The Dungeon of the Castle.

K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare
This prison, where I live, unto the world:
And, for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it ;-yet I'll hammer it 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;t
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.
Thought 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 ease,
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endured the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people,
And none contented; sometimes am I king;
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am: then crushing penury.
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again; ard, by-and-by,
Think that I am unking'd by Bölingbroke,
And straight nothing :-But, whate'er I am,
* Wistfully.
+ His own body.

The Scriptures.

Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleased, till hé be eased
With being nothing.-Music do I hear?

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 wit
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 GROOY.
Groom. 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 never comes, but that sad dog
That brings me food, to make misfortune live ?

Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,
With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimell master's face.
0, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld,
In London streets, that coronation day,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary!
The horse, that thou so often hast bestrid;
That horse, that I so carefully have dress', !

K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,
How went he under him ?

Groom. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground.
K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!
* Tick.

+ 1.e. dial-plate. # The figure of a man that struck the hours on a bell. Unusual ornament.

| Former.

That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
This hand hath made him proud

with clapping him.
Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down
(Since pride must have a fall), and break the neck
Of that proud man that did usurp his back ?
Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be awed by man,
Was born to bear? I was not made a horse ;
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spur-gall’d, and tired, 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. Groom. What my tongué 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 Lately came from the king, commands the contrary.

K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the KEEPER. Keep. Help, help, help!

Enter Exton, and Servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude assault ? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

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

Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood : Both have I spilt; 0, 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

Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
Is that the rebels have consumed with fire

* Jaunting.

Our town of Cicester in Glostershire;
But whether they be ta’en, or slain, we hear not.

Welcome, my lord: What is the news ?

North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The 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

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

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.

Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot ;
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter PERCY, with the Bishop of CARLISLE.
Percy. 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.

Boling. 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.
Exton. 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.
Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought
A deed of slander with thy fatal hand,
Upon my head, and all this famous land.

Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.
Boling. 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.-.

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