shop of CARLISLE, Abbot of WESTMINSTER, and
Attendants. Officers behind, with BAGOT.
Boling. Call forth Bagot!

Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind,
What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death,
Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd
The bloody office of his timeless end!

Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle.
Boling.Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man!
Bagot. My lord Aumerle,I know, your daring tongue
Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd.
In that dead time, when Gloster's death was plotted,
I heard you say: Is not my arm of length,
That reacheth from the restful English court
As far as Calais, to my uncle's head?
Amongst much other talk, that very time,
I heard you say, that you had rather refuse
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns,
Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
Adding withal, how blest this land would be,
In this your cousin's death.

Aum. Princes, and noble lords,

What answer shall I make to this base man ?
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,
On equal terms to give him chastisement?
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd
With the attainder of his sland'rous lips.-
There is my gage, the manual seal of death,
That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest,
And will maintain, what thou hast said is false,
In thy heart-blood, thou being all too base
To stain the temper of my knightly sword.
Boling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up.
Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this presence, that hath mov'd me so.

Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathies,
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine.
By that fair sun, that shows me where thou stand'st,
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it,
That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death.
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest,
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.
Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day.
Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would, it were this hour.
Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this.
Percy. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true,
In this appeal, as thou art all unjust.

And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage,
To prove it on thee, to the extremest point
Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar'st!
Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off,
And never brandish more revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe!
Lord. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle:
And spur thee on with full as many lies,
As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear
From sun to sun. There is my honour's pawn ;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st!

Aum. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all.
I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.
Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
The very time, Aumerle and you did talk.
Fitz. My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence then;
And you can witness with me, this is true.
Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.
Fitz. Surrey, thou liest!
Surrey. Dishonourable boy!

That lie shall lye so heavy on my sword,
That it shall render vengeance and revenge,
Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lye
In earth as quiet, as thy father's scull.

In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st!
Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,
And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies,
And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith,
To tie thee to my strong correction.—
As I intend to thrive in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.
Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say,
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men,
To execute the noble duke at Calais.

Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage,
That Norfolk lies! here do I throw down this,
If he may be repueal'd to try his honour.
Boling. These differences shall all rest under gage,
Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be,
And, though mine enemy, restor❜d again

To all his land and signories; when he's return'd,
Against Aumerle we will enforce this trial.
Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.—
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ, in glorious Christian field
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross,
Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens,
And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself
To Italy, and there, at Venice, gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth,
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.
Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?
Car. As sure as I live, my lord.

Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the

bosom

Of good old Abraham! - Lords appellants,
Your differences shall all rest under gage,
Till we assign you to your days of trial.

Enter YORK, attended.

York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee
From plume-pluck'd Richard, who with willing soul
Adopts thee heir, and his high scepter yields
To the possession of thy royal hand.
Ascend his throne, descending now from him,
And long live Henry, of that name the fourth!
Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne.
Car. Marry, God forbid!

Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
Would God, that any in this noble presence
Were enough noble, to be upright judge
Of noble Richard! then true nobless would
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
What subject can give sentence on his king?
And who sits here that is not Richard's subject?
Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear,
Although apparent guilt be seen in them.
And shall the figure of God's majesty,
His captain, steward, deputy elect,
Anointed, crowned, planted many years,
Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath,
And he himself not present? O, forbid it, God,
That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!
I speak to subjects, and a 'subject speaks,
Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king.
My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king:
And if you crown him, let me prophesy,-
The blood of English shall manure the ground,
And future ages groan for this foul act;
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars

God save the king! - Will no man say amen?
Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen!
God save the king! although I be not he;
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.
To do what service am I sent for hither?

York. To do that office, of thine own good will,
Which tired majesty did make thee offer:
The resignation of thy state and crown
To Henry Bolingbroke.

K. Rich. Give me the crown! - Here, cousin, seize

Here, on this side, my hand, on that side, thine!
Now is this golden crown like a deep well,
That owes two buckets filling one another;
The emptier ever dancing in the air,
The other down, unseen, and full of water:
The bucket down, and full of tears, am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.
Boling. I thought, you had been willing to resign.
K.Rich. My crown, I am; but still my griefs are mine.
You may my glories and my state depose,
But not my griefs; still am I king of those.
Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your

K. Rich. Your cares, set up, do not pluck my cares down.

With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths.
All pomp and majesty I do forswear;
My manors, rents, and revenues, I forego;
My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny:
God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me!
God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee!
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd;
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd!,
Long may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit!
God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says,
And send him many years of sunshine days! -
What more remains?

My care is loss of care, by old care done;
Your care is gain of care, by new care won:
The cares Igive, I have, though given away;
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.
Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown?
K. Rich. Ay, no ;-no, ay: - for I must nothing be;
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.
Now mark me, how I will undo myself!-
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy scepter from my hand,
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart.
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,

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K. Rich. Fair cousin? Why, I am greater, than a king. K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; ifaught but beasts,

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended.
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, where-
withal

The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering 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 now'st the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way
To pluck him headlong from the 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 an end.
Take leave, and part! for you must part forthwith.
K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd?- Bad men, ye violate
A twofold marriage: 'twixt my crown and me,

And then, betwixt me and my married wife.
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me!
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. -
Part us, Northumberland! I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither, like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day.

Queen. And must we be divided? must we part?
K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart
from heart.

That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.

But heaven hath a hand in these events;

To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
Enter AUMERLE.

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle,
York. Aumerle that was;

But that is lost, for being Richard's friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
am in parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
Duch. Welcome, my son! Who are the violets now,
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?
Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not:
God knows, I had as lief be none, as one.

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me!
North. That were some love, but little policy.
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go!
K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe.
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
Better far off, than-near, be ne'er the near'.
Go, count thy way with sighs, I mine with groans.
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans.
K. Rich. Twice for one steep I'll groan, the way be-Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
ing short,

And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
Thus give I mine, and thus I take 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, begone,
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.

York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,

What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs?

I

Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do.
York. You will be there, I know.

Aum. If God prevent it not, I purpose so.
York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy
bosom?

Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing!
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

York. No matter then who sees it.

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 have seen.
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear,-

Duch. What should you fear?

Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest, 'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into When weeping made you break the story off

Of our two cousins coming into London.

York. Where did I leave?

Duch. At that sad stop, my lord,

Where rude misgovera'd hands, from window's tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling-
broke,

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,
While all tongues cried: God save thee,

broke!

For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.
York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond,
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. -
Boy, let me see the writing!
Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me! I may not show it.
York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.

[Snatches it, and reads. Treason! foul treason!-- villain! traitor! slave! Duch. What is the matter, my lord?

York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a Servant.]
Saddle my horse!

Boling-God for his mercy! what treachery is here!
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord?

You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage; and that all the walls,
With painted imag'ry, had said at once;
Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower, than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus:- I thank you, countrymen :
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.
Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while?
York. As in a theatre the eyes of men,
After a well grac'd actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him!
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head,
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience,

York. Give me my boots, I say! saddle my
For by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
I will impeach the villain!

Duch. What's the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman!

horse!

[Exit Servant.

Duch. I will not peace! - What is the matter, son?
Aum. Good mother, be content: it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
Duch. Thy life answer!

York. Bring me my boots! I will unto the king.
Re-enter Servant, with boots.
Duch. Strike him, Aumerle! - Poor boy, thou art

amaz'd:

Hence, villain; never more come in my sight!-
[To the Servant.

York. Give me my boots, I say.
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 kin,
And yet I love him.

York. Make way, unruly woman!

[Exit

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 other Lords.

Boling. 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.

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the
prince,

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

Percy. 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.

Enter YORK.

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak!
Recover breath! tell us, how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.

York. 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 do repent me. Read not: my name there!
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.-
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king;
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence;
Forget to pity him! lest thy pity prove

A serpent, that will sting thee to the heart.
Boling. 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,
Bath 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.
Mine honour lives, when his dishonour dies,
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 liege! for God's sake
let me in!

Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this
eager cry?

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door!

A beggar begs, that never begg'd before.

Boling. Our scene is alter'd, from a serious thing, And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King.

Boling. As dissolute, as desperate! yet, through both My dangerous cousin, let your mother in!

I see some sparkles of a better hope,

Which elder days may happily bring forth.

But who comes here?

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.