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Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! Whilst he, from one side to the other turuing, 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 uext, 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,-
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 ayet 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:
I am in parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the vio

lets 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 oue.

York. Well, bear you well in this new spring

of time,

Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime, What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs ?

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 sinall 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?

'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into

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

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Than my poor life must answer.
Duch. Thy life answer!

Re-enter Servant, with Boots. York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art amaz'd:

Hence, villain I 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 t
Have we more sous? 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 foud 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;

[bim!

We'll keep him here: Then what is that to

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'd'st 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:
lie 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;

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SCENE II.-Windsor.-A Room in the
Castle.

Enter BOLINGBROKE as King; PERCY, and other LORDS.

Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty sou? 'Tis full three months since I did see hisn 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 Loy,
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;

• Breeding.

And from the common'st creature pluck a Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,

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your majesty,

To have some conference with your grace alone.
Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us
here alone.-
[Exeunt PERCY and LORDS.

What is the matter with our cousin now ?
Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the
[Kneels.
earth,
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon, ere I rise or speak.
Boling. 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 key,

That no man enter till my tale be done.
Boling. Have thy desire.

[AUMERLE locks the door.

York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to
thyself;

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe.

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;

Thou hast no cause to fear.

[Drawing.

York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool

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.
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.

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Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, [Kneels.

gentle liege.

Boling. Rise up, good aunt,
Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech:
For ever will I kneel upon my knees,
And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.
Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my
[Kneels.
York. Against them both, my true joints
bended be.
[Kneels.
Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!
Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his

knee.

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hardy king:

Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face ?

Open the door, or I will break it open.

[BOLING BROKE opens the door.

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.

side:

His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know

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mise past:

have

That mercy, which true prayers ought to have.
Boling. Good annt, stand up.
Duch. Nay, do not say-stand up;

The treason that my haste forbids me show.

Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy pro- Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them

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 conspi

racy!

O royal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy pas-
sages,

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 1 sou.
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:

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. I

Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to de-
stroy;

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.

• Transparent.

+ Transgressing.

An old ballad.

+ Do.

Excuse me.

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 abbhot,

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 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 beggar,
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 I am,
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,

With all the rest of that consorted crew, -
Destruction straight shall dog them at the With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd

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.

Exton. Did'st thou not mark the king, what words he spake ?

Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?

Was it not so ?

Serv. Those were his very words.
Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he he
spake it twice,

And urg'd it twice together; did he not ?
Serv. He did.

Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd

on me;

man

As who should say, I would thou wert the
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.

With being nothing.-Music do I hear?

[Music. Ha, ha! keep time:-How sour sweet mu

sic 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
[watch,
Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward
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,
[time
Show minutes, times, and hours:- but my
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, is 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
[Exeunt. Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Enter GROOM.

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Groom. Hail, royal prince !
K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer;

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.

K. Rich. I have been studying how I may What art thou? and how comest thou hither,

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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 sometimes master's face.

And these same thoughts people this little Oh! how it yearu'd my heart, when I beheld,

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As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd
With scruples, and do set the word itself
Against the word : I

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 them-

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Of that proud man that did usurp

his The next news is I have to London sent

back?

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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 tongue dares not, that my heart shall sav. [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.

Keep. Help, help, help!

[Beats the KEEPER.

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.
[high;
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to-
die.
[Dies.
Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood:
Roth 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.

Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear

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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. 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.
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 West-
minster,

With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy,
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle living to abide
Thy kingly dooin 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 pre

sent

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 la-
bour,

vour:

But neither my good word, nor princely fa-
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,

hand :

Is-that the rebels have consum'd with fire
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire;
[not.
But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.
Welcome, my lord: What is the news?
North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all In weeping after this untimely bier.

To wash this blood off from my guilty
March sadly after; grace my mournings
here,

happiness.

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[Exeunt.

It was long the prevailing opinion that Sir Piers Exton, and others of his guards, fell upon Richard in the castle of Pomfret, where he was confined, and despatched him with their halberts. But it is more probable that he was starved to death in prison; and it is said that he prolonged his unhappy life for a fortnight, after all sustenance was denied him, before he reached the end of his miseries. Hume.

14.

3 D

FIRST PART

OF

KING HENRY IV.

LITERARY AND HISTORICAL NOTICE.

SHAKSPEARE wrote this dramatic history about the year 1597, founding it upon six old plays previously published. The action commences with Hotspur's defeat of the Scots at Halidown Hill, Sep. 14, 1402; and closes with the defeat and death of that leader at Shrewsbury, July 21, 1403. None of Shakspeare's plays are perhaps so frequently read, as this and the one which succeeds it; but the want of ladies, and matter to interest females, lies so heavily upon it, that even with an excellent Falstaff, it can only enjoy occasional life upon the stage. The speeches of King Henry, though clothed in a fine, stately, and nervous diction, are much too long; and a deal of the humour, sparkling as it is, cannot be heard without a blush. The scene of the carriers is grossly indecent, and so very low, that it might be rejected without the slightest injury to the piece. The choleric Hotspur, and the mad-cap Prince of Wales, are, however, charming portraits; great, original, and just; exhibiting the nicest discernment in the character of mankind, and presenting a moral of very general application. But the subtle roguery of Falstaff---his laughable soliloquies---his whimsical investigations, --and his invincible assumption---(the richer and more ludicrous when opposed to his sneaking cowardice) are strokes of dramatic genius which render this 'fat old man' the leading attraction of the play: and though his character is vicious in every respect, he is furnished with so much wit, as to be almost too great a favourite.

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Which,-like the meteors of a troubled beaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way; and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,

(Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engag'd to fight,)
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers'
womb

To chase these pagans, in those holy fields,
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet,
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd
For our advantage, on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose is a twelve-month old,

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