Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd
T'execution, and the hand of death.

Busby. More welcome is the ftroak of death to me, Than Bolingbroke to England.Lords, farewel. Green. My comfort is, that heav'n will take our fouls, And plague injuftice with the pains of hell.

Boling. My lord Northumberland, fee them dispatch'd. Uncle, you fay the Queen is at your houfe; For heav'n's fake, fairly let her be intreated; Tell her, I fend to her my kind Commends ; Take fpecial care, my Greetings be deliver❜d. York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd With letters of your love to her at large. [away, Boling. Thanks, gentle Uncle: come, my lords, To fight with Glendower and his Complices; A while to Work; and, after, Holy-day.

SCENE II.

Changes to the Coast of Wales.
Flourish: Drums and Trumpets.

[Exeunt.

Enter King Richard, Aumerle, Bishop of Carlisle, and Soldiers.

Arkloughly-caftle call this at hand?

you

K. Rich. Aum. Yea, my good lord; how brooks

your Grace the air,

After your toffing on the breaking Seas?

K. Rich. Needs muft I like it well: I weep for joy
To ftand upon my Kingdom once again.
Dear Earth, I do falute thee with my hand,
Though Rebels wound thee with their horfes' hoofs:
As a long-parted mother with her child

Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting;
So weeping, fmiling, greet I thee my Earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy Sovereign's foe, my gentle Earth,

Nor

Nor with thy fweets comfort his rav'nous sense:
But let thy fpiders that fuck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lye in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with ufurping steps do trample thee.
Yield ftinking nettles to mine enemies;

And, when they from thy bofom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pr'ythee, with a lurking adder;
Whofe double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy Sovereign's enemies.
Mock not my fenfelefs conjuration, lords;
This Earth fhall have a Feeling: and thefe ftones
Prove armed foldiers, ere her native King
Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms.

[you King,
Bishop. Fear not, my lord; that Pow'r, that made
Hath pow'r to keep you King, in spight of all.
The means, that heaven yields, must be embrac'd,
And not neglected: elfe if heaven would,
And we would not heav'n's offer, we refufe
The profer'd means of fuccour and redrefs.

Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remifs; Whilft Bolingbroke, through our fecurity, Grows ftrong and great, in fubftance and in power, K. Rich. Discomfortable Coufin, know'st thou not, "That when the fearching eye of heav'n is hid "Behind the globe, (a) and lights the lower world; "Then thieves and robbers range abroad unfeen, "In murders, and in outrage bloody here. "But when from under this terreftrial ball "He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, "And darts his light through ev'ry guilty hole; "Then murders, treafons, and detefted fins, "The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,

8 The means, that heaven, &c.] The four lines that follow from the first Edition.

[(a) and Oxford Editor. Vulg. that.]

Mr. Pope.

"Stand

"Stand bare and naked, trembling at themfelves."
So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
* Whilft we were wand'ring with th' Antipodes,
Shall fee us rifing in our Throne, the caft;
His treasons will fit blufhing in his face,
Not able to endure the fight of day;
But, felf-affrighted, tremble at his fin.
Not all the water in the rough rude fea
Can wash the balm from an anointed King;
The breath of worldly men cannot depofe
The Deputy elected by the Lord.
For every man that Bolingbroke hath preft,
To lift sharp fteel against our golden Crown,
Heav'n for his Richard hath in heav'nly Pay
A glorious Angel; then if angels fight,

Weak men mult fall, for heav'n ftill guards the Right.

Welcome, my lord, how far off lies your Power?
Salif. Nor near, nor farther off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm: Difcomfort guides my tongue,
And bids me speak of nothing but Defpair:
One day (too late, I fear, my noble lord)
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.
Oh, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou fhalt have twelve thousand fighting men.
To day, to day,
unhappy day too late
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state.
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, difperft and fled. [fo pale?
Aum. Comfort, my Liege, why looks your Grace
K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand men

2 Whilft we were wand'ring &c.] This line added from the firft Edition.

Mr. Pope.

Did

Did triumph in my face, and they are fled.
And till fo much blood thither come again,
Have I not reafon to look pale, and dead?
All fouls, that will be fafe, fly from my fide;
For time hath fet a blot upon my pride.

Aum. Comfort, my Liege; remember, who you are.
K. Rich. I had forgot my felf: am I not King?
Awake, thou coward Majefty, thou sleepest:
Is not the King's name forty thousand names?
Arm, arm, my Name; a puny Subject strikes
At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,
Ye fav'rites of a King! are we not high?
High be our thoughts. I know, my uncle York
Hath pow'r to serve our turn. But who comes here?
SCENE 1V.

Enter Scroop.

,,

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my Liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him!

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd: The worst is worldly lofs thou canst unfold. Say, is my Kingdom loft? why, 'twas my care: And what lofs is it, to be rid of care? Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? Greater he fhall not be; if he ferve God, We'll ferve him too, and be his fellow fo. Revolt our Subjects? that we cannot mend; They break their faith to God, as well as us. Cry, Woe, Destruction, Ruin, Lofs, Decay; The worst is death, and death will have his day. Scroop. Glad am I, that your Highness is so arm'd To bear the tidings of calamity.

Like an unfeafonable ftormy day,

Which makes the filver rivers drown their fhores,
As if the world were all diffolv'd to tears;
So high above his limits fwells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, cov'ring your fearful Land

With hard bright steel, and hearts more hard than steel.
White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy Majefty; boys with women's voices
Strive to fpeak big, and clafp their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms, against thy Crown:
Thy very Beadfmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal Ewe, against thy State:
Yea, diftaff-women manage rusty bills.
Against thy Seat both young and old rebel,
And all goes worfe than I have pow'r to tell.

K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'ft a Tale fo ill.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is he got?
What is become of Bufby? where is Green?
That they bave let the dang'rous enemy
Measure our confines with fuch peaceful fteps?
If we prevail, their heads fhall pay for it.
I warrant, they've made peace with Bolingbroke.
Scroop. Peace they have made with him, indeed, my
[tion!
K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemp-
Dogs, eafily won to fawn on any man.!
Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd, that fting my heart!
Three Judaffes, each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted fouls for this offence!

lord.

Scroop. Sweet love, I fee, changing his property, Turns to the fow'rest and most deadly hate: Again uncurfe their fouls; their peace is made [curfe, With heads, and not with hands: thofe, whom you Have felt the worft of death's deftroying hand, And lie full low, grav'd in the hallow'd ground.

4

Aum. Is Busby, Green, and th' Earl of Wiltshire dead?

3 Of double fatal Ewe,-] called fo, becaufe the leaves of the Ewe are poifon, and the wood is employed for inftruments of death; therefore double fatal fhould be with an hyphen.

4 -grav'd in the HOLLOW ground] We should read ballow'd, i. e. confecrated.

E 2

Scroop.