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Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd
Bufby. More welcome is the stroak of death to me,
Green. My comfort is, that heav’n will take our souls,
Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.
York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd
Boling. Thanks, gentle Uncle: come, my lords,
Flourish: Drums and Trumpets.
this at hand?
K. Rich. Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous fense:
Bijhop. Fear not, my lord; that Pow'r, that made
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss Whilft Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great, in substance and in power,
K. Rich. Discomfortable Cousin, know'st thou not, “ That when the tearching eye of heav'n is hid “ Behind the globe, (a) and lights the lower world “ Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, “ In murders, and in outrage bloody here. < But when from under this terrestrial ball “ He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, “ And darts his light through ev'ry guilty hole ; “ Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, “ 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.
Mr. Pope. [(a) and. Oxford Editor. - Vulg. tbar.]
“ Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.'
SC EN N E III..
Enter Salisbury. Welcome, my lord, how far off lies your Power?
Salif. Nor near, nor farther off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm : Discomfort guides my tongue, And bids me speak of nothing but Despair : 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 shalt 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, disperst and fied. [fo pale ? Aum. Comfort, my Liege, why looks your Grace K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand men 2 Whilf we were wand'ring &c.] This line added from the first Edition.
Mr. Pope. VOL. IV.
Did triumph in my face, and they are fted.
Aum. Comfort, my Liege ; remember, who you are.
K. Rich. I had forgot my self: am I not King? Awake, thou coward Majesty, 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 comeshere? Ś CE N E IV.
I Enter Scroop
I Scroop. More health and happiness betide my Liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him!
K. Ricb. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd : The worst is worldly lofs thou canst unfold. Say, is my Kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care : And what loss is it, to be rid of care ? Strives Boling broke to be as great as we? Greater he shall not be ; if he ferve God, We'll serve 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 10 arm'd To bear the tidings of calamity. Like an unseasonable stormy day, Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, As if the world were all diffoly'd to tears; So high above his limits swells the rage Of Bilingbroke, cov’ring your fearful Land
With hard bright steel, and hearts more hard than steel.
K. Rich Too well, too well, thou tell’st a Tale fo ill.
for it. I warrant, they've made peace with Bolingbroke. Scroop. Peace they have made with him, indeed, my lord.
[tion! K. Ricb. O villains, vipers, damn’d without redempDogs, easily won to fawn on any man! Snakes in my heart-blood warm’d, that fting my heart ! Three Judasses, each one thrice worse than Judas! Would they make peace ? terrible hell make war Upon their spotted souls for this offence!
Scroop. Sweet love, I fee, changing his property, Turns to the sow'rest and most deadly hate : Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made [curse, With heads, and not with hands : those, whom you Have felt the worst of death's destroying hand, And lie full low, - gravid in the hallow'd ground.
Aum. Is Bufhy, Green, and th' Earl of Wiltshire dead? 3 Of double-fatal Ewe,-) called fo, because the leaves of the Eweare poison, and the wood is employed for instruments of death ; therefore double faral should be with an hyphen.
gravid in the HOLLOW ground.) We should read ballow'd, i.e. consecrated. E 2