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

Bufby. More welcome is the stroak of death to me,
Than Bolingbroke to England. -Lords, farewel.

Green. My comfort is, that heav’n will take our souls,
And plague injustice with the pains of hell.

Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.
Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house ;
For heav'n's fake, fairly let her be intreated ;
Tell her, I send to her my kind Commends
Take special 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. [Exeunt.

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SCENE II.
Changes to the Coast of Wales.

Flourish: Drums and Trumpets.
Enter King Richard, Aumerle, Bishop of Carlisle,

and Soldiers.
K. Rich. B Arkloughly-cafile call you

this at hand?
your Grace the air,
After your tossing on the breaking Seas?

K. Rich. Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy
To stand upon my Kingdom once again.
Dear Earth, I do falute thee with my hand,
Though Rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs:
As a long-parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting;
So weeping, smiling, greet I thee my Earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy Sovereign's foc, my gentle Earth,

Nor

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Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous fense:
But let thy spiders 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 stinking nettles to mine enemies;
And, when they froin thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I prythee, with a lurking adder ;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy Sovereign's enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords ;
This Earth shall have a Feeling: and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, cre her native King
Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms. [you King,

Bijhop. 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 : else if heaven would,
And we would not heav'n's offer, we refuse
The profer'd means of fuccour and redrefs.

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

“ Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.'
So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath reveli'd in the night,
- Whilst we were wand'ring with th' Antipodes;
Shall see us rising in our Throne, the east;
His treasons will fit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day;
But, self-affrighted, tremble at his fin.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed King;
The breath of worldly men cannot depole
The Deputy elected by the Lord.
For every man that Bolingbroke hath prest,
To lift sharp steel against our golden Crown,
Heay'n for his Richard hath in heav'nly Pay
A glorious Angel; then if angels fight,
Weak men mult fall, for heav'n still guards the Right.

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.

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Did triumph in my face, and they are fted.
And till so much blood thither come again,
Have I not reafoni to look pale, and dead ?
All souls, that will be safe, fly from my side;
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

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.
White beards have arm’d their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy Majesty ; boys with women's voices
Strive to speak big, and clasp their female joints
In ftiff unwieldy arms, against thy Crown:
Thy very Beadfmen learn to bend their bow's
3 Of double-fatal Ewe, againft thy State:
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills.
Against thy Seat both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have pow'r to tell.

K. Rich Too well, too well, thou tell’st a Tale fo ill.
Where is the Earl of W'iltshire? where is he got?
What is become of Buffy where is Green?
That they bave let the dang’rous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps ?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay

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

Scroop.

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