Sivut kuvina
PDF
ePub

A CT III.

SCENE, Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol.

Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Rofs, Percy, Willoughby, with Buthy and Green Prisoners.

BOLINGBROKE.

RING forth these men.

B Buby and Green, I will not vex your fouls

(Since presently your fouls muft part your bodies)
With too much urging your pernicious lives;
For 'twere no charity: yet to wash your blood
From cff my hands, here, in the view of men,
I will unfold fome caufes of your deaths.
You have mif-led a Prince, a royal King,
A happy Gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappy'd, and disfigur'd clean.
You have, in manner, with your finful hours
Made a divorce betwixt his Queen and him;
Broke the Poffeffion of a royal Bed,

And ftain'd the Beauty of a fair Queen's cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes, with your foul wrongs.
My felf, a Prince, by fortune of my birth,
Near to the King in blood, (and near in love,
Till you did make him mif-interpret me,)
Have stoopt my neck under your injuries;
And figh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of Banifhment:
While you have fed upon my Signiories;
Dif-park'd my Parks, and fell'd my foreft-woods;
From mine own windows torn my houfhold Coat;
Raz'd out my Imprefs; leaving me no fign,
Save mens' opinions, and my living blood,
To fhew the world I am a gentleman.

This, and much more, much more than twice all this,

Con

Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd
Texecution, and the hand of death.

Bushy. 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 difpatch'd. Uncle, you fay the Queen is at your house; 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.

Boling. Thanks, gentle Uncle: come, my lords, away; (6)

A while to Work; and, after, Holy-day.

(6) Thanks, gentle Uncle; Come, my Lords, away,

To fight with Glendower and his Complices,

[Exeunt.

A while to Work, and after Holyday.] Tho' the intermediate Line has taken Poffeffion of all the old Copies, I have great Sufpicion of its being an Interpolation; and have therefore ventur'd to throw it out. The first and third Line rhyme to each other; nor, do I imagine, This was cafual, but inten ded by the Poet. Were we to acknowledge the Line genuine, it muft argue the Poet of Forgetfulness in his own Plan; and Inattention to Hiftory, of which he was most observant. Bolingbroke is, as it were, yet but juft arriv'd; He is now at Bristol; weak in his Numbers; has had no Meeting with a Parliament; nor is fo far affur'd of the Succeffion, as to think of going to fupprefs Infurrections before he is planted in the Throne. Befides, we find, the Oppofition of Glendower begins the First Part of K. Henry IV; and Mortimer's Defeat by that hardy Welshman is the Tidings of the firft Scene of that Play. Again, tho' Glendower, in the very firft Year of K. Henry IV, began to be troublesome, put in for the Supremacy of Wales, and imprison'd Mortimer; yet it was not till the fucceeding Year, that the King employ'd any Force against him

SCENE

SCENE changes to the Coaft of Wales.

Flourish: Drums and Trumpets.

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

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

your Grace the air,

for joy

After your toffing on the breaking Seas?
K. Rich. Needs muft I like it well; I weep
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 fmiles 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 with thy fweets comfort his rav'nous fenfe:
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 ftinging 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 fenfeless conjuration, lords;
This Earth fhall have a Feeling: and these ftones
Prove armed foldiers, ere her native King

Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms.

Bibop. Fear not, my lord; that Pow'r, that made you

King,

Hath pow'r to keep you King, in fpight of all.
The means, that heaven yields, must be embrac'd,
And not neglected: else if heaven would,

And

And we would not heav'n's offer, we refufe
The proffer'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. Difcomfortable Coufin, know'st thou not,
That when the fearching eye of heav'n is hid
Behind the globe, that 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,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.
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 east;
His treafons 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 fharp fteel against our golden Crown,
Heav'n for his Richard hath in heav'nly Pay
A glorious Angel; then if angels fight,

Weak men must fall, for heav'n still guards the Right.
Enter Salisbury.

Welcome, my lord, how far off lies your Power?
Salis. Nor near, nor farther off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm: Difcomfort 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,

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 ftate.
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, difperft and fled.

Aum. Comfort, my Liege, why looks your Grace fo pale?

K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand men 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 ferve our turn. But who comes here?

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 loss thou canft 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 shall 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 fo arm'd To bear the tidings of calamity.

« EdellinenJatka »