Upon the graffie carpet of this Plain ;

Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum,
That from this Castle's tatter'd battlements

Our fair appointments may be well perus'd.
Methinks, King Richard and my self should meet
With no less terror than the elements

Of fire and water, when their thund'ring Shock,
At meeting, tears the cloudy cheeks of heav'n :
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water;
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain
My waters; on the earth, and not on him.
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.

Parle without, and answer within; then a flourish.
Enter, on the walls, King Richard, the Bishop of
Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop and Salisbury.

See! fee! King Richard doth himself appear,
As doth the blufhing difcontented Sun,
From out the fiery portal of the East,
When he perceives, the envious clouds are bent
To dim his Glory; and to ftain the tract

Of his bright paffage to the Occident.

York. Yet looks he like a King: behold his eye; As bright as is the Eagle's, lightens forth Controlling Majefty; alack, for woe,

That any harm should stain fo fair a fhow!

K. Rich. We are amaz'd, and thus long have we stood

To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, [To North.
Because we thought our felf thy lawful King;
And, if we be, how dare thy joints forget
Το pay their awful duty to our prefence?
If we be not, fhew us the hand of God,
That hath difmifs'd us from our Stewardship.
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can gripe the facred handle of our Scepter,
Unless he do prophane, fteal, or ufurp.

And though you think, that all, as you have done,.
Have torn their fouls, by turning them from us,

And we are barren, and bereft of friends:

C 3

Yet

Yet know, My Mafter, God omnipotent,
Is muft'ring in his clouds on our behalf
Armies of Peftilence; and they shall strike
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot,
That lift your vaffal hands against my head,
And threat the Glory of my precious Crown.
Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond, methinks, he is)
That every ftride he makes upon my Land
Is dangerous treafon. He is come to ope
The purple Teftament of bleeding War;

But ere the Crown, he looks for, live in peace, (8)
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' fons
Shall ill become the flow'r of England's face;
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To fcarlet indignation; and bedew

Her Pafture's grafs with faithful English blood.

North. The King of heav'n forbid, our lord the King

Should fo with civil and uncivil arms

Be rush'd upon! no, thy thrice-noble coufin,
Harry of Bolingbroke, doth kifs thy hand,
And by the honourable tomb he fwears,
That ftands upon your royal grandfire's bones,
And by the Royalties of both your bloods,

(8) But e'er the Crown, he looks for, live in Peace,
Ten thousand bloody Crowns of Mothers' Sons

Shall ill become the Flow'r of England's face;] Tho' I have not difturb'd the Text here, I cannot but think it liable to Sufpicion. A Crown living in Peace, as Mr. Warburton justly obferv'd to me, is a very odd Phrafe. He fuppofes;

But e're the Crown, he looks for, light in Peace,

i. e. defcend and fettle upon Bolingbroke's Head in Peace. Again, I have a fmall Quarrel to the third Line quoted. Would the Poet fay, That bloody Crowns fhould disfigure the Flow'rs that fpring on the Ground, and bedew the Grass with Blood? Surely, the two Images are too fimilar. I have fufpe&ted,

Shall ill become the Floor of England's Face;

i. e. Shall make a difmal Spectacle on the Surface of the Kingdom's Earth,

(Cur

(Currents, that fpring from one moft gracious head)
And by the bury'd hand of warlike Gaunt,
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Comprifing all that may be fworn, or faid,
His Coming hither hath no farther scope,
Than for his lineal Royalties, and to beg
Infranchisement immediate on his knees :
Which on thy royal party granted once,
His glitt'ring arms he will commend to rust;
His barbed fteeds to ftables; and his heart
To faithful fervice of your Majesty.
This fwears he, as he is a Prince, is juft;
And as I am a Gentleman, I credit him.

K. Rich. Northumberland, say, thus the King re

turns:

His noble Coufin is right-welcome hither,
And all the number of his fair demands
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction.
With all the gracious utterance thou haft,
Speak to his gentle Hearing kind Commends.
We do debase our felf, Coufin, do we not,
To look fo poorly, and to fpeak fo fair?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and fend
Defiance to the traitor, and fo die?

[To Aum.

Aum. No, good my lord, let's fight with gentle words,

Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. K. Rich. Oh God, oh God! that e'er this tongue of

mine,

That laid the Sentence of dread Banishment

On yond proud man, fhould take it off again

With words of Sooth; oh, that I were as great
As is my grief, or leffer than my name!
Or that I could forget what I have been,

Or not remember what I must be now!

Swell'ft thou, proud heart? I'll give thee fcope to beat, Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.

Aum. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. K. Rich. What must the King do now ? must he

fubmit?

The King fhall do it: muft he be depos'd?
The King fhall be contented: must he lose
The name of King? o' God's name, let it go.
I'll give my jewels for a fet of beads;
My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage;
My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown;
My figur'd goblets, for a difh of wood;
My fcepter, for a palmer's walking staff;
My fubjects, for a pair of carved faints;
And my large Kingdom, for a little Grave;
A little, little Grave; an obfcure Grave.
Or I'll be bury'd in the King's high way: (9)
Some way of common Tread, where Subjects' feet
May hourly trample on their Sovereign's head:
For on my heart they tread now, whilft I live;
And, bury'd once, why not upon my head?
Aumerle, thou weep'ft; (my tender-hearted coufin ! }
We'll make foul weather with despised tears;
Our fighs, and they, fhall lodge the fummer corn,
And make a dearth in this revolting Land.
Or fhall we play the Wantons with our woes,
And make fome pretty match, with fhedding tears?
As thus, to drop them ftill upon one place,
Till they have fretted us a pair of Graves
Within the earth; and therein laid, there lies
Two kinfmen, digg'd their Graves with weeping eyes?
Would not this ill do well? well, well, I fee
I talk but idly, and you mock at me.
Moft mighty Prince, my lord Northumberland,

(9) Or I'll be buried in the King's high way;

Some Way of common Trade, -] As fpecious as this Reading appears, Mr. Warburton, Mr. Bishop, and I, all concurr'd in suspecting it, and in the Amendment which ́now posfeffes the Text;

Some way of common Tread,

i. e. a high Road. He fubjoins immediately;

For on my heart they tread now, while I live;

And we know how much it is Shakespeare's way to diversify the Image with the fame Word.

What

What fays King Bolingbroke? will his Majefty
Give Richard leave to live, till Richard die ?
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke fays, ay.

North. My lord, in the base court he doth attend To speak with you, may't please you to come down. K. Rich. Down, down I come; like glift'ring Phaeton Wanting the manage of unruly jades.

In the base court? bafe court, where Kings grow base, To come at traitors' Calls, and do them grace.

In the bafe court come down? down, court; down, King;; For Night-owls fhriek, where mounting Larks. fhould fing.

Boling. What fays his Majefty ?

North. Sorrow, and Grief of Heart,

Makes him speak fondly, like a frantick Man ;

Yet is he come.

Boling. Stand all apart,

And fhew fair duty to his Majefty.

My gracious lord

[Kneels

K. Rich. Fair coufin, you debafe your princely knee,. To make the base earth proud with kiffing it. Me rather had, my heart might feel your love, Than my unpleas'd eye fee your courtefie. Up, coufin, up; your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least, although your knee be low.

Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.. K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. Boling. So far be mine, my moft redoubted lord, As my true fervice fhall deferve your love.

K: Rich. Well you deserve: they well deferve to have,.. That know the strong'st and surest way to get. Uncle, give me your hand; nay, dry your eyes ; Tears fhew their love, but want their remedies. Coufin, I am too young to be your father, Though you are old enough to be my heir. What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; For do we muft, what force will have us do. Set on towards London. Coufin, is it fo ? Boling. Yea, my good lord.

K. Rich. Then I must not fay, no. [Flourish. Exeunt.

C 5

SCENE