Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head. York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed

Which his aspiring rider seemed to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
While all tongues cried, "God save thee, Bo-
lingbroke!"

You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage: and that all the walls,
With painted imagery, had said at once,
"Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!"
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus: "I thank you, countrymen:"
And thus still doing, thus he passed along.
Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he
the while?

York. As, in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious,—

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's

eyes

Did scowl on Richard. No man cried, God save him:

No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home :
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off
(His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience),

That had not God, for some strong purpose, steeled

The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,

And barbarism itself have pitied him.

But heaven hath a hand in these events;
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

Enter AUMERle.

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. York. Aumerle that was: But that is lost, for being Richard's friend; And, madam, you must call him Rutland now. I am, in parliament, pledged for his truth And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

Duch. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets

now

That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?

Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: God knows I had as lief be none as one.

York. Well, bear you well in this new spring

of time,

York. I will be satisfied: let me see it, I say. [Snatches it, and reads. Treason; foul treason!--villain, traitor, slave! Duch. What is the matter, my lord? York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a Servant.]-Saddle my horse.God for his mercy, what treachery is here! Duch. Why, what is it, my lord? York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.[Exit Servant. Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain.

York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
Have we more sons, or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time;
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine
age,

And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee; is he not thine own?
York. Thou fond mad woman,

Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?

A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands,
To kill the King at Oxford.

Duch.

He shall be none:

Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son? 'Tis full three months since I did see him last: If any plague hang over us, 't is he.

I would to God, my lords, he might be found:
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loose companions:
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers:
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,

Takes on the point of honour to support
So dissolute a crew.

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the
Prince,

And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. Boling. And what said the gallant?

Percy. His answer was, he would unto the stews,
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour: and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
Boling. As dissolute as desperate: yet through
both

I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Which elder days may happily bring forth.-
But who comes here?

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak: Recover breath: tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it.

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt

know

The treason that my haste forbids me shew.

I tore it from the traitor's bosom, King:
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence.
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold con-
spiracy!-

O loyal father of a treacherous son;
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream, through muddy passages,
Hath held his current and defiled himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.

Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies.
Thou kill'st me in his life: giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.
Duch. [within]. What ho, my liege! for God's
sake, let me in.

Boling. What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?

Duch. A woman and thine aunt, great King:

't is I.

Speak with me, pity me, open the door :
A beggar begs that never begged before.

Boling. Our scene is altered, from a serious

thing,

And now changed to "The Beggar and the

King."

My dangerous cousin, let your mother in:
I know she's come to pray for your foul sin.
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.
This festered joint cut off, the rest rests sound:
This let alone will all the rest confound.

Enter DUCHESS.

Duch. O King, believe not this hard-hearted

man:

Love, loving not itself, none other can.

York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Duch. Sweet York, be patient.-Hear me, gentle liege. [Kneels.

Boling. Rise up, good aunt.

Duch.

Not yet, I thee beseech: For ever will I walk upon my knees, And never see day that the happy sees, Till thou give joy: until thou bid me joy, By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. Aum. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. [Kneels.

York. Against them both my true joints bended be. [Kneels.

Ill mayst thou thrive if thou grant any grace!
Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face :
His eyes do drop no tears; his prayers are in jest;
His words come from his mouth, ours from our
breast:

He prays but faintly, and would be denied ;
We

pray with heart and soul, and all beside :
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow:
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ;
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do outpray his: then let them have
That mercy which true prayers ought to have.
Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
Duch.

Nay, do not say stand up: But pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up. An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, Pardon should be the first word of thy speech. I never longed to hear a word till now; Say pardon, King: let pity teach thee how. The word is short, but not so short as sweet: No word like pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. York. Speak it in French, King: say, pardon

Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again:
Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.

Boling. I pardon him with all my heart.
Duch. A God on earth thou art!
Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, and
the abbot,

With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.—
Good uncle, help to order several powers
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are:
They shall not live within this world, I swear,
But I will have them if I once know where.
Uncle, farewell; and cousin too, adieu :
Your mother well hath prayed, and prove you true.
Duch. Come, my old son: I pray God make
thee new!

SCENE IV.

Enter EXTON and a Servant.

[Exeunt.

Exton. Didst thou not mark the King what words he spake:

"Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?" Was it not so? Serv.

Those were his very words. Exton. "Have I no friend?" quoth he. He spake it twice,

And urged it twice together: did he not?
Serv. He did.

Exton. And speaking it, he wistly looked on me,
As who should say, "I would thou wert the man
That would divorce this terror from my heart!"
Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let's go :
I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe.
[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle.

Enter KING RICHARD.

K. Rich. I have been studying how I may

compare

This prison where I live unto the world:
And for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul;
My soul the father: and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
And these same thoughts people this little world;
In humours like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better sort