Enter QUEEN and Ladies.

Queen. This way the king will come; this is

the way
To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected a tower,
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.

Enter KING RICHARD and Guards.
But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold;
That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;b

a Ill-erected-erected for evil.

b The queen, in a series of bold metaphors, compares

Thou map of honour; thou King Richard's tomb, And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn, a

Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do

not so,

To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul, To think our former state a happy dream; From which awak'd, the truth of what we are

her "condemned lord" to a ruin, or a mere outward form of greatness. He is "the model where old Troy did stand"the representation of the waste on which the most renowned city of antiquity once stood.

a Inn. We doubt whether the word is here used as Falstaff uses it- Shall I not take mine ease in nine inn?" An inn was originally a dwelling-a place of cover or protection. We have still the Inns of Court; Loid Braybrooke's seat in Essex, commonly called Audley-End, is, probably, Audley-Inn. When the queen opposes the term ale-house to inn, she certainly does not mean, as Monck Mason thinks, to discriminate between two classes of houses of entertain. ment, but between a public-house and a "beauteous mansion."

Shews us but this: I am sworn brother," sweet, To grim necessity; and he and I

Will keep a league till death. Hic thee to
France,

And cloister thee in some religious house:
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken
down.

Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape

and mind

Transform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bolingbroke Depos'd thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?

The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod;
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts ?

K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts,

I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for
France:

Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st,

As from my death-bed, my last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire
With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales
Of woeful ages, long ago betid:

And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,

And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,
And, in compassion, weep the fire out :
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
For the deposing of a rightful king.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended. \ North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd;

You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;
With all swift speed you must away to France.
K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where-
withal

The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head,
Shall break into corruption: thou shalt think,
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half,

a Sworn brother, Military adventurers were sometimes leagued to share each others' fortunes-to divide their plunder, and even their honours. They were then fratres jurati -sworn brothers.

It is too little, helping him to all:

And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way

To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er so little urg'd another way,
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both,
To worthy danger, and deserved death.

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.

Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.

K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd ?-Bad men, ye violate

A twofold marriage; 'twixt my crown and

K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short,

And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.

a The kiss was a established form of the ancient ceremony of affiancing. (See Illustrations of Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act II. Scene II.) b Queen. So the folio. The quartos wife.

c Hallowmas. The first of November,-opposed to "sweet May."

d Ne'er the near. Some deem this a proverbial expression, meaning not nearer to good. It appears to us here to mean "never the nearer."

SCENE II.-The same. A Room in the Duke of York's Palace.

Enter YORK and his DUCHESS.1

Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,

When weeping made you break the story off
Of our two cousins coming into London.
York. Where did I leave?
Duch.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows'
tops,

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 seem'd to know,
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,
While all tongues cried-God save thee, Boling-
broke!

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,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus,-I thank you, countrymen :
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.
Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he
the whilst?

York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-grac'd 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, steel'd

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 pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets

York.

No matter then who sees it: I will be satisfied,—let me see the writing. Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; It is a matter of small consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have seen. York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear,

It is pleasant, in reading what has been written upon Shakspere, to meet occasionally with the genial criticism of one who understands him. Dryden, speaking of this celebrated passage, says, "The painting of this description is so lively, and the words so moving, that I have scarce read anything comparable to it in any other language."

b Aumerle that was. Aumerle was deprived of his dukedom by an act of Henry's first Parliament; but was suffered to retained his earldom of Rutland.

The seal was formerly not impressed on the deed itselt, but attached to it by a slip of parchment. The Great Sea is applied in a similar manner at the present day.

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.

Heaven for his mercy! what treachery is here!
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord?
York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my
horse:-

Now by my honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain.
Duch.

[Exit Servant. What's the matter?

Re-enter Servant, with boots. York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king.

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art amaz'd:

Hence, villain: never more come in my sight.-[To the Servant.

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; We'll keep him here: Then what is that to him? York. Away,

Fond woman! were he twenty times my son
I would appeach him.

140

[SCENE III

Duch. As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect That I have been disloyal to thy bed, And that he is a bastard, not thy son:

Hadst thou groan'd for him,

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
He is as like thee as a man may be,
Not like to me, or any of my kin,
And yet I love him.
York.

Make way, unruly woman.
[Exit.

Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his

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 Heaven, 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 launes,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,a
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,

a While he. This is Pope's alteration of the origina! Which he

In the folio these lines stand thus:

"I see some sparks of better hope; which elder days May happily bring forth. But who comes here?" The usual reading is certainly an improvement; and severa: of the quartos have sparkles.

Which elder days may happily bring forth.

But who comes here?

Aum. Boling.

Enter AUMERLE, hastily.

Where is the king?

What means Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your majesty,

To have some conference with your grace alone. Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. [Exeunt PERCY and Lords. What is the matter with our cousin now? Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, [Kneels.

My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak.

Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault?

If on the first, how heinous ere it be,
To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.
Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn

the key,

That no man enter till my tale be done.
Boling. Have thy desire.

[AUMERLE locks the door. York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to thyself;

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;

Thou hast no cause to fear.

York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, foolhardy king;

Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?
Open the door, or I will break it open.
[BOLINGBROKE opens the door.
Enter YORK.

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.
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy pro-

mise past:

I do repent me; read not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.
York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it
down.-

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 conspiracy!

O loyal father of a treacherous son!

Thou sheer," immaculate, and silver fountain, From whence this stream through muddy pas

sages

Hath held his current, and defil'd 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 father's gold.
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my sham'd 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
heaven's sake let me in.

Boling. What shrill-voic'd 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 begg'd before.

Boling. Our scene is alter'd,-from a serious thing,

And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King.
My dangerous cousin, let mother in;
your
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 fester'd 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,"

a Sheer means separated, unmingled, free from admixture-and thus pure.

b Walk upon my knees. This is the reading of the first quarto. The folio has kneel upon my knees, which is a redundancy. We say to walk upon our hands and feet; and why not then upon our knees? To walk is figuratively used for to move generally. Thus, in Spenser,

"From every coast that heaven walks about." In our poet's 128th sonnet, addressing a lady playing on the virginal, he speaks of the keys of the instrument as

"Those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait."