The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine Eye begins to speak, fet thy Tongue there:
Or in thy piteous Heart, plant thou thine Ear,
That hearing how our Plaints and Prayers do pierce,
Pity may move thee, Pardon to rehearse.
Bulling. Good Aunt ftand up.
Dutch. I do not fue to ftand,
Pardon is all the Suit I have in hand.
Bulling. I pardon him, as Heav'n fhall pardon me.
Dutch. O happy Vantage of a kneeling Knee;
Yet am I fick for Fear; fpeak it again,
Twice faying Pardon, doth not pardon twain,
But makes one Pardon ftrong.
Bulling. I pardon him with all my Heart.
Dutch. A God on Earth thou art.
Bulling. But for our trufty Brother-in-law, the Abbot, With all the reft of that conforted Crew,
Deftruction ftreight fhall dog them at the Heels.
Good Uncle help to order feveral Powers
To Oxford, or where-e'er thefe Traitors are:
They fhall not live within this World, I fwear,
But I will have them once know where.
Uncle farewel, and Coufin adieu;
Your Mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.
Dutch. Come my old Son, I pray Heav'n make thee new."
Enter Exton and a Servant.
Exton. Didft thou not mark the King what Words he fpake? Have I no Friend will rid me of this living Fear.
Serv. Those were his very Words.
Exton. Have I no Friend? quoth he; he fpake it twice, And urg'd it twice together; did he not?
Exton. And fpeaking it, he wiftly look'd on me,
As who fhall fay, 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.
SCENE IV. A Prifon.
Enter King Richard.
K. Rich. I have been studying, how to compare
This Prifon where I live, unto the World;
And for because the World is populous,
And here is not a Creature but my felf,
I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer't out.
My Brain, I'll prove the Female to my Soul,
My Soul, the Father; and these two beget
A Generation of ftill breeding Thoughts;
And these fame Thoughts people this little World
In Humours, like the People of this World,
For no Thought is contented. The better Sort,
As Thoughts of things divine, are intermixt
With Scruples, and do fet the Faith it felf
Against the Faith; as thus; come little ones; and then again,
It is as hard to come, as for a Camel
To thread the Postern of a Needle's Eye.
Thoughts tending to Ambition they do plot
Unlikely Wonders; how thefe vain weak Nails
May tear a Paffage through the flinty Ribs
Of this hard World, my ragged Prison Walls:
And for they cannot, die in their own Pride.
Thoughts tending to Content, flatter themselves,
That they are not the first of Fortune's Slaves,
Nor fhall not be the laft. Like filly Beggars,
Who fitting in the Stocks, refufe their Shame
That many have, and others must fit there;
And in this Thought, they find a kind of Eafe,
Bearing their own Misfortune on the Back
Of fuch as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I in one Prifon, many People,
And none contented. Sometimes am I King,
Then Treafon makes me with my felf a Beggar,
And fo I am. Then crushing Penury
Perfuades me, I was better when a King;
Then am I king'd again; and by and by,
Think that I am unking'd by Bullingbroke,
And ftreight am nothing. But what-e'er I am, [Musick:
Nor I, nor any Man, that but Man is,
With nothing fhall be pleas'd, 'till he be eas'd
With being nothing. Mufick do I hear?
Ha, ha, keep time: How fower fweet Mufick is,
When time is broke, and no Proportion kept?
So is it in the Mufick of Mens Lives;
And here have I the Daintinefs of Ear,
To hear time broke in a disorder'd String;
But for the Concord of my State and Time,
Had not an Ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted Time, and now doth Time waste me.
For now hath Time made me his numbring Clock:
My Thoughts are Minutes; and with Sighs they jar,
Their Watches to mine Eyes, the outward Watch,
Whereto my Finger, like a Dial's Point,
Is pointing ftill, in cleanfing them from Tears.
Now, Sir, the Sound that tells what Hour it is,
Are clamorous Groans, that ftrike upon my Heart,
Which is the Bell; fo Sighs, and Tears, and Groans,
Shew Minutes, Hours, and Times: O but my Time
Runs pofting on, in Bullingbroke's proud Joy,
While I ftand fooling here, his Jack o'th' Clock.
This Mufick mads me, let it found no more;
For though it have holp mad Men to their Wits,
In me it fems, it will make wife Men mad.
Yet bleffing on his Heart that gives it me,
For 'tis a Sign of Love; and Love to Richard,
Is a ftrange Brooch, in this all-hating World.
Enter Groom.
Groom. Hail, royal Prince.
K. Rech. Thanks, noble Peer.
The cheapest of us, is ten Groats too dear.
What art thou? and how com'ft thou hither,
Where no Man ever comes, but that fad Dog
That brings me Food, to make Misfortune live?
Groom. I was a poor Groom of thy Stable, King,
When thou wert King, who travelling towards York,
With much ado, at length have gotten Leave,
To look upon my, fometimes Royal, Mafter's Face.
O how it yearn'd my Heart, when I beheld
In London Streets, that Coronation Day;
When Bullingbroke rode on roan Barbary ;
That Horfe, that thou so often haft bestride;
That Horse, that I fo carefully have dress'd.
K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle Friend, How went he under him?
Groom. So proudly, as if he had difdain'd the Ground.
K. Rich. So proud, that Bullingbroke was on his Back;
That Jade hath eat Bread from my royal Hand.
This Hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not ftumble? Would he not fall down,
Since Pride muft have a fall, and break the Neck
Of that proud Man, that did ufurp his Back?
Forgivenefs, Horfe; why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be aw'd by Man,
Waft born to bear? I was not made a Horse,
And yet I bear a Burthen like an Afs,
'Spur-gall'd, and tyr'd by jauncing Bullingbroke.
Enter Keeper with a Difh.
Keep. Fellow, give Place, here is no longer stay.
[To the Groom.
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.
Groom. What my Tongue dares not, that my Heart fhall fay.
Keep. My Lord, will't please you to fall to?
K. Rich. Tafte of it first, as thou wert wont to do. Keep. My Lord, I dare not; Sir Pierce of Exton, Who lately came from th' King, commands the contrary. K. Kich. The Devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee; Patience is ftale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the Keeper. Keep. Help, help, help.
Enter Exton and Servants.
K. Rich. How now? What means Death in this rude Affault? Villain, thine own Hand yields thy Deaths Inftrument; Go thou and fill another Room in Hell.
[Exton ftrikes him down. That Hand fhall burn in never-quenching Fire,
That ftaggers thus my Perfon. Exton, thy fierce Hand, Hath with the King's Blood ftain'd the King's own Land. Mount, mount my Soul, thy Seat is up on high,
Whilft my grofs Flefh finks downward here to die. [Dies.
Exton. As full of Valour as of Royal Blood,
Both have I fpilt: Oh would the Deed were good;
For now the Devil that told me I did well,
Says, that this Deed is chronicled in Hell.
This dead King to the living King I'll bear,
Take hence the reft, and give them burial here.
Flourish Enter Bullingbroke, York, with other Lords and
Attendants.
Bulling. Uncle Tork, the lateft News we hear,
Is that the Rebels have confum'd with Fire
Our Town of Cicefter in Gloucestershire;
But whether they be ta'en or flain, we hear not.
Enter Northumberland.
Welcome my Lord: What is the News?
North. First to thy facred State wish I all Happiness; The next News is, I have to London fent
The Heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt and Kent,
The manner of their taking may appear
At large difcourfed in this Paper here.
[Prefenting a Paper, Bulling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy Pains, And to thy Worth will add right worthy Gains.
Fitz. My Lord, I have from Oxford fent to London
The Heads of Broccas, and Sir Bennet Seely;
Two of the dangerous conforted Traitors,
That fought at Oxford thy dire Overthrow.
Bulling. Thy Pains, Fitz-water, fhall not be forgot,
Right noble is thy Merit, well I wot.
Enter Percy and the Bishop of Carlisle.
Percy. The grand Confpirator Abbot of Westminster,
With clog of Confcience, and four Melancholly,
Hath yielded up his Body to the Grave;
But here is Carlife, living to abide
Thy kingly Doom, and Sentence of his Pride.
Bulling. Carlifle, this is your Doom:
Chufe out fome fecret Place, fome reverend Room
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