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 myself. 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, av'rites of a King, are we not high? gh be our thoughts. I know, my uncle Tork fath pow'r to ferve our turn. But who comes here? 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 lofs 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; ? Mine ear is open,] It feems to be the defign of the poet to raife Richard to esteem in his fall, and confequently to intereft the reader in his favour. He gives him only paffive fortitude, E 4 the virtue of a confeffor rather than of a king. In his profperity we faw him imperious and oppreffive, but in his distress he is wife, patient, and pious. They They break their faith to God, as well as us. Like an unfeasonable stormy day, Which makes the filver rivers drown their fhores, Of Bolingbroke, cov'ring your fearful Land With hard bright steel, and hearts more hard than steel. 3 K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'ft a Tale fo ill. Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? What is become of Bufhy? where is Green? I warrant, they've made peace with Bolingbroke. Scroop. Peace they have made with him, indeed, my Lord. K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption ! Dogs, eafily won to fawn on any man! Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd, that fting my heart! Three Judaffes, each one thrice worfe than Judas! Would they make peace? terrible hell make war Upon their spotted fouls for this offence! Scroop. Sweet love, I fee, changing his property, Have felt the worst of death's deftroying hand, Why, with the Lofs of their Heads. This being explained, Aumerle fays, Is Bufhy, Green, and th' Earl of Wiltshire dead? So that Bagot ought to be left out of the Question: and, indeed, he had made the beft of his way for Chefter, and from thence had efcap'd into Ireland. And fo we find him, in the zd Act, determining to do. Bagot. No: I'll to Ireland, to his Majefty. The Poet could not be guilty of fo much Forgetfulness and Abfurdity. The Tranfcribers muft K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man fpeak; Let's talk of Graves, of Worms, and Epitaphs, To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; Bores through his castle-walls, and farewel King! With folemn Rev'rence; throw away refpect, Carl. My lord, wife men ne'er wail their prefent woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail: To fear the foe, fince fear oppreffeth ftrength, Gives, in your weakness, ftrength unto your foe; And fo your follies fight against yourself. Fear, and be flain; no worfe can come from fight; And fight and die, is death deftroying death: Where fearing dying, pays death fervile breath. Aum. My father hath a power, enquire of him, And learn to make a body of a limb. K. Rich. Thou chid'ft me well; proud Bolingbroke, To change blows with thee, for our day of doom. An eafy task it is to win our own. Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his Power? So may you, by my dull and heavy eye, s Tradition.] This word feems here used in an improper fenfe, for traditional practices: That is, eftablished or customary homage. Death deftroying death ]That is, to dye fighting, is to return the evil that we fuffer, to destroy the destroyers. I once read death defying death, but deftroying is as well. K. Rich. |