Y. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear,

Duch.

What should you fear? "Tis nothing but some bond that he is entered into For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. Y. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me see the writing. [show it. Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not 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?

Y. 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 mine honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain. (Exit Servant.
Duch.
What's the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.
D. I will not peace:-What is the matter, son?
Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.

Re-enter Servant, with Boots. Y. 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? 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.

[Exit.

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. York. Make way, unruly woman. D. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his horse; Spur, post; and get before him to the king, And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. I'll not be long behind; though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as fast as York: And never will I rise up from the ground, Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away: Begone. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

WINDSOR. A ROOM IN THE CASTLE. Enter Bolingbroke, as King; Percy, and other Lords.

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, 'tis 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 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.
[prince;
Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.
Boling. And what said the gallant?

P. 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.

B. 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?

Enter Aumerle hastily.
Where is the king?

What means

Aum. Boling. 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? A. 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 but the first, how heinous e'er it be, To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.

A. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. Bol. Have thy desire. [Aumerle locks the door. York. [Within. ]My liege, beware; look to thy

self;

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.

(king: Y.[Within. JOpen the door, secure, fool-hardy Shall I, for love, speak treason in 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.

(know

Y. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt The treason that my haste forbids me show. A.Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past: I do repent me; read not my name there, My heart is not confederate with my hand. Y."Twas, 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,

Bol. 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-
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself! [sages,
Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly plot in thy digressing son. [shame,
Y. So shall he spend mine honour with his
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' 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 hea-
ven's sake let me in.
[eager cry?
B. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this
D. A wornan, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I.
Speak with me, pity me, open the door;
A beggar begs, that never begg'd before.

Bol. 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 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 Love loving not itself, none other can. [man. York. Thou frantick woman, what dost thou make here?

Shalt thou once more a traitor rear?

Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me,
gentle liege.
[Kneels.

Boling. Rise up, good aunt.
Duch.

Not I thee beseech:
yet,
For ever will I kneel 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
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; [grow;
Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do out-pray 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.
And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon-should be the first word of thy speech.
I never long'd 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.
1-Transparent.

D. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That sett'st the word itself against the word!Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land: The chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there: Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. [pierce, Boling. Good aunt, stand up. Duch. I do not sue to stand, Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. 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. With all my heart

I pardon him.

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; [true.
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you
Duch. Come, my old son;-I pray heaven make
thee new.
[Exeunt.

K. R. 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,-As thoughts of things divine,-are intermix'd

1 Excuse me.

With scruples, and do set the word itself
Against the word:

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 these vain weak nails
May tear a passage 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 shall not be the last: like silly beggars,
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,
That many have, and others must sit there:
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endured the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people,
And none contented: Sometimes am I king;
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar;
And so I am: Then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king'd again: and by-and-by,
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing:-but whate'er I am,
Nor I, nor any man, but that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd
With being nothing.-Musick do I hear?

[Musick.

Ha, ha! keep time:--How sour sweet musick is,
When time is broke, and no proportion kept!
So is it in the musick of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear,
To check 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 numb'ring clock:
My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs,
they jar
[watch,
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, sir, the sounds that tell what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell: So sighs, and tears, and groans,
Show minutes, times, and hours:-but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock,1
This musick mads me, let it sound no more;
For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits,
In me, it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Enter Groom.

Groom. Hail, royal prince!

peer;

K. Rich. Thanks, noble The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes, but that sad 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,

1 An automaton, striking the quarters.

With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometime master's face.
O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld,
In London streets, that coronation day,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary!
That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid;
That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd!
K. Ri. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle
How went he under him?

[friend,

Gr. So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke 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 stumble? Would he not fall down,
(Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck
Of that proud man that did usurp his back?
Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke.
Enter Keeper, with a Dish.

Keep. [To the Groom.] Fellow, give place; here
is no longer stay.
[away.
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my

heart shall say.

[Exit.

Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. K. My lord, I dare not; Sir Pierce of Exton, who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. [thee! K. Ri. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the Keeper.

Keep. Help, help, help!

Enter Exton, and Servants armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude assault? [ment. Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instru[Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

[He kills another, then Exton strikes him down.

That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce hand

(land.

Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies.

Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: Both have I spilt: O, 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 rest, and give them burial here. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

WINDSOR, A ROOM IN THE CASTLE.

Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, and York, with

Lords, and Attendants.

Bol. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is-that the rebels have consum'd with fire

Our town of Cicester in Glostershire;

More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;

Enter Northumberland.

Welcome, my lord: What is the news?
N. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness,

The next news is,-I have to London sent
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and
The manner of their taking may appear [Kent:
At large discoursed in this paper here.

[Presenting a paper. B. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

Enter Fitzwater.

F. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Bol. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster,

With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy,
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle living to abide
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.
Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom :- [room,
Choose out some secret place, some reverend

For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a Coffin.

Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present
Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought.
Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou
hast wrought

A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand,
Upon my head, and all this famous land.
Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did
I this deed.

Bol. They love not poison that do poison need,
Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead,
I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor princely favour:
With Cain go wander through the shade of night,
And never show thy head by day nor light.-
Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe,
That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow:
Come, mourn with me for what I do lament,
And put on sullen black incontinent1;
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:-
March sadly after; grace my mournings here,
In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeunt.

Shall now, in mutual, well beseeming ranks,
March all one way; and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
(Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engag'd to fight,)
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
Whose arms were moulded in their mother's
womb

To chase these pagans, in those holy fields,
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet,
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd
For our advantage, on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old,
And bootless 'tis to tell you-we will go;
Therefore we meet not now:-Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
What yesternight our council did decree
In forwarding this dear expedience.1

West. My liege, this haste was hot in question,
And many limits 2 of the charge set down
But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came
A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news;
Whose worst was,-that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
And a thousand of his people butchered.
Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
Such beastly, shameless transformation,
By those Welsh women done, as may not be,
Without much shame, re-told or spoken of.
K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of
this broil

Brake off our business for the Holy Land. West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious lord;

For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north, and thus it did import.
On Holyrood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met,

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As by discharge of their artillery,
And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.

K. Hen. Here is a dear and true industrious
friend,

Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome

And is not this an honourable spoil 2
A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?
West. It is a conquest for a prince to boast of,
K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and
mak'st me sin

In envy that my lord Northumberland
Should be the father of so blest a son:
A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue;
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride:
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd,
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
And call'd mine, Percy-his, Plantagenet!
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts:-What think
you, coz, -

Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd,
To his own use he keeps: and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife.

West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is
Worcester,

Malevolent to you in all aspects;
Which makes him prune1 himself, and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.

K. H. But I have sent for him to answer this;
And, for this cause, a while we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords:
But come yourself with speed to us again;
For more is to be said, and to be done,
Than out of anger can be utter'd.
West. I will, my liege.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-ANOTHER ROOM IN THE PALACE. Enter Henry, Prince of Wales, and Falstaff.

Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What hast thou to do with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups of sack and minutes capons, I see no reason, why thou shouldst be so superflous to demand the time of the day.

Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hals for we that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phoebus,-he, that wandering knight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king,-as, save thy grace, (majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have none,)

P. Hen. What, none?

Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty, let us be-Diana's foresters, gentlemen of theshade,

1 Trim.