That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed,
K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without re-
demption!
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted souls for this offence!
Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate :-
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
With heads, and not with hands: those whom you
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound,
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground.
Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire,
Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their
heads.
Aum. Where is the duke, my father, with his
power?
K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man
speak:
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills:
And yet not so, -for what can we bequeath,
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own, but death;
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the death of kings:--
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war;
Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd;
Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd;
All murder'd:- For within the hollow crown,
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Keeps death his court: and there the antick sits,
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,-
As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
Cover your heads, aud mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence; throw away respect,
Traditiou, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while:
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,
Need friends:--Subjected thus,
How can you say to me-I am a king?
Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present
But presently prevent the ways to wail.
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,
Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,
And so your follies fight against yourself.
Fear, and be slain; no worse can come, to fight:
And fight and die, is death destroying death;
Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath.
Aum. My father hath a power, enquire of him;
And learn to make a body of a limb.
K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well:-Proud Boling
To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
This ague-fit of fear is over-blown;
An easy task it is, to win our own.
Say, Scroop, where lies our uucle with his power?
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The state and inclination of the day:
So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
I play the torturer, by small and small,
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken :-
Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke;
And all your northern castles yielded up,
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
Upon his party*.
K. Rich.
Thou hast said enough.Beshrew † thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth [To Aumerle.
Of that sweet way I was in to despair!
What say you now? What comfort have we now?
By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly,
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go, to Flint castle; there I'll pine away;
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.
That power I have, discharge; and let them go
To ears the land that hath some hope to grow,
For I have none: -Let no man speak again
To alter this, for counsel is but vain.
Aum. My liege, one word.
That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers, let them hence:-Away,
From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day.
He does me double wrong,
Wales. Before Flint castle.
Enter, with drum and colours, Bolingbroke and
forces; York, Northumberland, and others.
Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn,
The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed,
With some few private friends, upon this coast.
North. The news is very fair and good, my lord;
Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head.
York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland,
To say-King Richard:-Alack the heavy day,
When such a sacred king should hide his head!
North. Your grace mistakes me; only to be
Left I his title out.
York.
Would you have been so brief with him, he would
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you,
For taking so the head t, your whole head's length.
Boling Mistake not, uncle, further than you
York. Take not, good cousin, further than you
should,
Lest you mis-take: The heavens are o'er your head.
Boling. I know it, uncle; and oppose not
Myself against their will. But who comes here ?
KING RICHARD II. Act III.
Well, Harry; what, will not this castle yield?
Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord,
Against thy entrance.
Boling. Royally!
Why, it contains no king?
It doth contain a king; King Richard lies
Within the limits of yon lime and stone:
And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman
Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn.
North. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle.
Boling. Noble lord,
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle*
Into his ruiu'd ears, and thus deliver.
On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand;
And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart,
To his most royal person: hither come
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power;
Provided that, my banishment repeal'd,
And lands restor'd again, be freely granted:
If not, I'll use the advantage of my power,
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood,
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen:
The which, how far off from the mind of Boling-
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,
My stooping duty tenderly shall show.
Go, signify as much; while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.
[Northumberland advances to the castle,
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