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
misfortunes on the back
Of such as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I in one person many people,
And none
contented. Sometimes am I king;
Then treasons make 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 be,
Nor I, nor any man that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd
With being nothing. [The music plays]
Music do I hear?
Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is
When time is broke and no
proportion kept!
So is it in the music 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
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the
outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
Are
clamorous groans which 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 of the clock.
This music mads me. Let it sound no more;
For though it have holp 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 a GROOM of the
stableGROOM. Hail, royal Prince!
KING RICHARD. Thanks, noble peer!
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,
With much ado at length have
gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.
O, how it ern'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!
KING RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,
How went he under him?
GROOM. So
proudly as if he disdain'd the ground.
KING RICHARD. 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,
Spurr'd, gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke.
Enter KEEPER with meat
KEEPER. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.
KING RICHARD. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.
GROOM. my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.
Exit
KEEPER. My lord, will't please you to fall to?
KING RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.
KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton,
Who
lately came from the King, commands the contrary.
KING RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
[Beats the KEEPER]
KEEPER. Help, help, help!
The
murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed
KING RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude assault?
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.
[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
Hath with the King's blood stain'd the King's own land.
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 spill'd. 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 6.
Windsor Castle
Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With
other LORDS and attendants
BOLINGBROKE. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire
Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire;
But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND
Welcome, my lord. What is the news?
NORTHUMBERLAND. 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 Kent.
The manner of their
taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.
BOLINGBROKE. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;
And to thy worth will add right
worthy gains.
Enter FITZWATER
FITZWATER. 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.
BOLINGBROKE. 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.
BOLINGBROKE. Carlisle, this is your doom:
Choose out some secret place, some
reverend room,
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life;
So as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife;
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
Enter EXTON, with attendants,
hearing a
coffinEXTON. Great King, within this
coffin I present
Thy buried fear. Herein all
breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bordeaux, by me
hither brought.
BOLINGBROKE. 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.
BOLINGBROKE. 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
wanderthorough shades 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 incontinent.
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
THE END
.