Because my power is weak, and all ill left.
But, if I could,-by him that gave me life!
I would attach you all, and make you stoop
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;
But, since I cannot, be it known to you,
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;-
Unless you please to enter in the castle,
And there repose you for this night.
Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.
But we must win your grace, to go with us
To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away.
York. It may be, I will go with you:-but yet I'll pause; For I am loath to break our country's laws.
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are;
Things past redress, are now with me past care.
SCENE IV. A Camp in Wales.
Enter SALISBURY, and a Captain.
Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, And hardly kept our countrymen together,
And yet we hear no tidings from the king;
Therefore we will disperse ourselves.
Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman. The king reposeth all his confidence
Cap. 'Tis thought the king is dead: we will not stay.
The bay-trees in our country are all withered,
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth,
And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,-
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,
The other, to enjoy by rage and war.
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.-
Farewell; our countrymen are gone and fled,
As well assured, Richard their king is dead.
Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind,
I see thy glory, like a shooting star,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament!
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest.
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes;
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.
SCENE I. Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol.
Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, Ross. Officers behind, with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners.
Boling. Bring forth these men.
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls
(Since presently your souls must part your bodies)
With too much urging your pernicious lives,
For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood
From off my hands, here, in the view of men,
I will unfold some causes of your deaths.
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied and disfigured clean.
You have, in manner, with your sinful hours,
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him;
Broke the possession of a royal bed,
And stained the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.
Myself- -a prince, by fortune of my birth,
Near to the king in blood, and near in love,
Till you did make him misinterpret me,-
Have stooped my neck under your injuries,
And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
Whilst you have fed upon my seigniories,
Disparked my parks, and felled my forest woods;
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Razed out my impress, leaving me no sign,-
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,-
To show the world I am a gentleman.
This, and much more, much more than twice all this,
Condemns you to the death.-See them delivered over
To execution and the hand of death.
Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me, Than Bolingbroke to England.-Lords, farewell.
Green. My comfort is, that Heaven will take our souls, And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them despatched. [Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others, with Prisoners.
Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house;
For Heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated.
Tell her, I send to her my kind commends;
Take special care my greetings be delivered.
York. A gentleman of mine I have despatched
With letters of your love to her at large.
Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.-Come, lords, away,
To fight with Glendower and his complices;
Awhile to work, and, after, holiday.
SCENE II. The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view. Flourish: drums and trumpets.
Enter KING RICHARD, Bishop of Carlisle, AUMERLE, and Soldiers.
K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand? Aum. Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air, After your late tossing on the breaking seas?
K. Rich. Needs must I like it well; I weep for joy, To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs.
As a long-parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles, in meeting,
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favor with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with usurping steps do trample thee.
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.-
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords;
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul, rebellious arms.
Bishop. Fear not, my lord; that Power, that made you king,
Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.
The means that Heaven yields must be embraced,
And not neglected; else, if Heaven would,
And we will not, Heaven's offer we refuse;
The proffered means of succor and redress.
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends.
K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not,
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
The cloak of night being plucked from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke,-
Who all this while hath revelled in the night,
Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,-
Shall see us rising in our throne the east,
His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day;
But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough, rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king.
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord;
For every man that Bolingbroke hath pressed,
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall; for Heaven still guards the right.
Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?
Sal. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue,
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.
O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men !
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed, and fled.
Aum. Comfort, my liege; why looks your grace so pale?
K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand men
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;
And, till so much blood thither come again,
Have I not reason to look pale and dead?
All souls that will be safe, fly from my side;
For time hath set 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 sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st.
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,
Ye favorites of a king. Are we not high?
High be our thoughts: I know, my uncle York
Hath power enough to serve our turn.
Comes here?
Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege,
Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him.
K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared;
The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care!
And what loss is it, to be rid of care?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve him too; and be his fellow so.
Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God, as well as us:
Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay;
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so armed
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable, stormy day,
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all dissolved to tears;
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard, bright steel, and hearts harder than steel.
White-beards have armed their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy majesty; and boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
In stiff, unwieldy arms against thy crown;
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