 | The life and death of King Richard the Second |  |
Actus Quintus.
Scena Prima.
Enter Queene, and Ladies.Qu.
This way the King will come: this is the way
To Iulius Cæsars ill-erected Tower:
To whose flint Bosome, my condemned Lord
Is doom'd a Prisoner, by prowd Bullingbrooke.
Here let vs rest, if this rebellious Earth
Haue any resting for her true Kings Queene.
Enter Richard, and Guard.
But soft, but see, or rather doe not see,
My faire Rose wither: yet looke vp; behold,
That you in pittie may dissolue to dew,
And wash him fresh againe with true-loue Teares.
Ah thou, the Modell where old Troy did stand,
Thou Mappe of Honor, thou King Richards Tombe,
And not King Richard: thou most beauteous Inne,
Why should hard-fauor'd Griefe be lodg'd in thee,
When Triumph is become an Ale-house Guest.
Rich.
Ioyne not with griefe, faire Woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden: learne good Soule,
To thinke our former State a happie Dreame,
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are,
Shewes vs but this. I am sworne Brother (Sweet)
To grim Necessitie; and hee and I
Will keepe a League till Death. High thee to France,
And Cloyster thee in some Religious House:
Our holy liues must winne a new Worlds Crowne,
Which our prophane houres here haue stricken downe.
Qu.
What, is my Richard both in shape and minde
Transform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bullingbrooke
Depos'd thine Intellect? hath he beene in thy Heart?
The Lyon dying, thrusteth forth his Paw,
And wounds the Earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o're-powr'd: and wilt thou, Pupill-like,
Take thy Correction mildly, kisse the Rodde,
And fawne on Rage with base Humilitie,
Which art a Lyon, and a King of Beasts?
Rich.
A King of Beasts indeed: if aught but Beasts,
I had beene still a happy King of Men.
Good (sometime Queene) prepare thee hence for France:
Thinke I am dead, and that euen here thou tak'st,
As from my Death-bed, my last liuing leaue.
In Winters tedious Nights sit by the fire
With good old folkes, and let them tell thee Tales
Of wofull Ages, long agoe betide:
And ere thou bid good-night, to quit their griefe,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their Beds:
For why? the sencelesse Brands will sympathize
The heauie accent of thy mouing Tongue,
And in compassion, weepe the fire out:
And some will mourne in ashes, some coale-black,
For the deposing of a rightfull King.
Enter Northumberland.
North.
My Lord, the mind of Bullingbrooke is chang'd.
You must to Pomfret, not vnto the Tower.
And Madame, there is order ta'ne for you:
With all swift speed, you must away to France.
Rich.
Northumberland, thou Ladder wherewithall
The mounting Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne,
The time shall not be many houres of age,
More then it is, ere foule sinne, gathering head,
Shall breake into corruption: thou shalt thinke,
Though he diuide the Realme, and giue thee halfe,
It is too little, helping him to all:
He shall thinke, that thou which know'st the way
To plant vnrightfull Kings, wilt know againe,
Being ne're so little vrg'd another way,
To pluck him headlong from the vsurped Throne.
The Loue of wicked friends conuerts to Feare;
That Feare, to Hate; and Hate turnes one, or both,
To worthie Danger, and deserued Death.
North.
My guilt be on my Head, and there an end:
Take leaue, and part, for you must part forthwith.
Rich.
Doubly diuorc'd? (bad men) ye violate
A two-fold Marriage; 'twixt my Crowne, and me,
And then betwixt me, and my marryed Wife.
Let me vn-kisse the Oath 'twixt thee, and me;
And yet not so, for with a Kisse 'twas made.
Part vs, Northumberland: I, towards the North,
Where shiuering Cold and Sicknesse pines the Clyme:
My Queene to France: from whence, set forth in pompe,
She came adorned hither like sweet May;
Sent back like Hollowmas, or short'st of day.
Qu.
And must we be diuided? must we part?
Rich.
I, hand from hand (my Loue) and heart frō heart.
Qu.
Banish vs both, and send the King with me.
North.
That were some Loue, but little Pollicy.
Qu.
Then whither he goes, thither let me goe.
Rich.
So two together weeping, make one Woe.
Weepe thou for me in France; I, for thee heere:
Better farre off, then neere, be ne're the neere.
Goe, count thy Way with Sighes; I, mine with Groanes.
Qu.
So longest Way shall haue the longest Moanes.
Rich.
Twice for one step Ile groane, ye Way being short,
And peece the Way out with a heauie heart.
Come, come, in wooing Sorrow let's be briefe,
Since wedding it, there is such length in Griefe:
One Kisse shall stop our mouthes, and dumbely part;
Thus giue I mine, and thus take I thy heart.
Qu.
Giue me mine owne againe: 'twere no good part,
To take on me to keepe, and kill thy heart.
So, now I haue mine owne againe, be gone,
That I may striue to kill it with a groane.
Rich.
We make Woe wanton with this fond delay:
Once more adieu; the rest, let Sorrow say.
Exeunt.
Scœna Secunda.
Enter Yorke, and his Duchesse.Duch.
My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you breake the story off,
Of our two Cousins comming into London.
Yorke.
Where did I leaue?
Duch.
At that sad stoppe, my Lord,
Where rude mis-gouern'd hands, from Windowes tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richards head.
42
Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bullingbrooke,
Mounted vpon a hot and fierie Steed,
Which his aspiring Rider seem'd to know,
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course:
While all tongues cride, God saue thee Bullingbrooke.
You would haue thought the very windowes spake,
So many greedy lookes of yong and old,
Through Casements darted their desiring eyes
Vpon his visage: and that all the walles,
With painted Imagery had said at once,
Iesu preserue thee, welcom Bullingbrooke.
Whil'st he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower then his proud Steeds necke,
Bespake them thus: I thanke you Countrimen:
And thus still doing, thus he past along.
Dutch.
Alas poore Richard, where rides he the whilst?
Yorke.
As in a Theater, the eyes of men
After a well grac'd Actor leaues the Stage,
Are idlely bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
Euen so, or with much more contempt, mens eyes
Did scowle on Richard: no man cride, God saue him:
No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home,
But dust was throwne vpon his Sacred head,
Which with such gentle sorrow he shooke off,
His face still combating with teares and smiles
(The badges of his greefe and patience)
That had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce haue melted,
And Barbarisme it selfe haue pittied him.
But heauen hath a hand in these euents,
To whose high will we bound our calme contents.
To Bullingbrooke, are we sworne Subiects now,
Whose State, and Honor, I for aye allow.
Enter Aumerle.
Dut.
Heere comes my sonne Aumerle.
Yor.
Aumerle that was,
But that is lost, for being Richards Friend.
And Madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealtie to the new-made King.
Dut.
Welcome my sonne: who are the Violets now,
That strew the greene lap of the new-come Spring?
Aum.
Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not,
God knowes, I had as liefe be none, as one.
Yorke.
Well, beare you well in this new-spring of time
Least you be cropt before you come to prime.
What newes from Oxford? Hold those Iusts & Triumphs?
Aum.
For ought I know my Lord, they do.
Yorke.
You will be there I know.
Aum.
If God preuent not, I purpose so.
Yor.
What Seale is that that hangs without thy bosom?
Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the Writing.
Aum.
My Lord, 'tis nothing.
Yorke.
No matter then who sees it,
I will be satisfied, let me see the Writing.
Aum.
I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not haue seene.
Yorke.
Which for some reasons sir, I meane to see:
I feare, I feare.
Dut.
What should you feare?
'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
For gay apparrell, against the Triumph.
Yorke.
Bound to himselfe? What doth he with a Bond
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a foole.
Boy, let me see the Writing.
Aum.
I do beseech you pardon me, I may not shew it.
Yor.
I will be satisfied: let me see it I say.
Snatches it
Treason, foule Treason, Villaine, Traitor, Slaue.
Dut.
What's the matter, my Lord?
Yorke.
Hoa, who's within there? Saddle my horse.
Heauen for his mercy: what treachery is heere?
Dut.
Why, what is't my Lord?
Yorke.
Giue me my boots, I say: Saddle my horse:
Now by my Honor, my life, my troth,
I will appeach the Villaine.
Dut.
What is the matter?
Yorke.
Peace foolish Woman.
Dut.
I will not peace. What is the matter Sonne?
Aum.
Good Mother be content, it is no more
Then my poore life must answer.
Dut.
Thy life answer?
Enter Seruant with Boots.
Yor.
Bring me my Boots, I will vnto the King.
Dut.
Strike him Aumerle. Poore boy, yu art amaz'd,
Hence Villaine, neuer more come in my sight.
Yor.
Giue me my Boots, I say.
Dut.
Why Yorke, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the Trespasse of thine owne?
Haue we more Sonnes? Or are we like to haue?
Is not my teeming date drunke vp with time?
And wilt thou plucke my faire Sonne from mine Age,
And rob me of a happy Mothers name?
Is he not like thee? Is he not thine owne?
Yor.
Thou fond mad woman:
Wilt thou conceale this darke Conspiracy?
A dozen of them heere haue tane the Sacrament,
And interchangeably set downe their hands
To kill the King at Oxford.
Dut.
He shall be none:
Wee'l keepe him heere: then what is that to him?
Yor.
Away fond woman: were hee twenty times my
Son, I would appeach him.
Dut.
Hadst thou groan'd for him as I haue done,
Thou wouldest be more pittifull:
But now I know thy minde; thou do'st suspect
That I haue bene disloyall to thy bed,
And that he is a Bastard, not thy Sonne:
Sweet Yorke, sweet husband, be not of that minde:
He is as like thee, as a man may bee,
Not like to me, nor any of my Kin,
And yet I loue him.
Yorke.
Make way, vnruly Woman.
Exit
Dut.
After Aumerle. Mount thee vpon his horse,
Spurre post, and get before him to the King,
And begge thy pardon, ere he do accuse thee,
Ile not be long behind: though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as Yorke:
And neuer will I rise vp from the ground,
Till Bullingbrooke haue pardon'd thee: Away be gone.
Exit
Scœna Tertia.
Enter Bullingbrooke, Percie, and other Lords.Bul.
Can no man tell of my vnthriftie Sonne?
'Tis full three monthes since I did see him last.
If any plague hang ouer vs, 'tis he,
I would to heauen (my Lords) he might be found:
Enquire at London, 'mongst the Tauernes there:
43
With vnrestrained loose Companions,
Euen such (they say) as stand in narrow Lanes,
And rob our Watch, and beate our passengers,
Which he, yong wanton, and effeminate Boy
Takes on the point of Honor, to support
So dissolute a crew.
Per.
My Lord, some two dayes since I saw the Prince,
And told him of these Triumphes held at Oxford.
Bul.
And what said the Gallant?
Per.
His answer was: he would vnto the Stewes,
And from the common'st creature plucke a Gloue
And weare it as a fauour, and with that
He would vnhorse the lustiest Challenger.
Bul.
As dissolute as desp'rate, yet through both,
I see some sparkes of better hope: which elder dayes
May happily bring forth. But who comes heere?
Enter Aumerle.
Aum.
Where is the King?
Bul.
What meanes our Cosin, that hee stares
And lookes so wildely?
Aum.
God saue your Grace. I do beseech your Maiesty
To haue some conference with your Grace alone.
Bul.
Withdraw your selues, and leaue vs here alone:
What is the matter with our Cosin now?
Aum.
For euer may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleaue to my roofe within my mouth,
Vnlesse a Pardon, ere I rise, or speake.
Bul.
Intended, or committed was this fault?
If on the first, how heynous ere it bee,
To win thy after loue, I pardon thee.
Aum.
Then giue me leaue, that I may turne the key,
That no man enter, till my tale me done.
Bul.
Haue thy desire.
Yorke within.
Yor.
My Liege beware, looke to thy selfe,
Thou hast a Traitor in thy presence there.
Bul.
Villaine, Ile make thee safe.
Aum.
Stay thy reuengefull hand, thou hast no cause
to feare.
Yorke.
Open the doore, secure foole-hardy King:
Shall I for loue speake treason to thy face?
Open the doore, or I will breake it open.
Enter Yorke.
Bul.
What is the matter (Vnkle) speak, recouer breath,
Tell vs how neere is danger,
That we may arme vs to encounter it.
Yor.
Peruse this writing heere, and thou shalt know
The reason that my haste forbids me show.
Aum.
Remember as thou read'st, thy promise past:
I do repent me, reade not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.
Yor.
It was (villaine) ere thy hand did set it downe.
I tore it from the Traitors bosome, King.
Feare, and not Loue, begets his penitence;
Forget to pitty him, least thy pitty proue
A Serpent, that will sting thee to the heart.
Bul.
Oh heinous, strong, and bold Conspiracie,
O loyall Father of a treacherous Sonne:
Thou sheere, immaculate, and siluer fountaine,
From whence this streame, through muddy passages
Hath had his current, and defil'd himselfe.
Thy ouerflow of good, conuerts to bad,
And thy abundant goodnesse shall excuse
This deadly blot, in thy digressing sonne.
Yorke.
So shall my Vertue be his Vices bawd,
And he shall spend mine Honour, with his Shame;
As thriftlesse Sonnes, their scraping Fathers Gold.
Mine honor liues, when his dishonor dies,
Or my sham'd life, in his dishonor lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life, giuing him breath,
The Traitor liues, the true man's put to death.
Dutchesse within.
Dut.
What hoa (my Liege) for heauens sake let me in.
Bul.
What shrill-voic'd Suppliant, makes this eager cry?
Dut.
A woman, and thine Aunt (great King) 'tis I.
Speake with me, pitty me, open the dore,
A Begger begs, that neuer begg'd before.
Bul.
Our Scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
And now chang'd to the Begger, and the King.
My dangerous Cosin, let your Mother in,
I know she's come, to pray for your foule sin.
Yorke.
If thou do pardon, whosoeuer pray,
More sinnes for this forgiuenesse, prosper may.
This fester'd ioynt cut off, the rest rests sound,
This let alone, will all the rest confound.
Enter Dutchesse.
Dut.
O King, beleeue not this hard-hearted man,
Loue, louing not it selfe, none other can.
Yor.
Thou franticke woman, what dost yu make here,
Shall thy old dugges, once more a Traitor reare?
Dut.
Sweet Yorke be patient, heare me gentle Liege.
Bul.
Rise vp good Aunt.
Dut.
Not yet, I thee beseech.
For euer will I kneele vpon my knees,
And neuer see day, that the happy sees,
Till thou giue ioy: vntill thou bid me ioy.
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing Boy.
Aum.
Vnto my mothers prayres, I bend my knee.
Yorke.
Against them both, my true ioynts bended be.
Dut.
Pleades he in earnest? Looke vpon his Face,
His eyes do drop no teares: his prayres are in iest:
His words come from his mouth, ours from our brest.
He prayes but faintly, and would be denide,
We pray with heart, and soule, and all beside:
His weary ioynts would gladly rise, I know,
Our knees shall kneele, till to the ground they grow:
His prayers are full of false hypocrisie,
Ours of true zeale, and deepe integritie:
Our prayers do out-pray his, then let them haue
That mercy, which true prayers ought to haue.
Bul.
Good Aunt stand vp.
Dut.
Nay, do not say stand vp.
But Pardon first, and afterwards stand vp.
And if I were thy Nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon should be the first word of thy speach.
I neuer long'd to heare a word till now:
Say Pardon (King,) let pitty teach thee how.
The word is short: but not so short as sweet,
No word like Pardon, for Kings mouth's so meet.
Yorke.
Speake it in French (King) say Pardon'ne moy.
Dut.
Dost thou teach pardon, Pardon to destroy?
Ah my sowre husband, my hard-hearted Lord,
That set's the word it selfe, against the word.
Speake Pardon, as 'tis currant in our Land,
The chopping French we do not vnderstand.
Thine eye begins to speake, set thy tongue there,
Or in thy pitteous heart, plant thou thine eare,
That hearing how our plaints and prayres do pearce,
Pitty may moue thee, Pardon to rehearse.
Bul.
Good Aunt, stand vp.
Dut.
I do not sue to stand,
Pardon is all the suite I haue in hand.
44
I pardon him, as heauen shall pardon mee.
Dut.
O happy vantage of a kneeling knee:
Yet am I sicke for feare: Speake it againe,
Twice saying Pardon, doth not pardon twaine,
But makes one pardon strong.
Bul.
I pardon him with all my hart.
Dut.
A God on earth thou art.
Bul.
But for our trusty brother-in-Law, the Abbot,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction straight shall dogge them at the heeles:
Good Vnckle helpe to order seuerall powres
To Oxford, or where ere these Traitors are:
They shall not liue within this world I sweare,
But I will haue them, if I once know where.
Vnckle farewell, and Cosin adieu:
Your mother well hath praid, and proue you true.
Dut.
Come my old son, I pray heauen make thee new.
Exeunt.
Enter Exton and Seruants.
Ext.
Didst thou not marke the King what words hee spake?
Haue I no friend will rid me of this liuing feare:
Was it not so?
Ser.
Those were his very words.
Ex.
Haue I no Friend? (quoth he:) he spake it twice,
And vrg'd it twice together, did he not?
Ser.
He did.
Ex.
And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me,
As who should say, I would thou wer't the man
That would diuorce this terror from my heart,
Meaning the King at Pomfret: Come, let's goe;
I am the Kings Friend, and will rid his Foe.
Exit.
Scæna Quarta.
Enter Richard.Rich.
I haue bin studying, how to compare
This Prison where I liue, vnto the World:
And for because the world is populous,
And heere is not a Creature, but my selfe,
I cannot do it: yet Ile hammer't out.
My Braine, Ile proue the Female to my Soule,
My Soule, the Father: and these two beget
A generation of still breeding Thoughts;
And these same Thoughts, people this Little World
In humors, like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better sort,
As thoughts of things Diuine, are intermixt
With scruples, and do set the Faith it selfe
Against the Faith: as thus: Come litle ones: & then again,
It is as hard to come, as for a Camell
To thred the posterne of a Needles eye.
Thoughts tending to Ambition, they do plot
Vnlikely wonders; how these vaine weake nailes
May teare a passage through the Flinty ribbes
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walles:
And for they cannot, dye in their owne pride.
Thoughts tending to Content, flatter themselues,
That they are not the first of Fortunes slaues,
Nor shall not be the last. Like silly Beggars,
Who sitting in the Stockes, refuge their shame
That many haue, and others must sit there;
And in this Thought, they finde a kind of ease,
Bearing their owne misfortune on the backe
Of such as haue before indur'd the like.
Thus play I in one Prison, many people,
And none contented. Sometimes am I King;
Then Treason makes me wish my selfe a Beggar,
And so I am. Then crushing penurie,
Perswades me, I was better when a King:
Then am I king'd againe: and by and by,
Thinke that I am vn-king'd by Bullingbrooke,
And straight am nothing. But what ere I am,
Musick
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd
With being nothing. Musicke do I heare?
Ha, ha? keepe time: How sowre sweet Musicke is,
When Time is broke, and no Proportion kept?
So is it in the Musicke of mens liues:
And heere haue I the daintinesse of eare,
To heare time broke in a disorder'd string:
But for the Concord of my State and Time,
Had not an eare to heare my true Time broke.
I wasted Time, and now doth Time waste me:
For now hath Time made me his numbring clocke;
My Thoughts, are minutes; and with Sighes they iarre,
Their watches on vnto mine eyes, the outward Watch,
Whereto my finger, like a Dialls point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from teares.
Now sir, the sound that tels what houre it is,
Are clamorous groanes, that strike vpon my heart,
Which is the bell: so Sighes, and Teares, and Grones,
Shew Minutes, Houres, and Times: but my Time
Runs poasting on, in Bullingbrookes proud ioy,
While I stand fooling heere, his iacke o'th'Clocke.
This Musicke mads me, let it sound no more,
For though it haue holpe madmen to their wits,
In me it seemes, it will make wise-men mad:
Yet blessing on his heart that giues it me;
For 'tis a signe of loue, and loue to Richard,
Is a strange Brooch, in this all-hating world.
Enter Groome.
Groo.
Haile Royall Prince.
Rich.
Thankes Noble Peere,
The cheapest of vs, is ten groates too deere.
What art thou? And how com'st thou hither?
Where no man euer comes, but that sad dogge
That brings me food, to make misfortune liue?
Groo.
I was a poore Groome of thy Stable (King)
When thou wer't King: who trauelling towards Yorke,
With much adoo, at length haue gotten leaue
To looke vpon my (sometimes Royall) masters face.
O how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld
In London streets, that Coronation day.
When Bullingbrooke rode on Roane Barbary,
That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid,
That horse, that I so carefully haue drest.
Rich.
Rode he on Barbary? Tell me gentle Friend,
How went he vnder him?
Groo.
So proudly, as if he had disdain'd the ground.
Rich.
So proud, that Bullingbrooke was on his backe;
That Iade hath eate bread from my Royall hand.
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble? Would he not fall downe
(Since Pride must haue a fall) and breake the necke
Of that proud man, that did vsurpe his backe?
Forgiuenesse horse: Why do I raile on thee,
Since thou created to be aw'd by man
Was't borne to beare? I was not made a horse,
45
Spur-gall'd, and tyrd by iauncing Bullingbrooke.
Enter Keeper with a Dish.
Keep.
Fellow, giue place, heere is no longer stay.
Rich.
If thou loue me, 'tis time thou wer't away.
Groo.
What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall
say.
Exit.
Keep.
My Lord, wilt please you to fall too?
Rich.
Taste of it first, as thou wer't wont to doo.
Keep.
My Lord I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton,
Who lately came from th'King, commands the contrary.
Rich.
The diuell take Henrie of Lancaster, and thee;
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
Keep.
Helpe, helpe, helpe.
Enter Exton and Seruants.
Ri.
How now? what meanes Death in this rude assalt?
Villaine, thine owne hand yeelds thy deaths instrument,
Go thou and fill another roome in hell.
Exton strikes him downe.
That hand shall burne in neuer-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand,
Hath with the Kings blood, stain'd the Kings own land.
Mount, mount my soule, thy seate is vp on high,
Whil'st my grosse flesh sinkes downward, heere to dye.
Exton.
As full of Valor, as of Royall blood,
Both haue I spilt: Oh would the deed were good.
For now the diuell, that told me I did well,
Sayes, that this deede is chronicled in hell.
This dead King to the liuing King Ile beare,
Take hence the rest, and giue them buriall heere.
Exit.
Scœna Quinta.
Flourish. Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, with other Lords & attendants.Bul.
Kinde Vnkle Yorke, the latest newes we heare,
Is that the Rebels haue consum'd with fire
Our Towne of Ciceter in Gloucestershire,
But whether they be tane or slaine, we heare not.
Enter Northumberland.
Welcome my Lord: What is the newes?
Nor.
First to thy Sacred State, wish I all happinesse:
The next newes is, I haue to London sent
The heads of Salsbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent:
The manner of their taking may appeare
At large discoursed in this paper heere.
Bul.
We thank thee gentle Percy for thy paines,
And to thy worth will adde right worthy gaines.
Enter Fitz-waters.
Fitz.
My Lord, I haue from Oxford sent to London,
The heads of Broccas, and Sir Bennet Seely,
Two of the dangerous consorted Traitors,
That sought at Oxford, thy dire ouerthrow.
Bul.
Thy paines Fitzwaters shall not be forgot,
Right Noble is thy merit, well I wot.
Enter Percy and Carlile.
Per.
The grand Conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,
With clog of Conscience, and sowre Melancholly,
Hath yeelded vp his body to the graue:
But heere is Carlile, liuing to abide
Thy Kingly doome, and sentence of his pride.
Bul.
Carlile, this is your doome:
Choose out some secret place, some reuerend roome
More then thou hast, and with it ioy thy life:
So as thou liu'st in peace, dye free from strife:
For though mine enemy, thou hast euer beene,
High sparkes of Honor in thee haue I seene.
Enter Exton with a Coffin.
Exton.
Great King, within this Coffin I present
Thy buried feare. Heerein all breathlesse lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies
Richard of Burdeaux, by me hither brought.
Bul.
Exton, I thanke thee not, for thou hast wrought
A deede of Slaughter, with thy fatall hand,
Vpon my head, and all this famous Land.
Ex.
From your owne mouth my Lord, did I this deed.
Bul.
They loue not poyson, that do poyson neede,
Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead,
I hate the Murtherer, loue him murthered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor Princely fauour.
With Caine go wander through the shade of night,
And neuer shew thy head by day, nor light.
Lords, I protest my soule is full of woe,
That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow.
Come mourne with me, for that I do lament,
And put on sullen Blacke incontinent:
Ile make a voyage to the Holy-land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.
March sadly after, grace my mourning heere,
In weeping after this vntimely Beere.
Exeunt.
FINIS.
| The life and death of King Richard the Second | |