University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Enter Dutchess and Aumarle.
Dutch.
At that sad passage Tears broke off your Story,
Where rude misgovern'd Hands from Windows threw
Rank weeds and rubbish on King Richard's Head.

Aum.
Then as I said, the haughty Bullingbrook
Mounted upon an hot and fiery Steed,
Which his aspiring Rider seem'd to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his Course;
Whilst all Tongues cry'd, God save King Bullingbrook!
You wou'd have thought the very Windows spoke,
So many greedy looks of young and old,
Through Casements darted their desiring Eyes:
You wou'd have thought the very Walls themselves,
With all their painted Imag'ry, had cry'd,
Hail to the King, all Hail to Bullingbrook!
Whilst bending lower than his Coursers neck,
The Rabble he saluted on each side;
Thus praising and thus prais'd he past along.

Dutch.
Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while?

Aum.
As in the Theatre the Eyes of Men,
After a well-grac't Actor leaves the Stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
With such contempt they turn'd their Eyes from Richard,
No joyful Tongue gave him his welcome home;
But Dust was thrown upon his sacred Head,
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
His Face still combating with Smiles and Fears,
(The Badges of his Grief and Patience)
That had not Heav'n for some strange purpose steel'd
The Hearts of Men, they must of force relented,
And Cruelty it self have pity'd him.

Enter York.
York.

What, in Tears still? Well, Heav'ns will must be—
mark me Boy, I cannot blame thy grieving for Richard, because
I do it my self; neither can I blame thee for not loving Bullingbrook,
because I cannot do it my self: But to be true to him (or
rather to our Oath, being now his sworn Subjects) I conjure
thee. This I speak, because the King suspects thee, and made
me even now pledge for thy truth and fealty: Bear you well
therefore in this new Spring of Government, lest you be cropt
before your time—Well, what News from Oxford Boy? Hold
th'intended Triumphs there? 'Tis said our new King will grace
them with his Presence.

Aum.
They hold, my Lord, for certain—and as certain
This upstart King shall die if he comes there.

York.

Ha! come nearer, what Seal is that which hangs out
from thy Bosom? Ha! lookst thou pale? 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 wou'd not have seen.

York.
Which for some reasons! Sir, I mean to see,
[Snatches it.
Just as I fear'd, Treason, foul Treason, Villain Traytor.

Dutch.
What's the matter my Lord, good York inform me.

York.
Away fond Woman, give me my Boots, saddle my Horse.

Dutch.
The matter, Son.

Aum.
Good Madam, be content.
It is no more than my poor Life must Answer.

Dutch.
Thy Life!
[Servant enters.
Hence Villain, strike him Aumarle.

York.
My Boots I say, I will away to th' King.

Dutch.
Why York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the Trespass of thine own?

York.
Peace Woman, or I will impeach thee too;
Wou'dst thou conceal this dark Conspiracy?
A dozen of 'em here have tane the Sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their Hands
To kill the King at Oxford.

Dutch.
He shall be none;
We'll keep him here, then what's that to him?

York.

Tho' I love not Bullingbrook, yet I hate Treason, and will
impeach the Villa

Dutch.
Our Son, our only Son, our Ages comfort;
Is he not thine own?

York.

Wife, I believe it, therefore I impeach him; were
he none of mine, let his own Father look to him; but since
he is my Villain, I'll see the Villain orderd: My Horse, I say.

Dutch.
Hadst thou groan'd for him, York, as I have done—

York.
And art e'en like to groan for him again. Away.

[Exit.
Dutch.
Haste thee Aumarle, mount thee upon his Horse;
Spur post, and get before him to the King,
And beg thy pardon e're he come t' accuse thee:
Born on the wings of Mother's love I'll fly,
And doubt not to prevent thy Father's speed;
On thy behalf i'll with the King prevail,
Or root into the ground whereon I kneel.

[Exeunt.

SCENE the Second.

Enter Queen in Mourning attended.
Qu.
This way the King will come, this is the way
To Julius Cæsar's ill erected Tow'r,
To whose flint Bosom my dear injur'd Lord
Is deem'd a Pris'ner by proud Bullingbrook!
Here let us rest, if this rebellious Earth
Have any resting for her true King's Queen.
[Sits down.
This Garb no less befits our present state,
Than richest Tissue did our Bridal day;
Thus dead in Honour, my Lord and I
Officiate at our own sad Funeral.

Enter King Richard guarded, seeing the Queen, starts, she at the sight of him, after a pause he speaks.
King.
Give grief of a Tongue, art thou not Isabel,
The faithful Wife of the unfortunate Richard?

Qu.
O! can I speak and live? Yet silence gives
More tort'ring Death! O thou King Richard's Tomb,
And not King Richard!—On thy sacred Face
I see the shameful Marks of fowlest usage;
Thy Royal Cheeks soil'd and besmear'd with Dust,
Foul Rubbish lodg'd in thy anointed Locks;
O thou dishonour'd Flower of Majesty!
Lean on my Brest whilst I dissolve to Dew,
And wash thee fair agen with Tears of Love.

King.
Join not with Grief fair Innocence
To make my end more wretched, learn dear Saint
To think our former State a happy Dream,
From which we wake into this true distress!
Thou most distrest, most Virtuous of thy sex,
Go Cloyster thee in some Religious house,
This vicious World and I can nere deserve thee!
For Shrines and Altars keep keep those precious Tears,
Nor shed that heav'nly Dew on Land accurst.

Lad.
Never did sorrow triumph thus before.

King.
Convey thee hence to France,
Think I am Dead, and that ev'n now thou tak'st
As from my Death-bed the last living leave.
In Winters tedious Nights sit by the fire,
With good Old Matrons, let them tell thee Tales
Of woful Ages long ago betide,
And ere thou bid good Night, to quit their Griefs,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of Me!
And send the Hearers weeping to their Beds.

Qu.
Rob not my Virtue of its dearest Triumph!
Love like the Dolphin shews it self in storms:
This is the Season for my Truth to prove,
That I was worthy to be Richard's Wife!
And wou'd you now command me from your Presence,
Who then shall lull your raging Griefs asleep,
And wing the hours of dull Imprisonment?

King.
O my afflicted Heart!

Qu.
No, with my Lord i'll be a Pris'ner too,
Where my officious Love shall serve him with
Such ready care, that he shall think he has
His num'rous Train of waiters round him still;
With wond'rous Story's wee'll beguile the day,
Despise the World and Triumph over fortune,
Laugh at fantastic life and die together.

King.
Now Heaven I thank thee, all my Griefs are paid!
I've lost a single frail uncertain Crown,
And found a Virtue Richer than the World:
Yes, Bird of Paradise, wee'll pearch together,
Sing in our Cage, and make our Cell a Grove.

Enter Northumberland, Guards.
North.
My Lord, King Bullingbrook has chang'd his Orders,
You must to Pomfrett Castle, not to th' Tower;
And for you, Madam, he has given Command
That you be instantly convey'd to France.

King.
Must I to Pomfrett, and my Queen to France?
Patience is stale, and I am weary ont't,
Blood, Fire, rank Leprosies and blewest Plagues—

Qu.
But This was wanting to compleat our Woe.

King.
Northumberland Thou Ladder by whose Aid
The mounting Bullingbrook ascends my Throne,
The Time shall come when foul Sin gath'ring Head
Shall break in to Corruption, Thou shalt think,
Tho he divide the Realm and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to All:
He too shall think that thou which knewst the Way
To plant unrightful Kings, wilt know agen
To cast him from the Throne he has Usurpt:
The Love of wicked Friends converts to Fear,
That Fear to Hate, that still concludes in Death.

North.
My guilt be on my head, so to our business.
Take leave and part.

King.
Doubly Divorc't! foul Fiends ye violate
A two-fold Marriage, 'twixt my Crown and me,
And then betwixt me and my tender Wife;
Oh Isabel, oh my unfortunate Fair,
Let me unkiss the Oath that bound our Loves,
And yet not so, for with a Kiss 'twas made.
Part us Northumberland, me towards the North
Where shiv'ring Cold and Sickness pines the Clime;
My Queen to France, from whence set forth in Pomp
She hither came, deckt like the blooming May,
Sent back like weeping Winter stript and Bare.

Qu.
For ever will I clasp these sacred Knees,
Tear up my Brest and bind them to my Heart!
Northumberland allow me one short minute
To yield my Life and Woes in one Embrace.
One Minute will suffice.

North.
Force her away.

King.
Permit yet once our Death-cold Lips to joyn,
Permit a Kiss that must Divorce for ever,
I'll ravish yet one more, farewell my Love!
My Royal Constant Dear farewel for ever!
Give Sorrow Speech, and let thy Farewell come,
Mine speaks the Voice of Death, but Thine is Dumb.

Ex. Guarded several Ways.

SCENE the Third.

Bull.
Can no man tell of my ungracious Son,
My Young misgovern'd and licentious Harry?
If any Plague hang over us 'tis He!
Enquire amongst the Taverns where he haunts
With loose Companions, such as beat Our Watch
And rob Our Passengers, which he rash Boy
Mistakes for Feats of Gallantry and Honour.

Pierc.
My Lord, some two days since I saw the Prince,
And told him of those Turnaments at Oxford.

Bull.
And what said the Gallant?

Pierc.
His Answer was, He wou'd to a Brothell
And from the common'st Creature snatch a Glove,
To wear it as a Mistress favour, and
With that unhorse the lustiest Challenger.

Bull.
As dissolute as desperate.

Enter Aumarl.
Aum.

Where's the King?

Bull.

What means our Cousin that he looks so wildly?

Aum.

My Lord, I humbly beg the favour of a word in private
with your Majesty.

King.
Withdraw my Lords; now Cousin to your business.

Aum.
For ever may my knees root to this Earth,
And let Eternal silence bind my Tongue,
Unless you pardon e're I rise or speak.

Bull.
Intended or committed was this fault?
If but the first, how heynous e're it be,
To win thy future Love I pardon Thee.

Aum.
Then Sir, permit me to make fast the door,
That no man Enter e're my Tale be done.

Bull.
Have thy Desire.

York within.
York.
Beware my Liege, look to thy Life, thou hast a
Traytor in thy Presence.

Bull.
Ha! Villain I'll secure Thee.

Aum.
Stay thy revengeful Hand, Thou hast no cause to fear.

York.
Open the Door, or I will force my Passage.

Bull.
The Matter, Uncle, speak, recover Breath.

York.
Peruse this Writing and read there my Bus'ness.

Aum.
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.

York.
'Twas Villain when thy Hand did set it down,
I tore it from the Traytors Bosom, King,
Pardon the Villain, do, and in Return be Murder'd.

Bull.
O heynous black Conspiracy! Why Uncle can
This Kindness come from Thee? Let me Embrace Thee.

York.
Embrace not me, It was no Kindness, I owe thee no kindness,
It was my Love to Truth, and Hate to Murder.

Bull.
Give it what Name thou wilt, it shall excuse
This deadly blott in thy transgressing Son.

York.
So shall my Virtue be his Vices Bawd:
Thou kill'st me if he live, sparing his Life
The Traytor scapes, the True Man's put to Death.

Dutchess within.
Dutch.
What hoa my Liege, for Heav'ns sake let me in,
Speak with me, pity me, Open the Door.

Bull.
My dang'rous Cousin let your Mother in,
I know she's come to Entreat for you.

York.
If thou dost pardon whosoever prays,
Thy Mercy makes thee Traytor to thy self.

Dutch.
O King believe not this hard-hearted Man.

York.
Thou frantick Woman what makes thee here?
Wilt thou once more a Traytor nourish?

Dutch.
Dear York be patient, hear me gentle Liege.

Bull.
Rise up good Aunt.

Dutch.
No, never more I'll rise,
'Till thou uncharm me from the Ground with sounds
Of Pardon to my poor transgressing Son.

Aum.
And to my Pray'rs, I bend my Knee.

York.
Against 'em Both my Old stiff Joynts I bend.

Dutch.
Pleads he in Earnest, see, his Eyes are dry.
His Pray'rs come from his Mouth, ours from the Heart;
He beggs but faintly, and wou'd be deny'd.
His weary Joynts wou'd gladly rise I know,
Our Knees shall bend, till to the Earth they grow;
Deny him, King, he kneels in pain to crave
A Boon, that wou'd dismiss him to the Grave:
Granting his Suit, the Suer you destroy,
But yielding ours, you give your Beggar's Joy.

Bull.
Good Madam rise up.

Dutch.
Nay do not say rise up,
But pardon first, and then we rise indeed.
The word is short, but endless Comfort brings,
Pardon, the Language both of Heav'n and Kings.

Bull.
I pardon him as Heav'n shall pardon me.

Dutch. Aum.
Thanks Gracious Liege, a God on Earth thou art.

York.

So much for that,—one word at parting King, Let me
tell thee King, 'twas none of these Politicks that made thee
King, and so farewell to Court.

[Exit.
Bull.
But for the Rest of this Consorted Crew,
Our Justice shall o're-take 'em—injur'd Richard,
Thy wrongs already are too deep reveng'd,
As yet the Crown's scarce settled to my Brow,
When Royal Cares are rooted in my Heart.
Have I no Friend, my Lords, in this fair Train?
No Friend that to his Monarch's Peace will clear
The Way, and ridd me of this Living Fear?

[Exit.
SCENE, A Prison.
King Richard, Solus.
Rich.
I have bin studying how to compare
This lonesom Prison to the populous World,
The Paradox seems hard; but thus I'll prove it,
I'll call my B ain the Female to my Soul;
My Soul the Father, and these Two beget
A Generation of succeeding Thoughts,
Th'Inhabitants that stock this little World
In humours like the People of the World,
No Thought Contented: for, the better sort
As Thoughts of things Divine, are mixt with doubts
That set the Faith it self against the Faith,
Thoughts tending to Ambition, they are plotting
Unlikely Wonders, how these poor weak Hands
May force a passage through these stubborn flints;
And cause they cannot, Die in their own Pride,
Thoughts tending to Content are whispring to me,
That I am not the first of Fortunes Slaves,
And shall not be the Last; poor flatt'ring Comfort,
Thus I and every other Son of Earth
With nothing shall be pleas'd, till we be eas'd
With being nothing.
A Table and Provisions shewn.
What mean my Goalers by that plenteous Board?
For three days past I've fed upon my Sighs,
And drunk my Tears; rest craving Nature, rest,
I'll humour thy dire Need and tast this food,
That only serves to make Misfortune Live.
[Going to sit, the Table sinks down.
Thus Tantalus they say is us'd below;
But Tantalus his Guilt is then his Torture.
I smile at this fantastick Cruelty.
Ha, Musick too!—Ev'n what my Torturers please.

[Song and soft Musick, after which a Messenger Enters.
Mess.
Hail Royal Sir, with dang'rous difficulty
Gives him Letters.
I've enter'd here to bear These to your hand;
O killing Spectacle!

Rich.
From whom?—my Queen,
My Isabell, my Royal wretched Wife?
O Sacred Character, oh Heav'n-born Saint!
Why! here are words wou'd charm the raging Sea,
Cure Lunaticks, dissolve the Wizzard's Spell,
Check baleful Planets, and make Winter bloom.
How fares my Angel, say, what Air's made rich
With her arrival, for she breathes the Spring.
What Land is by her presence priviledged
From Heavn's ripe Vengeance? O my lab'ring Heart!
Inn, hide Thee, and prepare in short to Answer
To th'infinite Enquiries that my Love
Shall make of this dear Darling of my Soul.
Whilst undisturb'd I seize the present Minute
To answer the Contents of this blest Paper.
[Ex. Mess.
Sits down to write, Enter Exton and Servants.
Furies! what means this Pageantry of Death?
Speak thou the foremost Murderer, thy own hand
Is arm'd with th'Instrument of thy own Slaughter,
Go Thou and fill a room in Hell,
[Kills 4 of them.
Another Thou.
Exton here strikes him down.
That hand shall burn in never quenching Fire,
That staggers thus my Person, cruel Exton,
The blackest Fiend shall see thee lodg'd beneath him.
The Damn'd will shun the Villain whose curst Hand
Has with the King's blood stain'd the King's own Land.

[Dies.
Ext.
Hast and convey his Body to our Master
Before the very Rumour reach his Ear.
As full of Valour as of Royal Blood,
Both have I spilt, O that the Deed were Good.
Despair already seizes on my Soul;
Through my dark Brest Eternal Horrours roul:
Ev'n that false Fiend that told me I did well,
Cry's now, This Deed is Register'd in Hell.

[Ex.
SCENE a Palace. Bullingbrook, Lords and Attendants.
Bull.
Our last Expresses speak the Rebels high,
Who have consum'd with Fire Our Town of Gloster.
Enter Northumberland and Pierce.
Welcome Northumberland, what News?

North.
Health to my Liege, I have to London sent
The Heads of Spencer, Blunt and Salsbury.

Pierc.
Broccas and Scelye too are headless Trunks,
The dang'rous Chiefs of that consorted Crew
That sought your Life at Oxford.

Ross.
Our Abbot griev'd to see his Plott defeated,
Has yielded up his Body to the Grave.
But here's Carlile yet living to receive
Your Royal Doom.

Bull.
Carlile I must confess,
Thô thou hast ever bin my Enemy,
Such sparks of Honour always shin'd in Thee,
As priviledg Thee from our Justice now;
Choose out some secret place, some reverend Cell,
There live in peace, and we shall not disturb
The Quiet of thy Death—what suddain Damp
Congeals my Blood—ha Exton? then comes Mischief.

Enter Exton and Servants bearing in a Coffin.
Ext.
Great Sir, within this Coffin I present
Thy bury'd Fear, possess the Crown secure,
Which breathless Richard never more will claim.

Bull.
Exton I thank thee not, for thou hast wrought
A Deed of Slaughter fatal for my Peace,
Which Thou and I, and all the Land shall rue.

Ext.
From your own Mouth, my Lord, did I this Deed.

Bull.
They love not Poyson that have need of Poyson,
Nor do I Thee, I hate his Murderer.
Tho' I did wish him Dead: Hell thank thee for it,
And guilt of Royal Blood be thy Reward;
Cursing and Curst go wander through the World,
Branded like Cain for all Mankind to shun Thee.
Wake Richard, wake, give me my Peace agen,
And I will give Thee back thy ravisht Crown.
Come Lords prepare to pay your last Respects
To this great Hearse, and help a King to Mourn
A King's untimely Fall: O tort'ring Guilt!
In vain I wish The happy Change cou'd be,
That I slept There, and Richard Mourn'd for Me.