Part 11

Scroope. Peace haue they made with him indeede (my Lord.) Rich. Oh Villains, Vipers, damn'd without redemption, Dogges, easily woon to fawne on any man, Snakes in my heart blood warm'd, that sting my heart, Three Iudasses, each one thrice worse then Iudas, Would they make peace? terrible Hell make warre Vpon their spotted Soules for this Offence

Scroope. Sweet Loue (I see) changing his propertie, Turnes to the sowrest, and most deadly hate: Againe vncurse their Soules; their peace is made With Heads, and not with Hands: those whom you curse Haue felt the worst of Deaths destroying hand, And lye full low, grau'd in the hollow ground

Aum. Is Bushie, Greene, and the Earle of Wiltshire dead? Scroope. Yea, all of them at Bristow lost their heads

Aum. Where is the Duke my Father with his Power? Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speake: Let's talke of Graues, of Wormes, and Epitaphs, Make Dust our Paper, and with Raynie eyes Write Sorrow on the Bosome of the Earth. Let's chuse Executors, and talke of Wills: And yet not so; for what can we bequeath, Saue our deposed bodies to the ground? Our Lands, our Liues, and all are Bullingbrookes, And nothing can we call our owne, but Death, And that small Modell of the barren Earth, Which serues as Paste, and Couer to our Bones: For Heauens sake let vs sit vpon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of Kings: How some haue been depos'd, some slaine in warre, Some haunted by the Ghosts they haue depos'd, Some poyson'd by their Wiues, some sleeping kill'd, All murther'd. For within the hollow Crowne That rounds the mortall Temples of a King, Keepes Death his Court, and there the Antique sits Scoffing his State, and grinning at his Pompe, Allowing him a breath, a little Scene, To Monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with lookes, Infusing him with selfe and vaine conceit, As if this Flesh, which walls about our Life, Were Brasse impregnable: and humor'd thus, Comes at the last, and with a little Pinne Bores through his Castle Walls, and farwell King. Couer your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With solemne Reuerence: throw away Respect, Tradition, Forme, and Ceremonious dutie, For you haue but mistooke me all this while: I liue with Bread like you, feele Want, Taste Griefe, need Friends: subiected thus, How can you say to me, I am a King? Carl. My Lord, wise men ne're waile their present woes, But presently preuent the wayes to waile: To feare the Foe, since feare oppresseth strength, Giues in your weakenesse, strength vnto your Foe; Feare, and be slaine, no worse can come to sight, And fight and die, is death destroying death, Where fearing, dying, payes death seruile breath

Aum. My Father hath a Power, enquire of him; And learne to make a Body of a Limbe

Rich. Thou chid'st me well: proud Bullingbrooke I come To change Blowes with thee, for our day of Doome: This ague fit of feare is ouer-blowne, An easie taske it is to winne our owne. Say Scroope, where lyes our Vnckle with his Power? Speake sweetly man, although thy lookes be sowre

Scroope. Men iudge by the complexion of the Skie The state and inclination of the day; So may you by my dull and heauie Eye: My Tongue hath but a heauier Tale to say: I play the Torturer, by small and small To lengthen out the worst, that must be spoken. Your Vnckle Yorke is ioyn'd with Bullingbrooke, And all your Northerne Castles yeelded vp, And all your Southerne Gentlemen in Armes Vpon his Faction

Rich. Thou hast said enough. Beshrew thee Cousin, which didst lead me forth Of that sweet way I was in, to despaire: What say you now? What comfort haue we now? By Heauen Ile hate him euerlastingly, That bids me be of comfort any more. Goe to Flint Castle, there Ile pine away, A King, Woes slaue, shall Kingly Woe obey: That Power I haue, discharge, and let 'em goe To eare the Land, that hath some hope to grow, For I haue none. Let no man speake againe To alter this, for counsaile is but vaine

Aum. My Liege, one word

Rich. He does me double wrong, That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers: let them hence away, From Richards Night, to Bullingbrookes faire Day.

Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter with Drum and Colours, Bullingbrooke, Yorke, Northumberland, Attendants.

Bull. So that by this intelligence we learne The Welchmen are dispers'd, and Salisbury Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed With some few priuate friends, vpon this Coast

North. The newes is very faire and good, my Lord, Richard, not farre from hence, hath hid his head

York. It would beseeme the Lord Northumberland, To say King Richard: alack the heauie day, When such a sacred King should hide his head

North. Your Grace mistakes: onely to be briefe, Left I his Title out

York. The time hath beene, Would you haue beene so briefe with him, he would Haue beene so briefe with you, to shorten you, For taking so the Head, your whole heads length

Bull. Mistake not (Vnckle) farther then you should

York. Take not (good Cousin) farther then you should. Least you mistake the Heauens are ore your head

Bull. I know it (Vnckle) and oppose not my selfe Against their will. But who comes here? Enter Percie.

Welcome Harry: what, will not this Castle yeeld? Per. The Castle royally is mann'd, my Lord, Against thy entrance

Bull. Royally? Why, it containes no King? Per. Yes (my good Lord) It doth containe a King: King Richard lyes Within the limits of yond Lime and Stone, And with him, the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroope, besides a Clergie man Of holy reuerence; who, I cannot learne

North. Oh, belike it is the Bishop of Carlile

Bull. Noble Lord, Goe to the rude Ribs of that ancient Castle, Through Brazen Trumpet send the breath of Parle Into his ruin'd Eares, and thus deliuer: Henry Bullingbrooke vpon his knees doth kisse King Richards hand, and sends allegeance And true faith of heart to his Royall Person: hither come Euen at his feet, to lay my Armes and Power, Prouided, that my Banishment repeal'd, And Lands restor'd againe, be freely graunted: If not, Ile vse th 'aduantage of my Power, And lay the Summers dust with showers of blood, Rayn'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen; The which, how farre off from the mind of Bullingbrooke It is, such Crimson Tempest should bedrench The fresh greene Lap of faire King Richards Land, My stooping dutie tenderly shall shew. Goe signifie as much, while here we march Vpon the Grassie Carpet of this Plaine: Let's march without the noyse of threatning Drum, That from this Castles tatter'd Battlements Our faire Appointments may be well perus'd. Me thinkes King Richard and my selfe should meet With no lesse terror then the Elements Of Fire and Water, when their thundring smoake At meeting teares the cloudie Cheekes of Heauen: Be he the fire, Ile be the yeelding Water; The Rage be his, while on the Earth I raine My Waters on the Earth, and not on him. March on, and marke King Richard how he lookes.

Parle without, and answere within: then a Flourish. Enter on the Walls, Richard, Carlile, Aumerle, Scroop, Salisbury.

See, see, King Richard doth himselfe appeare As doth the blushing discontented Sunne, From out the fierie Portall of the East, When he perceiues the enuious Clouds are bent To dimme his glory, and to staine the tract Of his bright passage to the Occident

York. Yet lookes he like a King: behold his Eye (As bright as is the Eagles) lightens forth Controlling Maiestie: alack, alack, for woe, That any harme should staine so faire a shew