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I say again, if Lewis do win the day,
SCENE VI. An open Place in the neighbour. He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
hvod of Swinstead-Abbey. Behold another day break in the east : But even this night, whose black contagious
Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting. breath
Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or Already smokes about the burning crest
I shoot. Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sm,
Bast. A friend. What art thou ? Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire ; Hub.
Of the part of England, Paying the fine of rated treachery,
Bast. Whither dost thou go? Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives,
Hub. What's that to thee? Why may I not de. If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
mand Commend me to one Hubert, with your king; Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ? The love of him, — and this respect besides,
Bast. Hubert, I think. For that my grandsire was an Englishman,
Thou hast a perfect thought. Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
I will, upon all hazards, well believe In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well : From forth the noise and rumour of the field; Who art thou ? Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts Bast.
Who thou wilt : an if thou please, In peace, and part this body and my soul
Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think With contemplation and devout desires.
I come one way of the Plantagenets. Sal. We do believe thee, — And beshrew my Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou, and eyeless soul
night, But I do love the favour and the form
Have done me shame:- Brave soldier, pardon me, Of this most fair occasion, by the which
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, We will untread the steps of damned flight; Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. And, like a bated and retired flood,
Bast. Come, come ; sans compliment, what news Leaving our rankness and irregular course,
abroad? Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd, Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night, And calmly run on in obedience,
To find you out. Even to our ocean, to our great king John.
Brief, then ; and what's the news? My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence; Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. Right in thine eye.
· Away, my friends! New Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news; flight;
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. And happy newness, that intends old right.
Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : [Exeunt, leading off Melun. I left him almost speechless, and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil; that you might SCENE V. - The same. The French Camp. The better arm you to the sudden time,
Than if you had at leisure known of this.
Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him ? Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath Hub. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain,
Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush, Yet speaks, and peradventure, may recover. When the Eng iz: measur'd backward their own Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty ? ground,
Hub. Why, know you not ? the lords are all In faint retire: 0, bravely came we off,
come back, When with a volley of our needless shot,
And brought prince Henry in their company ; After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up,
And they are all about his majesty. Last in the field, and almost lords of it!
Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven, Enter a Messenger.
And tempt us not to bear above our power!
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, Mess. Where is my prince, the dauphin ? Passing these flats, are taken by the tide, Lew.
Here : - What news? These Lincoln washes have devoured them; Mess. The count Melun is slain ; the English Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd. lords,
Away, before! conduct me to the king ; By his persuasion, are again fallen off:
I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come. [Ereunt And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. SCENE VII.-—The Orchard of Swinstead-Abbey Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news! - Beshrew thy
Enter Prince HENRY, SALISBURY, and Bigot. I did not think to be so sad to-night,
P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood As this hath made me. - Who was he, that said, Is touch'd corruptibly ; and his pure brain King John did fly, an hour or two before
(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,) The stumbling night did part our weary powers ? Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. Foretell the ending of mortality.
Enter PemBROK E.
Pem. His highness yet doth speak; and holds To try the fair adventure of to-morrow, (Ereunt.
to set :
That, being brought into the open air,
For, in a night, the best part of my power, It would allay the burning quality
As I upon advantage did remove, Of that fell poison which assaileth him.
Were in the washes, all unwarily, P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard Devour'd by the unexpected flood. here.
[The King dies. Doth he still rage ?
[Erit Bigot. Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an Pem.
He is more patient Than when you left him ; even now he sung. My liege ! my lord !-But now a king,—now thus.
P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes, P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. In their continuance, will not feel themselves. What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, When this was now a king, and now is clay! Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now
Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind, Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
To do the office for thee of revenge ; With many legions of strange fantasies;
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, As it on earth hath been thy servant still. Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death Now, now, you stars, that move in your right should sing.
spheres, I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,
Where be your powers ? Show now your mended Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death;
faiths; And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings
And instantly return with me again, His soul and body to their lasting rest.
To push destruction, and perpetual shame, Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are born Out of the weak door of our fainting land : To set a form upon that indigest,
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought; Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. The Dauphin rages at our very heels.
Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we : Re-enter Bicot and Attendants, who bring in
The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,
Who half an hour since came from the dauphin ; K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow- And brings from him such offers of our peace room;
As we with honour and respect may take, It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
With purpose presently to leave this war. There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees That all my bowels crumble up to dust :
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Sul. Nay, it is in a manner done already; Upon a parchment; and against this fire
For many carriages he hath despatch'd Do I shrink up.
To the seaside, and put his cause and quarrel P. Hen.
How fares your majesty ? To the disposing of the cardinal. K. John. Poison’d, - ill fare ; — dead, forsook, with whoin yourself, myself, and other lords, cast off :
If you think meet, this afternoon will post And none of you will bid the winter come,
To consummate this business happily. To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;
Bast. Let it be so :—And you, my noble prince, Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course With other princes that may best be spar'd, Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north Shall wait upon your father's funeral. To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd; And comfort me with cold :- I do not ask you much, For so he will'd it. I beg cold comfort ; and you are so strait,
Thither shall it then. And so ingrateful, you deny me that.
And happily may your sweet self put on P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my The lineal state and glory of the land ! tears,
To whom, with all submission, on my knee, That might relieve you!
I do bequeath my faithful services K. John.
The salt in them is hot. And true subjection everlastingly. Within me is a hell; and there the poison
Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, Is, as a fiend, confin’d to tyrannize
To rest without a spot for evermore. On unreprievable condemned blood.
P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion,
thanks, And spleen of speed to see your majesty.
And knows not how to do it, but with tears. K. Join. O cousin, thou art come to set mine Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, eye:
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd; This England never did, (nor never shall,) And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, | Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, Are turned to one thread, one little hair :
But when it first did help to wound itself. My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Now these her princes are come home again, Which holds but till thy news be utter'd ;
Come the three corners of the world in arms, And then all this thou see'st is but a clod,
And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us And module of confounded royalty.
rue, Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward ; If England to itself do rest but true. | Ereunt. Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him :
KING RICHARD THE SECOND.
son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV. Lord Marshal; and another Lord.
Sir STEPHEN SCROOP.
Captain of a band of Welchmen.
QUEEN to King Richard.
DUCHESS OF GLOSTER. Bagot, creatures to King Richard.
Duchess of York.
Lady attending on the Queen.
Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Two Gardeners, Lord Ross.
Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. SCENE, - dispersedly in England and Wales.
SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace. And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear Enter King RICHARD, attended; John of GAUNT,
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak :
[Ereunt some Attendints. and other Nobles, with him.
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
Re-enter Attendants, with BolingBROKE and
Norfolk. Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son ; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Boling. Many years of happy days befal Which then our leisure would not let us hear, My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege. Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray. Nor. Each day still better other's happiness, Gaunt. I have, my liege.
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, K. Rich. Tell me moreover, hast thou sounded Add an immortal title to your crown! him.
K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flatIf he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
ters us, Or worthily as a good subject should,
As well appeareth by the cause you come ; On some known ground of treachery in him ? Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argu- Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object ment,
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? On some apparent danger seen in him,
Boling. First, (heaven be the record to my Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice.
speech!) K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face In the devotion of a subject's love, to race,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Upon his bad life, to make all this good, Come I appellant to this princely presence.
That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death; Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries; And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak, And, consequently, like a traitor coward, My body shall make good upon this earth,
Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
blood : Thiu art a traitor, and a miscreant;
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Too good to be so, and too bad to live ;
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky,
To me, for justice, and rough chastisement; The ug.ier seem the clouds that in it fly.
And, by the glorious worth of my descent, Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. With a foul traitor's name stuff' I thy throat ;
Ki Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars! And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move, Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? Wat my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, may prove.
And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zcal: Till I have told this slander of his blood, "Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
Now by my scepter's awe I make a vow,
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; The unstooping firmness of my upright soul; Which else would post, until it had return’d He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou ; These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest!
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt,
Upon remainder of a dear account, Or any other ground inhabitable
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen : Wherever Englishman durst set his foot.
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloster's Mean time, let this defend my loyalty,
death, By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
I slew him not; but to my own disgrace, Buling. Pale trembling coward, there 1 throw Neglected my sworn duty in that case. — my gage,
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, Disclaiming here the kindred of the king;
The honourable father to my foe,
Once did I lay in ambush for your life,
Nor. I take it up ; and, by that sword I swear, A recreant and most degenerate traitor :
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom:
Your highness to assign our trial day.
K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by
This we prescribe, though no physician ;
Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge
Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my That ever was survey'd by English eye,
age: That all the treasons, for these eighteen years Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage. Comploited and contrived in this land,
Ki Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. Fetch froin false Mowbray their first head and spring. Gaunt.
When, Harry? when! Further I say, - and further will maintain
Obedience bids, I should not bid again.
K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there | But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, is no boot.
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy One Hourishing branch of his most royal root, -foot :
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ; My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, The one my duty owes ; but
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. (Despite of death, that lives upon my grave,) Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine ; that bed, that To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
womb, I am disgrac’d, impeach'd, and baffled here ; That mettle, that self-mould, that fashion’d thee, Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear ; Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
breath'st, Which breath'd this poison.
Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent
Rage must be withstood : In some large measure to thy father's death,
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair :
Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, Is — spotless reputation ; that away,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
That which in mean men we entitle — patience, A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. Is - a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, Mine honour is my life; both grow in one;
The best way is
to 'venge my Gloster's death. Take honour from me, and my life is done :
Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel ; for heaven's Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
substitute, In that I live, and for that will I die.
His deputy anointed in his sight, K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; do Hath caus'd his death : the which if wrongfully, you begin.
Let heaven revenge; for I may never list Boling, 0, God defend my soul from such foul An angry arm against his minister. sin !
Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself? Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight?
Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
defence. Before this outdar'd dastard ? Ere my tongue
Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight : The slavish motive of recanting fear ;
0, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast ! Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.
Or, if misfortune miss the first career, [Erit Gaunt.
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, K. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to com- That they may break his foaming courser's back, mand :
And throw the rider headlong in the lists, Which since we cannot do to make you friends, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford ! Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wise, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day ;
With her companion grief must end her life. There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
Gaunt. Sister, farewell : I must to Coventry : The swelling difference of your settled hate ; As much good stay with thee, as go with me! Since we cannot atone you, we shall see
Duch. Yet one word more;- Grief boundeth Justice design the victor's chivalry.
where it falls, Marshal, command our officers at arms
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight : Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Ereunt. I take my leave before I have begun;
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. SCENE II.
A Room in the Duke Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. of Lancaster's Palace.
Lo, this is all : - Nay, yet depart not so ;
Though this be all, do not so quickly go; Enter Gaunt, and Duchess of Gloster.
I shall remember more. Bid him – 0, what ? Gaunt. Alas! the part I had in Gloster's blood With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims,
Alack, and what shall good old York there see, To stir against the butchers of his life.
But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, But since correction lieth in those hands,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans? Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ;
Therefore commend me; let him not come there, Who when he sees the hours ripe on earth,
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where : will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die ;
Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? | The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Hath love in thy old blood no living fire ?
(Ereun! Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, SCENE III. - Gosford Green, near Coventry. Were as seven phials of his sacred blood,
Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, fc. atlendinga Or seven fair branches springing from one root : Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
Enter the Lord Marshal and AUVERLE. Some of those branches by the destinies cut :
Mar My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'l'