Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd
To execution, and the hand of death.

Busby. More welcome is the ftroak of death to me, Than Bolingbroke to England.Lords, farewel.

Green. My comfort is, that heav'n will take our souls, And plague injuftice with the pains of hell.

Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd. Uncle, you fay the Queen is at your house; For heav'n's fake, fairly let her be intreated; Tell her, I fend to her my kind Commends; Take fpecial care, my Greetings be deliver'd. York. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd With letters of your love to her at large.

Boling. Thanks, gentle Uncle: come, my lords, away; (6)

A while to Work; and, after, Holy-day.

(6) Thanks, gentle Uncle; Come, my Lords, away,

To fight with Glendower and his Complices,

[Exeunt.

A while to Work, and after Holyday.] Tho' the intermediate Line has taken poffeffion of all the old Copies, I have great Sufpicion of its being an Interpolation; and have therefore ventur'd to throw it out. The first and third Line rhyme to each other; nor, do I imagine, This was cafual, but intended by the Poet. Were we to acknowledge the Line `genuine, it must argue the Poet of Forgetfulness in his own Plan; and Inattention to History, of which he was most observant. Bolingbroke is, as it were, yet but just arriv'd; He is now at Briftol; weak in his Numbers; has had no Meeting with a Parliament; nor is so far affur'd of the Succeffion, as to think of going to fuppress Insurrections before he is planted in the Throne. Befides, we find, the Oppofition of Glendower begins the First Part of K. Henry IV; and Mortimer's Defeat by that hardy Welfoman is the Tidings of the firft Scene of that Play. Again, tho' Glendower, in the very first Year of K. Henry IV, began to be troublesome, put in for the Supremacy of Wales, and imprison'd Mortimer; yet it was not till the fucceeding Year, that the King employ'd any Force against him.

SCENE:

SCENE changes to the Coast of Wales.

Flourish: Drums and Trumpets.

Enter King Richard, Aumerle, Bishop of Carlisle, and Soldiers.

K. Rich. B Arklongbly cafile call you this at hand

Aum. Yea, my good lord; how brooks your Grace the air,

weep

for joy

After your toffing on the breaking Seas?
K. Rich. Needs muft I like it well; I
To stand upon my Kingdom once again.
Dear Earth, I do falute thee with my hand,
Though Rebels wound thee with their horfes' hoofs:
As a long-parted mother with her child

Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting;
So weeping, fmiling, greet I thee my Earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy Sovereign's foe, my gentle Earth,
Nor with thy fweets comfort his rav'nous sense:
But let thy spiders that fuck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lye in their way,
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with ufurping steps do trample thee.
Yield ftinging nettles to mine enemies;
And, when they from thy bofom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pr'ythee, with a lurking adder;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy Sovereign's enemies.
Mock not my fenfeless conjuration, lords;
This Earth fhall have a Feeling: and these ftones
Prove armed foldiers, ere her native King
Shall faulter under foul rebellious arms.

Bishop. Fear not, my lord; that Pow'r, that made you
King,

Hath pow'r to keep you King, in spight of all.
The means, that heaven yields, must be embrac'd,
And not neglected: elfe if heaven would,

And

And we would not heav'n's offer, we refuse
The proffer'd means of fuccour and redress.

Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; Whilft Bolingbroke, through our fecurity,

Grows ftrong and great, in fubftance and in power.
K. Rich. Difcomfortable Coufin, know'ft thou not,
That when the fearching eye of heav'n is hid
Behind the globe, that 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 ev'ry guilty hole;
Then murders, treafons, and detefted fins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.
So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
Whilst we were wand'ring with th' Antipodes,
Shall fee us rifing in our Throne, the east;
His treasons will fit blufhing in his face,
Not able to endure the fight of day;
But, felf-affrighted, tremble at his fin.
Not all the water in the rough rude fea
Can wash the balm from an anointed King;
The breath of worldly men cannot depofe
The Deputy elected by the Lord.
For every man that Bolingbroke hath preft,
To lift sharp fteel against our golden Crown,
Heav'n for his Richard hath in heav'nly Pay
A glorious Angel; then if angels fight,
Weak men must fall, for heav'n ftill guards the Right.
Enter Salisbury.

Welcome, my lord, how far off lies your Pow'r?
Salis. 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.

Oh,

Oh, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou fhalt have twelve thousand fighting men.
To day, to day,unhappy day, too late
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy ftate.
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, difperft and fled.

Aum. Comfort, my Liege, why looks your Grace fo pale ?

K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled. And till fo much blood thither come again, Have I not reafon to look pale, and dead? All fouls, that will be safe, fly from my fide; For time hath fet a blot upon my pride.

Aum. Comfort, my Liege; remember, who you are. K. Rich. I had forgot my felf: am I not King? Awake, thou coward Majefty, thou sleepeft: 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 fav'rites of a King! are we not high? High be our thoughts. I know, my uncle York Hath pow'r to ferve our turn. But who comes here?

Enter Scroop.

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my Liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him!

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd: The worst is worldly loss thou canft unfold. Say, is my Kingdom loft? why, 'twas my care: And what lofs is it, to be rid of care? Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? Greater he fhall not be; if he ferve God, We'll ferve 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, Deftruction, Ruin, Lofs, Decay ; The worst is death, and death will have his day. Scroop. Glad am I, that your Highness is fo arm'd To bear the tidings of calamity.

Like an unfeasonable ftermy day,

Which makes the filver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all diffolv'd to tears;

So high above his limits fwells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, cov'ring your fearful Land

With hard bright steel, and hearts more hard than steel.
White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy Majefty; boys with women's voices
Strive to speak big, and clasp their female joints
In ftiff unwieldy arms, against thy Crown:
Thy very Beadfmen learn to bend their bows
Of double fatal Ewe, againft thy State:
Yea, diftaff-women manage rufty bills.
Against thy Seat both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have pow'r to tell.

K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'ft a Tale fo ill.

Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is he got? (7)
What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
That they have let the dang'rous enemy
Measure our confines with fuch peaceful steps?

(7) Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?

What is become of Bufhy? where is Green?] Here are four of them named; and, within a very few Lines, the King, hearing they had made their Peace with Bolingbroke, calls them THREE Judas's. But how was their Peace made? Why, with the Lofs of their Heads. This being explain'd, Aumerle says, Is Bushy, Green, and th' Earl of Wiltshire dead? So that Bagot ought to be left out of the Question: and, indeed, he had made the best of his way for Chester, and from thence had escap'd into Ireland. And so we find him, in the 2d Act, determining to do.

Bagot. No: I'll to Ireland, to his Majefty.

The Poet could not be guilty of fo much Forgetfulness and Abfurdity. The Tranfcribers must have blunder'd. It feems probable to me that He wrote, as I have conjecturally alter'd the Text.

Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is He got?

i. e. Into what Corner of my Dominions is He flunk, and abfconded?

If