Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully looked on me; As who should say,-I would thou wert the man That would divorce this terror from my heart; Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go; I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. SCENE V. Pomfret. [Exeunt. The Dungeon of the Castle. Enter KING RICHARD. K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare And these same thoughts people this little world, As thus, Come, little ones; and then again,- me, [Music. Think that I am unkinged by Bolingbroke, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Enter Groom. Groom. Hail, royal prince! Thanks, noble peer; K. Rich. Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid; K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him? Groom. So proudly, as if he disdained tne ground. K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? would he not fall down, (Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be awed by man, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And yet I bear a burden like an ass, Spur-galled, and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke. Enter Keeper, with a dish. Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. say. [Exit. Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton, who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the Keeper. Keep. Help, help, help! Enter EXTON and Servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [He kills another, and then EXTON strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person.-Exton, thy fierce hand Both have I spilled! O, 'would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, This dead king to the living king I'll bear; Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Windsor. A Room in the Castle. Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE and YORK, with Lords and Attendants. Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consumed with fire Our town of Cicester in Glostershire; But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Welcome, my lord. What is the news? North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is, I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent. [Presenting a paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Enter FITZWATER. Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous, consorted traitors, That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter PERCY, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, Hath yielded up his body to the grave; But here is Carlisle living to abide Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, Enter EXTON, with Attendants bearing a coffin. Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear; herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast rought A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, Upon my head, and all this famous land. Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labor, With Cain go wander through the shade of night, That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow. [Exeunt. |