The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 427

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock: My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.

Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans, Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock.

This music mads me. Let it sound no more; For though it have holp madmen to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad.

Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!

For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

Enter a GROOM of the stable

GROOM. Hail, royal Prince!

KING RICHARD. Thanks, n.o.ble peer!

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.

What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live?

GROOM. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.

O, how it ern'd my heart, when I beheld, In London streets, that coronation-day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary- That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, That horse that I so carefully have dress'd!

KING RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him?

GROOM. So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground.

KING RICHARD. 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 aw'd by man, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And yet I bear a burden like an a.s.s, Spurr'd, gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke.

Enter KEEPER with meat

KEEPER. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.

KING RICHARD. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.

GROOM. my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.

Exit KEEPER. My lord, will't please you to fall to?

KING RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.

KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton, Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.

KING RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!

Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

[Beats the KEEPER]

KEEPER. Help, help, help!

The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed KING RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude a.s.sault?

Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

[s.n.a.t.c.hing a weapon and killing one]

Go thou and fill another room in h.e.l.l.

[He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down]

That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the King's blood stain'd the King's own land.

Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

[Dies]

EXTON. As full of valour as of royal blood.

Both have I spill'd. O, would the deed were good!

For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in h.e.l.l.

This dead King to the living King I'll bear.

Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. Exeunt

SCENE 6.

Windsor Castle

Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With other LORDS and attendants

BOLINGBROKE. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consum'd with fire Our town of Ciceter in Gloucesters.h.i.+re; But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND

Welcome, my lord. What is the news?

NORTHUMBERLAND. 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.

The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here.

BOLINGBROKE. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

Enter FITZWATER

FITZWATER. 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.

BOLINGBROKE. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right n.o.ble 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.

BOLINGBROKE. Carlisle, this is your doom: Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; So as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife; For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.

Enter EXTON, with attendants, hearing 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 Bordeaux, by me hither brought.

BOLINGBROKE. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought 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.

BOLINGBROKE. 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 labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour; With Cain go wander thorough shades of night, And never show thy head by day nor light.

Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.

Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put on sullen black incontinent.

I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.

March sadly after; grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier. Exeunt

THE END

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1593

KING RICHARD III