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And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke.
Enter Keeper, with a dish.
Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. [To the Groom. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.
Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to?
Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
Keep. Help, help, help!
[Beats the Keeper.
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, then Exton strikes him
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own
Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.
Exton. As full of valour, as of royal blood: Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me-I did well, Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear;Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.
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 consum'd with fire
But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not.
Welcome, my lord: What is the news?
North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happi
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.
[Presenting a paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely;
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors,
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,
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 wrought
A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand,
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 labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour: With Cain go wander through the shade 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,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand :-
This play is one of those which Shakspeare has ap. parently revised; but as success in works of inven tion is not always proportionate to labour, it is not finished at last with the happy force of some other of his tragedies, nor can be said much to affect the passions, or enlarge the understanding.