82 The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, by
82 The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, by William Shakespeare
ACT III
SCENE I. Bristol. Bolingbroke’s camp.
Enter Bolingbroke, York,
Northumberland, Harry Percy, Willoughby, Ross; Officers behind, with
Bushy and Green,
prisoners.
BOLINGBROKE.
Bring forth these men.
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls—
Since presently your souls must part your bodies—
With too much urging your pernicious lives,
For ’twere no charity; yet to wash your blood
From off my hands, here in the view of men
I will unfold some causes of your deaths:
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied and disfigured clean.
Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,
Near to the King in blood, and near in love
Till you did make him misinterpret me,
Have stooped my neck under your injuries
And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment,
Whilst you have fed upon my signories,
Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods,
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Rased out my imprese, leaving me no sign
Save men’s opinions and my living blood
To show the world I am a gentleman.
This and much more, much more than twice all this,
Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over
To execution and the hand of death.
BUSHY.
More welcome is the stroke of death to me
Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.
GREEN.
My comfort is that heaven will take our souls
And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
BOLINGBROKE.
My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatched.
[Exeunt Northumberland and Others, with
Bushy and Green.]
Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house;
For God’s sake, fairly let her be entreated.
YORK.
A gentleman of mine I have dispatched
With letters of your love to her at large.
BOLINGBROKE.
Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,
To fight with Glendower and his complices.
A while to work, and after holiday.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view.
Flourish: drums and trumpets. Enter King
Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle
and soldiers.
KING RICHARD.
Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand?
AUMERLE.
Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air
After your late tossing on the breaking seas?
KING RICHARD.
Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy
To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horses’ hoofs.
As a long-parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,
So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favours with my royal hands.
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign’s enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebe