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And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Chap. XII .
The Entry ofBolingbroke and Richard into London.
Duke and Duchess of York.
Duck.LXxr lord, you told me, you would tell
the rest When weeping made you break the story off Of our two cousins coming into London.
York. Where did I leave?
Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands, from window-tops. Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.
York. Then, as I said , the duke , great Bolingbroke , Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed , Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, With slow , but stately pace , kept on his course -; While all tongues cried, God save thee, B olin
broke! You would have thought the very windows spake. So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eye» Upon his visage ; and that all the walls With painted imag'ry had said at once, Jesu preserve thee! welcome Bolingbroke! Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespoke them thus: I thank you, eountrymen: -And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.
Duck. Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
— Xieason thus with life: v
If I do lose thee , I do lose a thing
That none but fools would reck: a breath thou art.
Servile to all the skiey influences,
That do this habitation , -where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict ; merely thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'st by thy ilight to shun,
And yet runn'st tow'rd him still. Thou art not
noble; For all th' accommodations that thou bear'st, Are nurs'd by baseness : thou art by no means v&*
liant; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
bounty , To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this That bears the name of life ? yet in this life Lie hid more thousand deaths ; yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even.
JL do remember , when the fight was done ,
A pouncet box , which ever and anon
He gave his nose, and Look't away again;
Who therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff.—And still he smil'd, and talk'd 5
And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by ,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly , unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He questioned me : amongst the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf,
I then , all smarting with thei wounds; being gall'd
To be so pester'd with a popinjay,
Out of my grief, and my impatience ,
Answer'd , neglectingly , I know not what!
He should, or should not ; for he made me mad ,
To see him shine »o brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds; (Cod save the
mark) And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth, , Was parmacity, for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, This villainous salt-petre should be digg'd Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd So cowardly: and but for these vile guns, He would hamself have been a soldier.
Clarence and Brckenbury.
Brnk. W Hy looks your grace so heavily to day,
Clar. 0 ! I have pass'd a miserable night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
Brak. What was your dream , my Lord ; I pray you tell me.
Clar. Methought that I had broken from the Tow'r, And -was enibark'd to cross to Burgundy, And in my company my brother Gio'ster; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd tow'rd England, And cited up a thousand heavy times During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befallen us. As we pass'd along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches , Methought that Gio'ster stumbled , and in falling Struck me (that sought to stay him) overboard , Into the tumbling billows of the main: Lord, Lord, methought what pain it was to drowrj What dreadful noise of waters in my ears! W^hat sights of ugly death within mine eyes! I thought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon: Wedges of gold , great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones , unvalued jewels; Some lay in dead men's sculls : and in those holes "W^here eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes , reflecting gems, That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep , And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?
Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I strive To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To find the empty , vast, and wand'ring air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, W^hich almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony?
Clar. No, no; my dream was lengthen'd after life: