Live in thy fhame, but die not fhame with thee!-
These words hereafter thy tormentors be!-
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
Love they 5 to live, that love and honour have.

[Exit, borne out by his Attendants. K. RICH. And let them die, that age and fullens

have;

For both haft thou, and both become the grave.
YORK. 'Beseech your majefty, impute his words
To wayward ficklinefs and age in him:

He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here.

K. RICH. Right; you fay true: as Hereford's love, fo his :

As theirs, fo mine; and all be as it is.

Again, in the 119th:

"Love's not Time's fool, though rofy lips and cheeks "Within his bending fickle's compafs come."

It may be mentioned, however, that crooked is an epithet be ftowed on age in the tragedy of Locrine, 1595:

"Now yield to death o'erlaid by crooked age."

Locrine has been attributed to Shakspeare; and in this paffage quoted from it, no allufion to a fcythe can be fuppofed. Our poet's expreffions are fometimes confused and abortive. STEEVENS. Again, in A Flourish upon Fancie, by N. B. [Nicholas Breton,] 1577:

Who, when that he a while hath bin in fancies schoole, "Doth learne in his old crooked age to play the doting

foole." MALONE.

Shakspeare had probably two different but kindred ideas in his mind; the bend of age, and the fickle of time, which he confounded together. M. MASON.

5 Love they] That is, let them love. JOHNSON.

69 'Befeech your majefty,] The old copies redundantly read"I do befeech," &c.

Mr. Ritfon would regulate the paffage differently (and perhaps rightly,) by omitting the words-in him:

I do befeech your majesty, impute

His words to wayward ficklinefs and age. STEEVENS.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.7

NORTH. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.

K. RICH. What says he now ?

NORTH.

Nay, nothing; all is faid: His tongue is now a ftringlefs inftrument; Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. YORK. Be York the next that must be bankrupt fo!

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

K. RICH. The ripest fruit first falls, and fo doth

he;

His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be :9
So much for that.-Now for our Irifh wars:
We must fupplant those rough rug-headed kerns;
Which live like venom, where no venom elfe,'
But only they, hath privilege to live.

And for thefe great affairs do ask fome charge,

"Northumberland.] was Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. WALPOLE.

8 What fays he now?] I have fupplied the adverb-now, (which is wanting in the old copy,) to complete the measure. STEEVENS. 9- our pilgrimage muft be:] That is, our pilgrimage is yet to come. M. MASON.

I where no venom elfe,] This alludes to a tradition that St. Patrick freed the kingdom of Ireland from venomous reptiles of every kind. So, in Decker's Honeft Whore, P. II. 1630: that Irish Judas,

66

"Bred in a country where no venom profpers,
"But in his blood."

Again, in Fuimus Troes, 1633:

“As Irish earth doth poifon poisonous beafts."

See alfo, Thomas Lupton's Fourth Book of Notable Things, 4to. bl. 1. STEEVENS.

Towards our affiftance, we do feize to us
The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did ftand poffefs'd.

YORK. How long fhall I be patient? Ah, how long

Shall tender duty make me fuffer wrong?
Not Glofter's death, nor Hereford's banifhment,
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, nor my own difgrace,
Have ever made me four my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle on my fovereign's face.-
I am the laft of noble Edward's fons,

2

Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first;
In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce,
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely gentleman:
His face thou haft, for even fo look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ;3
But, when he frown'd, it was against the French,
And not againft his friends: his noble hand
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won:
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
O, Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or elfe he never would compare between.

Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke

About his marriage,] When the duke of Hereford, after his banishment, went into France, he was honourably entertained at that court, and would have obtained in marriage the only daughter of the duke of Berry, uncle to the French king, had not Richard prevented the match. STEEVENS.

3 Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;] i. e. when he was of thy age. MALONE.

K. RICH. Why, uncle, what's the matter?
YORK.
O, my liege,
Pardon me, if you please; if not, I pleas'd
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
Seek you to feize, and gripe into your hands,
The royalties and rights of banifh'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt juft? and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
Is not his heir a well-deferving fon?

Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time
His charters, and his cuftomary rights;
Let not to-morrow then enfue to-day;
Be not thyself, for how art thou a king,
But by fair fequence and fucceffion?
Now, afore God (God forbid, I fay true!)
If you do wrongfully feize Hereford's rights,
Call in the letters patents that he hath
By his attornies-general to fue

His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,4
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
You lofe a thousand well-difpofed hearts,
And prick my tender patience to thofe thoughts
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

K. RICH. Think what you will; we feize into our hands

His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. YORK. I'll not be by, the while: My liege, fare

well:

What will enfue hereof, there's none can tell;
But by bad courses may be understood,
That their events can never fall out good.

[Exit.

deny his offer'd homage,] That is, refufe to admit the

homage, by which he is to hold his lands. JOHNSON.

K. RICH. GO, Bufhy, to the earl of Wiltshire ftraight;

Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,

To fee this bufinefs: To-morrow next

We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow;
And we create, in abfence of ourself,
Our uncle York lord governor of England,
For he is juft, and always lov'd us well.-
Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
Be merry, for our time of ftay is fhort. [Flourish,
[Exeunt King, Queen, BUSHY, AUMERLE,
GREEN, and BAGOT.

NORTH. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead.

Ross. And living too; for now his fon is duke. WILLO. Barely in title, not in revenue.

NORTH. Richly in both, if justice had her right. Ross. My heart is great; but it must break with filence,

Ere't be difburden'd with a liberal tongue.

NORTH. Nay, fpeak thy mind; and let him ne'er fpeak more,

That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm!

WILLO. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of Hereford?

If it be fo, out with it boldly, man;

Quick is mine ear, to hear of good towards him. Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him; Unless you call it good, to pity him,

Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

NORTH. Now, afore heaven, 'tis fhame, fuch
wrongs are borne,

In him a royal prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land.