Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle.
 Enter RICHARD alone.

Richard	I have been studying how I may compare
	This prison where I live unto the world;
	And, for because the world is populous
	And here is not a creature but myself,
	I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.
	My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,
	My soul the father, and these two beget
	A generation of still-breeding thoughts;
	And these same thoughts people this little world
	In humours, like the people of this world,
	For no thought is contented. The better sort,
	As thoughts of things divine, are intermixed
	With scruples, and do set the word itself
	Against the word,
	As thus: 'Come, little ones'; and then again,
	'It is as hard to come as for a camel
	To thread the postern of a small needle's eye'.
	Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
	Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails
	May tear a passage thorough the flinty ribs
	Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;
	And for they cannot, die in their own pride.
	Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves
	That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
	Nor shall not be the last - like silly beggars
	Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame
	That many have, and others must, sit there;
	And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
	Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
	Of such as have before endured the like.
	Thus play I in one person many people,
	And none contented. Sometimes am I king;
	Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar,
	And so I am. Then crushing penury
	Persuades me I was better when a king;
	Then am I kinged again, and by and by
	Think that I am unkinged by Bolingbroke,
	And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be,
	Nor I nor any man that but man is,
	With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased
	With being nothing.
													[The Music plays.
							Music do I hear?
	Ha, ha, keep time! How sour sweet music is
	When time is broke and no proportion kept!
	So is it in the music of men's lives.
	And here have I the daintiness of ear
	To check time broke in a disordered string;
	But for the concord of my state and time
	Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
	I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;
	For now hath time made me his numbering 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 mad men 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!

Richard							Thanks, noble peer;
	The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
	What art thou; and how com'st 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 yearned 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 dressed!

Richard	Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,
	How went he under him?

Groom	So proudly as if he disdained the ground.

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 awed by man,
	Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse,
	And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
	Spur-galled and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke.

                         Enter KEEPER with meat.

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

Richard	If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.

Groom	What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.
													[Exit.
Keeper	My lord, will't please you to fall to?

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.

Richard	The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee!
	Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
													[Strikes the KEEPER.
Keeper	Help, help, help!

                The murderers, EXTON and his MEN, rush in.

Richard	How now, what means death in this rude assault?
							 [Snatching a weapon and killing one.

	Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.
	Go thou and fill another room in hell.
				 [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 stained 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 spilt. O 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.
													[Exeunt.
