Page:Richard II (1921) Yale.djvu/64

52 

K. Rich. Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand?

Aum. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air,

After your late tossing on the breaking seas?

K. Rich. 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 favour with my royal hands.

Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,

Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;

But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,

And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,

Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet

Which with usurping steps do trample thee.

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

 1 Barkloughly; cf. n.

2 brooks: endures

23 conjuration: adjuration, prayer

