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Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not king? Awake thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st. Is not the king's name forty thousand names? Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, Ye favourites of a king; Are we not high? High be our thoughts: I know, my uncle York Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who Comes here?

Enter SCROOP.

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege,

Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him.

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd;

The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care;
And what loss is it, to be rid of care?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so:
Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend ;
They break their faith to God, as well as us;
Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay;
The worst is - death, and death will have his day.
Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day,
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all dissolved to tears;
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel.
White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless
scalps
Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.

K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill.

Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.

I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my lord.

K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption !

Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my

heart!

Three Judasses, each one thrice worse than Judas! Would they make peace? terrible hell make war Upon their spotted souls for this offence!

Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate: Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands: those whom you

curse,

Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground.

Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire, dead?

Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.

Aum. Where is the duke my father with his power?

K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speak :

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills:
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath,
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, or lives, and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own, but death;
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the death of kings:
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
Some poison'd by their wi some sleeping kill'd;
All murder'd: For within the hollow crown,
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Keeps death his court: and there the antick sits,
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene

To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable, and, humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence; throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while :
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,
Need friends:

Subjected thus,
How can you say to me -

Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present

woes,

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- I am a king?

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But presently prevent the ways to wail.
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,
Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,
And so your follies fight against yourself.
Fear, and be slain; no worse can come, to fight:
And fight and die, is death destroying death;
Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath.

Aum. My father hath a power, enquire of him; And learn to make a body of a limb.

K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well :-Proud Bolingbroke, I come

To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
This ague-fit of fear is over-blown ;
An easy task it is, to win our own.

Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The state and inclination of the day:
So may you by my dull and heavy eye,

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
I play the torturer, by small and small,
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:
Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke;
And all your northern castles yielded up,
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
Upon his party.

K. Rich.

Thou hast said enough.

Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth [To AUMERLE.

Of that sweet way I was in to despair!
What say you now? What comfort have we now?
By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly,
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go to Flint castle; there I'll pine away;
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.
That power I have, discharge; and let them go
To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,
For I have none: - Let no man speak again
To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

Aum. My liege, one word.
K. Rich.
He does me double wrong,
That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers, let them hence; - Away,
From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day.
[Exeunt.

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Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn,
The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed,
With some few private friends, upon this coast.

North. The news is very fair, and good, my lord; Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head.

:

York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, To say-king Richard : - Alack the heavy day, When such a sacred king should hide his head! North. Your grace mistakes me; only to be brief, Left I his title out.

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Percy. Yes, my good lord, It doth contain a king; king Richard lies Within the limits of yon lime and stone: And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn.

North. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle. Boling. Noble lord, [TO NORTH. Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle : Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver. Harry Bolingbroke

On both his knees, doth kiss king Richard's hand;
And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart,
To his most royal person: hither come
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power;
Provided that, my banishment repeal'd,
And lands restor❜d again, be freely granted :

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York. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear, As doth the blushing discontented sun, From out the fiery portal of the east ; When he perceives the envious clouds are bent To dim his glory, and to stain the track Of his bright passage to the occident. Yet looks he like a king; behold, his eye, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth Controuling majesty; Alack, alack, for woe, That any harm should stain so fair a show!

K. Rich. We are amaz'd; and thus long have we stood

To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
To NORTHUMBErland.
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king :
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence?
If we be not, show us the hand of God
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship;
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can gripe the sacred handle of our scepter,
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.

And though you think, that all, as you have done
Have torn their souls, by turning them from us,
And we are barren, and bereft of friends;
Yet know, my master, God omnipotent,
Is mustering in his clouds, on our behalf,
Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike.
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot,
That lift your vassal hands against my head,
And threat the glory of my precious crown.
Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond', methinks, he is,)
That every stride he makes upon my land,
Is dangerous treason: He is come to ope
The purple testament of bleeding war;
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons
Shall ill become the flower of England's face;
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To scarlet indignation, and bedew

Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood.
North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord the

king

Should so with civil and uncivil arms
Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice-noble cousin,
Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;
And by the honourable tomb he swears,
That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones;
And by the royalties of both your bloods,
Currents that spring from one most gracious head;
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt;
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Comprising all that may be sworn or said,
His coming hither hath no further scope,
Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees;
Which on thy royal party granted once,
His glittering arms he will commend to rust,
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart
To faithful service of your majesty.
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;
And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him.
K. Rich. Northumberland, say,

thus the king

And make a dearth in this revolting land.
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes,
And make some pretty match with shedding tears?
As thus ; To drop them still upon one place,
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
Within the earth; and, therein laid, There lies
Two kinsmen, digg'd their graves with weeping eyes?
Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see
I talk but idly, and you mock at me. —
Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland,
What says king Bolingbroke? will his majesty
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says―ay.

North. My lord, in the base court he doth attend To speak with you; may't please you to come down?

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broke.

K. Rich. What must the king do now? Must he submit?

The king shall do it. Must he be depos'd?
The king shall be contented: Must he lose
The name of king? o'God's name, let it go:
I'll give my jewels, for a set of beads;
My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage;
My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown;
My figur'd goblets, for a dish of wood;
My scepter, for a palmer's walking-staff;
My subjects, for a pair of carved saints;
And my large kingdom for a little grave,
A little little grave, an obscure grave: —
Or I'll be buried in the king's highway,
Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head:
For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live;
And, buried once, why not upon my head?.
Aumerle, thou weep'st; My tender-hearted cou-
sin! -

We'll make foul weather with despised tears;
Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer corn,

K. Rich. Down, down, I come; like glistering Phaeton,

Wanting the manage of unruly jades.

[NORTH. retires to BOLING. In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,

To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace.

In the base court? Come down? Down, court!
down king!
For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should
sing.
Breunt, from above.
Boling. What says his majesty?
North.
Sorrow and grief of heart
Makes him speak fondly, like a frantick man :
Yet he is come.

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SCENE IV.

Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, As my true service shall deserve your love.

K. Rich. Well you deserve: - They well deserve to have,

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That know the strong'st and surest way to get.
Uncle, give me your hand: nay, dry your eyes;
Tears show their love, but want their remedies.
Cousin, I am too young to be your father,
Though you are old enough to be my heir.
What you will have, I'll give, and willing too;
For do we must, what force will have us do.
Set on towards London: Cousin, is it so?
Boling. Yea, my good lord.
K. Rich.

Then I must not say, no.
[Flourish. Excunt.

Langley. The Duke of York's

Garden.

Enter the QUEEN and two Ladies. Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this garden,

To drive away the heavy thought of care?

1 Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. Queen. "Twill make me think, The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune Runs 'gainst the bias.

1 Lady.

Madam, we will dance.

Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight,
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:
Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport.
1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales.
Queen.
Of sorrow, or of joy?

1 Lady. Of either, madam.
Queen.

Of neither, girl:
For if of joy, being altogether wanting,
It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
Or if of grief, being altogether had,

It adds more sorrow to my want of joy:
For what I have, I need not to repeat;
And what I want, it boots not to complain.
1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing.
Queen.
'Tis well, that thou hast cause;
But thou should'st please me better, would'st thou

weep.

1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you good.

Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do me good,

And never borrow any tear of thee.
But stay, here come the gardeners:
Let's step into the shadow of these trees.

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Queen.
O, I am press'd to death,
Through want of speaking! Thou, old Adam's
likeness, [Coming from her concealment.
Set to dress this garden, how dares
Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee
To make a second fall of cursed man?
Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd?
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Divine his downfal? Say, where, when, and how,
Cam'st thou by these ill-tidings? speak, thou wretch.

Enter a Gardener and two Servants.
My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
They'll talk of state: for every one doth so
Against a change: Woe is forerun with woe.
[QUEEN and Ladies retire.

Gard. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricocks,
Which, like unruly children, make their sire
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight:
Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
Go thou, and like an executioner,
Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays,
That look too lofty in our commonwealth:
All must be even in our government.
You thus employ'd, I will go root away
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

Gard. Pardon me, madam: little joy have I,
To breathe this news: yet, what I say is true.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'd:
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself,
And some few vanities that make him light;
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
Besides himself, are all the English peers,
And with that odds he weighs king Richard down.
Post you to London, and you'll find it so :
I speak no more than every one doth know.
Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of
foot,
Doth not thy embassage belong to me,

And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st

1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Keep law, and form, and due proportion,
Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go,
Showing, as in a model, our firm estate?
To meet at London London's king in woe. —
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,
What, was I born to this! that my sad look
Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up, Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, Gardener, for telling me this news of woe,
Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars?

I would, the plants thou graft'st, may never grow.
[Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies.
Gard. Poor queen! so that thy state might be no

Gard.

worse,

Hold thy peace : —
He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring,
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:
The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did
shelter,

That seem'd in eating him to hold him up,
Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke;
I mean the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

1 Serv. What, are they dead?
Gard.
They are; and Bolingbroke
Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. -Oh! what pity is it,
That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land,
As we this garden! We at time of year
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees;
Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood,
With too much riches it confound itself:
Had he done so to great and growing men,
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste
Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.
1 Serv. What, think you then, the king shall be
depos'd 2

Gard. Depress'd he is already; and depos'd, 'Tis doubt, he will be: Letters came last night To a dear friend of the good duke of York's, That tell black tidings.

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I would my skill were subject to thy curse. —
Here did she drop a tear; here, in this place,
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. - London. Westminster Hall. The Lords spiritual on the right side of the throne; the Lords temporal on the left; the Commons below. Enter BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, SURREY, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, FITZWATER, another Lord, BISHOP OF CARLISLE, ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, and Attendants. Officers behind with BAGOT.

Boling. Call forth Bagot: Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death; Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd The bloody office of his timeless end.

Bagot. Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle. Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that

man.

Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue

rns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, I heard you say, — Is not my arm of length, That reacheth from the restful English court As far as Calais, to my uncle's head? Amongst much other talk, that very time, I heard you say, that you had rather refuse The offer of an hundred thousand crowns, Than Bolingbroke's return to England; Adding withal, how blest this land would be, In this your cousin's death.

Aum. Princes, and noble lords, What answer shall I make to this base man? Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, On equal terms to give him chastisement? Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd With the attainder of his sland'rous lips. There is my gage, the manual seal of death, That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest, And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false, In thy heart-blood, though being all too base To stain the temper of my knightly sword.

Boling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence, that hath mov'd me so.

Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathies, There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine: By that fair sun that shows me where thou standst, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest ; And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Where it was forg'd, with my rapier's point.

Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. Percy. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true, In this appeal, as thou art all unjust: And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage, prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing; seize it, if thou dar'st. Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe!

Το

Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle ; And spur thee on with full as many lies

As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear
From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.

Aum. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all:

I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.

Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
Fitz. My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence
then;

And you can witness with me, this is true.
Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is

true.

Fitz. Surrey, thou liest.
Surrey.

Dishonourable boy!
That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword,
That it shall render vengeance and revenge,
Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie
In earth as quiet as thy father's scull.
In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.

Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse! If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies, And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,

To tie thee to my strong correction.
As I intend to thrive in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal :
Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say,
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
To execute the noble duke at Calais.

Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage, That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this, If he may be repeal'd to try his honour.

Boling. These differences shall all rest under

gage,

Till Norfolk be repeal'd repeal'd he shall be,
And, though mine enemy, restor❜d again
To all his land and seignories; when he's return'a
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.

Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. —
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ; in glorious Christian field
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross,
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens :
And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself
To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth,
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.
Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?
Car. As sure as I live, my lord.

Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom

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