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!

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 wives, 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 — I am a king?

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

woes,

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?

heart!

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.

If not, I'll use the advantage of my power,
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood,
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen :
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land,
My stooping duty tenderly shall show.
Go, signify as much; while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.

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.

SCENE III. - Wales. Before Flint Castle. Enter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE and Forces; YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, and others. 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.

York. The time hath been, Would you have been so brief with him, he would Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, For taking so the head, your whole head's length. Boling. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.

York. Take not, good cousin, further than you should,

Lest you mis-take: The heavens are o'er your head. Boling. I know it, uncle; and oppose not Myself against their will. But who comes here? Enter PERCY.

[NORTHUMBERLAND advances to the castle, with a trumpet.

Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum,
That from the castle's totter'd battlements
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd.
Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain
My waters; on the earth, and not on him.
March on, and mark king Richard how he looks.
A parle sounded, and answered by another trumpet
within. Flourish. Enter on
the walls KING
RICHARD, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, AUMERLE,
SCROOP, and SALISBURY.

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

returns;

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,

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

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?
F
Boling. Yea, my good lord.
K. Rich.

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

Langley. The Duke of York's

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.

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.

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

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.

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.
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

Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go,
To meet at London London's king in woe. —
What, was I born to this! that my sad look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
Gardener, for telling me this news of woe,
I would, the plants thou graft'st, may never grow.
[Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies.
Gard. Poor queen! so that thy state might be no

worse,

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.

-

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, To 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!

Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;

And spur thee on with full as many lies

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

Of good old Abraham! - Lords appellants, Your differences shall all rest under gage, Till we assign you to your days of trial.

Enter YORK, attended.

York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing sou Adopts thee heir, and his high scepter yields To the possession of thy royal hand: