Be rushed upon! Thy thrice-noble cousin, That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones; This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; K. Rich. Northumberland, say, thus the king returns; His noble cousin is right welcome hither; And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplished without contradiction. With all the gracious utterance thou hast, Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, To look so poorly, and to speak so fair? Shall we call back Northumberland, and send Defiance to the traitor, and so die? [To AUMERLE. Aum. No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words, Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords. K. Rich. O God! O God! that e'er this tongue of mine, That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yon proud man, should take it off again Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat, Aum. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. K. Rich. What must the king do now? Must he submit? The king shall do it. Must he be deposed? 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; North. My lord, in the base court he doth attend In the base court? To come at traitors' In the base court? [NORTH. retires to BOLING. Base court, where kings grow base, calls, and do them grace. Come down? Down, court! down, king! For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should sing. [Exeunt from above. Sorrow and grief of heart Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man. Yet he is come. Enter KING RICHARD, and his Attendants, below. Boling. Stand all apart, And show fair duty to his majesty.— My gracious lord,— [Kneeling. K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee, To make the base earth proud with kissing it. Me rather had, my heart might feel your love, Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy. Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least, [Touching his own head.] although your knee be low. Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. 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, 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. Exeunt. SCENE IV. Langley. 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? "Twill make me think, 1 Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. 1 Lady. Madam, we will dance. Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight, 1 Lady. Of either, madam. Of sorrow, or of joy? Of neither, girl, For if of joy, being altogether wanting, 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 shouldst please me better, wouldst 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, [Queen and Ladies retire. Cut off the heads of too fast-growing sprays, 1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, Gard. The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, As we this garden! We at time of year 1 Serv. What, think you, then, the king shall be deposed? Gard. Depressed he is already; and deposed, 'Tis doubt, he will be. Letters came last night good duke of York's, To a dear friend of the That tell black tidings. Queen. O, I am pressed 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? To make a second fall of cursed man? Why dost thou say, king Richard is deposed? Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weighed. 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 |