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Be rushed upon! Thy thrice-noble cousin,
Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;
And by the honorable 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 honor 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 the 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;
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 AUMERLE.
To look so poorly, and to speak so fair ?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
Defiance to the traitor, and so die?
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 With words of sooth! O, that I were as great As is my grief, or lesser than my name! Or that I could forget what I have been ! Or not remember what I must be now ! Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat, Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.
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;
My figured goblets, for a dish of wood;
My sceptre, 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 cousin !-
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, digged 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 Boling broke? 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?
K. Rich. Down, down, I come, like glistering Phaëton, 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.
[Exeunt from above. Boling. What says his majesty ? North.
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, —
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.
Then I must not say, no.
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?
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.
'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,
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 apricots,
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 employed, I will go root away
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.
1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,
Keep law, and form, and due proportion,
Showing, as in a model, our firm estate?
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land
Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers choked up,
Her fruit-trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined,
Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars ?
Hold thy peace!
He that hath suffered this disordered spring,
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf.
The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
That seemed in eating him to hold him up,
Are plucked 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 seized the wasteful king.-0! what pity is it, That he had not 80 trimmed and dressed 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 lived 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 deposed?
Gard. Depressed he is already; and deposed,
'Tis doubt, he will be. Letters came last night
To a dear friend of the good duke of York's,
That tell black tidings.
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 ?
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee
To make a second fall of cursed man?
Why dost thou say, king Richard is deposed ?
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Divine his downfall? 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 weighed.
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
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
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?--