I am a stranger here in Glostershire. These high wild hills, a.id rough uneven ways, Draw at our miles and make them wearisome: And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable. But, I bethink me, what a weary way From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company; Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd The tediousness and process of my travel: But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess: And hope to joy, is little less in joy, Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath
By sight of what I have, your noble company. Boling. Of much less value is my company,, Than your good words. But who comes here? Enter HARRY PERCY.
North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. Harry, how fares your uncle?
Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.
North. Why, is he not with the queen?
And I must find that title in your tongue, Before I make reply to aught you say. Berk. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning,
To raze one title of your honor out:
To you, my lord, I come (what lord you will) From the most glorious regent of this land, The duke of York; to know, what pricks you on To take advantage of the absent time,
And fright our native peace with self-born armis.
Boling. I shall not needs transport my words by you.
Here comes his grace in person.-My noble uncle! [Kneels.
York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
Whose duty is deceivable and false.
Boling. My gracious uncle!
York. Tut, tut!
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle:
I am no traitor's uncle; and the word-grace, In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground?
Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the But then more why;-Why have they dared to
Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd The household of the king. North.
What was his reason? He was not so resolv'd when last we spake together. Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, To offer service to the duke of Hereford; And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover What power the duke of York had levied there; Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy?
Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot, Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him.
North. Then learn to know him now; this is the
Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; Which elder days shall ripen and contirm To more approved service and desert.
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom; Frighting her pale-faced villages with war, And ostentation of despised arms? Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence? And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the lord of such hot youth, As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, Rescued the black prince, that young Mars of men From forth the ranks of many thousand French; O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine, And minister correction to thy fault! Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee,
Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; On what condition stands it, and wherein? York. Even in condition of the worst degree,- Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come, gross rebellion, and detested treason: Before the expiration of thy time,
In braving arms against thy sovereign.
Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Here ford;
But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
Boling. thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace,
I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompense: My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals
North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard: And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Sey-
None else of name, and noble estimate.
Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY.
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye: You are my father, for, methinks, in you I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father! Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster. If that my cousin king be king of England, You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman; He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay. I am denied to sue my livery* here, And yet my letters-patent give me leave:
North. Here comes the lords of Ross and Wil- My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold; loughby,
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.
And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. What would you have me do? I am a subject,
Boling. Welcome, my lords: I wot, your love And challenge law: Attornies are denied me;
And therefore personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent.
North. The noble duke hath been too much abused.
Ross. It stands your grace upon, to do him right Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great.
York. My lords of England, let me tell you this,- I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, And labor'd all I could to do him right: But in this kind to come, in braving arms, Be his own carver, and cut out his way. To find out right with wrong,-it may not be; And you, that do abet him in this kind, Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.
Time of the king's absence. The persons who wrong him. Possession of my land, &c.
* Impartial
7Tt is your interest
SCENE IV.-A Camp in Wales. Enter SALISBURY, and a Captain
North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is
But for his own: and, for the right of that, We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath. York. Well, well, I see the issue of these
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, Because my power is weak, and all ill left: But, if I could, by him that gave me life, I would attach you all, and make you stoop Unto the sovereign mercy of the king; But, since I cannot, be it known to you, I do remain as neuter. So fare you well;- Unless you please to enter in the castle, And there repose you for this night.
Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. But we must win your grace, to go with us To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away. York. It may be, I will go with you:-but yet I'll pause;
For I am loth to break our country's laws. Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are: Things past redress, are now with me past care.
Capt. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days And hardly kept our countrymen together, And yet we hear no tidings from the king: Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell. Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman, The king reposeth all his confidence In thee.
Capt. 'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;" The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth, And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,- The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy, The other, to enjoy by rage and war: These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.- Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assured, Richard their king is dead. [Exu. Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind, I see thy glory, like a shooting star,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament! Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest: Thy friends are tled, to wait upon thy foes; And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.
SCENE I-Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol. Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, Ross: Oflicers behind' with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners. Boling. Bring forth these men.Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls (Since presently your souls must part your bodies) With too much urging your pernicious lives, For 'twere to charity: yet, to wash your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men, I will unfold some causes of your death. You have misled a prince, a royal king, A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean. You have, in manner, with your sinful hours, Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him; Broke the possession of a royal bed, And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. Myself a prince, by fortune of my birth; Near to the king in blood; and near in love, Till you did make him misinterpret me,Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment: Whilst you have fed upon my seignories, Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods; From my own windows torn my household coat, Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign,Save men's opinions, and my living blood,To show the world I am a gentleman. This, and much more, much more than twice all this,
Condemns you to the death:-see them deliver'd
Than Bolingbroke to England.-Lords, farewell. Green. My comfort is,-that heaven will take our souls,
And plague injustice with the pains of hell. Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them despatch'd.
[Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and others with Prisoners. Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house; for heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated: Tell her, I send to her my kind commends; Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. York A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd With letters of your love to her at large.
SCENE II.-The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view. Flourish: Drums and Trumpets. Enter KING RICHARD, BISHOP OF CARLISLE, AUMERLE, and Soldiers.
K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand! Aum. Yea, my lord: how brooks your grace the air,
After 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 favor with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle eartn, Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense, But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy gaited toads, lie in their way; Doing annoyance to their 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 Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king,
Shall falter under foul rebellious arms.
Car. Fear not, my lord; that Power, that made Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all. you king, The means that heaven yields must be embraced, And not neglected; else, if heaven would, And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse; The proffer'd means of succor and redress.
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou
Then murdcs, treasons, and detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their back,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,— Who all this while hath revell'd in the night, Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,- Shall see us rising in our throne the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day, But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed king: The breath of wordly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord:
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd, To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
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 Judases, 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,
Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate:
Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power? Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm: Discomfort guides my tongue, And bids me speak of nothing but despair. One day too late, I fear, my noble lord, Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: O, call back yeste day, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! To-day, to-day, unhappy day too late, O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled. Aum. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace so pale?
K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand
Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege,
Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him. K. Rich. Mine ear is open and my heart pre- pared;
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 unseasonabie stormy day, Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears; So high above his limits swells the rage Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land With hard brignt 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 ciap their female joints In still unwieldy arms against thy crown: Thy very beadsinen learn to bend their bows Or 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.
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands: those whom you
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; Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 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, our 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. And tell sad stories of the death of kings:- For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, How some have been depos'd, some slain in war; Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd; 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 antic 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, Comes at the last, and with a little pin Were brass impregnable; and humor'd thus,
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 white 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
But presently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your loe, 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 had a power, enquire of him: And learn to make a body of a limb.
K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well:-Proud Boling broke, I come To change blows with thee for our day of doin This ague-fit of fear is overblown; An easy task it is to win our own.- Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his ower Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the głą The state and inclination of the day: So may you by my dull and heavy eye, My tongue hath but a heavier tale to f I play the torture, by small and small.
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:- That from the castle's totter'd battlemen'.
Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke; And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms
K. Rich. Thou hast said enough.- Beshrew thee, cousin, which did 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.
SCENE III.-Wales. Before Flint Castle. Enter, with Drums and Colors, 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, farther than you should.
York. Take not, good cousin, further than you should,
Lest you mistake: 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.
Well, Harry; what, will not this castle yield? Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, Against the entrance.
Why, it contains no king? 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,
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;
Our fair appointments may be well perused. Methinks, king Richard and myself should mee With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaver Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding wate 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 Trum pet 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 Of his bright passage to the occident. To dim his glory, and to stain the track Yet looks he like a king; behold, his eye, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth, Controlling 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 sceptre, 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 must ring 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 pasture's grass with faithful English blood. North. The king of heaven forbid, orr lord the king
Should so with civil and uncivil arms
Be rush'd upon; Thy thrice-noble cousin, And by the honorable tomb he swears, Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;
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,
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle Comprising all that may be sworn or said,- 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: 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 Boling- broke
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.— [NORTHUMBERLAND advances to the Castle with a Trumpet. Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum,
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 His noble cousin is right welcome hither; And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish'd 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? [To AUM Shall we call back Northumberland, and send Defiance to the traitor, and so die?
Aum. No, my good 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 Boling-
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 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, 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?
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' call, 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,-
[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 unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. Up, cousin, up: your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least, [Touching his own head.] al- though 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:-The y 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. 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 La ty. 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 La ly. Madam, we'll tell tales. Queen.
1 La ly. 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 La ty. Madam, I'll sing. Queen.
"Tis well that thou hast cause But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou
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. 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 chok'd up, Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd. Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars? 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! Garl.
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; With too much riches it confound itself: Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood, Had he done so to great and growing mon, Figures planted ir a hot
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