Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: yet, again, methinks
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming towards me; and my inward soul
With nothing trembles: at something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.

Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
Which shew like grief itself, but are not so;
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like pérspectives, which, rightly gazed upon,
Shew nothing but confusion; eyed awry,
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,

Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which, look'd on as it is, is naught but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not; more 's not
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
[seen:
Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad,
As-though, in thinking, on no thought I think-
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
Queen. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived
From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
For nothing hath begot my something grief;
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:
'Tis in reversion that I do possess;
But what it is, that is not yet known; what,
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

Enter GREEN.

Green. God save your majesty!-and well met, genI hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. [tlemen:Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope: Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? Green. That he, our hope, might have retired his And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this land: The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arrived At Ravenspurg.

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid!

[power,

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife fo my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:

Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;

And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,

Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.
Bushy. Despair not, Madam.

Queen. Who shall hinder me?

I will despair, and be at enmity

With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,

A parasite, a keeper-back of death,

Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false hope lingers in extremity.

Enter YORK.

Green. Here comes the duke of York.

Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck;
O, full of careful business are his looks!-
Uncle,

For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words.

York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. Your husband he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land; Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. York. He was?-Why, so!-go all which way it will!The nobles they are fled, the commons cold,

And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.—
Sirrah,

Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster;

Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:Hold, take my ring.

Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship: To-day, as I came by, I called there ;

But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

York. What is it, knave!

Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woful land at once!

I know not what to do:-I would to God
(So my untruth had not provoked him to it)
The king had cut off my head with my brother's.—
What, are there no posts despatch'd for Ireland?—
How shall we do for money for these wars?-
Come, sister,-cousin, I would say: pray, pardon me. -
Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home; provide
some carts,

[Exit Serv.

And bring away the armour that is there.
Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know
How, or which way, to order these affairs,
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen :-
The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; the other, again,

Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd,
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin, I'll
Dispose of you.-Go, muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkley castle,
I should to Plashy too;-

But time will not permit:-all is uneven,
And everything is left at six and seven.

[Exeunt YORK and QUEEN. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy,

Is all impossible.

[love

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love, Is near the hate of those love not the king. Bagot. And that's the wav'ring commons: for their Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king.

Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol castle; The earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Bushy. Thither will I with you; for little office
The hateful commons will perform for us,
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.--
Will you go along with us?

Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty.
Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain,

We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again.
Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Boling-

broke.

SCENE III.-The Wilds in GLOSTERSHIRE.

Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with forces.
Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?
North. Believe me, noble lord,

I am a stranger here in Glostershire.
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome:
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and délectable.
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 beguiled
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 done
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?

Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, Broken his staff of office, and dispersed The household of the king.

North. What was his reason?

He was not so resolved, when last we spake together.
Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.
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 forgo,
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 duke. Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm To more approved service and desert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure,

I count myself in nothing else so happy,

As in a soul remembering 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 it.
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 trees,
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard;
And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour;
None else of name and noble estimate.

Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY.

North. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

Boling. Welcome, my lords. I wot, your love pursues A banish'd traitor: all my treasury

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd,
Shall be your love and labour's recompense.

Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.
Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.
Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty.-But who comes here!

Enter BERKLEY.

North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. Boling. My lord, my answer is-to Lancaster; And I am come to seek that name in England: 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 honour 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 arms.

Enter YORK, attended.

Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you; Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle! [Kneels.

York. Shew 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 that 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?
But then more why,-why have they dared to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,
Frighting her pale-faced villages with war,
And ostentation of despised arms?

Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And in my loyal bosom lics 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,
Now prisoner to the palsy, chástise thee,

And minister correction to thy fault!
Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;
On what condition stands it, and wherein?

York. Even in condition of the worst degree,—
In gross rebellion, and detested treason:
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come,
Before the expiration of thy time,

In braving arms against thy sovereign.

Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford; But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace, Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye: You are my father, for methinks in you I see old Gaunt alive; 0, then, my father! Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd A wand'ring vagabond; my rights and royalties Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? If that my cousin king be king of England, It must be granted I am duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman; Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, 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: My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold; And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. What would you have me do? I am a subject, And challenge law: attorneys 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 labour'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.

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 arms;
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' For I am loath to break our country's laws. Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are: Things past redress are now with me past care.

[pause;

[Exeunt.

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. Sal. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind, I see thy glory, like a shooting star,

[Exit.

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 fled, to wait upon thy foes; And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

Shall falter under foul rebellious arms.

[Exit.

Car. Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. 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 succour and redress.

[king,

ACT III.

SCENE I.-BOLINGBROKE'S Camp at BRISTOL.

Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, Ross: Officers 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 no 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 disfigured clean.

You have, in manner, with your siuful 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 signories,
Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods;
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Razed out my impress, leaving me no sign,
Save men's opinions and my living blood,
To shew 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 over
To execution and the hand of death.

Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me, Than Bolingbroke to England.-Lords, farewell. Green. My comfort is,-that heaven will take our Andi plague injustice with the pains of hell. [souls, Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them despatch'd. [Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and others, with prisoners.

Jnele, 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.

Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.-Come, lords, away; To fight with Glendower and his complices; A while to work, and after holiday.

[Exeunt.

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 favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
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 the 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

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 not,
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders and in outrage, bloody here;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,

The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
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 wand'ring 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 worldly 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,

Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right. Enter SALISBURY.

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 yesterday, 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, dispersed, and fled.

Aum. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace so pale?

K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And, till so much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale and dead? All souls that will be safe, fly from my side; For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

Aum. Comfort, my liege; renicinber 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-tuned tongue deliver him.

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepares; 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, distal-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 redempDogs, easily won to fawn on any man! [tion! 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, 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 Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, [curse And lie full low, graved 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
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; [speak:
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 deposèd 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.
For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the death of kings:-
How some have been deposed, 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 antic sits,
Scothing his state and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene

To monarchise, 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?

[woes,

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 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, inquire 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

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 dispersed, 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 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 thy entrance.

Boling. Royally!

Why, it contains no king?

Percy. Yes, my good lord,

It doth contain a king; king Richard lies
Within the limits of you 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 restored 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 Bolingbroke
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land,
My stooping duty tenderly shall shew.
Go, signify as much, while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.-

[NORTH. 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 perused.
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.

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 Controlling majesty; alack, alack, for woe, That any harm should stain so fair a show!

[stood

K. Rich. We are amazed; and thus long have we
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, [To NORTH.
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, shew 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 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 reHis 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.—

[turns ;

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 subThe king shall do it. Must he be deposed? [mit?

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 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 Phae
Wanting the manage of unruly jades.
[ton,

[NORTH. retires to BOLING. In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base, To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. [king! In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should [Exeunt from above.

sing.

Boling. What says his majesty?
North. Sorrow and grief of heart

Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man:

Yet he is come.

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 shew 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 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,