Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond methinks he is)
That every ftride he makes upon the land
Is dangerous treafon; he is come to ope
The purple teftament of bleeding war.
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers fons
Shall mif- become the flow'ry England's face,
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To fcarlet indignation, and bedew

Her pafture's grafs with faithful English blood.

North. The King of heav'n forbid, our Lord the King Should fo with civil and uncivil arms

Be rush'd upon! no, thy thrice-noble coufin,
Harry of Bolingbroke, doth kifs thy hand,
And by the honourable tomb he fwears,
That ftands upon your royal grandfire's bones,
And by the royalties of both your bloods,
(Currents that fpring from one moft gracious head)
And by the bury'd hand of warlike Gaunt,
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Comprifing all that may be fworn, or faid,
His coming hither hath no farther scope,
Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg
Infranchisement immediate on his knees:
Which on thy royal party granted once,
His glitt'ring arms he will commend to ruft
His barbed feeds to ftables; and his heart
To faithful fervice of your Majefty.
This swears he, as he is a Prince, is juft;
And as I am a gentleman, I credit him.

K. Rich. Northumberland, fay thus the King returns
His noble coufin is right welcome hither,
And all the number of his fair demands
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction,
With all the gracious utterance thou haft,
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commer ds.
We do debafe our felf, coufin, do we not,
To look fo poorly, and to fpeak fo fair?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and fend
Defiance to the traitor, and fo die?:

[To Aum,

Aum. No, good my Lord, let's fight with gentle words,
'Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful fwords.
K. Rich. Oh God, oh God! that e'er this tongue of mine,
That laid the fentence of dread banishment

On yond proud man, fhould take it off again
With words of footh; oh that I were as great
As is my grief, or leffer than my name !
Or that I could forget what I have been,
Or not remember what I must be now!

Swell'ft thou, proud heart? I'll give thee fcope 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 fhall do it: muft he be depos'd?

The King shall be contented: muft he lose
The name of King? o' God's name let it go.
I'll give my jewels for a fet 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 fcepter, for a palmer's walking-staff;
My fubjects, for a pair of carved faints,
And my large kingdom, for a little grave,
A little little grave, an obfcure grave.
Or I'll be bury'd in the King's highway;
Some way of common tread, where fubjects feet
May hourly trample on their Sovereign's head.*
Aumerle, thou weep'ft, my tender-hearted coufin,
We'll make foul weather with despised tears:
Our fighs, and they, fhall lodge the fummer corn,
And make a dearth in this revolting land.
Or fhall we play the wantons with our woes,
And make fome pretty match with fhedding tears?
As thus, to drop them ftill upon one place,
"Till they have fretted us a pair of graves.†

* .-.. Sovereign's head.

For on my heart they tread now, whilft I live;
And buryid once, why not upon my head?
Aumerle, &c.

+ a pair of graves.

Within the earth; and therein laid, there lyes

Two kinfmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes?

7

Would

Moft mighty Prince, my Lord Northumberland,
What fays King Bolingbroke? will his Majefty
Give Richard leave to live, 'till Richard die?
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke fays ay.

North. My Lord, in the bafe court he doth attend To fpeak with you, may't please you to come down. K. Rich. Down, down I come, like glift'ring Phaeton, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. *

Boling.

fays his Majefty?

North. Sorrow of heart

Makes him fpeak fondly, like a frantick man;
Yet he is come.

Boling. Stand all apart, and fhow.

Fair duty to his Majesty.

My gracious Lord

[Kneel

K. Rich. Fair coufin, you debafe pour princely knee, To make the base earth proud with killing it. Me rather had, my heart might feel your love, Than my un-pleas'd eye fee your courtelie.† 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 moft redoubted Lord, As my true fervice fhall deferve your love.

K. Rich. Well you defery'd: they well deferve to have, That know the strong ft and ad fureft way to get.

Uncle, give me your hand; nay, dry your eyes'; [To York. Tears fhew their love, but want their remedies.

Coufin, I am too young to be your father [To Bolingbroke.
Though you are old enough to be my heir.

Would not this ill do well? well, well, I fee,
I talk but idly, and you mock at me

Moft mighty prince, &c.

--- of unruly jades.

In the bafe court? bafe court where Kings grow bafe,
To come at traitors calls, and do them grace.

In the bafe court come down? down, court, down, King;

For Night-owls fhriek, where mountain Larks fhould fing
Boling. What, &c.

† your courtefie.

TEC

Up, counn, up; your heart is up, I know,

Thus high at leaft, although your knee be low.
Boling, My, &c.

What

What you will have I'll give, and willing too;
For do we muft what force will have us do,
Set on towards London. Coufin, is it fo ?
Boling. Yea, my good Lord.

K. Rich. Then I muft not fay no. [Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE VII. A Garden.
Enter Queen and two Ladies.

Queen. What fport fhall we devife here in this garden,
To drive away the heavy thought of care?
Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls.

Queen. 'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs,
And that my fortune runs against the bias.

Lady. Madam, we'll dance.

Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight,
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief.
Therefore no dancing, girl; fome other sport.
Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales.

Queen. Of forrow, or of joy?
Lady. Of either, Madam.
Queen. Of neither, girl.

For if of joy, being altogether wanting,
It doth remember me the more of forrow:
Or if of grief, being altogether had,
It adds more forrow to my want of joy:
For what I have I need not to repeat:
And of what I want it boots not to complain.
Lady. Madam, I'll fing.

Queen. 'Tis well that thou haft caufe:

But thou fhould't please me better, would't thou weep.
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.

Enter a Gardiner, and two Servants.

But ftay, here come the gardiners.
Let's ftep into the fhadow of these trees :
My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
They'll talk of ftate; for every one doth fo,
Against a change; woe is fore-run with woe.

[Queen and Ladies retire, Gard, Go bind thou up yond dangling Apricocks,

Which, like unruly children, make their Sire
Stoop with oppreffion of their prodigal weight:
Give fome fupportance to the bending twigs.
Go thou, and like an executioner

Cut off the heads of too faft growing sprays,
That look too lofty in our common-wealth :
All must be even in our government.

You thus imploy'd, I will go root away
The noisome weeds, that without profit fuck
The foil's fertility from wholfome flowers.
Serv. Why should we, in the compafs of a pale,
Keep law, and form, and due proportion,
Shewing, as in a model, our firm ftate?
When our fea-walled garden, the whole land,
Is full of weeds, her faireft flowers choak'd up,
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd,
Her knots diforder'd, and her wholfome herbs
Swarming with Caterpillars ?
Gard. Hold thy peace.

He that hath fuffer'd this diforder'd fpring,
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf;
The weeds that his broad-spreading leaves did fhelter,
(That feem'd, in eating him, to hold him up,)
Are pull'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke;
I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Busby, Green.
Serv. What, are they dead?

Gard. They are,

And Bolingbroke hath feiz'd the wafteful King.
What pity is it, that he had not trimm'd
And dreft his land, as we this garden drefs,
And wound the bark, the fkin of our fruit-trees,
Left being over-proud with fap and blood,
With too much riches it confound it felf?
Had he done fo to great and growing men,
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to tafte
Their fruits of duty. All fuperfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live :
Had he done fo, himself had born the crown,
Which wafte and idle hours have quite thrown down,
Serv. What, think you then, the King fhall be depos'd?

Gard