Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravʼnous 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 Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.

Bishop. Fear not, my lord: that power that made you king,

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 proffered means of succour 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 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 plucked from off their backs),

Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke
(Who all this while hath revelled 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 worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord.

For every man that Bolingbroke hath pressed
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 come thither 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: remember 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 pre

pared:

The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 't was 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 armed
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 armed their thin and hairless scalps

Against thy majesty: boys with women's voices
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldly arms against thy crown:
The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of 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.
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, in

deed, my lord.

K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damned without redemption!

Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
Snakes in my heart-blood warmed, 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 curse

Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, 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 speak :

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
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 deposéd 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 poisoned by their wives; some sleeping killed:
All murdered!-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 monarchise, be feared, and kill with looks:
Infusing him with self and vain conceit
(As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable):—and, humoured 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?

Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their pre

sent woes,

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 Bo

lingbroke, 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 joined 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 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.

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.

Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle
Into his ruined 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 repealed,
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,
Rained from the wounds of slaughtered English-

men:

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 shew.
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 marchwithout the noise of threatening drum,
That from the castle's tottered 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 thundering 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.

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
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!

K. Rich. We are amazed; 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, shew us the hand of God

That hath dismissed 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 mustering 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 mother's 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 rushed 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 barbéd 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 sw ords.

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 almsman's gown;
My figured goblets for a dish of wood;
My sceptre for a palmer's walking-staff;
My subjects for a pair of carvéd 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!

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 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.

[NORTHUMBERLAND retires to Bolingbroke. "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.
Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man :
Yet he is come.

Sorrow and grief of heart

Enter KING RICHARD and his Attendants, below.
Boling. Stand all apart,

And shew 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], 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:-they well deserve to have,