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 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 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?
Sul. 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, dispers'd, and fled.
Aum. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace
so pale?

K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand

mon

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; 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.

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 dissolv'd 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, 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.

I

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 7
warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
Scroop. Peace have they made with him, in-
deed, 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!
Upon their spotted souls for this offence!
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war

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

speak:

liege,

Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him.

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd ;

The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold.
Sav, 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, wo, destruction, ruin, loss, decay;

(1) Force.

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 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,
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?

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,

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 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, wo's slave, shall kingly wo 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.

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 fies
Within the limits of von 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 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 Bolingbroke
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 threatening drum, That from the castle's totter'd battlements Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements

Of fire and water, when their thundering shock
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
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,
(6) Such liberty. (7) Parley.

(5) Short.

knee,

To make the base earth proud with kissing it: Me rather had, my heart might feel your love, fhan my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least, [Touching his own head.] though your knee be low.

Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine

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 Rins 'gainst the bias.' 1 Lady. Madam, we will dance. Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight, When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport. 1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. Queen.

Of sorrow, or of joy?

1 Lady. Of either, madam. Queen. Of neither, girl: For if of joy, being altogether wanting, It doth remember me the more of sorrow Or if of grief, being altogether had, It adds more sorrow to my want of joy: For what I have, I need not to repeat; And what I want, it boots not to complain. 1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing.

Queen. 'Tis well, that thou hast cause; But thou should'st please me better, would'st thou

weep.

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?
Gard.
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?
Gard.

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;
Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood,
With too much riches it confound itself:
Had he done so to great and growing men,
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste,
Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.
1 Serv. What, think you then, the king shall be
depos'd?

Gard. Depress'd he is already; and depos'd,
To a dear friend of the good duke of York's,
'Tis doubt, he will be: Letters came last night
That tell black tidings.

Queen.
O, I am press'd to death,
Through want of speaking!-Thou, old Adam's
likeness, [Coming from her concealment.
Set to dress the garden, how dares
Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee
To make a second fall of cursed man?
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd?
Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,
Cam'st thou by these ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.

Gard. Pardon me, madam: little joy have I,
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
To breathe this news; yet, what I say, is true.

Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'd:
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself,
And some few vanities that make him light;
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
Besides himself, are all the English peers,
And with that odds he weighs king Richard down.
Post you to London, and you'll find it so ;
I speak no more than every one doth know.
Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of
foot,

Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st
(2) Profits.
(3) Inclosure.
(4) Figures planted in a box. (5) No doubt.