Page images
PDF
EPUB

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.]
though your knee be low.

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
al-The noisome weeds, that without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

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 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

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.

1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,3
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 d'sorder'd, and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars?
Hold thy peace:—

Gard.
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.

is it,

They are; and Bolingbroke
Hath seiz'd the wasteful king.-Oh! What pity
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,
Of sorrow, or of joy?'Tis doubt, he will be: Letters came last night
To a dear friend of the good duke of York's,
That tell black tidings.

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 boots2 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 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: Wo is forerun with wo.

[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:

(1) A weight fixed on one side of the bowl, which turns it from the straight line.

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?
Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd?
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,
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,
To breathe this news; yet, what I say, is true.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
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;
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? Ö, thou think'st

(2) Profits. (3) Inclosure.
(4) Figures planted in box.

(5) No doubt.

[blocks in formation]

Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring
tongue

Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd.
In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted,
I heard you say,-Is not my arm of length,
That reacheth from the restful English court
As far as Calais, to my uncle's head?
Amongst much other talk, that very time,
I heard you say, that you had rather refuse
The offer of a hundred thousand crowns,
Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
Adding withal, how blest this land would be,
In this your cousin's death.
Aum.
Princes, and noble lords,
What answer shall I make to this base man?
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,
On equal terms to give him chastisement?
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd
With the attainder of his sland'rous lips.-
There is my gage, the manual seal of death,
That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest,
And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false,
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base
To stain the temper of my knightly sword.
Boling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up.
Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this presence, that hath mov'd me so.

Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathies,
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine:
By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'st,
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it,
That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death.
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest;
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.
Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that
day.

[blocks in formation]

Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this.

Percy. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true, In this appeal, as thou art all unjust: And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage, To prove it on thee, to the extremest point Of mortal breathing; seize it, if thou dar'st.

Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe!

Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn
Aumerle;

And spur thee on with full as many lies
As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear
From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.

Aum. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all:

To answer twenty thousand such as you.
I have a thousand spirits in one breast,

The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
Fitz. My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence
then;

And you can witness with me, this is true.

Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is

true.

Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. Surrey.

Dishonourable boy! That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, That it shall render vengeance and revenge, Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie In earth as quiet as thy father's scull. In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.

Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse' If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies, And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith, To tie thee to my strong correction.As I intend to thrive in this new world, Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal: Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say, That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble duke at Calais.

Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage,

That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this,
If he may be repeal'd to try his honour.

Boling. These differences shall all rest under

gage,

Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repealed he shall be,
And, though mine enemy, restor'd again
To all his land and signories; when he's return'd,
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.

Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.-
Many a time hath Janish'd Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ; in glorious Christian field
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross,
Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens :
And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself
To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth,
And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ;
Under whose colours he had fought so long.
Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?
Car. As sure as I live, my lord.
Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to
the bosom

Of good old Abraham!-Lords appellants,
Your differences shall all rest under gage,
Till we assign you to your days of trial.

[blocks in formation]

throne.

Car. Marry, God forbid !— Worst in this royal presence may I speak, Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. Would God, that any in this noble presence Were enough noble to be upright judge Of noble Richard; then true nobless! would Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. What subject can give sentence on his king? And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject? Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear, Although apparent guilt be seen in them: And shall the figure of God's majesty, His captain, steward, deputy elect, Anointed, crown'd, planted many years, Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, And he himself not present? O, forbid it, God, That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king. My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king: And if you crown him, let me prophesy,The blood of English shall manure the ground, And future ages groan for this foul act; Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound; Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd The field of Golgotha, and dead men's sculls. O, if you rear this house against this house, It will the wofullest division prove, That ever fell upon this cursed earth: Prevent, resist it, let it not be so,

Lest child, child's children, cry against you-wo North Well have you argu'd, sir; and, for your pains,

Of capital treason we arrest you here:-
My lord of Westminister, be it your charge
To keep him safely till his day of trial.-
May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit.
Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common

view

He may surrender: so we shall proceed
Without suspicion.
York.
I will be his conduct.2 [Exit.
Boling. Lords, you that are here under our ar-
rest,

Procure your sureties for your days of answer :-
Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle.
And little look'd for at your helping hands.
Re-enter York, with King Richard, and officers
bearing the crown, &c.

K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, Before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee:Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me

To this submission. Yet I well remember

[blocks in formation]

The favours of these men: Were they not mine? Did they not sometime cry, all hail! to me? Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve

none.

God save the king!-Will no man say, amen?
Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen.
God save the king! although I be not he;
To do what service am I sent for hither?
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.-

York. To do that office, of thine own good will,
Which tired majesty did make thee offer,
The resignation of thy state and crown
To Henry Bolingbroke.

K. Rich. Give me the crown-Here, cousin, seize the crown;

Here, on this side, my hand; on that side, thine.
Now is this golden crown like a deep well,
That owest two buckets filling one another;
The emptier ever dancing in the air,
The other down, unseen, and full of water:
That bucket down, and full of tears, am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.
Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign.
K. Rich. My crown, I am; but still my griefs
1 are mine:

You may my glories and my state depose,
But not my griefs; still am I king of those.
Boling. Part of your cares you give me with

your crown.

K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my
cares down.

My care is-loss of care, by old care done;
Your care is gain of care, by new care won:
The cares I give, I have, though given away;
They tends the crown, yet still with me they stay.

Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown?
K. Rich. Ay, no; no, ay;-for I must nothing be;
Therefore, no no, for I resign to thee.
Now mark me how I will undo myself:-
1 give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,6
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths:

All pomp and majesty I do forswear;
My manors, rents, revenues, I forego;
My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny:
God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me!
God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee!
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd!
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd;
Long may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit!
And send him many years of sunshine days!—
God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says,

What more remains?
North.
No more, but that you read
[Offering a paper.
These accusations, and these grievous crimes,
Committed by your person, and your followers,
Against the state and profit of this land;
That, by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.

K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record,

Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? If thou would'st,
There should'st thou find one heinous article,

[blocks in formation]

Containing the deposing of a king,

And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,-
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:-
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me,
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,-
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,
Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross,
And water cannot wash away your sin.
North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these
articles.

K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see:
And yet salt water blinds them not so much,
But they can see a sort of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor with the rest :
For I have given here my soul's consent,
To undeck the pompous body of a king;
Make glory base; and sovereignty, a slave;
Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant.
North. My lord,-

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught,2 insult-
ing man,

Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,-
No, not that name was given me at the font,-
But 'tis usurp'd:-Alack the heavy day,
That I have worn so many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself!
O, that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops!-
Good king, great king--(and yet not greatly
good,)

An if my word be sterling yet in England,
Let it command a mirror hither straight;
That it may show me what a face I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.

Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-
glass.
[Exit an attendant.
North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass
doth come.

K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come
to hell.

Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland.

North. The commons will not then be satisfied
K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read
enough,

When I do see the very book, indeed,
Where all my sins are writ, and that's-myself.
Re-enter attendant, with a glass.

Give me that glass, and therein will I read.-
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine,
And made no deeper wounds?-O, flattering glass,
Like to my followers in prosperity,
Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face,
That every day under his household roof
Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face,
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?
Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies,
And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory shineth in this face:
As brittle as the glory is the face;

[Dashes the glass against the ground. For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Say that again.

The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see :--
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ;
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief,
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul;
There lies the substance: and I thank thee,
king,

For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,
And then be gone, and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?

[blocks in formation]

Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower.

K. Rich. O, good! Convey?-Conveyers are you all,

That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.

[Exeunt K. Rich. some lords, and a guard. Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down

Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. [Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle, and Aumerle.

Abbot. A woful pageant have we here beheld. Car. The wo's to come; the children yet unborn

Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.

Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, You shall not only take the sacrament To bury4 mine intents, but to effect Whatever I shall happen to devise :-I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears; Come home with me to supper; I will lay A plot, shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt.

[blocks in formation]

And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;
Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb,
And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee,
When triumph is become an ale-house guest?
K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do

not so,

To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream;
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity; and he and I

Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloister thee in some religious house :
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and
mind

rage

Transform'd and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke
Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with
To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod;
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?

A twofold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me;
And then, betwixt me and my married wife.-
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.—
Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas,4 or short'st of day.
Queen. And must we be divided? must we part?
K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and
heart from heart.

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me.
North. That were some love, but little policy.
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go.
K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one wo.
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
Better far off, than-near, be ne'er the near'.5
Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans.
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest

moans.

K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way
being short,

And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;

K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart.

but beasts,

I had been still a happy king of men.

Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for

France:

Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st,
As from my death-bed, my last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire
With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales
Of woful ages, long ago betid:2
And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,
And, in compassion, weep the fire out:
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
For the deposing of a rightful king.

Enter Northumberland, attended.

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is
chang'd;

You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.-
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;
With all swift speed you must away to France.
K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where-
withal

The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,-
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head,
Shall break into corruption: thou shalt think,
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to all;

And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both,
To worthy danger, and deserved death.

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave, and part: for you must part forthwith. K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd?--Bad men, ye violate

[blocks in formation]

[They kiss. Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good

part,

To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart.

[Kiss again.

So, now I have mine own again, begone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
K. Rich. We make wo wanton with this fond
delay:

Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exe.

SCENE II-The same. A room in the Duke of York's palace. Enter York, and his Duchess.

Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest,

When weeping made you break the story off,
Of our two cousins coming into London.
York. Where did I leave?
Duch.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling-
broke,-

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,-
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,
While all tongues cried-God save thee, Boling-
broke!

You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage; and that all the walls,
With painted imagery, had said at once,-
Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus, I thank you, countrymen:
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.
Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the
while?

York. As, in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,

(5) Never the nigher.

(6) Tapestry hung from the windows.

« PreviousContinue »