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 ? muft he subThe King fhall do it: muft he be depos'd? The King fhall be contented: must he lofe The name of King? o'God's name let it 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 figur'd goblets for a difh of wood; My fceptre 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 subjects' 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 shedding tears? As thus, to drop them ftill upon one place, Till they have fretted us a pair of graves †? 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 says, Ay.
North. My Lord, in the base court he doth attend To speak with you, may't please you to come down.
For on my heart they tread now, while I live;
And, bury'd once, why not upon my head ?.
Aumerle, thou weep'ft, &c.
Within the earth; and therein laid, there lies
Two kinfmen, digg'd their graves with weeping eyes
Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I fee
I talk but idly, and you mock at me.
Moft mighty Prince, &c.
K. Rich. Down, down I come; like glift'ring Phaeton, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. * Boling. What fays his Majefty?
North. Sorrow and grief of heart
Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man ;
Yet is he come.
Boling. Stand all apart,
And fhew fair duty to his Majesty.
My gracious Lord
K. Rich Fair coufin, you debafe your princely knee, To make the bafe earth proud with kiffing it. Me rather had my heart might feel your love, Than my unpleas'd eye fee your courtesy. +
Boling. My gracious Lord, I come but for mine own. K. Rich. Your own is your's, and I am your's, 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 deferve to have,
That know the ftrong'ft and furest way to get.
Uncle,give me your hand; nay,dry your eyes; [To York.
Tears thew their love, but want their remedies.
Coufin, I am too young to be your father, [Ta Boling.
Though you are old enough to be my heir.
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 must not fay, No. [Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE VII. A garden in the Queen's court. Enter Queen and two Ladies.
Queen. What fport fhall we devife here in this garden. of unruly jdes.
In the b. fe court? bafe court, where kings grow base
me at traitors' calls, and do them grace.
In the ba e court e me down? down, court; down, King;
For night owls fhriek where mounting larks should fing.
Boling. What, &c.
Up, coufin, up; your heart is up, I know,
Thus high at left, although your knee be low.
Beling. My gracious Lord, &c.
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 what I want, it boots not to complain.
Lady. Madam, I'll fing.
Queen. 'Tis well that thou haft caufe:
But thou fhould't pleafe 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.
But ftay, here come the gardeners.
Let's ftep into the fhadow of these trees;
My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
Enter a Gardener and two fervants.
They'll talk of state; for every one doth fo,
Against a change; woe is fore-run with mocks.
[Queen and Ladies retire..
Gard. Go, bind thou up yond dangling apricocks,
Which, like unruly children, make their fire
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 commonwealth :
All must be even in our government.
You thus employ'd, I will go root away
The noifome weeds, that without profit fuck
The foil's fertility from wholsome flowers.
Serv. Why fhould we, in the compass of a pale,
Keep law, and form, and due proportion,
Shewing, as in a model, a firm state;
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 wholiome herbs,
Swarming with caterpillars?
He that hath fuffer'd this disorder'd spring,
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:
The weeds that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
(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, Bushy, Green.
Serv. What, are they dead?
And Bolingbroke hath feiz'd the wafteful King.
What pity is't, that he had not so trimm'd
And drefs'd his land, as we this garden dress,
And wound the bark, the skin, of our fruit-trees;
Left, being over proud with fap and blood.
With too much riches it confound itfelf?
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 borne the crown,
Which wafle and idle hours have quite thrown down.
Serv. What, think you then the King shall be de-
Gard. Deprefs'd he is already; and depos'd, [pos'd!
'Tis doubted, he will be. Letters last night
Came to a dear friend of the Duke of York,
That tell black tidings..
[fpeaking:
Queen. Oh, I am prefs'd to death, through want of
Thou Adam's likeness, fet to drefs this garden,
How dares thy tongue found this unpleafing news?
What Eve, what ferpent hath fuggefted thee,
To make a fecond fall of curfed man?
Why doft thou fay, King Richard is depos'd?
Dar't thou (thou little better thing than earth)
Divine his downfal? Say, where, when, and how I
Cam'st thou by thefe ill tidings fpeak, thou wretch.
Gard. Pardon me, Madam Little joy have I
To breathe these news: yet what I fay is true.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold'
Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'd:
In your Lord's fcale is nothing but himself,
And fome few vanities that make him light:
But in the Balance of great Bolingbroke,
Befides himself, are all the English Peers,
And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.
Poft you to London, and you'll find it fo;
I speak no more than every one doth know.
Queen. Nimble Mischance, that art fo light of foot, Doth not thy embassage belong to me?
And am I last that know it? Oh, thou think'st
To serve me laft, that I may longest keep
Thy forrow in my breaft. Come, Ladies, go;
To meet, at London, London's King in woe.
What, was I born to this! that my fad look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke!
Gardner, for telling me thefe news of woe,
I would the plants thou graft'ft may never grow.
[Exeunt Queen and Ladies.
Gard. Poor Queen, fo that thy ftate might be no
I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
Here did the drop a tear; here, in this place,
I'll fet a bank of rue, four herb of grace;
Rue, ev'n for ruth, here fhortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping Queen.
|