Gard.

Hold thy peace : — He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring, Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:

Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd? Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, Divine his downfal? Say, where, when and how,

shelter,

They are; and Bolingbroke Oh! What pity

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.
Hath seiz'd the wasteful king.
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,
'Tis doubt, he will be: Letters came last night
To a dear friend of the good duke of York's,
That tell black tidings.

Gard. Pardon me, madam: little joy have 1, 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 ;

I speak no more than every man 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
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go,
To meet at London London's king in woe. —
What, was I born to this! that my sad look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
Gardener, for telling me this news of woe,
I would the plants thou graft'st may never grow.
[Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies.
Gard. Poor queen! so that thy state might be no

worse,

I would, my skill were subject to thy curse. -
Here did she drop a tear; here, in this place,
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen.

[Exeun!.

Westminster-Hall.

SCENE I. London. The Lords Spiritual on the right side of the Throne; the Lords Temporal on the left; the Commons below. Enter BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, SURREY, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, FITZWATER, another Lord, BISHOP OF CARLISLE, ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, and Attendants. Officers behind, with BAGOT.

Boling. Call forth Bagot :

Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind;

What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death; Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd The bloody office of his timeless end?

Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle. Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that

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. Fiz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. Aum. Fitzwater, thou art doom'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 merle ;

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:

I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.
Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
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 skull.
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 repeal'd 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 banish'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.

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, crowned, 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 skulls.
O, if thou rear this house against this house,
It will the woefullest 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-woe!
North. Well have you argu'd, sir; and, for your
pains,

Of capital treason we arrest you here:
My lord of Westminster, 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.
Boling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest,
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.

[Exit.

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

Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me
To this submission. Yet I well remember
The favours of these men: Were they not mine?
Did they not sometime cry, all hail! to me?
To do what service am I sent for hither?
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:
seize the crown;

4 Countenances.

Here, cousin,

Bb

Here, on this side, my hand; on that side, thine.
Now is this golden crown like a deep well,
That owes 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

are mine:

You may my glories and my state depose,
But not my grief; 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 tend 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:
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy scepter 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!
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd;
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd!
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit!
God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says,
And send him many years of sunshine days! -
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 wouldst, There shouldst thou find one heinous article, Containing the deposing of a king,

And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
Mark'd with a blot, mark'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 are showing outward pity,
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross,
And water cannot wash away your sin.

But they can see a sort 7 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, insulting 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. 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;

[Dasheth 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
The shadow of your face.

K. Rich. 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? Boling. Name it, fair cousin. K. Rich. Fair cousin? Why, I am greater than a king:

7 Pack.