ACT IIISCENE I. Bristol. Bolingbroke’s camp.EnterBolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Harry Percy, Willoughby, Ross;Officers behind, withBushyandGreen,prisoners.BOLINGBROKE.Bring forth these men.Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls—Since presently your souls must part your bodies—With too much urging your pernicious lives,For ’twere no charity; yet to wash your bloodFrom off my hands, here in the view of menI will unfold some causes of your deaths:You have misled a prince, a royal king,A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,By you unhappied and disfigured clean.You have in manner with your sinful hoursMade a divorce betwixt his queen and him,Broke the possession of a royal bed,And stained the beauty of a fair queen’s cheeksWith tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,Near to the King in blood, and near in loveTill you did make him misinterpret me,Have stooped my neck under your injuriesAnd sighed my English breath in foreign clouds,Eating the bitter bread of banishment,Whilst you have fed upon my signories,Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods,From my own windows torn my household coat,Rased out my imprese, leaving me no signSave men’s opinions and my living bloodTo show the world I am a gentleman.This and much more, much more than twice all this,Condemns you to the death. See them delivered overTo execution and the hand of death.BUSHY.More welcome is the stroke of death to meThan Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.GREEN.My comfort is that heaven will take our soulsAnd plague injustice with the pains of hell.BOLINGBROKE.My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatched.[ExeuntNorthumberlandand Others, withBushyandGreen.]Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house;For God’s sake, fairly let her be entreated.Tell her I send to her my kind commends;Take special care my greetings be delivered.YORK.A gentleman of mine I have dispatchedWith letters of your love to her at large.BOLINGBROKE.Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,To fight with Glendower and his complices.A while to work, and after holiday.[Exeunt.]SCENE II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view.Flourish: drums and trumpets. EnterKing Richard, theBishop of Carlisle, Aumerleand soldiers.KING RICHARD.Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand?AUMERLE.Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the airAfter your late tossing on the breaking seas?KING RICHARD.Needs must I like it well. I weep for joyTo stand upon my kingdom once again.Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,Though rebels wound thee with their horses’ hoofs.As a long-parted mother with her childPlays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth,And do thee favours with my royal hands.Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth,Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense,But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,Doing annoyance to the treacherous feetWhich 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 adderWhose double tongue may with a mortal touchThrow death upon thy sovereign’s enemies.Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.This earth shall have a feeling, and these stonesProve armed soldiers, ere her native kingShall falter under foul rebellion’s arms.CARLISLE.Fear not, my lord. That Power that made you kingHath power to keep you king in spite of all.The means that heaven yields must be embracedAnd not neglected; else if heaven would,And we will not. Heaven’s offer we refuse,The proffered means of succour and redress.AUMERLE.He means, my lord, that we are too remiss,Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,Grows strong and great in substance and in power.KING RICHARD.Discomfortable cousin, know’st thou notThat when the searching eye of heaven is hidBehind the globe that lights the lower world,Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseenIn murders and in outrage boldly here;But when from under this terrestrial ballHe fires the proud tops of the eastern pinesAnd 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 nightWhilst we were wand’ring 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 seaCan wash the balm off from an anointed king;The breath of worldly men cannot deposeThe deputy elected by the Lord.For every man that Bolingbroke hath pressedTo lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,God for his Richard hath in heavenly payA glorious angel. Then, if angels fight,Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.EnterSalisbury.Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?SALISBURY.Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongueAnd bids me speak of nothing but despair.One day too late, I fear me, 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!Today, today, 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.AUMERLE.Comfort, my liege. Why looks your Grace so pale?KING RICHARD.But now, the blood of twenty thousand menDid triumph in my face, and they are fled;And till so much blood thither come againHave 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.AUMERLE.Comfort, my liege. Remember who you are.KING RICHARD.I had forgot myself. Am I not king?Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest!Is not the King’s name twenty thousand names?Arm, arm, my name! A puny subject strikesAt 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 YorkHath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?EnterSir Stephen Scroop.SCROOP.More health and happiness betide my liegeThan can my care-tuned tongue deliver him.KING RICHARD.Mine ear is open and my heart prepared.The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.Say, 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 woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay.The worst is death, and death will have his day.SCROOP.Glad am I that your highness is so armedTo bear the tidings of calamity.Like an unseasonable stormy dayWhich makes the silver rivers drown their shoresAs if the world were all dissolved to tears,So high above his limits swells the rageOf Bolingbroke, covering your fearful landWith hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.Whitebeards have armed their thin and hairless scalpsAgainst thy majesty; boys with women’s voicesStrive to speak big and clap their female jointsIn stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown;Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bowsOf double-fatal yew against thy state;Yea, distaff-women manage rusty billsAgainst thy seat. Both young and old rebel,And all goes worse than I have power to tell.KING RICHARD.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 enemyMeasure 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 indeed, my lord.KING RICHARD.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 hellMake war upon their spotted souls for this!SCROOP.Sweet love, I see, changing his property,Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.Again uncurse their souls. Their peace is madeWith heads, and not with hands. Those whom you curseHave felt the worst of death’s destroying woundAnd lie full low, graved in the hollow ground.AUMERLE.Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?SCROOP.Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.AUMERLE.Where is the Duke my father with his power?KING RICHARD.No matter where. Of comfort no man speak!Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyesWrite sorrow on the bosom of the earth.Let’s choose executors and talk of wills.And yet not so, for what can we bequeathSave our deposed bodies to the ground?Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke’s,And nothing can we call our own but deathAnd that small model of the barren earthWhich serves as paste and cover to our bones.For God’s sake let us sit upon the groundAnd 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 crownThat rounds the mortal temples of a kingKeeps 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 feared, and kill with looks,Infusing him with self and vain conceit,As if this flesh which walls about our lifeWere brass impregnable; and, humoured thus,Comes at the last, and with a little pinBores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and bloodWith 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?CARLISLE.My lord, wise men ne’er sit and wail their 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.AUMERLE.My father hath a power. Enquire of him,And learn to make a body of a limb.KING RICHARD.Thou chid’st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I comeTo change blows with thee for our day of doom.This ague fit of fear is overblown;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 skyThe state in 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 smallTo lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:Your uncle York is joined with Bolingbroke,And all your northern castles yielded up,And all your southern gentlemen in armsUpon his party.KING RICHARD.Thou hast said enough.[To Aumerle.] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forthOf that sweet way I was in to despair.What say you now? What comfort have we now?By heaven, I’ll hate him everlastinglyThat 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.That power I have, discharge, and let them goTo ear the land that hath some hope to grow,For I have none. Let no man speak againTo alter this, for counsel is but vain.AUMERLE.My liege, one word.KING RICHARD.He does me double wrongThat wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.Discharge my followers. Let them hence away,From Richard’s night to Bolingbroke’s fair day.[Exeunt.]SCENE III. Wales. Before Flint Castle.Enter, with drum and colours,Bolingbrokeand Forces;Northumberlandand Others.BOLINGBROKE.So that by this intelligence we learnThe Welshmen are dispersed, and SalisburyIs gone to meet the King, who lately landedWith some few private friends upon this coast.NORTHUMBERLAND.The news is very fair and good, my lord:Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.YORK.It would beseem the Lord NorthumberlandTo say “King Richard”. Alack the heavy dayWhen such a sacred king should hide his head!NORTHUMBERLAND.Your Grace mistakes; only to be briefLeft I his title out.YORK.The time hath been,Would you have been so brief with him, he wouldHave been so brief with you to shorten you,For taking so the head, your whole head’s length.BOLINGBROKE.Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.YORK.Take not, good cousin, further than you should,Lest you mistake. The heavens are o’er our heads.BOLINGBROKE.I know it, uncle, and oppose not myselfAgainst their will. But who comes here?EnterHarry Percy.Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?PERCY.The castle royally is manned, my lord,Against thy entrance.BOLINGBROKE.Royally!Why, it contains no king?PERCY.Yes, my good lord,It doth contain a king. King Richard liesWithin the limits of yon lime and stone,And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergymanOf holy reverence—who, I cannot learn.NORTHUMBERLAND.O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.BOLINGBROKE.[To Northumberland.] Noble lord,Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parleyInto his ruined ears, and thus deliver:Henry BolingbrokeOn both his knees doth kiss King Richard’s handAnd sends allegiance and true faith of heartTo his most royal person, hither comeEven at his feet to lay my arms and power,Provided that my banishment repealedAnd lands restored again be freely granted.If not, I’ll use the advantage of my powerAnd lay the summer’s dust with showers of bloodRained from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen—The which how far off from the mind of BolingbrokeIt is such crimson tempest should bedrenchThe fresh green lap of fair King Richard’s land,My stooping duty tenderly shall show.Go signify as much, while here we marchUpon the grassy carpet of this plain.Let’s march without the noise of threat’ning drum,That from this castle’s tottered battlementsOur fair appointments may be well perused.Methinks King Richard and myself should meetWith no less terror than the elementsOf fire and water, when their thund’ring shockAt meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.Be he the fire, I’ll be the yielding water;The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rainMy waters—on the earth, and not on him.March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.A parley sounded, and answered by a trumpet within. Flourish. Enter on the Walls, theKing,theBishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, ScroopandSalisburySee, see, King Richard doth himself appear,As doth the blushing discontented sunFrom out the fiery portal of the east,When he perceives the envious clouds are bentTo dim his glory and to stain the trackOf his bright passage to the occident.YORK.Yet he looks like a king. Behold, his eye,As bright as is the eagle’s, lightens forthControlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woeThat any harm should stain so fair a show!KING RICHARD.[To Northumberland.] We are amazed, and thus long have we stoodTo watch the fearful bending of thy kneeBecause we thought ourself thy lawful king.And if we be, how dare thy joints forgetTo pay their awful duty to our presence?If we be not, show us the hand of GodThat hath dismissed us from our stewardship;For well we know no hand of blood and boneCan 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 behalfArmies of pestilence, and they shall strikeYour children yet unborn and unbegot,That lift your vassal hands against my headAnd threat the glory of my precious crown.Tell Bolingbroke—for yon methinks he stands—That every stride he makes upon my landIs dangerous treason. He is come to openThe purple testament of bleeding war;But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers’ sonsShall ill become the flower of England’s face,Change the complexion of her maid-pale peaceTo scarlet indignation, and bedewHer pastures’ grass with faithful English blood.NORTHUMBERLAND.The King of Heaven forbid our lord the KingShould so with civil and uncivil armsBe rushed upon! Thy thrice-noble cousin,Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;And by the honourable tomb he swearsThat stands upon your 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 scopeThan for his lineal royalties, and to begEnfranchisement immediate on his knees;Which on thy royal party granted once,His glittering arms he will commend to rust,His barbed steeds to stables, and his heartTo faithful service of your Majesty.This swears he, as he is a prince and just;And as I am a gentleman I credit him.KING RICHARD.Northumberland, say, thus the King returns:His noble cousin is right welcome hither,And all the number of his fair demandsShall be accomplished without contradiction.With all the gracious utterance thou hast,Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.[Northumberlandreturns toBolingbroke.][To Aumerle.] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,To look so poorly and to speak so fair?Shall we call back Northumberland and sendDefiance to the traitor, and so die?AUMERLE.No, good my lord. Let’s fight with gentle wordsTill time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.KING RICHARD.O God, O God, that e’er this tongue of mineThat laid the sentence of dread banishmentOn yon proud man should take it off againWith words of sooth! O, that I were as greatAs 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.AUMERLE.Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.KING RICHARD.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 loseThe name of King? I’ 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 carved 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’ feetMay hourly trample on their sovereign’s head;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 cornAnd make a dearth in this revolting land.Or shall we play the wantons with our woesAnd make some pretty match with shedding tears?As thus, to drop them still upon one placeTill they have fretted us a pair of gravesWithin the earth; and, therein laid, there liesTwo kinsmen digged their graves with weeping eyes.Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I seeI talk but idly, and you laugh at me.Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,What says King Bolingbroke? Will his MajestyGive Richard leave to live till Richard die?You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.NORTHUMBERLAND.My lord, in the base court he doth attendTo speak with you. May it please you to come down?KING RICHARD.Down, down I come, like glist’ring Phaëthon,Wanting the manage of unruly jades.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.]BOLINGBROKE.What says his Majesty?NORTHUMBERLAND.Sorrow and grief of heartMakes him speak fondly like a frantic man.Yet he is come.EnterKing Richardand his attendants.BOLINGBROKE.Stand all apart,And show fair duty to his Majesty. [Kneeling.]My gracious lord.KING RICHARD.Fair cousin, you debase your princely kneeTo make the base earth proud with kissing it.Me rather had my heart might feel your loveThan my unpleased eye see your courtesy.Up, cousin, up. Your heart is up, I know,Thus high at least, although your knee be low.BOLINGBROKE.My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.KING RICHARD.Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.BOLINGBROKE.So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,As my true service shall deserve your love.KING RICHARD.Well you deserve. They well deserve to haveThat know the strong’st and surest way to get.Uncle, give me your hands. 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?BOLINGBROKE.Yea, my good lord.KING RICHARD.Then I must not say no.[Flourish. Exeunt.]SCENE IV. Langley. The Duke of York’s garden.Enter theQueenand two Ladies.QUEEN.What sport shall we devise here in this gardenTo drive away the heavy thought of care?LADY.Madam, we’ll play at bowls.QUEEN.’Twill make me think the world is full of rubsAnd that my fortune runs against the bias.LADY.Madam, we’ll dance.QUEEN.My legs can keep no measure in delightWhen my poor heart no measure keeps in grief.Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport.LADY.Madam, we’ll tell tales.QUEEN.Of sorrow 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 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.LADY.Madam, I’ll sing.QUEEN.’Tis well that thou hast cause;But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.LADY.I could weep, madam, would it do you good.QUEEN.And I could sing, 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.My wretchedness unto a row of pins,They will talk of state, for everyone doth soAgainst a change; woe is forerun with woe.[QueenandLadiesretire.]Enter aGardenerand twoServants.GARDENER.Go, bind thou up young dangling apricocks,Which, like unruly children, make their sireStoop with oppression of their prodigal weight.Give some supportance to the bending twigs.Go thou, and like an executionerCut off the heads of too fast-growing spraysThat look too lofty in our commonwealth.All must be even in our government.You thus employed, I will go root awayThe noisome weeds which without profit suckThe soil’s fertility from wholesome flowers.SERVANT.Why should we in the compass of a paleKeep 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 choked up,Her fruit trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined,Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbsSwarming with caterpillars?GARDENER.Hold thy peace.He that hath suffered this disordered springHath now himself met with the fall of leaf.The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,That seemed in eating him to hold him up,Are plucked up, root and all, by Bolingbroke—I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.SERVANT.What, are they dead?GARDENER.They are. And BolingbrokeHath seized the wasteful King. O, what pity is itThat he had not so trimmed and dressed his landAs we this garden! We at time of yearDo wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,With too much riches it confound itself.Had he done so to great and growing men,They might have lived to bear and he to tasteTheir fruits of duty. Superfluous branchesWe lop away, that bearing boughs may live.Had he done so, himself had home the crown,Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.SERVANT.What, think you the King shall be deposed?GARDENER.Depressed he is already, and deposed’Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last nightTo a dear friend of the good Duke of York’sThat tell black tidings.QUEEN.O, I am pressed to death through want of speaking![Coming forward.]Thou, old Adam’s likeness, set to dress this garden,How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested theeTo make a second fall of cursed man?Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?Dar’st thou, thou little better thing than earth,Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,Cam’st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch!GARDENER.Pardon me, madam. Little joy have ITo breathe this news; yet what I say is true.King Richard, he is in the mighty holdOf Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weighed.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 will find it so.I speak no more than everyone 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 thinkestTo serve me last that I may longest keepThy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, goTo meet at London London’s king in woe.What, was I born to this, that my sad lookShould grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?Gard’ner, for telling me these news of woe,Pray God the plants thou graft’st may never grow![ExeuntQueenandLadies.]GARDENER.Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse,I would my skill were subject to thy curse.Here did she fall a tear. Here in this placeI’ll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace.Rue even for ruth here shortly shall be seenIn the remembrance of a weeping queen.[Exeunt.]
EnterBolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Harry Percy, Willoughby, Ross;Officers behind, withBushyandGreen,prisoners.
BOLINGBROKE.Bring forth these men.Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls—Since presently your souls must part your bodies—With too much urging your pernicious lives,For ’twere no charity; yet to wash your bloodFrom off my hands, here in the view of menI will unfold some causes of your deaths:You have misled a prince, a royal king,A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,By you unhappied and disfigured clean.You have in manner with your sinful hoursMade a divorce betwixt his queen and him,Broke the possession of a royal bed,And stained the beauty of a fair queen’s cheeksWith tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,Near to the King in blood, and near in loveTill you did make him misinterpret me,Have stooped my neck under your injuriesAnd sighed my English breath in foreign clouds,Eating the bitter bread of banishment,Whilst you have fed upon my signories,Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods,From my own windows torn my household coat,Rased out my imprese, leaving me no signSave men’s opinions and my living bloodTo show the world I am a gentleman.This and much more, much more than twice all this,Condemns you to the death. See them delivered overTo execution and the hand of death.
BUSHY.More welcome is the stroke of death to meThan Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.
GREEN.My comfort is that heaven will take our soulsAnd plague injustice with the pains of hell.
BOLINGBROKE.My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatched.
[ExeuntNorthumberlandand Others, withBushyandGreen.]
Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house;For God’s sake, fairly let her be entreated.Tell her I send to her my kind commends;Take special care my greetings be delivered.
YORK.A gentleman of mine I have dispatchedWith letters of your love to her at large.
BOLINGBROKE.Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,To fight with Glendower and his complices.A while to work, and after holiday.
[Exeunt.]
Flourish: drums and trumpets. EnterKing Richard, theBishop of Carlisle, Aumerleand soldiers.
KING RICHARD.Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand?
AUMERLE.Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the airAfter your late tossing on the breaking seas?
KING RICHARD.Needs must I like it well. I weep for joyTo stand upon my kingdom once again.Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,Though rebels wound thee with their horses’ hoofs.As a long-parted mother with her childPlays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth,And do thee favours with my royal hands.Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth,Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense,But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,Doing annoyance to the treacherous feetWhich 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 adderWhose double tongue may with a mortal touchThrow death upon thy sovereign’s enemies.Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.This earth shall have a feeling, and these stonesProve armed soldiers, ere her native kingShall falter under foul rebellion’s arms.
CARLISLE.Fear not, my lord. That Power that made you kingHath power to keep you king in spite of all.The means that heaven yields must be embracedAnd not neglected; else if heaven would,And we will not. Heaven’s offer we refuse,The proffered means of succour and redress.
AUMERLE.He means, my lord, that we are too remiss,Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,Grows strong and great in substance and in power.
KING RICHARD.Discomfortable cousin, know’st thou notThat when the searching eye of heaven is hidBehind the globe that lights the lower world,Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseenIn murders and in outrage boldly here;But when from under this terrestrial ballHe fires the proud tops of the eastern pinesAnd 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 nightWhilst we were wand’ring 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 seaCan wash the balm off from an anointed king;The breath of worldly men cannot deposeThe deputy elected by the Lord.For every man that Bolingbroke hath pressedTo lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,God for his Richard hath in heavenly payA glorious angel. Then, if angels fight,Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.
EnterSalisbury.
Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?
SALISBURY.Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongueAnd bids me speak of nothing but despair.One day too late, I fear me, 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!Today, today, 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.
AUMERLE.Comfort, my liege. Why looks your Grace so pale?
KING RICHARD.But now, the blood of twenty thousand menDid triumph in my face, and they are fled;And till so much blood thither come againHave 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.
AUMERLE.Comfort, my liege. Remember who you are.
KING RICHARD.I had forgot myself. Am I not king?Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest!Is not the King’s name twenty thousand names?Arm, arm, my name! A puny subject strikesAt 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 YorkHath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?
EnterSir Stephen Scroop.
SCROOP.More health and happiness betide my liegeThan can my care-tuned tongue deliver him.
KING RICHARD.Mine ear is open and my heart prepared.The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.Say, 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 woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay.The worst is death, and death will have his day.
SCROOP.Glad am I that your highness is so armedTo bear the tidings of calamity.Like an unseasonable stormy dayWhich makes the silver rivers drown their shoresAs if the world were all dissolved to tears,So high above his limits swells the rageOf Bolingbroke, covering your fearful landWith hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.Whitebeards have armed their thin and hairless scalpsAgainst thy majesty; boys with women’s voicesStrive to speak big and clap their female jointsIn stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown;Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bowsOf double-fatal yew against thy state;Yea, distaff-women manage rusty billsAgainst thy seat. Both young and old rebel,And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
KING RICHARD.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 enemyMeasure 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 indeed, my lord.
KING RICHARD.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 hellMake war upon their spotted souls for this!
SCROOP.Sweet love, I see, changing his property,Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.Again uncurse their souls. Their peace is madeWith heads, and not with hands. Those whom you curseHave felt the worst of death’s destroying woundAnd lie full low, graved in the hollow ground.
AUMERLE.Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?
SCROOP.Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.
AUMERLE.Where is the Duke my father with his power?
KING RICHARD.No matter where. Of comfort no man speak!Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyesWrite sorrow on the bosom of the earth.Let’s choose executors and talk of wills.And yet not so, for what can we bequeathSave our deposed bodies to the ground?Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke’s,And nothing can we call our own but deathAnd that small model of the barren earthWhich serves as paste and cover to our bones.For God’s sake let us sit upon the groundAnd 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 crownThat rounds the mortal temples of a kingKeeps 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 feared, and kill with looks,Infusing him with self and vain conceit,As if this flesh which walls about our lifeWere brass impregnable; and, humoured thus,Comes at the last, and with a little pinBores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and bloodWith 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?
CARLISLE.My lord, wise men ne’er sit and wail their 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.
AUMERLE.My father hath a power. Enquire of him,And learn to make a body of a limb.
KING RICHARD.Thou chid’st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I comeTo change blows with thee for our day of doom.This ague fit of fear is overblown;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 skyThe state in 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 smallTo lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:Your uncle York is joined with Bolingbroke,And all your northern castles yielded up,And all your southern gentlemen in armsUpon his party.
KING RICHARD.Thou hast said enough.[To Aumerle.] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forthOf that sweet way I was in to despair.What say you now? What comfort have we now?By heaven, I’ll hate him everlastinglyThat 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.That power I have, discharge, and let them goTo ear the land that hath some hope to grow,For I have none. Let no man speak againTo alter this, for counsel is but vain.
AUMERLE.My liege, one word.
KING RICHARD.He does me double wrongThat wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.Discharge my followers. Let them hence away,From Richard’s night to Bolingbroke’s fair day.
[Exeunt.]
Enter, with drum and colours,Bolingbrokeand Forces;Northumberlandand Others.
BOLINGBROKE.So that by this intelligence we learnThe Welshmen are dispersed, and SalisburyIs gone to meet the King, who lately landedWith some few private friends upon this coast.
NORTHUMBERLAND.The news is very fair and good, my lord:Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.
YORK.It would beseem the Lord NorthumberlandTo say “King Richard”. Alack the heavy dayWhen such a sacred king should hide his head!
NORTHUMBERLAND.Your Grace mistakes; only to be briefLeft I his title out.
YORK.The time hath been,Would you have been so brief with him, he wouldHave been so brief with you to shorten you,For taking so the head, your whole head’s length.
BOLINGBROKE.Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.
YORK.Take not, good cousin, further than you should,Lest you mistake. The heavens are o’er our heads.
BOLINGBROKE.I know it, uncle, and oppose not myselfAgainst their will. But who comes here?
EnterHarry Percy.
Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?
PERCY.The castle royally is manned, my lord,Against thy entrance.
BOLINGBROKE.Royally!Why, it contains no king?
PERCY.Yes, my good lord,It doth contain a king. King Richard liesWithin the limits of yon lime and stone,And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergymanOf holy reverence—who, I cannot learn.
NORTHUMBERLAND.O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
BOLINGBROKE.[To Northumberland.] Noble lord,Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parleyInto his ruined ears, and thus deliver:Henry BolingbrokeOn both his knees doth kiss King Richard’s handAnd sends allegiance and true faith of heartTo his most royal person, hither comeEven at his feet to lay my arms and power,Provided that my banishment repealedAnd lands restored again be freely granted.If not, I’ll use the advantage of my powerAnd lay the summer’s dust with showers of bloodRained from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen—The which how far off from the mind of BolingbrokeIt is such crimson tempest should bedrenchThe fresh green lap of fair King Richard’s land,My stooping duty tenderly shall show.Go signify as much, while here we marchUpon the grassy carpet of this plain.Let’s march without the noise of threat’ning drum,That from this castle’s tottered battlementsOur fair appointments may be well perused.Methinks King Richard and myself should meetWith no less terror than the elementsOf fire and water, when their thund’ring shockAt meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.Be he the fire, I’ll be the yielding water;The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rainMy waters—on the earth, and not on him.March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.
A parley sounded, and answered by a trumpet within. Flourish. Enter on the Walls, theKing,theBishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, ScroopandSalisbury
See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,As doth the blushing discontented sunFrom out the fiery portal of the east,When he perceives the envious clouds are bentTo dim his glory and to stain the trackOf his bright passage to the occident.
YORK.Yet he looks like a king. Behold, his eye,As bright as is the eagle’s, lightens forthControlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woeThat any harm should stain so fair a show!
KING RICHARD.[To Northumberland.] We are amazed, and thus long have we stoodTo watch the fearful bending of thy kneeBecause we thought ourself thy lawful king.And if we be, how dare thy joints forgetTo pay their awful duty to our presence?If we be not, show us the hand of GodThat hath dismissed us from our stewardship;For well we know no hand of blood and boneCan 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 behalfArmies of pestilence, and they shall strikeYour children yet unborn and unbegot,That lift your vassal hands against my headAnd threat the glory of my precious crown.Tell Bolingbroke—for yon methinks he stands—That every stride he makes upon my landIs dangerous treason. He is come to openThe purple testament of bleeding war;But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers’ sonsShall ill become the flower of England’s face,Change the complexion of her maid-pale peaceTo scarlet indignation, and bedewHer pastures’ grass with faithful English blood.
NORTHUMBERLAND.The King of Heaven forbid our lord the KingShould so with civil and uncivil armsBe rushed upon! Thy thrice-noble cousin,Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand;And by the honourable tomb he swearsThat stands upon your 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 scopeThan for his lineal royalties, and to begEnfranchisement immediate on his knees;Which on thy royal party granted once,His glittering arms he will commend to rust,His barbed steeds to stables, and his heartTo faithful service of your Majesty.This swears he, as he is a prince and just;And as I am a gentleman I credit him.
KING RICHARD.Northumberland, say, thus the King returns:His noble cousin is right welcome hither,And all the number of his fair demandsShall be accomplished without contradiction.With all the gracious utterance thou hast,Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.
[Northumberlandreturns toBolingbroke.]
[To Aumerle.] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,To look so poorly and to speak so fair?Shall we call back Northumberland and sendDefiance to the traitor, and so die?
AUMERLE.No, good my lord. Let’s fight with gentle wordsTill time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.
KING RICHARD.O God, O God, that e’er this tongue of mineThat laid the sentence of dread banishmentOn yon proud man should take it off againWith words of sooth! O, that I were as greatAs 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.
AUMERLE.Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.
KING RICHARD.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 loseThe name of King? I’ 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 carved 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’ feetMay hourly trample on their sovereign’s head;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 cornAnd make a dearth in this revolting land.Or shall we play the wantons with our woesAnd make some pretty match with shedding tears?As thus, to drop them still upon one placeTill they have fretted us a pair of gravesWithin the earth; and, therein laid, there liesTwo kinsmen digged their graves with weeping eyes.Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I seeI talk but idly, and you laugh at me.Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,What says King Bolingbroke? Will his MajestyGive Richard leave to live till Richard die?You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.
NORTHUMBERLAND.My lord, in the base court he doth attendTo speak with you. May it please you to come down?
KING RICHARD.Down, down I come, like glist’ring Phaëthon,Wanting the manage of unruly jades.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.]
BOLINGBROKE.What says his Majesty?
NORTHUMBERLAND.Sorrow and grief of heartMakes him speak fondly like a frantic man.Yet he is come.
EnterKing Richardand his attendants.
BOLINGBROKE.Stand all apart,And show fair duty to his Majesty. [Kneeling.]My gracious lord.
KING RICHARD.Fair cousin, you debase your princely kneeTo make the base earth proud with kissing it.Me rather had my heart might feel your loveThan my unpleased eye see your courtesy.Up, cousin, up. Your heart is up, I know,Thus high at least, although your knee be low.
BOLINGBROKE.My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.
KING RICHARD.Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.
BOLINGBROKE.So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,As my true service shall deserve your love.
KING RICHARD.Well you deserve. They well deserve to haveThat know the strong’st and surest way to get.Uncle, give me your hands. 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?
BOLINGBROKE.Yea, my good lord.
KING RICHARD.Then I must not say no.
[Flourish. Exeunt.]
Enter theQueenand two Ladies.
QUEEN.What sport shall we devise here in this gardenTo drive away the heavy thought of care?
LADY.Madam, we’ll play at bowls.
QUEEN.’Twill make me think the world is full of rubsAnd that my fortune runs against the bias.
LADY.Madam, we’ll dance.
QUEEN.My legs can keep no measure in delightWhen my poor heart no measure keeps in grief.Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport.
LADY.Madam, we’ll tell tales.
QUEEN.Of sorrow 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 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.
LADY.Madam, I’ll sing.
QUEEN.’Tis well that thou hast cause;But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.
LADY.I could weep, madam, would it do you good.
QUEEN.And I could sing, 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.My wretchedness unto a row of pins,They will talk of state, for everyone doth soAgainst a change; woe is forerun with woe.
[QueenandLadiesretire.]
Enter aGardenerand twoServants.
GARDENER.Go, bind thou up young dangling apricocks,Which, like unruly children, make their sireStoop with oppression of their prodigal weight.Give some supportance to the bending twigs.Go thou, and like an executionerCut off the heads of too fast-growing spraysThat look too lofty in our commonwealth.All must be even in our government.You thus employed, I will go root awayThe noisome weeds which without profit suckThe soil’s fertility from wholesome flowers.
SERVANT.Why should we in the compass of a paleKeep 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 choked up,Her fruit trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined,Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbsSwarming with caterpillars?
GARDENER.Hold thy peace.He that hath suffered this disordered springHath now himself met with the fall of leaf.The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,That seemed in eating him to hold him up,Are plucked up, root and all, by Bolingbroke—I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.
SERVANT.What, are they dead?
GARDENER.They are. And BolingbrokeHath seized the wasteful King. O, what pity is itThat he had not so trimmed and dressed his landAs we this garden! We at time of yearDo wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,With too much riches it confound itself.Had he done so to great and growing men,They might have lived to bear and he to tasteTheir fruits of duty. Superfluous branchesWe lop away, that bearing boughs may live.Had he done so, himself had home the crown,Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.
SERVANT.What, think you the King shall be deposed?
GARDENER.Depressed he is already, and deposed’Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last nightTo a dear friend of the good Duke of York’sThat tell black tidings.
QUEEN.O, I am pressed to death through want of speaking!
[Coming forward.]
Thou, old Adam’s likeness, set to dress this garden,How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested theeTo make a second fall of cursed man?Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?Dar’st thou, thou little better thing than earth,Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,Cam’st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch!
GARDENER.Pardon me, madam. Little joy have ITo breathe this news; yet what I say is true.King Richard, he is in the mighty holdOf Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weighed.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 will find it so.I speak no more than everyone 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 thinkestTo serve me last that I may longest keepThy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, goTo meet at London London’s king in woe.What, was I born to this, that my sad lookShould grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?Gard’ner, for telling me these news of woe,Pray God the plants thou graft’st may never grow!
[ExeuntQueenandLadies.]
GARDENER.Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse,I would my skill were subject to thy curse.Here did she fall a tear. Here in this placeI’ll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace.Rue even for ruth here shortly shall be seenIn the remembrance of a weeping queen.
[Exeunt.]