Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes Enter SCROOP. Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd; The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. 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 arm'd To bear the tidings of calamity. Like an unseasonable stormy day, Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, So high above his limits swells the rage Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown: K. Rich. 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 enemy Measure 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. K. Rich. O, villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption! Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart! Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, curse, Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, you Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire, dead? Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. VOL. VI. Aum. Where is the duke my father with his power? K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Keeps death his court: and there the antick sits, Bores through his castle wall, and-farewell king! I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, How can you say to me-I am a king? Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well :-Proud Bolingbroke, To change blows with thee for our day of doom. An easy task it is, to win our own. Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? So may you by my dull and heavy eye, I play the torturer, by small and small, To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:- And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Upon his party. K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. Beshrew thee, cousin, which did'st lead me forth Of that sweet way I was in to despair! [TO AUMERLE. What say you now? What comfort have we now? That bids me be of comfort any more. Aum. My liege, one word. K. Rich. He does me double wrong, [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Wales. Before Flint Castle. Enter, with Drum and Colours, BOLINGBROKE and For- North. The news is very fair and good, my lord; York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, To say-king Richard :-Alack the heavy day, When such a sacred king should hide his head! |