Gard. Go, bind thou up yond dangling Apricocks,
Which like unruly children, make their Sire
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 Common-wealth:
All must be even in our Government.
You thus imploy'd, I will go root away
The noisom weeds, that without profit fuck
The foil's fertility from wholfom flowers.
Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,
Keep law, and form, and due proportion,
Shewing, as in a model, our firm ftate?
When our Sea-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 wholsom herbs
Swarming with Caterpillars?

Gard. Hold thy peace.

He, that hath fuffer'd this diforder'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, Busby, Green.
Serv. What, are they dead?

Gard. They are,

And Bolingbroke hath feiz'd the wafteful King,
What pity is't, that he had not so trimm'd
And drest 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 it felf;
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 born the Crown,
Which waste and idle hours have quite thrown down..

Serv. What, think you then, the King shall be depos'd?

Gard. Depreft he is already, and depos'd, 'Tis doubted, he will be. Letters last night -Came to a dear friend of the Duke of York, That tell black tidings.

Queen. Oh, I am preft to death, through want of
fpeaking:

Thou Adam's likeness, fet to drefs this garden,
How dares thy tongue found this unpleafing news?
What Eve, what Serpent hath fuggefted thee,
To make a fecond Fall of curfed man?
Why doft thou fay, King Richard is depos'd?
Dar'ft thou, (thou little better Thing than earth,)
Divine his downfal? fay, where, when, and how
Cam'ft thou by these ill tidings? fpeak, thou wretch.
Gard. Pardon me, Madam. Little joy have I
To breathe thefe 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 Scale 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 fpeak no more, than every one doth know.

Queen. Nimble Mifchance, that art fo light of foot,

Doth not thy Embaffage belong to me?

And am I laft, 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!
Gard'ner, for telling me thefe news of woe,
I would the plants, thou graft'ft, may never grow.
[Exe. Queen and Ladies.
Gard. Poor Queen, fo that thy ftate might be no worse,
my skill were subject to thy Curse.

I would

Here

Here did the drop a tear; here in this place,
I'll fet a bank of Rue, fow'r herb of grace;
Rue, ev'n for ruth, here fhortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping Queen.

[Ex. Gard. and Serv.

SCEN E, in LONDON,

Enter, as to the Parliament, Bolingbroke, Aumerle, Northumberland, Percy, Fitzwater, Surrey, Bishop of Carlisle, Abbot of Westminster, Herald, Officers, -and Bagot.

C

BOLINGBROKE.

ALL Bagot forth: now freely speak thy mind,
What thou doft know of noble Glofter's death
Who wrought it with the King, and who per

form'd

The bloody office of his timeless end.

Bagot. Then fet before my face the lord Aumerle. Boling. Coufin, ftand forth, and look upon that man. Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue Scorns to unfay, what it hath oncé deliver'd." In that dead time when Glo'fter's death was plotted, I heard you fay, "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 fay, "You rather had refuse,

The offer of au hundred thoufand crowns,

"Than Bolingbroke return to England; adding,

"How bleft this Land would be in this your Coufin's death.

Au. Princes, and noble lords,

What answer shall I make to this base man?

Shall

Shall I fo much difhonour my fair stars,
On equal terms to give him chastisement ?
Either I muft, or have mine honour foil'd
With the attainder of his fland'rous lips.
There is my Gage, the manual feal of death,
That marks thee out for hell. Thou lieft,
And I'll maintain what thou hast said is false,
In thy heart-blood, though being all too bafe
To ftain the temper of my knightly fword.
Boling. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.
Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this prefence that hath mov'd me fo.

Fitzw. If that thy valour stand on fympathies,
There is my Gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine:
By that fair Sun, that fhews me where thou ftand'st,
I heard thee fay, and vauntingly thou fpak'ft it,
That thou wert caufe of noble Glo'fter's death.
If thou deny'ft it, twenty times thou lieft;
And I will turn thy falfhood to thy heart,
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.

Aum. Thou dar'ft not, coward, live to fee the day.
Fitzw. Now, by my foul, I would it were this hour.
Aum. Fitzwater, Thou art damn'd to hell for this.
Percy. Aumerle, thou lieft; his honour is as true,
In this appeal, as thou art all unjust;
And that thou art fo, there I throw my Gage
To prove it on thee, to th'extreameft point
Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar'ft.
Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off,
And never brandifh more revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe!

Who fets me else? by heav'n, I'll throw at all.
I have a thousand spirits in my breaft,

To answer twenty thoufand fuch as you.

Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I remember well, The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

Fitzw. My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence then

And you can witness with me, this is true.

Surrey. As falfe, by, heav'n, as heav'n it felf is true.
Fitzw. Surrey, thou lieft.

Surrey

Surrey. Dishonourable boy,

That Lie fhall lye fo heavy on my fword,
That it fhall render vengeance and revenge,
Till thou the lie-giver, and that Lie, reft
In earth as quiet, as thy father's fcull.

In proof whereof, there is mine honour's pawn;
Engage it to the tryal, if thou dar'ft.

Fitzw. How fondly doft thou fpur a forward horfe;
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
I dare meet Surrey in a wildernefs,

And fpit upon him, whilft I fay, he lies,
And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,
To tie thee to my ftrong correction.

t

As I intend to thrive in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.
Befides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say,
That thou, Aumerle, didft fend two of thy men
To execute the noble Duke at Calais.

Aum. Some honeft chriftian truft me with a Gage,
That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this,
If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour.

Boling. Thefe Diff'rences fhall all reft under gage,
Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be;
And though mine enemy, reftor'd again
To all his Signiories; when he's return'd,
Against Aumerle we will enforce his tryal.

Carl. That honourable day fhall ne'er be seen.
Many a time hath banifh'd Norfolk fought
For Jefu Chrift, in glorious chriftian field.
Streaming the Enfign of the chriftian Crofs,
Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens ;
Then, 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 foul unto his captain Chrift,
Under whofe Colours he had fought fo long,
Boling. Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?
Carl. Sure as I live, my lord.

Boling. Sweet peace conduct his foul

To th' bofom of good Abraham! Lords appealants,

Your