Till they have fretted us a pair of graves

Within the earth; and, therein laid-" There lies

Two kinsmen, digged their graves with weeping eyes "?

Would not this ill do well?

Well, well, I see

I talk but idly, and you mock at me.

Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,
What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty
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?

K RICH. Down, down I come; like glistering Phaethon,
Wanting the manage of unruly jades. [NORTH. retires to BOLING.

In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,
To come at traitors' call, and do them grace.
In the base court? Come down? Down court! Down king!
For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.

BOLING. What says his majesty ?
NORTH.

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[Exeunt from above.

Sorrow and grief of heart

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Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man :

Yet he is come.

Enter KING RICHARD, and his Attendants, below.

My gracious lord,—

[Kneeling.

K. RICH. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee,

To make the base earth proud with kissing it:

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Me rather had my heart might feel your love,

Thus high at least [touching his own head], although your knee be
low.

BOLING. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.
K. RICH. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.
BOLING. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,

As my true service shall deserve your love.

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K. RICH. Well you deserve: they well deserve to have

That know the strong'st and surest way to get.

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[To YORK.] Uncle, give me your hand: 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,

Enter the QUEEN and two Ladies.

QUEEN. What sport shall we devise here in this garden, 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; some other sport.

LADY. Madam, we'll tell tales.

QUEEN.

LADY. Of either, madam.
QUEEN.

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.

Enter a Gardener and two Servants.

My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
They'll talk of state; for every one doth so
Against a change; woe is forerun with woe.

[QUEEN and Ladies retire,

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GARD. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricots,
Which, like unruly children, make their sire
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight.
Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
Go thou, and, like an executioner,
Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays,
That look too lofty in our commonwealth:
All must be even in our government.
You thus employed, I will go root away
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck

The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

SERV. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,
Keep 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 herbs
Swarming with caterpillars?

GARD.

Hold thy peace:

He that hath suffered this disordered spring
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:

The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
That seemed in eating him to hold him up,
Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke;
I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.
SERV. What, are they dead?
GARD.

They are; and Bolingbroke
Hath seized the wasteful king. O what pity is it
That he had not so trimmed and dressed 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 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 taste,
Their fruits of duty: superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,

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Which waste, and idle hours, hath quite thrown down.

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SERV. What, think you then the king shall be deposed?

GARD. Depressed he is already; and deposed,

'Tis doubt, he will be letters came last night

To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's,
That tell black tidings.

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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 thee

To make a second fall of curséd man?

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Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?

Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Divine his downfall? Say where, when, and how,
Camest thou by these ill-tidings? speak, thou wretch.
GARD. Pardon me, madam: little joy have I
To breathe this news: yet what I say is true.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold

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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,

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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 one doth know.
QUEEN. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
Doth not thy embassage belong to me,

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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,

Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow.

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[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 fall 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.

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[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. London. Westminster Hall. 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, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, and Attendants. Officers behind with BAGOT.

BOLING. Call forth Bagot.

[Officers bring BAGOT to the Bar.

Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind.
What thou dost know of noble Gloucester'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 man.
BAGOT. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue
Scorns to unsay what once it hath delivered.
In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted,
I heard you say,
"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 say, that you had rather refuse
The offer of a hundred thousand crowns,
Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
Adding withal, how blessed this land would be
In this your cousin's death.

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 soiled
With the attainder of his slanderous 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 moved me so.

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