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Swell'st thou, proud heart ? I'll give thee scope to beat,
Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.

Aum.Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.
K. Rich. What must the King do now? muft he sub-
The King shall do it: must he be depos'd ?
The King shall be contented : must he lose
The name of King? o'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 alms-man's gown;
My figur'd 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 bury'd in the King's highway;
Some way of common tread, where subjects' feet
May hourly trample on their Sovereign's head. *
Aumerle, thou weep'ft, (my tender hearted cousin !)
We'll make foul weather with despised tears ;
Our fighs, and they, shall lodge the summer-corn,
And make a dearth in this revolting land.
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes,
And make some pretty match with shedding tears ?
As thus, to drop them ftill upon one place,
Till they have fretted us a pair of gravest?
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 fays, Ay.

North. My Lord, in the base court he doth attend
To speak with you, may't please you to come down.

pair of

Sovereign's head :
For on my heart they tread now, whild I live;
And, bury'd once, why not upon my head ?
Aumerle, thou weep'it, &c.
+

graves
Wiibin the earth; and therein laid, there lies
Two kinsmen, dige'd their graves wiih weeping cyes ?
Would not this ill do well ? Well, well, I see
I talk but idly, and you mock at me.
Must mighty Prince, &c.

Vol. IV.

K. Rich,

K. Rich. Down, down I come; like glist'ring Phaëton, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. *

Boling. What fays his Majesty ?

North. Sorrow and grief of heart
Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man;
Yet is he come.

Boling. Stand all apart,
And shew fair duty to his Majesty.
My gracious Lord

[Keels.
K. Rich Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee,
To make the base earth proud with killing it.
Me rather had my heart might feel your love,
Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. +

Boling. My gracious Lord, I come but for mine own. K. Rich. Your own is your's, and I am your's, and all.

Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted Lord, As my true service shall deserve your love.

K. Rich. Well you deserve: they well deserve to have,
That know the strong'st and furest way to get.
Uncle,give me your hand; nay,dry your eyes; [To York,
Tears thew their love, but want their remedies,
Cousin, I am too young to be your father, [To Boling.
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 fo ?

Boling. Yea, my good Lord.
K.Rich. Then I must not say, No. [Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE VII. A garden in the Queen's court.

Enter Queen and two Ladies.
Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this garden.

of unruly i des.
Inh. b. se court? baf: court, where kings grow base
To cá me at traitors' calls, and do them grace.
in the ba 'e couri c me down? down, court; down, King;
For night owis shriek where mounting larks should sing.

Poling. What, &c.
+

ce your courte!y.
U;, cousin, up; your heart is un, I know,
Thus high at least, although your knee be low.
Buling. My gracious Lord, &c.

To

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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. 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 fing.

Queen. 'Tis well that thou hast cause:
But thou should'st please me better would'st thou weep.

Lady. I could weep, Madam, would it do you good.

Queen. And I couldweep, would weeping do me good,
And never borrow any tear of thee.
But ftay, here come the gardeners.
Let's step into the shadow of these trees ; –
My wretchedness unto a row of pins,

Enter a Gardener and two servants.
They'll talk of state ; for every one doth so,
Against a change ; woe is fore-run with mocks.

[Queen and Ladies retire..
Gard. Go, bind thou up yond dangling apricocks,
Which, like unruly children, make their fire
Stoop with oppresion of their prodigal weight :
Give fome 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 employ'd, I will go root away
The noisome weeds, that without profit fuck

The

G 2

The foil's fertility from wholsome flowers.

Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,
Keep law, and form, and due proportion,
Shewing, as in a model, a firm itate ;
When our sea-walled garden (the whole land)
Is full of weeds, her fairelt flowers choak'd up,
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd,
Her knots disorder'd, and her whollome herbs,
Swarming with caterpillars ?

Gard. Hold thy peace.
He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring,
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:
The weeds that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
(That seem'd, in eating him, to hold him up),
Are pulld 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 seiz'd the wasteful King. What pity is't, that he had not so trimm'd And dress’d 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 itself? Had he done fo to great and growing men, They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste Their fruits of duty. All fuperfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughs may live : Had he done fo, himself had borne the crown, , Which waste and idle hours have quite thrown down.

Serv. What, think you then the King shall be de

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

[speaking : Queen. Oh, I am press'd to death, through want of Thou Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden, How dares thy tongue found this unpleasing news ? What Eve, what ferpent hath suggested thee, To make a second fall of cursed man ? Why doft thou say, King Richard is depos'd ? Dar'st thou (thou little better thing than earth)

Divine his downfal ? Say, where, when, and how Cam't thou by these ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.

Gard. Pardon me, Madam Little joy have I To breathe these 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 lo ; I speak no more than every one doth know.

Queen. Nimble Mischance, that art fo light of foot, Doth not thy emballage belong to me? And am I last that know it? Oh, thou think'st To serve me last, that I may longest keep Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, Ladies, go ; To meat, at London, London's King in woe. What, was I born to this! that my fad look Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke ! Gardner, for telling me these 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 I would my skill

were subject to thy curse. (worse, Here did the drop a tear; here, in this place, I'll fet a bank of rue, sour herb of grace ; Rue, ev'n for ruth, here shortly shall be seen, In the remembrance of a weeping Queen.

[Ex. Gard. and Serv.

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