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Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. Aum. Northumberland comes back from Boling

broke.
K. Rich. What must the king do now? Must he

submit?
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 scepter, 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' feet
May, 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 cou

sin! We'll make foul weather with despised tears; Our sighs, 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 still upon one place, Till they have fretted us a pair of graves Within the earth; and, therein laid, “There lies Two kinsmen, digg'd their graves with weeping eyes?

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on their sovereign's head:] Shakspeare is very apt to deviate from the pathetick to the ridiculous. Had the speech of Richard ended at this line, it had exhibited the natural language of submissive misery, conforming its intention to the present fortune, and calmly ending its purposes in death. Johnson.

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 at-

tend
To speak with you; may't please you to come down?
K. Rich. Down, down, I come; like glistering

Phaeton,
Wanting the manage of unruly jades.

[North. retires to BOLING. 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.
Boling. What says his majesty?
North.

Sorrow and grief of heart
Makes him speak fondly, like a frantick man:
Yet he is come.

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Enter King RICHARD, and his Attendants, below.

Boling. Stand all apart,
And show fair duty to his majesty.-
My gracious lord, —

[Kneeling: K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely

knee,
To make the base earth proud with kissing it:
Me rather had, my heart might feel your love,
Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy,

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Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,
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. K. Rich. Well you deserve:—They well deserve

to have,
That know the strong'st and surest way to get.-
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.
What you'll 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?

Boling. Yea, my good lord.
K. Rich.

Then I must not say, no.

[Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Langley. The Duke of York's Garden.

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

garden, To drive away the heavy thought of care?

1 Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. Queen.

'Twill make me think, The world is full of rubs, and that my

fortune Runs 'gainst the bias. 1 Lady.

Madam, we will dance.

Queen. My legs can keep no measure in de

light, When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport.

1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. Queen.

Of sorrow, or of joy? 1 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.

1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing.
Queen.

'Tis well, that thou hast calise; But thou should’st please me better, would'st thou

weep: 1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you

good.

Queen. And I could weep, 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.

Against a change: Woe is forerun with woe.] The poet, according to the common doctrine of prognostication, supposes dejection to forerun calamity, and a kingdom to be filled with rumours of sorrow when any great disaster is impending. The sense is, that public eyils are always presignified by publick pensiveness, and plaintive conversation. JOHNSON.

Gard. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricocks,
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 employ'd, I will go root away
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.
1 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 chok'd

up,
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd,
Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome 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 shel-

ter,
That seem'd in eating him to hold him up,
Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke;
I mean, the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

1 Serv. What, are they dead?
Gard.

They are; and Bolingbroke Hath seiz'd the wasteful king.--Oh! What pity

is it, That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land, As we this garden! We at tiine of year

9 Her knots disorder'd,) Knots are figures planted in box, the lines of which frequently intersect each other.

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