Aum. No, good my Lord, let's fight with gentle words, 'Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful fwords. K. Rich. Oh God,oh God! that e'er this tongee of mine, That laid the fentence of dread banishment On yond proud man, fhould take it off again Swell'ft thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat, Aum. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. "K. Rich. What must the King do now ? muft he submit? The King fhall do it: muft he be depos'd? The King fhall be contented: must he lofe The name of King? o' God's name let it go. I'll give my jewels for a fet of beads; ༢. 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 fcepter, for a palmer's walking-staff; My fubjects, for a pair of carved faints, And my large kingdom, for a little grave, A little little grave, an obfcure grave. Or I'll be bury'd in the King's highway; Some way of common tread, where fubjects feet May hourly trample on their Sovereign's head. * Aumerle, thou weep'ft, my tender-hearted coufin, We'll make foul weather with despised tears: Our fighs, and they, fhall lodge the fummer corn, And make a dearth in this revolting land, Or fhall we play the wantons with our woes, And make fome pretty match with fhedding tears? As thus, to drop them ftill upon one place, 'Till they have fretted us a pair of graves.† Sovereign's head. For on my heart they tread now, whilft b live; +... a pair of graves, Within the earth; and therein laid, there lyes Twe Moft mighty Prince, my Lord Northumberland, North. My Lord, in the base court he doth attend To fpeak with you, may't please you to come down. K. Rich. Down, down I come, like glift'ring Phaeton, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. Boling. What fays his Majefty? North. Sorrow of heart * Makes him fpeak fondly, like a frantick man; Boling. Stand all apart, and show Fair duty to his Majefty. My gracious Lord [Kneels. K. Rich. Fair coulin, you debafe your princely knee, To make the base earth proud with kiffing it. Me rather had, my heart might feel your love, Than my un-pleas'd eye fee your courtefie. † 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 fervice shall deferve your love. K. Rich. Well you deserv'd: they well deferve to have, That know the ftrong'ft and fureft way to get. Uncle, give me your hand; nay,dry your eyes; [To York. Two kinfinen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes? I talk but idly, and you mock at me. Moft mighty Prince, &c. ... of unruly jades. In the bafe court? bafe court where Kings grow bafe, In the bafe court come down? down, court, down, King; For Night owls fhriek, where mountain Larks should sing.; Boling. What, &c. your courtefie. Up, coulin, up; your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least, although your knee below. Coufin, Coufin, I am too young to be your father, [To Bolingbroke, K. Rich. Then I muft not fay no. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE VII, A Garden. Enter Queen and two Ladies. Queen. What fport fhall we devife 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, Queen. Of neither, girl. For it of Joy, being altogether wanting, It adds more forrow to my want of joy:" Queen. 'Tis well that thou haft caufe: But thou fhould'ft please me better, would't thou weep. Lady. I could weep, Madam, would do you good. Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do me good, And never borrow any tear of thee. Enter a Gardiner, and two Servants, But ftay, here come the gardiners. They'll talk of ftate; for every one doth fo, [Queen and Ladies retire. Gard. Go bind thou up yond dangling Apricocks, Cut off the heads of too faft growing-fprays, Gard. Hold thy peace. 1 He that hath fuffer'd this diforder'd fpring, Gard. They are. And Bolingbroke hath feiz'd the wasteful King. Ser Sery, 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: Why doft thou fay, King Richard is depos'd? Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'da Queen. Nimble Mifchance, that art fo light of foot, And am I laft that know it? Oh, thou think'ft Rue, |