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.
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 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 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 delight, When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport. 1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. Queen.

1 Lady. Of either, madam. Queen.

Of sorrow, or of joy?

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 cause ;

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.

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 shelter,
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 time of year
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees;
Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood,
With too much riches it confound itself:
Had he done so to great and growing men,
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste
Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.
1 Ser. What, think you then, the king shall be de-
pos'd?

Gard. Depress'd he is already; and depos'd, 'Tis doubt, he will be: Letters came last night