Boling.
So that by this intelligence we learn,
The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed
With some few private friends upon this Coast.

North.
The news is very fair and good, my lord,
Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head.

York.
It would beseem the lord Northumberland,
To say, King Richard. Ah, the heavy day,
When such a sacred King should hide his head!

North.
Your Grace mistakes me; only to be brief,
Left I his Title out.

York.
The time hath been,

Would you have been so brief with him, he would
Have been so brief with You, to shorten you,
For taking so the Head, the whole Head's Length.

Boling.
Mistake not, uncle, farther than you should.

York.
Take not, good cousin, farther than you should,
Lest you mistake; the heav'ns are o'er your head.

Boling.
I know it, uncle, nor oppose my self
Against their will. But who comes here? Enter Percy.
Welcome, Harry; what, will not this castle yield?

Percy.
The castle royally is mann'd, my lord,
Against your entrance.

Boling.
Royally? why, it contains no King?

Percy.
Yes, my good lord,
It doth contain a King: King Richard lyes
Within the limits of yond lime and stone;
And with him lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergy man
Of holy reverence: who, I cannot learn.

North.
Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle.

Boling.
Noble lord, [To North.
Go to the rude ribs of that antient castle,
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of Parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:
Henry of Bolingbroke upon his knees
Doth kiss King Richard's hand, and sends allegiance
And faith of heart unto his royal person:
Ev'n at his feet I lay my arms and pow'r,
Provided, that my banishment repeal'd,
And lands restor'd again, be freely granted:
If not, I'll use th' advantage of my pow'r,
And lay the summer's dust with show'rs of blood,
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen.
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's Land,
My stooping duty tenderly shall shew.
Go signifie as much, while here we march
Upon the grassie carpet of this Plain;

Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum,
That from this Castle's tatter'd battlements
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd.
Methinks, King Richard and my self should meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring Shock,(13) ^note






At meeting, tears the cloudy cheeks of heav'n:
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain
My waters; on the earth, and not on him.
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks. Parle without, and answer within; then a flourish. Enter, on the walls, King Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop and Salisbury.
See! see! King Richard doth himself appear,
As doth the blushing discontented Sun,
From out the fiery portal of the East,
When he perceives, the envious clouds are bent
To dim his Glory; and to stain the tract
Of his bright passage to the Occident.

York.
Yet looks he like a King: behold his eye,
As bright as is the Eagle's, lightens forth
Controlling Majesty; alack, for woe,
That any harm should stain so fair a show!

K. Rich.
We are amaz'd, and thus long have we stood
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, [To North.
Because we thought our self thy lawful King;

And, if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence?
If we be not, shew us the hand of God,
That hath dismiss'd us from our Stewardship.
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can gripe the sacred handle of our Scepter,
Unless he do prophane, steal, or usurp.
And though you think, that all, as you have done,
Have torn their souls, by turning them from us,
And we are barren, and bereft of friends:
Yet know,—My Master, God omnipotent,
Is must'ring in his clouds on our behalf
Armies of Pestilence; and they shall strike
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot,
That lift your vassal hands against my head,
And threat the Glory of my precious Crown.
Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond, methinks, he is)
That every stride he makes upon my Land
Is dangerous treason. He is come to ope
The purple Testament of bleeding War;
But ere the Crown, he looks for, live in peace,(14) ^note

Her Pasture's grass with faithful English blood.

North.
The King of heav'n forbid, our lord the King
Should so with civil and uncivil arms
Be rush'd upon! no, thy thrice-noble cousin,
Harry of Bolingbroke, doth kiss thy hand,
And by the honourable tomb he swears,
That stands upon your royal Grandsire's bones,
And by the Royalties of both your bloods,
(Currents, that spring from one most gracious head)
And by the bury'd hand of warlike Gaunt,
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Comprising all that may be sworn, or said,
His Coming hither hath no farther scope,
Than for his lineal Royalties, and to beg
Infranchisement immediate on his knees:
Which on thy royal party granted once,
His glitt'ring arms he will commend to rust;
His barbed steeds to stables; and his heart
To faithful service of your Majesty.
This swears he, as he is a Prince, is just;
And as I am a Gentleman, I credit him.

K. Rich.
Northumberland, say, thus the King returns:
His noble Cousin is right-welcome hither,
And all the number of his fair demands
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction.
With all the gracious utterance thou hast,
Speak to his gentle Hearing kind Commends.
We do debase our self, Cousin, do we not, [To Aum.
To look so poorly, and to speak so fair?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
Defiance to the traitor, and so die?

Aum.
No, good my lord, let's fight with gentle words,
Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.

K. Rich.
Oh God, oh God! that e'er this tongue of mine,
That laid the Sentence of dread Banishment
On yond proud man, should take it off again
With words of Sooth; oh, that I were as great

As is my grief, or lesser than my name!
Or that I could forget what I have been,
Or not remember what I must be now!
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? 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 bury'd in the King's high way:(15) ^note

Within the earth; and therein laid, there lyes
Two kinsmen, digg'd their Graves with weeping eyes?
Would not this ill do well? well, well, I see
I talk but idley, 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 glist'ring Phaeton,
Wanting the manage of unruly jades.
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.

Boling.
What says his Majesty?

North.
Sorrow, and Grief of Heart,
Makes him speak fondly, like a frantick Man;
Yet is he come.

Boling.
Stand all apart,
And shew fair duty to his Majesty.
My gracious lord— [Kneels.

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 courtesie.
Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,
Thus high at least, 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 shew 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.

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