Bol.
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:—Alack 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—

Bol.
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.

Bol.
I know it, uncle, and will not oppose
Myself against their will.—But who comes here?

Enter Percy.
Well, Harry, what, will not the castle yield?

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

Bol.
Royally! How so?
Why, it contains no king?

Percy.
Yes, my good lord,
It doth contain a king—king Richard,
And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury,
And sir Stephen Scroop.

Bol.
Noble lord,
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:
Harry of Bolingbroke, upon his knees,
Doth kiss king Richard's hands;
And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart,
To his most royal person: hither come
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,
Provided that my banishment be repeal'd,
And lands restor'd again, be freely granted:
If not, I'll use the advantage of my power,
And lay the summer's dust with showers 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 show.
Go, signify as much; while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. [Bolingbroke, York, &c. retire—a parle sounded.]

North.
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 track
Of his bright passage to the occident. Enter King Richard, Aumerle, &c.

K. Rich.
We are amaz'd; and thus long have we stood
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king:
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence?
If we be not, show us the hand of heav'n,
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 berest of friends;—
Yet know,—my master, God the omnipotent,
Is mustering 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 yon', 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, light in peace,
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons
Shall ill become the flower of England's face;

Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To scarlet indignation, and bedew
Her pasture grass with faithful English blood.

North.
Harry of Bolingbroke doth kiss thy hand:
His coming hither, hath no further scope,
Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees:
Which on the royal party granted once,
His glittering arms he will commend to rust,
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart
To faithful service of your majesty.

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. [Northumberland goes.]
We do debase us, cousin, do we not,
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, my good lord, let's fight with gentle words.

K. Rich.
O God! O God! that e'er this tongue of mine,
That lay'd the sentence of dread banishment,
On yon proud man, should take it off again,
With words of sooth! O, 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!

Aum.
Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.

Enter Northumberland.

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,
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;
For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live;
And, bury'd once, why not upon my head?
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.
He is here, my lord, to wait upon his king. Enter Bolingbroke, York, and Attendants.

Bol.
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: (Raising him) your heart is up, I know,
Thus high at least, altho' your knee be low.

Bol.
My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.

K. Rich.
Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.

Bol.
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?

Bol.
Yea, my good lord.

K. Rich.
Then I must not say, no. [March.] [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Garden in the Queen's Court. The Queen reclined on a Sopha within an Arbour, several Ladies attending—one sings the following Air.

What fragrance scents the vernal air!
The woods their loveliest mantles wear;
Who knows what cares await the day,
When ruder gusts shall banish May?
E'en death our valleys may invade—
Be gay: too soon the flow'rs of spring may fade.
The dew-drops o'er the lilies play,
Like orient pearls, like beams of day:

If love and mirth your thoughts engage,
Attend, (a poet's words are sage),
While thus you sit beneath the shade,
Be gay: too soon the flow'rs of spring may fade.

Queen. [Rises, and comes forward.]
'Tis well! 'tis well! we thank your love;
But thou should'st please me better, would'st thou weep.

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.

Lady.
What can we devise,
To drive away the heavy thought of care?
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 brings 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.
My heart can keep no measure in delight.
What men are these?

Lady.
Only the gardeners, madam.

Queen.
Let's step into the shadow of these trees:
My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
They'll talk of state:—so every one doth now,
Against a change: woe is forerun with woe. [Queen and Ladies retire towards the Arbour.]

Enter two Gardeners.

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.

Man.
Why should we, in the compass of a pale,
Keep law and form, and due proportion,
Showing as in a model, our firm state?
When our sea-wall'd garden, the whole land,
Is full of weeds?

Gard.
Hold thy peace, man,
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.

Man.
What, are they dead?

Gard.
They are: and Bolingbroke
Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. 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 overproud in 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,

The 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.

Man.
What think you then, the king shall be depos'd?

Gard.
Depress'd he is already: and depos'd,
'Tis doubt he will be: Letters came last night
To a dear friend of the good duke of York's,
That tell black tidings. [The Queen starts from her concealment.]

Queen.
O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking:
Thou Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,
How dares thy tongue sound this unpleasing news?
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee
To make a second fall of cursed man?
Why dost thou say, king Richard is deposed?
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,
Cam'st thou by these ill-tidings? Speak, thou wretch.

Gard.
Pardon me, madam; little joy have I
To breathe this 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;
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
Besides himself, are all the English peers;
And with that odds, he weighs king Richard down.
I speak no more than every one doth know;
Post you to London and you'll find it true.

Queen.
Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st

To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Thy sorrow in my breast.—Where shall I turn?
E'en now I see him as one upon a rock,
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea,
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,
Expecting ever, when some envious surge
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.—
I will hence, to meet my lovely Richard.
What, was I born to this, that my sad look,
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke.—
“Gardener, for telling me this news of woe,
“I would the plants thou graft'st, may never grow.” [Exeunt Queen and Ladies.

Gard.
So that thy state might be no worse, poor queen!
I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
Here did she drop a tear: here in this spot
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace.
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In true remembrance of a weeping queen. [Exit Gardener. SCENE III. A Palace. Enter Bolingbroke and Attendants.

Bol.
My countrymen, my loving followers,
Friends that have been thus forward in my right,
I thank you all;
And to the love and favour of my country,
Commit myself, my person, and my cause. Enter York, attended.

York.
Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee

From plume-pluck'd Richard, who with willing soul,
Adopts thee heir, and his high scepter yields
To the possession of thy royal hand:—
Ascend his throne, descending now from him;
And long live Henry, of that name the Fourth.

Bol.
In heaven's name, I'll ascend the regal throne.
Fetch hither Richard, that in common view,
He may surrender, so we shall proceed
Without suspicion.

York.
I will be his conduct. [Exit York, &c.

Bol.
By this—
All little jealousies, which now seem great,
And all great fears,
Which now import their danger,
Will then be nothing.—O, may I never
To this great purpose, that so fairly shows,
Dream of impediment.—Now, Richard, now,
Further this act, and sway my great design. Re-enter York, with King Richard; Attendants, with the Regalia.

K. Rich.
Alack, why am I sent for to a king,
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee;
Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me
To this submission.
To do what service, am I sent for hither?

York.
To do that office of thine own good will,
Which tir'd majesty did make thee offer—
The resignation of thy state and crown,
To Henry Bolingbroke.

K. Rich.
Give me the crown:—Here, cousin, seize the crown,
Here, on this side, my hand, on that side, thine:

Now mark me,—how I will undo myself:—
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy scepter from my hand,
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
With mine own tears, I wash away my balm,
With mine own hands I give away my crown;
All pomp and majesty I do forswear;
My manors, rents, revenues, I forego:
My acts, decrees, and statues I deny:
Heav'n pardon all oaths, that are broke to me,
And keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee.
What more remains?—

North.
No more, but that you read
These accusations, and these grievous crimes,
Committed by your person, and your followers,
Against the state and profit of this land;
That, by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.

K. Rich.
Must I do so? and must I ravel out,
My weav'd up follies? Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,
Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop,
To read a lecture on them? If thou would'st,
There should'st thou find one heinous article,
Containing the deposing of a king,
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven.

North.
My lord, dispatch: read o'er these articles.

K. Rich.
Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see,
And yet salt water blinds them not so much,
But they can see a sort of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor, with the rest:
For I have given here my soul's consent

To undeck the pompous body of a king;
Made glory base; a sovereign a slave;
Proud majesty made a subject; state a peasant!

North.
My lord!

K. Rich.
No lord of thine, thou haught, insulting man,
Nor no man's lord: I have no name, no title,—
No, not that name was given me at the font,—
But 'tis usurp'd: Alack the heavy day,
That I have worn so many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself!
O! that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water drops!
Good king, great king, (and yet not greatly good);
And if my word be sterling yet in England,
Let it command a mirror hither straight,
That it may show me what a face I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.

Bol.
Go, some of you, and fetch a looking-glass. [Exit Attendant.

North.
Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth come.

K. Rich.
Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come to hell.

Bol.
Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland.

North.
The commons will not then be satisfy'd.

K. Rich.
They shall be satisfy'd! I'll read enough,
When I do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that's—myself. Enter Attendant, with a Glass.
Give me that glass, and therein will I read—
No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck

So many blows upon this face of mine,
And made no deeper wounds? O flattering glass!
Like to my followers in prosperity,
Thou dost beguile me.—Was this face, the face,
That every day, under his household roof,
Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face,
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?
Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies,
And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory shineth in this face:—
As brittle as the glory, is the face,
For there it is [Dashing it to the ground] crack'd in a hundred shivers—
Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport;—
How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.

Bol.
The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd
The shadow of your face.

K. Rich.
Say that again—
The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see—
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief,
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul:
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,
And then be gone, and trouble you no more—
Shall I obtain it?

Bol.
Name it, my fair cousin.

K. Rich.
Fair cousin? I am greater than a king:
For when I was king, my flatterers
Were then but subjects; being now a subject,
I have a king here to my flatterer.
Being so great, I have no need to beg.

Bol.
Yet ask,

K. Rich.
And shall I have?

Bol.
You shall.

K. Rich.
Then give me leave to go.

Bol.
Whither?

K. Rich.
Whither you will, so I were from your sight.

Bol.
Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower.

K. Rich.
O good! convey! conveyers are you all;
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. [Exeunt K. Richard, Lords, and Guard.

Bol.
On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down,
Our coronation: Lords, prepare yourselves. [Exeunt Northumberland, and Lords.

Bol.
Thus far my fortune keeps an upward course,
And I am grac'd with wreaths of majesty—
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown,
Within whose circuit is Elysium,
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
Ah! majesty! who would not buy thee dear?—
Let them obey, who know not how to rule.
Now am I seated as my soul delights,
And all my labours have as perfect end
As I could wish—the crown, the crown is mine.
Fortune, I acquit thee—let come what may,
I'll ever thank thee for this glorious day! Exit. END OF ACT IV.

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