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.

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