Bulling.
Bring forth these Men:
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your Souls,
Since presently your Souls must part your Bodies,
With too much urging your pernicious Lives,
For 'twere no Charity; yet to wash your Blood
From off my Hands, here in the View of Men,
I will unfold some Causes of your Deaths.
You have miss-led a Prince, a royal King,
A happy Gentleman in Blood and Lineaments,
By you unhappy'd, and disfigur'd clean:
You have in manner with your sinful Hours
Made a Divorce betwixt his Queen and him,
Broke the Possession of a royal Bed,
And stain'd the Beauty of a fair Queen's Cheeks
With Tears drawn from her Eyes, with your foul Wr
My self a Prince, by Fortune of my Birth,
Near to the King in Blood, and near in Love,
'Till you did make him mis-interpret me,
Have stoopt my Neck under your Injuries,
And sigh'd my English Breath in foreign Clouds,
Eating the bitter Bread of Banishment;
While you have fed upon my Seignories,
Dis-park'd my Parks, and fell'd my Forest Woods;

From mine own Windows torn my Houshold Coat,
Raz'd out my Impress, leaving me no Sign,
Save Mens Opinions, and my living Blood,
To shew the World I am a Gentleman.
This, and much more, much more than twice all this,
Condemns you to the Death: See them deliver'd over
To Execution, and the Hand of Death.

Bushy.
More welcome is the Stroak of Death to me,
Than Bullingbroke to England.

Green.
My Comfort is, that Heav'n will take our Souls,
And plague Injustice with the Pains of Hell.

Bulling.
My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.
Uncle, you say the Queen is at your House;
For Heav'ns sake, fairly let her be intreated;
Tell her I send to her my kind Commends;
Take special care my Greetings be deliver'd.

York.
A Gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd
With Letters of your Love to her at large.

Bulling.
Thanks, gentle Uncle: Come Lords away,
To fight with Glendoure, and his Complices;
A while to work, and after Holiday [Exeunt. SCENE II. Flourish: Drums, and Colours. Enter King Richard, Aumerle, Bishop of Carlisle, and Soldiers.

K. Rich.
Barkloughly-Castle call you this at hand?

Aum.
Yea, my Lord; how brooks your Grace the Air,
After your late tossing on the breaking Seas?

K. Rich.
Needs must I like it well; I weep for Joy
To stand upon my Kingdom once again.
Dear Earth, I do salute thee with my Hand,
Though Rebels wound thee with their Horses Hoofs:
As a long parted Mother with her Child,
Plays fondly with her Tears, and smiles in meeting;
So weeping, smiling, greet I thee my Earth,
And do thee Favour with my Royal Hands.
Feed not thy Soveraign's Foe, my gentle Earth,
Nor with thy Sweets comfort his ravenous Sense:

But let thy Spiders that suck up thy Venom,
And heavy-gated Toads lye in their way,
Doing Annoyance to the treacherous Feet,
Which with usurping Steps do trample thee.
Yield stinging Nettles to mine Enemies;
And when they from thy Bosom pluck a Flower,
Guard it I prithee with a lurking Adder,
Whose double Tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw Death upon thy Soveraign's Enemies.
Mock not my senseless Conjuration, Lords;
This Earth shall have a feeling, and these Stones
Prove armed Soldiers, e'er her native King
Shall falter under foul rebellious Arms.

Bishop.
Fear not, my Lord, that Power that made you King
Hath Power to keep you King, in spight of all.

Aum.
He means, my Lord, that we are too remiss
Whilst Bullingbroke, through their Security,
Grows strong and great, in Substance and in Friends,

K. Rich.
Discomfortable Cousin, know'st thou not,
That when the searching Eye of Heav'n is hid,
Behind the Globe, that lights the lower World,
Then Thieves and Robbers range abroad unseen,
In Murders, and in Out-rage bloody here.
But when from under this terrestrial Ball
He fires the proud Tops of the Eastern Pines,
And darts his Lightning through ev'ry guilty Hole;
Then Murders, Treasons, and detested Sins,
The Cloak of Night being pluck'd from off their Backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.
So when this Thief, this Traitor Bullingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the Night,
Shall see us rising in our Throne, the East,
His Treasons will set blushing in his Face,
Not able to endure the Sight of Day;
But self-affrighted, tremble at his Sin.
Not all the Water in the rough rude Sea
Can wash the Balm from an anointed King;
The Breath of worldly Men cannot depose
The Deputy elected by the Lord:
For every Man that Bullingbroke hath prest,
To lift shrewd Steel against our Golden Crown,

Heav'n for his Richard hath in heav'nly Pay
A glorious Angel; then if Angels fight,
Weak Men must fall, for Heav'n still guards the Right. Enter Salisbury.
Welcome, my Lord, how far off lyes your Power?

Salis.
Nor near, nor farther off, my gracious Lord,
Than this weak Arm; Discomfort guides my Tongue,
And bids me speak of nothing but Despair:
One Day too late, I fear, my noble Lord,
Hath clouded all my happy Days on Earth.
Oh call back Yesterday, bid Time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting Men:
To Day, to Day, unhappy Day too late
O'erthrows thy Joys, Friends, Fortune, and thy State.
For all the Welshmen hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bullingbroke, disperst and fled.

Aum.
Comfort, my Liege; why looks your Grace so pale?

K. Rich.
But now the Blood of twenty thousand Men
Did triumph in my Face, and they are fled;
And 'till so much Blood thither come again,
Have I not reason to look pale, and dead?
All Souls that will be safe, fly from my Side,
For Time hath set a Blot upon my Pride.

Aum.
Comfort, my Liege, remember who you are.

K. Rich.
I had forgot my self: Am I not King?
Awake thou sluggard Majesty, thou sleepest:
Is not the King's Name, forty thousand Names?
Arm, arm my Name; a puny Subject strikes
At thy great Glory. Look not to the Ground,
Ye Favourites of a King; are we not high?
High be our Thoughts: I know my Uncle York
Hath Power enough to serve our Turn.
But who comes here? Enter Scroop.

Scroop.
More Health and Happiness betide my Liege,
Than can my care-tun'd Tongue deliver him.

K. Rich.
Mine Ear is open, and my Heart prepar'd:
The worst is worldly Loss, thou canst unfold:
Say, is my Kingdom lost? Why 'twas my Care:
And what Loss is it to be rid of Care?
Strives Bullingbroke to be as great as we?

Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve him too, and be his Fellow so.
Revolt our Subjects? That we cannot mend;
They break their Faith to God as well as us:
Cry Wo, Destruction, Ruin, Loss, Decay;
The worst is Death, and Death will have his Day.

Scroop.
Glad am I, that your Highness is so arm'd
To bear the Tidings of Calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy Day,
Which makes the silver Rivers drown their Shores,
As if the World were all dissolv'd to Tears:
So high above his Limits, swells the Rage
Of Bullingbroke, covering your fearful Land
With hard bright Steel, and Hearts harder than Steel.
White Beans have arm'd their thin and hairless Scalps
Against thy Majesty, and Boys with Womens Voices,
Strive to speak big, and clap their female Joints
In stiff unwieldy Arms, against thy Crown;
The very Beadsmen learn to bend their Bows
Of double fatal Ewe, against thy State;
Yea distaff-Women manage rusty Bills;
Against thy Seat both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have Power to tell.

K. Rich.
Too well, too well thou tell'st a Tale so ill.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bigot?
What is become of Bushy? Where is Green?
That they have let the dangerous Enemy
Measure our Confines with such peaceful Steps?
If we prevail, their Hands shall pay for it.
I warrant they have made Peace with Bullingbroke.

Scroop.
Peace they have made with him, indeed, my Lord.

K. Rich.
Oh Villains, Vipers, damn'd without Redemption,
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any Man,
Snakes in my Heart-blood warm'd, that sting my Heart,
Three Judasses, each one thrice worse than Judas,
Would they make Peace? Terrible Hell make War
Upon their spotted Souls for this Offence.

Scroop.
Sweet Love, I see, changing his Property,
Turns to the sowrest, and most deadly Hate:
Again uncurse their Souls; their Peace is made
With Heads, and not with Hands: Those whom you curse

Have felt the worst of Death's destroying Hand,
And lye full low, grav'd in the hollow Ground.

Aum.
Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?

Scroop.
Yea, all of them at Bristow lost their Heads.

Aum.
Where is the Duke, my Father, with his Power?

K. Rich.
No matter where, of Comfort no Man speak:
Let's talk of Graves, of Worms, and Epitaphs,
Make Dust our Paper, and with rainy Eyes
Write Sorrow in the Bosom of the Earth.
Let's chuse Executors, and talk of Wills;
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath,
Save our deposed Bodies to the Ground?
Our Lands, our Lives, and all are Bullingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own; but Death,
And that small Model of the barren Earth,
Which serves as Paste, and cover to our Bones:
For Heav'ns sake let us sit upon the Ground,
And tell sad Stories of the Death of Kings:
How some have been depos'd, some slain in War;
Some haunted by the Ghosts they have depos'd,
Some poison'd by their Wives, some sleeping kill'd,
All murther'd. For within the hollow Crown
That rounds the mortal Temples of a King,
Keeps Death his Court, and there the Antique sits
Scoffing his State, and grinning at his Pomp,
Allowing him a Breath, a little Scene,
To Monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with Locks,
Infusing him with self and vain Conceit,
As if this Flesh, which walls about our Life,
Were Brass impregnable: And humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little Pin
Boars through his Castle Walls, and farewel King.
Cover your Heads, and mock not Flesh and Blood
With solemn Reverence: Throw away Respect,
Tradition, Form, and ceremonious Duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while:
I live with Bread like you, feel Want,
Taste Grief, need Friends; subjected thus,
How can you say to me, I am a King?

Carl.
My Lord, wise Men ne'er wail their present Woes,
But presently prevent the Ways to wail:

To fear the Foe, since Fear oppresseth Strength,
Gives in your Weakness, Strength unto your Foe;
Fear, and be slain, no worse can come to fight,
And fight and die, is Death destroying Death.
Where fearing, dying, pays Death servile Breath.
My Father hath a Power, enquire of him,
And learn to make a Body of a Limb.

K. Rich.
Thou chid'st me well: Proud Bullingbroke, I come
To change Blows with thee, for our Day of Doom;
This Ague-fit of Fear is over-blown,
An easie Task it is to win our own.
Say, Scroop, where lyes our Uncle with his Power?
Speak sweetly Man, although thy Looks be sower.

Scroop.
Men judge by the Complexion of the Sky
The State and Inclination of the Day;
So may you by my dull and heavy Eye:
My Tongue hath but a heavier Tale to say:
I play the Torturer, by small and small
To lengthen out the worst, that must be spoken.
Your Uncle York is join'd to Bullingbroke,
And all your northern Castles yielded up,
And all your southern Gentlemen in Arms
Upon his Faction.

K. Rich.
Thou hast said enough.
Beshrew thee, Cousin, which didst lead me forth
Of that sweet way I was into Despair.
What say you now? what Comfort have we now?
By Heav'n I'll hate him everlastingly
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go to Flint-Castle, there I'll pine away,
A King, Wo's Slave, shall kingly Wo obey:
That Power I have, discharge, and let 'em go
To ear the Land, that hath some Hope to grow.
For I have none. Let no Man speak again
To alter this, for Counsel is but in vain.

Aum.
My Liege, one Word.

K. Rich.
He does me double Wrong,
That wounds me with the Flatteries of his Tongue.
Discharge my Followers: let them hence away,
  Richard's Night, to Bullingbroke's fair Day. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Enter with Drum and Colours, Bullingbroke, York, Northumberland, and Attendants.

Bulling.
So that by this Intelligence we learn
The Welchmen 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,
Would you have been so brief with him, he would
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you,
For taking so the Head, your whole Head's length.

Bulling.
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.

Bulling.
I know it, Uncle, and oppose not 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 thy Entrance.

Bulling.
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 the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a Clergy-man
Of holy Reverence; who, I cannot learn.

North.
Oh, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.

Bulling.
Noble Lord, [To North.
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:

Henry Bullingbroke upon his Knees doth kiss
King Richard's Hand, and sends Allegiance
And true Faith of Heart to his Royal Person; hither come
Even at his Feet, to lay my Arms and Power,
Provided, that my Banishment 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 Bullingbroke
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 threatning 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 thundring Smoak
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, alack, for Wo,
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 the 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 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 Bullingbroke, for yond methinks, he is,
That every Stride he makes upon the Land,
Is dangerous Treason, he is come to ope
The purple Testament of a bleeding War;
But e'er the Crown he looks for, live 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 Pastors 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: Thy thrice-noble Cousin,
Harry Bullingbroke, doth humbly 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 glittering 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 hopeful 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 Bullingbroke.

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 Pallace, 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 Highway;

Some way of common Trade, where Subjects Feet
May hourly trample on their Soveraign's Head;
For on my Heart they tread now, whilst I live;
And bury'd once, why not upon my Head?
Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender hearted Cousin,
We'll make foul Weather with despised Tears.
Our Sighs, and they, shall lodge the Summer Corn,
And make a Dearth in this revolting Land.
Or shall we play the Wantons with our Woes,
And make some pretty Match with shedding Tears?
As thus, to drop them still upon one Place,
'Till they have fretted us a Pair of Graves,
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 idely, and you mock at me.
Most mighty Prince, my Lord Northumberland,
What says King Bullingbroke? Will his Majesty
Give Richard leave to live, 'till Richard die?
You make a Leg, and Bullingbroke says I.

North.
My Lord, in the base Court he doth attend
To speak with you, may it 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.

Bulling.
What says his Majesty?

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

Bulling.
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 un-pleas'd Eye see your Courtesie.
Up Cousin, up, your Heart is up, I know,

Thus high at least, although your Knee be low.

Bulling.
My gracious Lord, I come but for mine own.

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

Bulling.
So far be mine, my most redoubted Lord,
As my true Service shall deserve your Love.

K. Rich.
Well you deserv'd:
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?

Bulling.
Yea, my good Lord.

K. Rich.
Then I must not say no. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE V. Enter Queen, and two Ladies.

Queen.
What Sport shall we devise 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,
When my poor Heart no Measure keeps in Grief.
Therefore no dancing, Girl; some other Sport.

Lady.
Madam, we'll tell Tales.

Queen.
Of Sorrow, or of Grief?

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 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.

Lady.
Madam, I'll sing.

Queen.
'Tis well that thou hast Cause:
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 sing, would weeping do me good,
And never borrow any Tear of thee. Enter a Gardiner, and two Servants.
But stay, here comes the Gardiners;
Let's step into the Shadow of these Trees.
My Wretchedness, unto a row of Pines,
They'll talk of State; for every one doth so,
Against a Change; wo is fore-run with wo.

Gard.
Go bind thou up yond dangling Apricocks,
Which like unruly Children, make their Syre
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 imploy'd, I will go root away
The noisom Weeds that without profit suck
The Soil's fertility from wholsom Flowers.

Serv.
Why should we in the compass of a Pale,
Keep Law and Form, and due Proportion,
Shewing, as in a Model, our firm State?
When our Sea-walled Garden, the whole Land,
Is full of Weeds, her fairest Flowers choakt up,
Her Fruit-trees all uprun'd, her Hedges ruin'd,
Her Knots disorder'd, and her wholsom Herbs
Swarming with Caterpillers.

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 pull'd up, Root and all, by Bullingbroke;
I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

Serv.
What, are they dead?

Gard.
They are,
And Bullingbroke hath seiz'd the wasteful King.

What pity is it, that he had not trimm'd
And drest his Land, as we this Garden at time of Year;
And wound the Bark, the Skin of our Fruit-trees,
Lest being over proud with Sap and Blood,
With too much Riches it confound it self?
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 born the Crown,
Which waste and idle Hours hath quite thrown down.

Serv.
What think you the King shall be depos'd?

Gard.
Deprest he is already, and depos'd
'Tis doubted he will be. Letters came last Night
To a dear Friend of the Duke of York,
That tell black Tidings.

Queen.
Oh I am prest to Death through want of speaking;
Thou old Adam's likeness, set to dress this Garden,
How dares thy harsh 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 depos'd?
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than Earth,
Divine his downfal? Say, where, when, and how
Cam'st thou by this ill Tydings? Speak, thou Wretch.

Gard.
Pardon me, Madam. Little joy have I
To breath these News; yet what I say is true;
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
Of Bullingbroke, their Fortunes both are weigh'd:
In your Lord's Scale, is nothing but himself,
And some few Vanities that make him light:
But in the Ballance of great Bullingbroke,
Besides himself, are all the English Peers,
And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.
Post you to London, and you'll find it so;
I speak no more, than every one doth know.

Queen.
Nimble Mischance, that art so light of Foot,
Doth not thy Embassage belong to me?
And am I last that knows it? Oh thou think'st
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Thy Sorrow in my Breast, Come Ladies, go,

To meet at London, London's King in wo.
What, was I born to this! That my sad Look,
Should grace the Triumph of great Bullingbroke!
Gard'ner, for telling me these News of wo.
I would the Plants thou graft'st may never grow. [Exit.

Gard.
Poor Queen, so that thy State might be no worse,
I would my Skill were subject to thy Curse.
Here did she drop a Tear, here in this place
I'll set a Bank of Rew, sowr Herb of Grace:
Rew ev'n for Ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping Queen. [Exit.

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