If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.
Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him;
Unless you call it good to pity him,
Stript and bereft of all his patrimony.

wrongs are borne,

In him a royal prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land.
The king is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform,
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
That will the king severely prosecute

'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

Ross. The commons hath he pill'd 9 with grievous
taxes,

And lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fin'd
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd;
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what :
But what, in heaven's name, doth become of this?
North. Wars, have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath
not,

But basely yielded upon compromise

That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows:
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars
Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken

man.

North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him.

Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.

North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest şing, Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm: We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish. Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

1

Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promis'd, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition.

Queen. To please the king, I did; to please myself, I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard: Yet, again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me; and my inward soul With nothing trembles: at something it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king.

Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,

Which show like grief itself, but are not so:
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perspectives 6, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself to wail;
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not; more's

not seen:

Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,

death,

I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.

Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost

ours.

Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold. North. Then thus: - - I have from Port le Blanc, a bay

In Britanny, receiv'd intelligence,

That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham,
[The son of Richard earl of Arundel,]
That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston,

Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
Quoint,

All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience 3,
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.
If then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke,

Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul Persuades me, it is otherwise: Howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad, As, — though, in thinking on no thought I think,Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit7, my gracious

lady.

Queen. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd
From some fore-father grief; mine is not so;
For nothing hath begot my something grief;
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:
'Tis in reversion that I do possess ;

But what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.8

Enter GREEN.

Green. Heaven save your majesty !— and well met, gentlemen:

I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope, he is, For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope; Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd? Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his

power,

Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, provide some carts,

And bring away the armour that is there.

[Exit Servant. Gentlemen, will you go muster men? if I know How, or which way, to order these affairs, Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ; The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; the other again, Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd; Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. - Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you: - Go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. I should to Plashy too, But time will not permit : All is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven.

-

[Exeunt YORK and QUEEN. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power, Proportionable to the enemy,

I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false hope lingers in extremity.
Enter YORK.

Green Here comes the duke of York.

Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck; O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle,

For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words.

York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. Your husband he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land; Who, weak with age, cannot support myself; Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.

The nobles they are fled, the commons cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
Sirrah,

Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster;
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:
Hold, take my ring.

Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship:
To-day, as I came by, I called there;
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

York. What is it, knave?

Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do: - I would to heaven, (So my untruth9 had not provok'd him to it,) The king had cut off my head with my brother's. 9 Disloyalty.

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love,
Is near the hate of those love not the king.
Bagot. And that's the wavering commons: for
their love

Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con-
demn'd.

Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king.

Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol castle;

The earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office The hateful commons will perform for us; Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us?

Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell if heart's presages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Boling

It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster.
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ;
Had you first died, and he had been thus trod down,
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay.
I am denied to sue my livery 5 here,
And yet my letters-patent give me leave:
My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold;
And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd.
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And challenge law: Attornies are denied me;
And therefore personally I lay my claim
To my inheritance of free descent.

North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd.
Ross. It stands your grace upon 6, to do him right.
Willo. Base men by his endowments are made
great.

York. My lords of England, let me tell you this,I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, And labour'd all I could to do him right: But in this kind to come, in braving arms, Be his own carver, and cut out his way, To find out right with wrong, -it may not be ; And you, that do abet him in this kind, Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.

North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is But for his own: and, for the right of that, We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath.

York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms;

I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
Because my power is weak, and all ill left:
But, if I could, by him that gave me life,
I would attach you all, and make you stoop
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;
But, since I cannot, be it known to you,
I do remain as neuter. So fare you well;
Unless you please to enter in the castle,
And there repose you for this night.
Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.

But we must win your grace, to go with us
To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away.
York. It may be, I will go with you: -
- but yet
I'll pause;

For I am loath to break our country's laws.
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are.
Things past redress, are now with me past care.
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A Camp in Wales.

Enter SALISBURY, and a Captain.

Capt. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, And hardly kept our countrymen together, And yet we hear no tidings from the king: Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell. Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman ; The king reposeth all his confidence In thee.

Capt. 'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay.

The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd,
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth,
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, -
The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy,

The other, to enjoy by rage and war:
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.
Farewell our countrymen are gone and fled,

As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead. [Ext. Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind,

I see thy glory, like a shooting star,

Fall to the base earth from the firmament !
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest:
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes;
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

[Exit.

SCENE I. - Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol.
Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND,
PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, Ross: Officers behind with
BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners.
Boling. 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,
J will unfold some causes of your death.
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean.7

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 by your foul wrongs.
Myself a prince, by fortune of my birth;

Near to the king in blood; and near in love,
Till you did make him misinterpret me, —
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,
And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment:
Whilst you have fed upon my seignories,
Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods;
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign,-
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,
To show 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 stroke of death to me, Than Bolingbroke to England.

Green. My comfort is, that heaven will take our souls,

And plague injustice.

Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them despatch'd.

[Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and others, with Prisoners.

Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house;

SCENE II.-The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view. Flourish: Drums and Trumpets. Enter KING RICHARD, BISHOP OF CARLISLE, AUMERLE, and Soldiers.

K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand? Aum. Yea, my lord: How brooks your grace the air, After 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 sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense, But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy gaited toads, lie 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 pray thee, with a lurking adder; Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. Mock not, my senseless conjuration, lords; This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellious arms.

Car. Fear not, my lord; that Power, that made you king,

Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd,
And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse;
The proffer'd means of succour and redress.
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends.
K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not,
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every 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, Bolingbroke, -
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, -
Shall see us rising in our throne the east,
His treasons will sit 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 Bolingbroke hath press'd,
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown.
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
| A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right.
Enter SALISBURY.

Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power?
Sal. Nor near, nor further 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 thy happy days on earth:
O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;
To-day, to-day, unhappy day too late,
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, 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 myself: am I not king? Awake thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st. 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 SCROOr.

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 Bolingbroke 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, woe, 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 Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel.
White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew 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.