By you unhappied and disfigured 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 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 signories,
Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods,
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Raz'd out my imprese, 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 delivered over
To
execution and the hand of death.
BUSHY. More
welcome is the stroke of death to me
Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.
GREEN. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls,
And
plagueinjustice with the pains of hell.
BOLINGBROKE. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.
Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others, with the prisoners
Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house;
For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated.
Tell her I send to her my kind commends;
Take special care my greetings be delivered.
YORK. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd
With letters of your love to her at large.
BOLINGBROKE. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,
To fight with Glendower and his complices.
Awhile to work, and after
holiday. Exeunt
SCENE 2.
The coast of Wales. A castle in view
Drums. Flourish and colours. Enter the KING, the BISHOP
OF CARLISLE, AUMERLE, and soldiers
KING RICHARD. Barkloughly Castle can they this at hand?
AUMERLE. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air
After your late tossing on the breaking seas?
KING RICHARD. 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 favours with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous 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 rebellion's arms.
CARLISLE. 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 proffered means of succour and redress.
AUMERLE. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great in substance and in power.
KING RICHARD. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,
Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,
Then
thieves and robbers range
abroad unseen
In murders and in
outrageboldly 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 wand'ring 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 off 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?
SALISBURY. 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 me, 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!
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 Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled.
AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale?
KING RICHARD. 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.
AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.
KING RICHARD. I had forgot myself; am I not King?
Awake, thou
cowardmajesty! thou sleepest.
Is not the King's name twenty 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.
KING RICHARD. 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, and 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.
KING RICHARD. Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so in.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?
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 heads shall pay for it.
I
warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
SCROOP. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.
KING RICHARD. O 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 Judases, 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 sourest 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 wound
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground.
AUMERLE. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?
SCROOP. Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads.
AUMERLE. Where is the Duke my father with his power?
KING RICHARD. 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 on the bosom of the earth.
Let's choose 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 an, are Bolingbroke's.
And nothing can we can our own but death
And that small model of the
barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God's 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,