| Wales. Before Flint Castle. | 
|  | 
| Enter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE and Forces; YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, and Others. | 
| Boling.  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; 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. | 
| Boling.  Mistake not, uncle, further than you should. | 
| York.  Take not, good cousin, further than you should, | 
| Lest you mistake the heavens are o'er our heads. | 
| Boling.  I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself | 
| Against their will. But who comes here? | 
|  | 
| Enter HENRY PERCY. | 
| Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle yield? | 
| H. Percy.  The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, | 
| Against thy entrance. | 
| Boling.  Royally! | 
| Why, it contains no king? | 
| H. Percy.        Yes, my good lord, | 
| It doth contain a king: King Richard lies | 
| Within the limits of yon lime and stone; | 
| And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, | 
| Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman | 
| Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn. | 
| North.  O! belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. | 
| Boling.  [To NORTH.] Noble lord, | 
| Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle, | 
| Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley | 
| Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: | 
| Henry Bolingbroke | 
| On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand, | 
| 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 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. | 
| Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum, | 
| That from the castle's totter'd battlements | 
| Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. | 
| Methinks King Richard and myself should meet | 
| With no less terror than the elements | 
| Of fire and water, when their thundering shock | 
| At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. | 
| 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. | 
|  | 
| A Parley sounded, and answered by a Trumpet within. Flourish. Enter on the Walls KING RICHARD, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY. | 
| H. Percy.  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. | 
| York.  Yet looks he like a king: behold, his eye, | 
| As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth | 
| Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe, | 
| That any harm should stain so fair a show! | 
| K. Rich.  [To NORTHUMBERLAND.] 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 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 sceptre, | 
| Unless he do profane, 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 Bolingbroke,—for yond methinks he is,— | 
| That every stride he makes upon my land | 
| Is dangerous treason: he is come to open | 
| The purple testament of bleeding war; | 
| But ere 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 pastures' grass with faithful English blood. | 
| North.  The king of heaven forbid our lord the king | 
| Should so with civil and uncivil arms | 
| Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice-noble cousin, | 
| Harry Bolingbroke, 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 buried hand of war-like Gaunt, | 
| And by the worth and honour of himself, | 
| Comprising all that may be sworn or said, | 
| His coming hither hath no further scope | 
| Than for his lineal royalties and to beg | 
| Enfranchisement 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.  [NORTHUMBERLAND retires to BOLINGBROKE. | 
| [To AUMERLE.] We do debase ourself, 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, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words, | 
| Till time lend friends and friends their helpful swords. | 
| K. Rich.  O God! O 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. 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. | 
| 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 Bolingbroke. | 
| 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 almsman's gown, | 
| My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood, | 
| My sceptre 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 buried in the king's highway, | 
| Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet | 
| May hourly trample on their sovereign's head; | 
| For on my heart they tread now whilst I live; | 
| And buried 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, there inlaid: 'There lies | 
| Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes.' | 
| Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see | 
| I talk but idly and you laugh 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.  My lord, in the base court he doth attend | 
| To speak with you; may't please you to come down? | 
| K. Rich.  Down, down, I come; like glistering Phaethon, | 
| 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.  [Exeunt from above. | 
| Boling.  What says his majesty? | 
| North.        Sorrow and grief of heart | 
| Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man: | 
| Yet he is come. | 
|  | 
| Enter KING RICHARD, and his Attendants. | 
| Boling.  Stand all apart, | 
| And show fair duty to his majesty.  [Kneeling. | 
| My gracious lord,— | 
| 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; your heart is up, I know, | 
| Thus high at least, although your knee be low. | 
| Boling.  My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. | 
| K. Rich.  Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. | 
| Boling.  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? | 
| Boling.  Yea, my good lord. | 
| K. Rich.        Then I must not say no.  [Flourish. Exeunt. | 
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