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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