Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

  Servant

  What, are they dead?

  Gardener

  They are; and Bolingbroke

  Hath seized the wasteful king. O, what pity is it

  That he had not so trimm’d and dress’d his land

  As we this garden! We at time of year

  Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees,

  Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,

  With too much riches it confound itself:

  Had he done so to great and growing men,

  They might have lived to bear and he to taste

  Their fruits of duty: superfluous branches

  We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:

  Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,

  Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.

  Servant

  What, think you then the king shall be deposed?

  Gardener

  Depress’d he is already, and deposed

  ’Tis doubt he will be: letters came last night

  To a dear friend of the good Duke of York’s,

  That tell black tidings.

  Queen

  O, I am press’d to death through want of speaking!

  Coming forward

  Thou, old Adam’s likeness, set to dress this garden,

  How dares thy harsh rude 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 deposed?

  Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth,

  Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,

  Camest thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.

  Gardener

  Pardon me, madam: little joy have I

  To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.

  King Richard, he is in the mighty hold

  Of Bolingbroke: 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 balance of great Bolingbroke,

  Besides himself, are all the English peers,

  And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.

  Post you to London, and you will 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? O, 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 woe.

  What, was I born to this, that my sad look

  Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?

  Gardener, for telling me these news of woe,

  Pray God the plants thou graft’st may never grow.

  Exeunt Queen and Ladies

  Gardener

  Poor queen! so that thy state might be no worse,

  I would my skill were subject to thy curse.

  Here did she fall a tear; here in this place

  I’ll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:

  Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,

  In the remembrance of a weeping queen.

  Exeunt

  ACT IV

  SCENE I. WESTMINSTER HALL.

  Enter, as to the Parliament, Henry Bolingbroke, Duke Of Aumerle, Northumberland, Henry Percy, Lord Fitzwater, Duke Of Surrey, the Bishop Of Carlisle, the Abbot Of Westminster, and another Lord, Herald, Officers, and Bagot

  Henry Bolingbroke

  Call forth Bagot.

  Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind;

  What thou dost know of noble Gloucester’s death,

  Who wrought it with the king, and who perform’d

  The bloody office of his timeless end.

  Bagot

  Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.

  Henry Bolingbroke

  Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.

  Bagot

  My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue

  Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver’d.

  In that dead time when Gloucester’s death was plotted,

  I heard you say, ‘Is not my arm of length,

  That reacheth from the restful English court

  As far as Calais, to mine uncle’s head?’

  Amongst much other talk, that very time,

  I heard you say that you had rather refuse

  The offer of an hundred thousand crowns

  Than Bolingbroke’s return to England;

  Adding withal how blest this land would be

  In this your cousin’s death.

  Duke Of Aumerle

  Princes and noble lords,

  What answer shall I make to this base man?

  Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,

  On equal terms to give him chastisement?

  Either I must, or have mine honour soil’d

  With the attainder of his slanderous lips.

  There is my gage, the manual seal of death,

  That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest,

  And will maintain what thou hast said is false

  In thy heart-blood, though being all too base

  To stain the temper of my knightly sword.

  Henry Bolingbroke

  Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.

  Duke Of Aumerle

  Excepting one, I would he were the best

  In all this presence that hath moved me so.

  Lord Fitzwater

  If that thy valour stand on sympathy,

  There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine:

  By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand’st,

  I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest it

  That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester’s death.

  If thou deny’st it twenty times, thou liest;

  And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,

  Where it was forged, with my rapier’s point.

  Duke Of Aumerle

  Thou darest not, coward, live to see that day.

  Lord Fitzwater

  Now by my soul, I would it were this hour.

  Duke Of Aumerle

  Fitzwater, thou art damn’d to hell for this.

  Henry Percy

  Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true

  In this appeal as thou art all unjust;

  And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,

  To prove it on thee to the extremest point

  Of mortal breathing: seize it, if thou darest.

  Duke Of Aumerle

  An if I do not, may my hands rot off

  And never brandish more revengeful steel

  Over the glittering helmet of my foe!

  Lord

  I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;

  And spur thee on with full as many lies

  As may be holloa’d in thy treacherous ear

  From sun to sun: there is my honour’s pawn;

  Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.

  Duke Of Aumerle

  Who sets me else? by heaven, I’ll throw at all:

  I have a thousand spirits in one breast,

  To answer twenty thousand such as you.

  Duke Of Surrey

  My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well

  The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

  Lord Fitzwater

  ’Tis very true: you were in presence then;

  And you can witness with me this is true.

  Duke Of Surrey

  As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.

  Lord Fitzwater

  Surrey, thou liest.

  Duke Of Surrey

  Dishonourable boy!

  That lie shall lie so heavy on my
sword,

  That it shall render vengeance and revenge

  Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie

  In earth as quiet as thy father’s skull:

  In proof whereof, there is my honour’s pawn;

  Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.

  Lord Fitzwater

  How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!

  If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,

  I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,

  And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies,

  And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,

  To tie thee to my strong correction.

  As I intend to thrive in this new world,

  Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal:

  Besides, I heard the banish’d Norfolk say

  That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men

  To execute the noble duke at Calais.

  Duke Of Aumerle

  Some honest Christian trust me with a gage

  That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this,

  If he may be repeal’d, to try his honour.

  Henry Bolingbroke

  These differences shall all rest under gage

  Till Norfolk be repeal’d: repeal’d he shall be,

  And, though mine enemy, restored again

  To all his lands and signories: when he’s return’d,

  Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.

  Bishop Of Carlisle

  That honourable day shall ne’er be seen.

  Many a time hath banish’d Norfolk fought

  For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,

  Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross

  Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens:

  And toil’d with works of war, retired himself

  To Italy; and there at Venice gave

  His body to that pleasant country’s earth,

  And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,

  Under whose colours he had fought so long.

  Henry Bolingbroke

  Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?

  Bishop Of Carlisle

  As surely as I live, my lord.

  Henry Bolingbroke

  Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom

  Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,

  Your differences shall all rest under gage

  Till we assign you to your days of trial.

  Enter Duke Of York, attended

  Duke Of York

  Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee

  From plume-pluck’d Richard; who with willing soul

  Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields

  To the possession of thy royal hand:

  Ascend his throne, descending now from him;

  And long live Henry, fourth of that name!

  Henry Bolingbroke

  In God’s name, I’ll ascend the regal throne.

  Bishop Of Carlisle

  Marry. God forbid!

  Worst in this royal presence may I speak,

  Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.

  Would God that any in this noble presence

  Were enough noble to be upright judge

  Of noble Richard! then true noblesse would

  Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.

  What subject can give sentence on his king?

  And who sits here that is not Richard’s subject?

  Thieves are not judged but they are by to hear,

  Although apparent guilt be seen in them;

  And shall the figure of God’s majesty,

  His captain, steward, deputy-elect,

  Anointed, crowned, planted many years,

  Be judged by subject and inferior breath,

  And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,

  That in a Christian climate souls refined

  Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!

  I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,

  Stirr’d up by God, thus boldly for his king:

  My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,

  Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford’s king:

  And if you crown him, let me prophesy:

  The blood of English shall manure the ground,

  And future ages groan for this foul act;

  Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,

  And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars

  Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;

  Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny

  Shall here inhabit, and this land be call’d

  The field of Golgotha and dead men’s skulls.

  O, if you raise this house against this house,

  It will the woefullest division prove

  That ever fell upon this cursed earth.

  Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,

  Lest child, child’s children, cry against you woe!

  Northumberland

  Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,

  Of capital treason we arrest you here.

  My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge

  To keep him safely till his day of trial.

  May it please you, lords, to grant the commons’ suit.

  Henry Bolingbroke

  Fetch hither Richard, that in common view

  He may surrender; so we shall proceed

  Without suspicion.

  Duke Of York

  I will be his conduct.

  Exit

  Henry Bolingbroke

  Lords, you that here are under our arrest,

  Procure your sureties for your days of answer.

  Little are we beholding to your love,

  And little look’d for at your helping hands.

  Re-enter Duke Of York, with King Richard II, and Officers bearing the regalia

  King Richard II

  Alack, why am I sent for to a king,

  Before I have shook off the regal thoughts

  Wherewith I reign’d? I hardly yet have learn’d

  To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs:

  Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me

  To this submission. Yet I well remember

  The favours of these men: were they not mine?

  Did they not sometime cry, ‘all hail!’ to me?

  So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve,

  Found truth in all but one: I, in twelve thousand, none.

  God save the king! Will no man say amen?

  Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen.

  God save the king! although I be not he;

  And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.

  To do what service am I sent for hither?

  Duke Of York

  To do that office of thine own good will

  Which tired majesty did make thee offer,

  The resignation of thy state and crown

  To Henry Bolingbroke.

  King Richard II

  Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown;

  Here cousin:

  On this side my hand, and on that side yours.

  Now is this golden crown like a deep well

  That owes two buckets, filling one another,

  The emptier ever dancing in the air,

  The other down, unseen and full of water:

  That bucket down and full of tears am I,

  Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.

  Henry Bolingbroke

  I thought you had been willing to resign.

  King Richard II

  My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine:

  You may my glories and my state depose,

  But not my griefs; still am I king of those.

  Henry Bolingbroke

  Part of your cares you give me with your crown.

  King Richard II

  Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.

  My care is loss of care, by old care done;

  Your care is ga
in of care, by new care won:

  The cares I give I have, though given away;

  They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.

  Henry Bolingbroke

  Are you contented to resign the crown?

  King Richard II

  Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be;

  Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.

  Now mark me, how I will undo myself;

  I give this heavy weight from off my head

  And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,

  The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;

  With mine own tears I wash away my balm,

  With mine own hands I give away my crown,

  With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,

  With mine own breath release all duty’s rites:

  All pomp and majesty I do forswear;

  My manors, rents, revenues I forego;

  My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny:

  God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!

  God keep all vows unbroke that swear to thee!

  Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved,

  And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved!

  Long mayst thou live in Richard’s seat to sit,

  And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit!

  God save King Harry, unking’d Richard says,

  And send him many years of sunshine days!

  What more remains?

  Northumberland

  No more, but that you read

  These accusations and these grievous crimes

  Committed by your person and your followers

  Against the state and profit of this land;

  That, by confessing them, the souls of men

  May deem that you are worthily deposed.

  King Richard II

  Must I do so? and must I ravel out

  My weaved-up folly? Gentle Northumberland,

  If thy offences were upon record,

  Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop

  To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,

  There shouldst thou find one heinous article,

  Containing the deposing of a king

  And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,

  Mark’d with a blot, damn’d in the book of heaven:

  Nay, all of you that stand and look upon,

  Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,

  Though some of you with Pilate wash your hands

  Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates

  Have here deliver’d me to my sour cross,

  And water cannot wash away your sin.

  Northumberland

  My lord, dispatch; read o’er these articles.

  King Richard II

  Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see:

  And yet salt water blinds them not so much

  But they can see a sort of traitors here.

  Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,

  I find myself a traitor with the rest;