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Richard II
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Год написания книги: 2017
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Scoena Quarta
Enter Salisbury, and a Captaine.
Capt. My Lord of Salisbury, we haue stayd ten dayes,And hardly kept our Countreymen together,And yet we heare no tidings from the King;Therefore we will disperse our selues: farewell Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trustie Welchman,The King reposeth all his confidence in thee Capt. 'Tis thought the King is dead, we will not stay;The Bay-trees in our Countrey all are wither'd,And Meteors fright the fixed Starres of Heauen;The pale-fac'd Moone lookes bloody on the Earth,And leane-look'd Prophets whisper fearefull change;Rich men looke sad, and Ruffians dance and leape,The one in feare, to loose what they enioy,The other to enioy by Rage, and Warre:These signes fore-run the death of Kings.Farewell, our Countreymen are gone and fled,As well assur'd Richard their King is dead.Enter.
Sal. Ah Richard, with eyes of heauie mind,I see thy Glory, like a shooting Starre,Fall to the base Earth, from the Firmament:Thy Sunne sets weeping in the lowly West,Witnessing Stormes to come, Woe, and Vnrest:Thy Friends are fled, to wait vpon thy Foes,And crossely to thy good, all fortune goes.Enter.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima
Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, Northumberland, Rosse, Percie, Willoughby, with Bushie and Greene Prisoners.
Bull. Bring forth these men:Bushie and Greene, I will not vex your soules,(Since presently your soules must part your bodies)With too much vrging your pernitious liues,For 'twere no Charitie: yet to wash your bloodFrom off my hands, here in the view of men,I will vnfold some causes of your deaths.You haue mis-led a Prince, a Royall King,A happie Gentleman in Blood, and Lineaments,By you vnhappied, and disfigur'd cleane:You haue in manner with your sinfull houresMade a Diuorce betwixt his Queene and him,Broke the possession of a Royall Bed,And stayn'd the beautie of a faire Queenes Cheekes,With teares drawn fro[m] her eyes, with your foule wrongs.My selfe a Prince, by fortune of my birth,Neere to the King in blood, and neere in loue,Till you did make him mis-interprete me,Haue stoopt my neck vnder your iniuries,And sigh'd my English breath in forraine Clouds,Eating the bitter bread of banishment;While you haue fed vpon my Seignories,Dis-park'd my Parkes, and fell'd my Forrest Woods;From mine owne Windowes torne my Household Coat,Raz'd out my Impresse, leauing me no signe,Saue mens opinions, and my liuing blood,To shew the World I am a Gentleman.This, and much more, much more then twice all this,Condemnes you to the death: see them deliuered ouerTo execution, and the hand of death Bushie. More welcome is the stroake of death to me,Then Bullingbrooke to England Greene. My comfort is, that Heauen will take our soules,And plague Iniustice with the paines of Hell Bull. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd:Vnckle, you say the Queene is at your House,For Heauens sake fairely let her be entreated,Tell her I send to her my kind commends;Take speciall care my Greetings be deliuer'd York. A Gentleman of mine I haue dispatch'dWith Letters of your loue, to her at large Bull. Thankes gentle Vnckle: come Lords away,To fight with Glendoure, and his Complices;A while to worke, and after holliday.Exeunt.
Scena Secunda
Drums: Flourish, and Colours. Enter Richard, Aumerle, Carlile, and Souldiers.
Rich. Barkloughly Castle call you this at hand? Au. Yea, my Lord: how brooks your Grace the ayre,After your late tossing on the breaking Seas? Rich. Needs must I like it well: I weepe for ioyTo stand vpon my Kingdome once againe.Deere Earth, I doe salute thee with my hand,Though Rebels wound thee with their Horses hoofes:As a long parted Mother with her Child,Playes fondly with her teares, and smiles in meeting;So weeping, smiling, greet I thee my Earth,And doe thee fauor with my Royall hands.Feed not thy Soueraignes Foe, my gentle Earth,Nor with thy Sweetes, comfort his rauenous sence:But let thy Spiders, that suck vp thy Venome,And heauie-gated Toades lye in their way,Doing annoyance to the trecherous feete,Which with vsurping steps doe trample thee.Yeeld stinging Nettles to mine Enemies;And when they from thy Bosome pluck a Flower,Guard it I prethee with a lurking Adder,Whose double tongue may with a mortall touchThrow death vpon thy Soueraignes Enemies.Mock not my sencelesse Coniuration, Lords;This Earth shall haue a feeling, and these StonesProue armed Souldiers, ere her Natiue KingShall falter vnder foule Rebellious Armes Car. Feare not my Lord, that Power that made you KingHath power to keepe you King, in spight of all Aum. He meanes, my Lord, that we are too remisse,Whilest Bullingbrooke through our securitie,Growes strong and great, in substance and in friends Rich. Discomfortable Cousin, knowest thou not,That when the searching Eye of Heauen is hidBehind the Globe, that lights the lower World,Then Theeues and Robbers raunge abroad vnseene,In Murthers and in Out-rage bloody here:But when from vnder this Terrestriall BallHe fires the prowd tops of the Easterne Pines,And darts his Lightning through eu'ry guiltie hole,Then Murthers, Treasons, and detested sinnes(The Cloake of Night being pluckt from off their backs)Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselues.So when this Theefe, this Traytor Bullingbrooke,Who all this while hath reuell'd in the Night,Shall see vs rising in our Throne, the East,His Treasons will sit blushing in his face,Not able to endure the sight of Day;But selfe-affrighted, tremble at his sinne.Not all the Water in the rough rude SeaCan wash the Balme from an anoynted King;The breath of worldly men cannot deposeThe Deputie elected by the Lord:For euery man that Bullingbrooke hath prest,To lift shrewd Steele against our Golden Crowne,Heauen for his Richard hath in heauenly payA glorious Angell: then if Angels fight,Weake men must fall, for Heauen still guards the right.Enter Salisbury.Welcome my Lord, how farre off lyes your Power? Salisb. Nor neere, nor farther off, my gracious Lord,Then this weake arme; discomfort guides my tongue,And bids me speake of nothing but despaire:One day too late, I feare (my Noble Lord)Hath clouded all thy happie dayes on Earth:Oh call backe Yesterday, bid Time returne,And thou shalt haue twelue thousand fighting men:To day, to day, vnhappie day too lateOrethrowes thy Ioyes, Friends, Fortune, and thy State;For all the Welchmen hearing thou wert dead,Are gone to Bullingbrooke, disperst, and fled Aum. Comfort my Liege, why lookes your Grace sopale? Rich. But now the blood of twentie thousand menDid triumph in my face, and they are fled,And till so much blood thither come againe,Haue I not reason to looke pale, and dead?All Soules that will be safe, flye from my side,For Time hath set a blot vpon my prideAum. Comfort my Liege, remember who you are Rich. I had forgot my selfe. Am I not King?Awake thou sluggard Maiestie, thou sleepest:Is not the Kings Name fortie thousand Names?Arme, arme my Name: a punie subiect strikesAt thy great glory. Looke not to the ground,Ye Fauorites of a King: are wee not high?High be our thoughts: I know my Vnckle YorkeHath Power enough to serue our turne.But who comes here?Enter Scroope. Scroope. More health and happinesse betide my Liege,Then can my care-tun'd tongue deliuer him Rich. Mine eare is open, and my heart prepar'd:The worst is worldly losse, thou canst vnfold:Say, Is my Kingdome lost? why 'twas my Care:And what losse is it to be rid of Care?Striues Bullingbrooke to be as Great as wee?Greater he shall not be: If hee serue God,Wee'l serue him too, and be his Fellow so.Reuolt our Subiects? That we cannot mend,They breake their Faith to God, as well as vs:Cry Woe, Destruction, Ruine, Losse, Decay,The worst is Death, and Death will haue his day Scroope. Glad am I, that your Highnesse is so arm'dTo beare the tidings of Calamitie.Like an vnseasonable stormie day,Which make the Siluer Riuers drowne their Shores,As if the World were all dissolu'd to teares:So high, aboue his Limits, swells the RageOf Bullingbrooke, couering your fearefull LandWith hard bright Steele, and hearts harder then Steele:White Beares haue arm'd their thin and hairelesse ScalpsAgainst thy Maiestie, and Boyes with Womens Voyces,Striue to speake bigge, and clap their female iointsIn stiffe vnwieldie Armes: against thy CrowneThy very Beads-men learne to bend their BowesOf double fatall Eugh: against thy StateYea Distaffe-Women manage rustie Bills:Against thy Seat both young and old rebell,And all goes worse then I haue power to tell Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'st a Tale so ill.Where is the Earle of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?What is become of Bushie? where is Greene?That they haue let the dangerous EnemieMeasure our Confines with such peacefull steps?If we preuaile, their heads shall pay for it.I warrant they haue made peace with Bullingbrooke Scroope. Peace haue they made with him indeede (myLord.) Rich. Oh Villains, Vipers, damn'd without redemption,Dogges, easily woon to fawne on any man,Snakes in my heart blood warm'd, that sting my heart,Three Iudasses, each one thrice worse then Iudas,Would they make peace? terrible Hell make warreVpon their spotted Soules for this Offence Scroope. Sweet Loue (I see) changing his propertie,Turnes to the sowrest, and most deadly hate:Againe vncurse their Soules; their peace is madeWith Heads, and not with Hands: those whom you curseHaue felt the worst of Deaths destroying hand,And lye full low, grau'd in the hollow ground Aum. Is Bushie, Greene, and the Earle of Wiltshiredead? Scroope. Yea, all of them at Bristow lost their heads Aum. Where is the Duke my Father with his Power? Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speake:Let's talke of Graues, of Wormes, and Epitaphs,Make Dust our Paper, and with Raynie eyesWrite Sorrow on the Bosome of the Earth.Let's chuse Executors, and talke of Wills:And yet not so; for what can we bequeath,Saue our deposed bodies to the ground?Our Lands, our Liues, and all are Bullingbrookes,And nothing can we call our owne, but Death,And that small Modell of the barren Earth,Which serues as Paste, and Couer to our Bones:For Heauens sake let vs sit vpon the ground,And tell sad stories of the death of Kings:How some haue been depos'd, some slaine in warre,Some haunted by the Ghosts they haue depos'd,Some poyson'd by their Wiues, some sleeping kill'd,All murther'd. For within the hollow CrowneThat rounds the mortall Temples of a King,Keepes Death his Court, and there the Antique sitsScoffing his State, and grinning at his Pompe,Allowing him a breath, a little Scene,To Monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with lookes,Infusing him with selfe and vaine conceit,As if this Flesh, which walls about our Life,Were Brasse impregnable: and humor'd thus,Comes at the last, and with a little PinneBores through his Castle Walls, and farwell King.Couer your heads, and mock not flesh and bloodWith solemne Reuerence: throw away Respect,Tradition, Forme, and Ceremonious dutie,For you haue but mistooke me all this while:I liue with Bread like you, feele Want,Taste Griefe, need Friends: subiected thus,How can you say to me, I am a King? Carl. My Lord, wise men ne're waile their present woes,But presently preuent the wayes to waile:To feare the Foe, since feare oppresseth strength,Giues in your weakenesse, strength vnto your Foe;Feare, and be slaine, no worse can come to sight,And fight and die, is death destroying death,Where fearing, dying, payes death seruile breath Aum. My Father hath a Power, enquire of him;And learne to make a Body of a Limbe Rich. Thou chid'st me well: proud Bullingbrooke I comeTo change Blowes with thee, for our day of Doome:This ague fit of feare is ouer-blowne,An easie taske it is to winne our owne.Say Scroope, where lyes our Vnckle with his Power?Speake sweetly man, although thy lookes be sowre Scroope. Men iudge by the complexion of the SkieThe state and inclination of the day;So may you by my dull and heauie Eye:My Tongue hath but a heauier Tale to say:I play the Torturer, by small and smallTo lengthen out the worst, that must be spoken.Your Vnckle Yorke is ioyn'd with Bullingbrooke,And all your Northerne Castles yeelded vp,And all your Southerne Gentlemen in ArmesVpon his Faction Rich. Thou hast said enough.Beshrew thee Cousin, which didst lead me forthOf that sweet way I was in, to despaire:What say you now? What comfort haue we now?By Heauen Ile hate him euerlastingly,That bids me be of comfort any more.Goe to Flint Castle, there Ile pine away,A King, Woes slaue, shall Kingly Woe obey:That Power I haue, discharge, and let 'em goeTo eare the Land, that hath some hope to grow,For I haue none. Let no man speake againeTo alter this, for counsaile is but vaineAum. My Liege, one word Rich. He does me double wrong,That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.Discharge my followers: let them hence away,From Richards Night, to Bullingbrookes faire Day.Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia
Enter with Drum and Colours, Bullingbrooke, Yorke, Northumberland, Attendants.
Bull. So that by this intelligence we learneThe Welchmen are dispers'd, and SalisburyIs gone to meet the King, who lately landedWith some few priuate friends, vpon this Coast North. The newes is very faire and good, my Lord,Richard, not farre from hence, hath hid his head York. It would beseeme the Lord Northumberland,To say King Richard: alack the heauie day,When such a sacred King should hide his head North. Your Grace mistakes: onely to be briefe,Left I his Title out York. The time hath beene,Would you haue beene so briefe with him, he wouldHaue beene so briefe with you, to shorten you,For taking so the Head, your whole heads lengthBull. Mistake not (Vnckle) farther then you should York. Take not (good Cousin) farther then you should.Least you mistake the Heauens are ore your head Bull. I know it (Vnckle) and oppose not my selfeAgainst their will. But who comes here?Enter Percie.Welcome Harry: what, will not this Castle yeeld? Per. The Castle royally is mann'd, my Lord,Against thy entrance Bull. Royally? Why, it containes no King? Per. Yes (my good Lord)It doth containe a King: King Richard lyesWithin the limits of yond Lime and Stone,And with him, the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,Sir Stephen Scroope, besides a Clergie manOf holy reuerence; who, I cannot learneNorth. Oh, belike it is the Bishop of Carlile Bull. Noble Lord,Goe to the rude Ribs of that ancient Castle,Through Brazen Trumpet send the breath of ParleInto his ruin'd Eares, and thus deliuer:Henry Bullingbrooke vpon his knees doth kisseKing Richards hand, and sends allegeanceAnd true faith of heart to his Royall Person: hither comeEuen at his feet, to lay my Armes and Power,Prouided, that my Banishment repeal'd,And Lands restor'd againe, be freely graunted:If not, Ile vse th 'aduantage of my Power,And lay the Summers dust with showers of blood,Rayn'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen;The which, how farre off from the mind of BullingbrookeIt is, such Crimson Tempest should bedrenchThe fresh greene Lap of faire King Richards Land,My stooping dutie tenderly shall shew.Goe signifie as much, while here we marchVpon the Grassie Carpet of this Plaine:Let's march without the noyse of threatning Drum,That from this Castles tatter'd BattlementsOur faire Appointments may be well perus'd.Me thinkes King Richard and my selfe should meetWith no lesse terror then the ElementsOf Fire and Water, when their thundring smoakeAt meeting teares the cloudie Cheekes of Heauen:Be he the fire, Ile be the yeelding Water;The Rage be his, while on the Earth I raineMy Waters on the Earth, and not on him.March on, and marke King Richard how he lookes.Parle without, and answere within: then a Flourish. Enter on theWalls,Richard, Carlile, Aumerle, Scroop, Salisbury.See, see, King Richard doth himselfe appeareAs doth the blushing discontented Sunne,From out the fierie Portall of the East,When he perceiues the enuious Clouds are bentTo dimme his glory, and to staine the tractOf his bright passage to the Occident York. Yet lookes he like a King: behold his Eye(As bright as is the Eagles) lightens forthControlling Maiestie: alack, alack, for woe,That any harme should staine so faire a shew Rich. Wee are amaz'd, and thus long haue we stoodTo watch the fearefull bending of thy knee,Because we thought our selfe thy lawfull King:And if we be, how dare thy ioynts forgetTo pay their awfull dutie to our presence?If we be not, shew vs the Hand of God,That hath dismiss'd vs from our Stewardship,For well wee know, no Hand of Blood and BoneCan gripe the sacred Handle of our Scepter,Vnlesse he doe prophane, steale, or vsurpe.And though you thinke, that all, as you haue done,Haue torne their Soules, by turning them from vs,And we are barren, and bereft of Friends:Yet know, my Master, God Omnipotent,Is mustring in his Clouds, on our behalfe,Armies of Pestilence, and they shall strikeYour Children yet vnborne, and vnbegot,That lift your Vassall Hands against my Head,And threat the Glory of my precious Crowne.Tell Bullingbrooke, for yond me thinkes he is,That euery stride he makes vpon my Land,Is dangerous Treason: He is come to opeThe purple Testament of bleeding Warre;But ere the Crowne he lookes for, liue in peace,Ten thousand bloody crownes of Mothers SonnesShall ill become the flower of Englands face,Change the complexion of her Maid-pale PeaceTo Scarlet Indignation, and bedewHer Pastors Grasse with faithfull English Blood North. The King of Heauen forbid our Lord the KingShould so with ciuill and vnciuill ArmesBe rush'd vpon: Thy thrice-noble Cousin,Harry Bullingbrooke, doth humbly kisse thy hand,And by the Honorable Tombe he sweares,That stands vpon your Royall Grandsires Bones,And by the Royalties of both your Bloods,(Currents that spring from one most gracious Head)And by the buried Hand of Warlike Gaunt,And by the Worth and Honor of himselfe,Comprising all that may be sworne, or said,His comming hither hath no further scope,Then for his Lineall Royalties, and to beggeInfranchisement immediate on his knees:Which on thy Royall partie graunted once,His glittering Armes he will commend to Rust,His barbed Steedes to Stables, and his heartTo faithfull seruice of your Maiestie:This sweares he, as he is a Prince, is iust,And as I am a Gentleman, I credit him Rich. Northumberland, say thus: The King returnes,His Noble Cousin is right welcome hither,And all the number of his faire demandsShall be accomplish'd without contradiction:With all the gracious vtterance thou hast,Speake to his gentle hearing kind commends.We doe debase our selfe (Cousin) doe we not,To looke so poorely, and to speake so faire?Shall we call back Northumberland, and sendDefiance to the Traytor, and so die? Aum. No, good my Lord, let's fight with gentle words,Till time lend friends, and friends their helpeful Swords Rich. Oh God, oh God, that ere this tongue of mine,That layd the Sentence of dread BanishmentOn yond prowd man, should take it off againeWith words of sooth: Oh that I were as greatAs is my Griefe, or lesser then my Name,Or that I could forget what I haue beene,Or not remember what I must be now:Swell'st thou prowd heart? Ile giue thee scope to beat,Since Foes haue scope to beat both thee and meAum. Northumberland comes backe from Bullingbrooke Rich. What must the King doe now? must he submit?The King shall doe it: Must he be depos'd?The King shall be contented: Must he looseThe Name of King? o' Gods Name let it goe.Ile giue my Iewels for a sett of Beades,My gorgeous Pallace, for a Hermitage,My gay Apparrell, for an Almes-mans Gowne,My figur'd Goblets, for a Dish of Wood,My Scepter, for a Palmers walking Staffe,My Subiects, for a payre of carued Saints,And my large Kingdome, for a little Graue,A little little Graue, an obscure Graue.Or Ile be buryed in the Kings high-way,Some way of common Trade, where Subiects feetMay howrely trample on their Soueraignes Head:For on my heart they tread now, whilest I liue;And buryed once, why not vpon my Head?Aumerle, thou weep'st (my tender-hearted Cousin)Wee'le make foule Weather with despised Teares:Our sighes, and they, shall lodge the Summer Corne,And make a Dearth in this reuolting Land.Or shall we play the Wantons with our Woes,And make some prettie Match, with shedding Teares?As thus: to drop them still vpon one place,Till they haue fretted vs a payre of Graues,Within the Earth: and therein lay'd, there lyesTwo Kinsmen, digg'd their Graues with weeping Eyes?Would not this ill, doe well? Well, well, I seeI talke but idly, and you mock at mee.Most mightie Prince, my Lord Northumberland,What sayes King Bullingbrooke? Will his MaiestieGiue Richard leaue to liue, till Richard die?You make a Legge, and Bullingbrooke sayes I North. My Lord, in the base Court he doth attendTo speake with you, may it please you to come downe Rich. Downe, downe I come, like glist'ring Phaeton,Wanting the manage of vnruly Iades.In the base Court? base Court, where Kings grow base,To come at Traytors Calls, and doe them Grace.In the base Court come down: down Court, down King,For night-Owls shrike, where mou[n]ting Larks should sing Bull. What sayes his Maiestie? North. Sorrow, and griefe of heartMakes him speake fondly, like a frantick man:Yet he is come Bull. Stand all apart,And shew faire dutie to his Maiestie.My gracious Lord Rich. Faire Cousin,You debase your Princely Knee,To make the base Earth prowd with kissing it.Me rather had, my Heart might feele your Loue,Then my vnpleas'd Eye see your Courtesie.Vp Cousin, vp, your Heart is vp, I know,Thus high at least, although your Knee be low Bull. My gracious Lord, I come but for mineowne Rich. Your owne is yours, and I am yours, andall Bull. So farre be mine, my most redoubted Lord,As my true seruice shall deserue your loue Rich. Well you deseru'd:They well deserue to haue,That know the strong'st, and surest way to get.Vnckle giue me your Hand: nay, drie your Eyes,Teares shew their Loue, but want their Remedies.Cousin, I am too young to be your Father,Though you are old enough to be my Heire.What you will haue, Ile giue, and willing to,For doe we must, what force will haue vs doe.Set on towards London:Cousin, is it so? Bull. Yea, my good LordRich. Then I must not say, no.Flourish.Exeunt.
Scena Quarta
Enter the Queene, and two Ladies
Qu. What sport shall we deuise here in this Garden,To driue away the heauie thought of Care? La. Madame, wee'le play at Bowles Qu. 'Twill make me thinke the World is full of Rubs,And that my fortune runnes against the ByasLa. Madame, wee'le Dance Qu. My Legges can keepe no measure in Delight,When my poore Heart no measure keepes in Griefe.Therefore no Dancing (Girle) some other sportLa. Madame, wee'le tell Tales Qu. Of Sorrow, or of Griefe? La. Of eyther, Madame Qu. Of neyther, Girle.For if of Ioy, being altogether wanting,It doth remember me the more of Sorrow:Or if of Griefe, being altogether had,It addes more Sorrow to my want of Ioy:For what I haue, I need not to repeat;And what I want, it bootes not to complaineLa. Madame, Ile sing Qu. 'Tis well that thou hast cause:But thou should'st please me better, would'st thou weepeLa. I could weepe, Madame, would it doe you good Qu. And I could sing, would weeping doe me good,And neuer borrow any Teare of thee.Enter a Gardiner, and two Seruants.But stay, here comes the Gardiners,Let's step into the shadow of these Trees.My wretchednesse, vnto a Rowe of Pinnes,They'le talke of State: for euery one doth so,Against a Change; Woe is fore-runne with Woe Gard. Goe binde thou vp yond dangling Apricocks,Which like vnruly Children, make their SyreStoupe with oppression of their prodigall weight:Giue some supportance to the bending twigges.Goe thou, and like an ExecutionerCut off the heads of too fast growing sprayes,That looke too loftie in our Common-wealth:All must be euen, in our Gouernment.You thus imploy'd, I will goe root awayThe noysome Weedes, that without profit suckeThe Soyles fertilitie from wholesome flowers Ser. Why should we, in the compasse of a Pale,Keepe Law and Forme, and due Proportion,Shewing as in a Modell our firme Estate?When our Sea-walled Garden, the whole Land,Is full of Weedes, her fairest Flowers choakt vp,Her Fruit-trees all vnpruin'd, her Hedges ruin'd,Her Knots disorder'd, and her wholesome HearbesSwarming with Caterpillers Gard. Hold thy peace.He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd Spring,Hath now himselfe met with the Fall of Leafe.The Weeds that his broad-spreading Leaues did shelter,That seem'd, in eating him, to hold him vp,Are pull'd vp, Root and all, by Bullingbrooke:I meane, the Earle of Wiltshire, Bushie, Greene Ser. What are they dead? Gard. They are,And Bullingbrooke hath seiz'd the wastefull King.Oh, what pitty is it, that he had not so trim'dAnd drest his Land, as we this Garden, at time of yeare,And wound the Barke, the skin of our Fruit-trees,Least being ouer-proud with Sap and Blood,With too much riches it confound it selfe?Had he done so, to great and growing men,They might haue liu'd to beare, and he to tasteTheir fruites of dutie. Superfluous branchesWe lop away, that bearing boughes may liue:Had he done so, himselfe had borne the Crowne,Which waste and idle houres, hath quite thrown downe Ser. What thinke you the King shall be depos'd? Gar. Deprest he is already, and depos'd'Tis doubted he will be. Letters came last nightTo a deere Friend of the Duke of Yorkes,That tell blacke tydings Qu. Oh I am prest to death through want of speaking:Thou old Adams likenesse, set to dresse this Garden:How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this vnpleasing newesWhat Eue? what Serpent hath suggested thee,To make a second fall of cursed man?Why do'st thou say, King Richard is depos'd,Dar'st thou, thou little better thing then earth,Diuine his downfall? Say, where, when, and howCam'st thou by this ill-tydings? Speake thou wretch Gard. Pardon me Madam. Little ioy haue ITo breath these newes; yet what I say, is true;King Richard, he is in the mighty holdOf Bullingbrooke, their Fortunes both are weigh'd:In your Lords Scale, is nothing but himselfe,And some few Vanities, that make him light:But in the Ballance of great Bullingbrooke,Besides himselfe, are all the English Peeres,And with that oddes he weighes King Richard downe.Poste you to London, and you'l finde it so,I speake no more, then euery one doth know Qu. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foote,Doth not thy Embassage belong to me?And am I last that knowes it? Oh thou think'stTo serue me last, that I may longest keepeThy sorrow in my breast. Come Ladies goe,To meet at London, Londons King in woe.What was I borne to this: that my sad looke,Should grace the Triumph of great Bullingbrooke.Gard'ner, for telling me this newes of woe,I would the Plants thou graft'st, may neuer grow.Enter. G. Poore Queen, so that thy State might be no worse,I would my skill were subiect to thy curse:Heere did she drop a teare, heere in this placeIle set a Banke of Rew, sowre Herbe of Grace:Rue, eu'n for ruth, heere shortly shall be seene,In the remembrance of a Weeping Queene.Enter.
