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And their true sovereign, whom they must obey ?
Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too,
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands :
Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe,
And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.

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King EDWARD is discovered sitting on his throne. QUEEN

ELIZABETH with the infant PRINCE, CLARENCE, GLOSTER, HASTINGS and others, near him.

K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal throne, Repurchas'd with the blood of enemies. What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn, Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride? Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd For hardy and undoubted champions : Two Cliffords, as the father and the son, And two Northumberlands; two braver men Ne’er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound : With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague, That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion, And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat, And made our footstool of security.-Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself, Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night; Went all a foot in summer's scalding heat, That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace; And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

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HAT sport shall we devise here in this garden,
To drive away the heavy thought of care?

Lady. Madam, we 'll play at bowls.
Queen. .

'T will make me think,
The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune
Runs 'gainst the bias.

Madam, we will dance.
Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight,
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief;
Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport.

Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales.

Of sorrow, or of joy?
Lady. Of either, madam.

Of neither, girl :
For if of joy, being altogether wanting,
It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
Or if of grief, being altogether had,
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy :


For what I have, I need not to repeat :
And what I want, it boots not to complain.

Lady. Madam, I'll sing.

'Tis well, that thou hast cause; But thou should'st please me better, would'st thou weep.

Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you good.

Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do me good, And never borrow any tear of thee. But stay, here come the gardeners : Let's step into the shadow of these trees. My wretchedness unto a row of pins, They'll talk of state ; for every one doth so Against a change : Woe is forerun with woe.

[Queen and Ladies retire.

Gardener. Depress'd he is already; and depos'd,
'Tis doubt, he will be : Letters came last night
To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's,
That tell black tidings.

O, I am press'd to death, Through want of speaking !-Thou, old Adam's likeness,

[Coming from her concealment,
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 depos’d?
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,
Cam’st thou by these 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'll 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 the news of woe, :
I would, the plants thou graft'st, may never grow.

[Exeunt Queen and Ladies. Gardener. Poor queen ! so that thy state might be no

I would, my skill were subject to thy curse. —
Here did she drop 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.


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Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower, To whose flint bosom my condemned lord

Is doom'd a prisoner, by proud Bolingbroke :
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.


But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold;
That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.-
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand ;
Thou map of honour; thou King Richard's tomb,
And not King Richard ; thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest ?

K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream;
From which awak’d, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this ; I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity; and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloister thee in some religious house :
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.

Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform’d and weakened ? Hath Bolingbroke Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart ? The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod, And fawn on rage with base humility, Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?

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