Shakespeare's First Folio Part 277

York. A Gentleman of mine I haue dispatch'd With 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 ioy To 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 touch Throw death vpon thy Soueraignes Enemies.

Mock not my sencelesse Coniuration, Lords; This Earth shall haue a feeling, and these Stones Proue armed Souldiers, ere her Natiue King Shall falter vnder foule Rebellious Armes

Car. Feare not my Lord, that Power that made you King Hath 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 hid Behind the Globe, that lights the lower World, Then Theeues and Robbers raunge abroad vnseene, In Murthers and in Out-rage b.l.o.o.d.y here: But when from vnder this Terrestriall Ball He 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 blus.h.i.+ng 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 Sea Can wash the Balme from an anoynted King; The breath of worldly men cannot depose The 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 pay A 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 n.o.ble 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 late Orethrowes 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 so pale?

Rich. But now the blood of twentie thousand men Did 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 pride

Aum. 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 strikes At 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 Yorke Hath 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 G.o.d, Wee'l serue him too, and be his Fellow so.

Reuolt our Subiects? That we cannot mend, They breake their Faith to G.o.d, 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'd To beare the tidings of Calamitie.

Like an vnseasonable stormie day, Which make the Siluer Riuers drowne their Sh.o.r.es, As if the World were all dissolu'd to teares: So high, aboue his Limits, swells the Rage Of Bullingbrooke, couering your fearefull Land With hard bright Steele, and hearts harder then Steele: White Beares haue arm'd their thin and hairelesse Scalps Against thy Maiestie, and Boyes with Womens Voyces, Striue to speake bigge, and clap their female ioints In stiffe vnwieldie Armes: against thy Crowne Thy very Beads-men learne to bend their Bowes Of double fatall Eugh: against thy State Yea 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 Wilts.h.i.+re? where is Bagot?

What is become of Bus.h.i.+e? where is Greene?

That they haue let the dangerous Enemie Measure 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 (my Lord.) Rich. Oh Villains, Vipers, d.a.m.n'd without redemption, Dogges, easily woon to fawne on any man, Snakes in my heart blood warm'd, that sting my heart, Three Iuda.s.ses, each one thrice worse then Iudas, Would they make peace? terrible h.e.l.l make warre Vpon 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 made With Heads, and not with Hands: those whom you curse Haue felt the worst of Deaths destroying hand, And lye full low, grau'd in the hollow ground

Aum. Is Bus.h.i.+e, Greene, and the Earle of Wilts.h.i.+re dead?

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 eyes Write 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 Crowne That rounds the mortall Temples of a King, Keepes Death his Court, and there the Antique sits Scoffing 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 Bra.s.se impregnable: and humor'd thus, Comes at the last, and with a little Pinne Bores through his Castle Walls, and farwell King.

Couer your heads, and mock not flesh and blood With 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 come To 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 Skie The 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 small To 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 Armes Vpon his Faction

Rich. Thou hast said enough.

Beshrew thee Cousin, which didst lead me forth Of 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 goe To eare the Land, that hath some hope to grow, For I haue none. Let no man speake againe To alter this, for counsaile is but vaine

Aum. 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.