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North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,

O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine,
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee,
And minister correction to thy fault!

Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my
fault;

On what condition stands it, and wherein ?
York. Even in condition of the worst degree,-

Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard:
And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Sey-In gross rebellion, and detested treason:

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poor;

Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?
Enter Berkley.

North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess.
Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you.
Boling. My lord, my answer is-to Lancaster;
And I am come to seek that name in England:
And I must find that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you say.

Berk. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my
meaning,

To raze one title of your honour out:--
To you, my lord, I come (what lord you will,)
From the most glorious regent of this land,
The duke of York; to know, what pricks you on
To take advantage of the absent time,2
And fright our native peace with self-born arms.
Enter York, attended.

Boling. I shall not need transport my words by
you;

Here comes his grace in person.--My noble uncle! [Kneels. York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,

Whose duty is deceivable and false.

Boling. My gracious uncle!-
York. Tut, tut!

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle :
I am no traitor's uncle; and that word-grace,
In an ungracious mouth, is but profane :
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But then more why;Why have they dar'd to
march

So many miles upon her peaceful bosom;
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war,
And ostentation of despised arms?

Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself,
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French;
(1) Know.

(2) Time of the king's absence. (3) Impartial. (4) The persons who wrong him.

Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come,
Before the expiration of thy time,

In braving arms against thy sovereign.

Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Here
ford;

But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace,
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
You are my father, for, Inethinks, in yoù
I see old Gaunt alive; O then, my father!
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away
A wand'ring vagabond; my rights and royalties
If that my cousin king be king of England,
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster.
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman;
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
To rouse his wrongs,4 and chase them to the bay.
I am denied to sue my livery5 here,
And yet my letters-patent give me leave:
And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd.
My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold;
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And challenge law: Attornies are denied me;
And therefore personally I lay my claim
To my inheritance of free descent.

North. The noble duke hath been too much
abus'd.

Ross. It stands your grace upon, to do him right.
Willo. Base men by his endowments are made

great.

York. My lords of England, let me tell you this, I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, And labour'd all I could to do him right: But in this kind to come, in braving arms, Be his own carver, and cut out his way, To find out right with wrong,-it may not be; And you, that do abet him in this kind, Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.

North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is But for his own: and, for the right of that, We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath. York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms; I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, Because my power is weak, and all ill left : But, if I could, by him that gave me life, I would attach you all, and make you stoop Unto the sovereign mercy of the king; But, since I cannot, be it known to you, I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;~~ Unless you please to enter in the castle, And there repose you for this night.

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.
But we must win your grace, to go with us
To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away.
York. It may be, I will go with you :--but yet
I'll pause;

(5) Possession of my land, &c.
(6) It is your interest.

KING RICHARD II.

SCENE IV-A camp in Wales.
bury, and a Captain.

For I am loath to break our country's laws.
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are:
Things past redress, are now with me past care.
Enter Salis-
[Exeunt.

Capt. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days,
And hardly kept our countrymen together,
And yet we hear no tidings from the king;
Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell.
Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman;
The king reposeth all his confidence

In thee.

Capt. 'Tis thought, the king is dead; we will not
stay.

Act III.

Condemns you to the death :-See them deliver'd

over

To execution and the hand of death.

Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me,
Than Bolingbroke to England.-Lords, farewell.
Green. My comfort is,-that heaven will take
And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
our souls,
Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them
despatch'd.

Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house;
[Exe. North. and others with prisoners.
For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated:
Take special care my greetings be deliver❜d.
Tell her, I send to her my kind commends ;5

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The coast of Wales. A castle in view. Flourish: drums and trumpets. Enter King Richard, Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, and soldiers.

The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd,
York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
With letters of your love to her at large.
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth,
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; To fight with Glendower and his complices;
Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.-Come, lords,
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,-Awhile to work, and, after, holiday.
away;
The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy,
The other, to enjoy by rage and war:
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.-
Farewell; our countrymen are gone and fled,
As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead. [Exit.
Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind,
I see thy glory, like a shooting star,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament!
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
Witnessing storms to come, wo, and unrest:
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes;
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

ACT III.

[Exit.

SCENE I-Bolingbroke's camp at Bristol. En.
ter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Percy,
Willoughby, Ross: officers behind with Bushy
and Green, prisoners.

Boling. Bring forth these men.-
Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls
(Since presently your souls must part your bodies,)
With too much urging your pernicious lives,
For 'twere no charity: yet, to wash your blood
From off my hands, here, in the view of men,
I will unfold some causes of your death.
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean.1
You have, in manner, with your sinful hours,
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him;
Broke the possession of a royal bed,

And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul

wrongs.

Myself-a prince, by fortune of my birth;
Near to the king in blood; and near in love,
Till you did make him misinterpret me,-
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,
And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment:
Whilst you have fed upon my signories,
Dispark'd2 my parks, and fell'd my forest woods;
From my own windows torn my household coat,3
Raz'd out my impress,4 leaving me no sign,-
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,-
To show the world I am a gentleman.
This, and much more, much more than twice all this,
(1) Completely. (2) Thrown down the hedges.

K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand?

Aum. Yea, my lord: How brooks your grace
the air,

After late tossing on the breaking seas?
K. Rich. Needs must I like it well;

joy,

weep for

To stand upon my kingdom once again.-
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs:
As a long parted mother with her child
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting;
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense :
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
Which with usurping steps do trample thee.
And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies:
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.—
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords;
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebellious arms.

Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.
Bishop. Fear not, my lord; that Power, that
made you king,
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd,
And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse;
The proffer'd means of succour and redress.

Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great, in substance, and in
friends.

K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou
not,

That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
In murders and in outrage, bloody here;
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,

(3) Of arms. (4) Motto. (5) Commendations

But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,-
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,-
Shall see us rising in our throne the east,
His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day;
But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king:
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord:

For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd,
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the
right.

Enter Salisbury.

Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power?
Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm: Discomfort guides my tongue,I
And bids ine speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth:
O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled.
Aum. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace
so pale?

K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand

men

Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And, till so much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale and dead? All souls that will be safe, fly from my side; For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. K. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am I not king? Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st. Is not the king's name forty thousand names? Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes At thy great glory.-Look not to the ground, Ye favourites of a king; Are we not high? High be our thoughts: I know, my uncle York Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who Comes here?

Enter Scroop.

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege,

Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him.
K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart pre-
par'd;

The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care;
And what loss is it, to be rid of care?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so:
Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God, as well as us:
Cry, wo, destruction, ruin, loss, decay;
(1) Force.

The worst is-death, and death will have his day.
Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd,
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day,

Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears;
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than
steel.

White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps

Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale
so ill.

Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed,
my lord.

K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption !

Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my

heart!

Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! Would they make peace? terrible hell make war Upon their spotted souls for this offence!

Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate :Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands: those whom you

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power?

K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speak:

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills:
And yet not so,-for what can we bequeath,
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our cwn, but death;
And that small model of the barren earth,
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the death of kings:-
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war;
Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd;
Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd;
All murder'd:-For within the hollow crown,
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Keeps death his court: and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene

Te monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks;

Infusing him with self and vain conceit,-
As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!||
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence; throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,

For

you have but mistook me all this while :

I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,

Need friends Subjected thus,

How can you say to me-I am a king?

North. Your grace mistakes me; only to be brief,5 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 mis-take: The heavens are o'er your head.
Boling. I know it, uncle; and oppose not

Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present Myself against their will.-But who comes here?

woes,

But presently prevent the ways to wail.

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,
Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,
And so your follies fight against yourself.
Fear, and be slain; no worse can come, to fight:
And fight and die, is death destroying death;
Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath.
Aum. My father hath a power, inquire of him;
And learn to make a body of a limb.

K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well-Proud B lingbroke, I come

To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
This ague-fit of fear is over-blown;
An easy task it is, to win our own.———
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The state and inclination of the day:
So may you by my dull and heavy eye,

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
I play the torturer, by small and small,
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:-
Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke;
And all your northern castles yielded up,
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
Upon his party.

Thou hast said enough.

K. Rich. Beshrew2 thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth [To Aumerle.

Of that sweet way I was in to despair!
What say you now? What comfort have we now?
By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly,
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go, to Flint castle; there I'll pine away;
A king, wo's slave, shall kingly wo obey.
That power I have, discharge; and let them go
To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,
For I have none :-Let no man speak again
To alter this, for counsel is but vain.
Aum. My liege, one word.

K. Rich.
He does me double wrong,
That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers, let them hence-Away,
From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III-Wales. Before Flint Castle. En-
ter, 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!

(1) Part. (2) Ill betide. (3) Force. (4) Plow.

Enter Percy.

Well, Harry; what, will not this castle yield? Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, Against thy entrance.

Boling. Royally! Why, it contains no king? 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. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle.
Boling. Noble lord,
[To North.

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver.
Harry 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.—

[Northumberland advances to the castle,
with a trumpet.

Let's march without the noise of threatening 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 parle sounded, and answered by another trum-
pet within. Flourish. Enter on the walls king
Richard, the bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop,
and Salisbury.

York. 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.
Yet looks he like a king; behold, his eye,
(7) Parley.

(5) Short. (6) Such liberty.

As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth
Controlling majesty; Alack, alack, for wo,
That any harm should stain so fair a show!
K. Rich. We are amaz'd; and thus long have
we stood

To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
[To Northumberland.
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 must'ring 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 ope
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 thy 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 warlike 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. O God! O God! that e'er this tongue of mine,

That laid the sentence of dread banishment
On yon proud man, should take it off again
With words of sooth 3 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 alms-man'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 cou
sin!-

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, therein laid,-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 mock 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
Phaeton,

Wanting the manage of unruly jades.

[North. retires to Boling.

K. Rich. Northumberland, say,—thus the king In the base court? Base court, where kings grow

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.-
We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not,
[To Aumerle.

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.

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