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SCEN E, a Garden, in the Queen's Court.

Enter Queen and two Ladies. Queen. 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. 'Twill make me think, the world is full of rubs, And that my fortune runs against the bias.

Lady. Madam, we'll 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.
Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy?
Lady. Of either, Madam.

Queen. 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 forrow 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 fing.

Queen. '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

And never borrow any tear of thee.
But stay, here come the Gardiners.
Let's step into the shadow of these trees;
My Wretchedness unto a row of pins,

Enter a Gardiner, and two Servants.
They'll talk of State ; for every one doth so,
Against a Change; woe is fore-run with woe.

[Queen and Ladies retire.


Gard. Go, bind thou up yond dangling Apricocks,
Which, like unruly children, make their Sire
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight:
Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
Go thou, and, like an executioner,
Cut off the heads of too fast-growing sprays,
That look too lofty in our Common-wealth :
All must be even in our Government.
You thus imployd, I will go root away
The noisom weeds, that without profit fuck
The soil's fertility from wholsom fowers.

Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,
Keep law, and form, and due proportion,
Shewing, as in a model, our firm itate ?
When our Sea-walled garden, (the whole Land,)
Is full of weeds, her faireft flowers choak’d up,
Her fruit-trees all unprund, her hedges ruin’d,
Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with Caterpillars ?

Gard. Hold thy peace.
He, that hath fuffer'd this disorder'd Spring,
Hach now himself met with the Fall of leaf:
The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
(That seem'd, in eating him, to hold him up ;)
Are pulld up, root and all, by Boling broke;
I mean, the Earl of Wiltshire, Bufhy, Green.

Serw. What, are they dead ?

Gard. They are, And Boling broke hath feiz'd the wasteful King. What pity is't, that he had not so trimm'd And drest his Land, as we this Garden dress, And wound the bark, the skin, of our fruit-trees, Lest, being over proud with fap and blood, With too much riches it confound it self; Had he done fo to great and growing men, They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste Their fruits of daty. All fuperfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughs may live : Had he done fo, himself had born the Crown, Which waste and idle hours have quite thrown down.


Serv. What, think you then, the King shall be de

pos'd ? Gard. Deprest he is already, and depos’d, 'Tis doubted, he will be. Letters laft night Came to a dear friend of the Duke of York, That tell black tidings. Queen. Oh, I am prest to death, through want of

speaking :
Thou Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,
How dares thy tongue found this unpleasing news ?:
What Eve, what Serpent hath suggested thee,
To make a second Fall of cursed man?
Why doft thou say, King Richard is depos’d ?.
Dar'st thou, (thou little better Thing than earth,)
Divine his downfal ? say, where, when, and how
Cam'ft thou by these ill tidings ? speak, thou wretch.

Gard. Pardon me, Madam. Little joy have I
To breathe these news ; yet, what I say, is true ;.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
Of Boling broke ; 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 Boling broke,
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 fo;
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 lait, that know it? oh, thou think'it
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Thy sorrow in my breaft. Come, ladies, go ;
To meet, at London, London's King in woe.
What, was I born to this ! that my fad Look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke!
Gard'ner, for telling me these news of woe,
I would, the plants, thou graft'st, may never grow.

[Exe. Queen and Ladies. Gard. Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse, I would my skill were subject to thy Curse.


Here did she drop a tear; here, in this place,
1°11 set a bank of Rue, sow'r herb of grace ;
Rue, ev'n for ruth, here shortly fhall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping Queen.

(Ex. Gard. and Serv.

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Enter, as to the Parliament, Bolingbroke, Aumerle,

Northumberland, Percy, Fitzwater, Surrey, Bishop of Carlisle, Abbot of Westminster, Herald, Oficers, and Bagot.

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ALL Bagot.forth : now freely speak thy mind,
What thou doft know of noble Glo'ster's death ;
Who wrought it with the King, and who per-

The bloody office of his timeless end.

Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle.
Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look


that man. Bagot. My lord Aümerle, I know your daring tongue Scorns to unsay, what it hath once deliver'd. In that dead time when Glofter'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 my uncle's head ? Amongst much other talk that very time, I heard you say, “ You rather had refuse, • The offer of an hundred thousand crowns, “ Than Boling broke return to England; adding, • How bleft this Land would be in this

your Cousin's death. Aum. 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 foil'd
With the attainder of his fland'rous lips.
There is my Gage, the manual seal of death,
That marks thee out for hell. Thou lieft,
And I'll maintain what thou hast said, is false,
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base
To stain the temper of my knightly sword.

Boling. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.

Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this presence that hath mov'd me fo.

Fitzw. If that thy valour stand on fympathies,
There is my Gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine :
By that fair Sun, that shews me where thou stand't,
I heard thee fay, and vauntingly thou spak’tt it,
That thou wert cause of noble Glo* fter's death.
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou lieft ;
And I will turn thy fallhood to thy heart,
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.

Aum. Thou dar'ft not, coward, live to see the day.
Fitzw. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.
Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this.

Percy. Aumerle, thou lieft ; 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 th' extreamest point
Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar'ft.

Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off,
And never brandish more revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe!
Who fets me else by heav'n, I'll throw at all.
I have a thousand spirits in my breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.

Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I remember well
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

Fitzw. My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence then ;
And you can witness with me, this is true.

Surrey. As false, by heav'n, as heav'n it self is true.
Fitzw. Surrey, thou lieft.

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