What you will have, I'll give, and willing too;
For do we must, what force will have us do.

Set on towards London: - Cousin, is it so?
Boling. Yea, my good lord.

K. Rich. Then I must not say, no.

[Flourish. Exeunt.]

SCENE IV.

Langley. The duke of York's garden.
Enter the Queen, and two ladies.

Queen. What sport shall we devise here in

this garden,

To drive away the heavy thought of care? 1. 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. 1. Lady. Madam, we'll dance.

Queen. My legs can keep no measure in de

light,

When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:

Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport.

1. Lady. Madam, we will tell tales.

Queen.

Of sorrow, er of joy?

1. Lady. Of either, madam.

Queen.

Of neither, girl:

A

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.

1. Lady. Madam, I'll sing.

Queen. "Tis well, that thou hast cause;

But thou should'st please me better, would'st

thou weep.

E

1

1. 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.

Enter a Gardener, and two Servants.

My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
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 yon' dangling apri-
cocks,

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 commonwealth:
All must be even in our government.
You thus employ'd, I will go root away
The noisome weeds, that without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

1. Serv. Why should we, in the compass of
a pale,

'Keep law, and form, and due proportion, Shewing, as in a model, our firm estate? When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up, Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars?

Gard. Hold thy peace:

He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring, Hath 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 pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke; I mean, the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. Serv. What, are they dead?

Gard. They are; and Bolingbroke

Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. - Oh! What

pity is it,

That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land,
As we this garden! We at time of year
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees;
Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood,
With too much riches it confound itself:
Had he done so to great and growing men,
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste
Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown

down.

Serv. What, think you then, the king shall

be depos'd?

Gard. 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.

Queen. 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.

Gard. 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,

Come, ladies, go,

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.
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 this news of woe,
I would, the plants thou graft'st, may never
grow. [Exeunt 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,
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.

[Exeunt.]

ACT IV.

Westminster-Hall

The Lords spiritual on the right side of the throne: the Lords temporal on the left; the Commons below. Enter BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, SURREY, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, FITZWATER, another Lord, Bishop of Carlisle, Abbot of Westminster, and Attendants. Officers behind, with BAGOT.

Boling. Call forth Bagot:

Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind;
What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death;
Who wrought it with the king, and who per-

form'd

The bloody office of his timeless end.

Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Au

merle.

that man.

Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon

Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know, your daring

tongue

Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd
In that dead time when Gloster's death was plot-

ted,

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, that you had rather refuse
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns,
Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
Adding withal, how blest this land would be,
In this your cousin's death.

Aum. Princes, and noble lords,

What answer shall I make to this base man?