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.
Parle without, and anfer within; then a flourish. Enter,
on the walls King Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle,
Aumerle, Scroop, and Salisbury.

See! fee! King Richard doth himself appear,
As doth the blushing difcontented fun,
From out the fiery portal of the east,
When he perceives, the envious clouds are bent
To dim his glory; and to stain the tract

Of his bright paffage to the occident.

[To North.

York. Yet looks he like a King: behold his eye,
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth
Controlling Majefty; alack, for woe,
That any harm should stain fo fair a fhow!
K. Rich. We are amazid, and thus long have we ftord
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
Because we thought our felf thy lawful King;
And, if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our prefence?
If we be not, fhew us the hand of God,
That hath difmifs'd us from our tewardship.
For well we know, no hand of blood and bɔne
Can gripe the facred handle of our fcepter,
Unless he do profane, teal, or ufurp.

And though you think, that all, as you have done,
Have torn their fouls, by turning them from 'us,
And we are barren, and bereft of friends:
Yet know, My Mafter, God omnipotent,
Is muft'ring in his clouds in our behalf
Armies of peftilence; and they shall strike

quarto, which gives us the true allunion of the Poet. So again in the beginning of K. Henry IV.

-Thofe oppofed eyes,

Which like the meteors of a troubled heav'ny

All of one nature, of one fubftance bred,
Did lately meet in the inteftine bock

And furious clofe of civil butchery, 6. ··

C 3

Your

Your children yet unborn, and unbegot,
That lift your vaffal hands against my head,
And threat the glory of my precious crown.
Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond, methinks, he is)
That every ftride he makes upon my
land
Is dangerous treafon. He is come to ope
The purple teftament of bleeding war:

But ere the crown, he locks for, live in peace (14),
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers fons
Shall ill become the flow'r of England's face :
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To fcarlet indignation; and bedew

Her pafture's grafs with faithful English blood.
North. The King of heav'n forbid, our Lord the King
Should fo with civil and uncivil arms

Be rush'd upon! no, thy thrice-noble coufin,
Harry of Bolingbroke, doth kifs thy hand,
And by the honourable tomb he swears,
That ftands upon your royal grand fire's bones,
And by the royalties of both your bloods,
(Currents, that fpring from one most gracious head)
And by the bury'd hand of warlike Gaunt,
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Comprifing all that may be fworn, or faid,
His coming hither hath no further scope,

(14) But e'er the crown, he looks for, live in peace,
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers fons

Shall ill become the flow'r of England's face;] Tho' I have not difturbed the text here, I cannot but think it liable to fufpicion. A crown living in peace, as Mr. Warburton juftly obferved to me, is a very odd phrafe. He fuppofes;

But e'er the crown he looks for, light in peace,

i. e. defcend and fettle upon Bolingbroke's head in peace-Again, I have a small quarrel to the third line quoted. Would the Poet fay, that bloody crowns fhould disfigure the flow'rs that fpring on the ground, and bedew the grafs with blood? Surely, the two images Sare too fimilar. I have fufpected,

Shall ill become the floor of England's face;

i. e. Shall make a dismal spectacle on the furface of the kingdom's earth. So, in the Merchant of Venice,

Look how the floor of heav'n

Is thick inlay'd with patterns of bright gold.

Than

Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg
Infranchisement immediate on his knees:
Which on thy royal party granted once,
His glitt'ring arms he will commend to ruff;
His barbed feeds to ftables; and his heart
To faithful fervice of your Majesty.
This fwears he, as he is a Prince, is juft;
And as I am a Gentleman, I credit him.

K. Rich. Northumberland, fay, thus the King returns: His noble coufin is right-welcome hither, And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction. With all the gracious utterance thou haft, Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. We do debafe ourself, coufin, do we not, To look fo poorly, and to fpeak fo fair? Shall we call back Northumberland, and fend Defiance to the traitor, and fo die?

[To Aum.

Aum. No, good my Lord, let's fight with gentle words, Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful fwords. K. Rich. Oh God, O God! that e'er this tongue of mine, That laid the sentence of dread banishment

On yond proud man, fhould take it off again
With words of footh: oh, that I were as great
As is my grief, or leffer than my name!
Or that I could forget what I have been,
Or not remember what I must be now!

Swell'ft thou, proud heart? I'll give thee fcope to beat,
Since foes have fcope 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 fhall do it: muft he be depos'd?

The King fhall 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 difh of wood;
My feepter, for a palmer's walking staff;
My subjects, for a pair of carved faints;

C 4

And

And my large kingdom, for a little grave; A little, little grave ;an obfcure grave. Or I'll be bury'd in the King's highway (15): Some way of common tread, where fubjects feet May hourly trample on their Sovereign's head: For on my heart they tread now, whilft I live; And, bury'd once, why not upon my head?. Aumerle, thou weep'ft; (my tender-hearted coufin !) We'll make foul weather with defpifed tears; Our fighs, and they, fhall lodge the fummer corn, And make a dearth in this revolting land. Or fhall we play the wantons with our woes, And make fome pretty match, with fhedding tears? As thus, to drop them ftill upon one place, Till they have fretted us a pair of graves Within the earth; and therein laid, there lyes Two kinfmen, digg'd their graves with weeping eyes? Would not this ill do well ? well, well, I fee I talk but idlely, and you mock at me. Moft mighty Prince, my Lord Northumberland What fays King Bolingbroke? will his Majesty Give Richard leave to live, till Richard die ? You make a leg, and Bolingbroke fays, ay.

North. My Lord, in the bafe court he doth attend To peak with you, may't please you to come down. K. Rich. D wn, down I come; like glift'ring Phaeton, Wanting the manage of unruly jades.

In the base court? bafe court, where Kings grow bafe, To come at traitors calls, and do them grace.

In the bafe court come down? down, court; down, King; For night-owls fhriek, where mounting larks should fing. Boling. What fays his Majefty ?

(15) Or I'll be buried in the King's highway;

Some way of common trade, As fpecious as this reading appear, Mr. Warburton, Mr. Bishop, and I, all concurred in suspecting it, and in the amendment which now poffeffes the text ;

Some way of common tread,

i. . a high road. He fubjoins immediately;

For on my heart they tread now, while I live;

And we know how much it is Shakespeare's way to diversify the image with theme word.

North

North. Sorrow, and grief of heart,

Makes him speak fondly, like a frantick man;

Yet is he come.

Boling. Stand all apart,

And fhew fair duty to his Majefty.

My gracious Lord

Kneels.

K. Rich. Fair coufin, you debale your princely knee, To make the base earth proud with killing it. Me rather had, my heart might feel your love, Than my unpleas'd eye fee your courtefy. Up, coufin, up; your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least, although your knee be low. Boling. My gracious Lord, I come but for mine own. K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. Boling. So far be mine, my moft redoubted Lord, As my true fervice fhall deferve your love.

K. Rich. Well you deferve: they well deferve to have,, That know the ftrong'ft and fureft way to get. Uncle, give me your hand; nay, dry your eyes; Tears thew their love, but want their remedies. Coufin, I am too young to be your father, Though you are old enough to be my heir. What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; For do we muft, what force will have us do. Set on towards London. Coufin, is it fo? Boling. Yea, my good Lord.

K. Rich. Then I must not fay, No.

[Flourish. Exeunt : ́·

SCENE, a Garden, in the Queen's Court.

Enter Queen and two Ladies. ·

To drive away the heavy thought of care?? Hat fport fhall we devife here in this garden,"

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.r

Therefore