ACT III. SCENE I. BOLINGBROKE'S camp at Bristol  Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, ROSS, WILLOUGHBY, BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners    BOLINGBROKE. 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 deaths:     You have misled a prince, a royal king,     A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,     By you unhappied and disfigured clean;     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'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods,     From my own windows torn my household coat,     Raz'd out my imprese, 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,     Condemns you to the death. See them delivered 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 our souls,     And plague injustice with the pains of hell.   BOLINGBROKE. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.            Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others, with the prisoners     Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house;     For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated.     Tell her I send to her my kind commends;     Take special care my greetings be delivered.   YORK. A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd     With letters of your love to her at large.   BOLINGBROKE. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,     To fight with Glendower and his complices.     Awhile to work, and after holiday.                    Exeunt     SCENE 2. The coast of Wales. A castle in view  Drums. Flourish and colours. Enter the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, AUMERLE, and soldiers    KING RICHARD. Barkloughly Castle can they this at hand?   AUMERLE. Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air     After your late tossing on the breaking seas?   KING RICHARD. Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy     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     Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,     So weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth,     And do thee favours with my royal hands.     Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,     Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;     But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,     And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way,     Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet     Which with usurping steps do trample thee;     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 rebellion's arms.   CARLISLE. Fear not, my lord; that Power that made you king     Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.     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 proffered means of succour and redress.   AUMERLE. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;     Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,     Grows strong and great in substance and in power.   KING RICHARD. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not     That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,     Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,     Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen     In murders and in outrage boldly here;     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 wand'ring 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 off 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?   SALISBURY. Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,     Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue,     And bids me speak of nothing but despair.     One day too late, I fear me, 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.   AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale?   KING RICHARD. 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.   AUMERLE. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.   KING RICHARD. I had forgot myself; am I not King?     Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.     Is not the King's name twenty 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.   KING RICHARD. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar'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 woe, destruction, ruin, and decay-     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.   KING RICHARD. Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so in.     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.     I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.   SCROOP. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.   KING RICHARD. 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 curse     Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound     And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground.   AUMERLE. Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?   SCROOP. Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads.   AUMERLE. Where is the Duke my father with his power?   KING RICHARD. 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 an, are Bolingbroke's.     And nothing can we can our own but death     And that small model of the barren earth     Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.     For God'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,     To 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?   CARLISLE. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their 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.   AUMERLE. My father hath a power; inquire of him,     And learn to make a body of a limb.   KING RICHARD. Thou chid'st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, 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 in 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 is join'd with Bolingbroke;     And all your northern castles yielded up,     And all your southern gentlemen in arms     Upon his party.   KING RICHARD. Thou hast said enough.       [To AUMERLE] Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth     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, woe's slave, shall kingly woe 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.   AUMERLE. My liege, one word.   KING RICHARD. 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 3. Wales. Before Flint Castle  Enter, with drum and colours, BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, and forces    BOLINGBROKE. 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.   NORTHUMBERLAND. 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!   NORTHUMBERLAND. Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief,     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.   BOLINGBROKE. Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.   YORK. Take not, good cousin, further than you should,     Lest you mistake. The heavens are over our heads.   BOLINGBROKE. I know it, uncle; and oppose not myself     Against their will. But who comes here?                      Enter PERCY      Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?   PIERCY. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord,     Against thy entrance.   BOLINGBROKE. 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.   NORTHUMBERLAND. O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.   BOLINGBROKE. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] Noble lord,     Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;     Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley     Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:     Henry 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 slaughtered 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 threat'ning drum,     That from this castle's tottered 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 thund'ring shock     At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.     Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water;     The rage be his, whilst 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 answer within; then a flourish.       Enter on the walls, the KING, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,       AUMERLE, SCROOP, and SALISBURY      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.   YORK. Yet he looks like a king. Behold, his eye,     As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth     Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe,     That any harm should stain so fair a show!   KING RICHARD. [To NORTHUMBERLAND] We are amaz'd; and thus long       have we stood     To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,     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 mustering 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 yon methinks he stands,     That every stride he makes upon my land     Is dangerous treason; he is come to open     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.   NORTHUMBERLAND. 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 your 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.   KING RICHARD. Northumberland, say thus the King 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.     [To AUMERLE] We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,     To look so poorly and to speak so fair?     Shall we call back Northumberland, and send     Defiance to the traitor, and so die?   AUMERLE. No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words     Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.   KING RICHARD. 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! 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.   AUMERLE. Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.   KING RICHARD. 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? A 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 almsman'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 high way,     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 cousin!     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 laugh 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.   NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, in the base court he doth attend     To speak with you; may it please you to come down?   KING RICHARD. Down, down I come, like glist'ring Phaethon,     Wanting the manage of unruly jades.     In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,     To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace.     In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king!     For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.                                                Exeunt from above   BOLINGBROKE. What says his Majesty?   NORTHUMBERLAND. Sorrow and grief of heart     Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man;     Yet he is come.            Enter the KING, and his attendants, below    BOLINGBROKE. Stand all apart,     And show fair duty to his Majesty.   [He kneels down]     My gracious lord-   KING RICHARD. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee     To make the base earth proud with kissing it.     Me rather had my heart might feel your love     Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy.     Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,     [Touching his own head] Thus high at least, although your       knee be low.   BOLINGBROKE. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.   KING RICHARD. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.   BOLINGBROKE. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,     As my true service shall deserve your love.   KING RICHARD. Well you deserve. They well deserve to have     That know the strong'st and surest way to get.     Uncle, give me your hands; nay, dry your eyes:     Tears show their love, but want their remedies.     Cousin, 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 must what force will have us do.     Set on towards London. Cousin, is it so?   BOLINGBROKE. Yea, my good lord.   KING RICHARD. Then I must not say no.         Flourish. Exeunt     SCENE 4. 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?   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 sorrow 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 sing.   QUEEN. 'Tis well' that thou hast cause;     But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.   LADY. I could weep, madam, would it do you good.   QUEEN. And I could sing, would weeping do me good,     And never borrow any tear of thee.             Enter a GARDENER and two SERVANTS      But stay, here come the gardeners.     Let's step into the shadow of these trees.     My wretchedness unto a row of pins,     They will talk of state, for every one doth so     Against a change: woe is forerun with woe.                                        [QUEEN and LADIES retire]   GARDENER. Go, bind thou up yon 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 Eke 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 which without profit suck     The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.   SERVANT. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,     Keep law and form and due proportion,     Showing, 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 disordered, and her wholesome herbs     Swarming with caterpillars?   GARDENER. Hold thy peace.     He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring     Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf;     The weeds which 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.   SERVANT. What, are they dead?   GARDENER. They are; and Bolingbroke     Hath seiz'd the wasteful King. O, 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 in sap and blood,     With too much riches it confound itself;     Had he done so to great and growing men,     They might have Ev'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 home the crown,     Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.   SERVANT. What, think you the King shall be deposed?   GARDENER. 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!                                                 [Coming forward]     Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,     How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?     What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested the     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 this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch.   GARDENER. Pardon me, madam; little joy have     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 will find it so;     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 last that knows it? O, thou thinkest     To serve me last, that I may longest keep     Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go     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?     Gard'ner, for telling me these news of woe,     Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow!                                          Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES   GARDENER. Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse,     I would my skill were subject to thy curse.     Here did she fall 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