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, there inlaid: ‘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 KING RICHARD, and his attendants.]
BOLINGBROKE.
Stand all apart,
And show fair duty to his Majesty.[Kneeling.]
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,
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 hand: 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 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?
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;
