And never borrow any tear of thee.
But ftay, 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 forerun with woe.
[Queen and Ladies retire.
Gard. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricocks,
Which, like unruly children, make their fire
Stoop with oppreffion of their prodigal weight;
Give some supportance to the bending twigs.—
Go thou, and like an executioner,
Cut off the heads of too-faft-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 fuck
The foil's fertility from wholesome flowers.
1 Serv. 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 fea-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 diforder'd, and her wholefome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars?
Hold thy peace He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd fpring, 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.
1 Serv. What, are they dead?
Gard.
They are; and Bolingbroke
Hath feiz'd the wafteful king.-Oh! What pity is it,
That he had not fo trimm'd and drefs'd his land,
As we this garden! We at time of year
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees;
Left, being over-proud with fap and blood,
With too much riches it confound itself :
Had he done fo to great and growing men,
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to tafte
Their fruits of duty. All fuperfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live :
Had he done fo, himself had borne the crown,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.
1 Serv. What, think you then, the king fhall be depos'd? Gard. Deprefs'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.
O, I am prefs'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 found this unpleafing news?
What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee
To make a fecond fall of curfed 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'st thou by these ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.
Gard. Pardon me, madam: little joy have I,
To breathe this news; yet, what I fay, is true.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'd:
In your lord's fcale is nothing but hinself,
And fome few vanities that make him light;
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
Befides himself, are all the English peers,
And with that odds he weighs king Richard down.
Poft you to London, and you'll find it fo;
I speak no more than every one doth know.
Queen. Nimble mischance, thou art fo light of foot,
Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
And am I laft that knows it? O, thou think'st
To ferve me laft, that I may longest keep
Thy forrow in my breast.-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?—
Gardener, for telling me this news of woe,
I would, the plants thou graft'ft, may never grow.
[Exeunt Queen and Ladies.
Gard. Poor queen! fo that thy state might be no worse,
I would my skill were fubject to thy curse.-
Here did the drop a tear; here, in this place,
I'll fet a bank of rue, four herb of grace:
Rue, even for ruth, here fhortly fhall be feen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen.
London. Weftminster Hall.
The Lords fpiritual on the right fide of the throne; the Lords temporal on the left; the Commons below. Enter BOLINGBROKE, AUMERLE, SURRY, 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 doft know of noble Glofter's death;
Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd
The bloody office of his timeless end.
Bagot. Then fet before my face the lord Aumerle. Boling. Coufin, ftand forth, and look upon that man. Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know, your daring tongue Scorns to unfay what once it hath deliver'd.
In that dead time when Glofter's death was plotted,
I heard you fay,—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 fay, that you had rather refuse
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns,
Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
Adding withal, how bleft this land would be,
In this your coufin's death.
Princes, and noble lords,
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