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Ascend his throne, descending now from him, — God save the king ! although I be not he; And long live Henry, of that name the fourth! And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. — Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal To do what service am I sent for hither ? throne,

York. To do that office, of thine own good will, Car. Marry, God forbid !.

Which tired majesty did make thee offer, Worst in this royal presence may I speak,

The resignation of thy state and crown Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.

To Henry Bolingbroke. Would God, that any in this noble presence

K. Rich. Give me the crown :- Here, cousin, Were enough noble to be upright judge

seize the crown ; Of noble Richard ; then true nobless would

Here, this side, my hand ; on that side, thine. Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. Now is this golden crown like a deep well, What subject can give sentence on his king?

That owes two buckets filling one another ; And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject ? The emptier ever dancing in the air, Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear, The other down, unseen, and full of water : Although apparent guilt be seen in them:

That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, And shall the figure of God's majesty,

Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. His captain, steward, deputy elect,

Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign. Anointed, crowned, planted many years,

K. Rich. My crown, I am, but still my griefs are · Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath,

mine: And he himself not present ? 0, forbid it, God, You may my glories and my state depose, That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd

But not my griefs; still am I king of those. Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed ! Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king.

K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,

down. Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king :

My care is — loss of care, by old care done ; And if you crown him, let me prophecy, —

You care is — gain of care, by new care won; The blood of English shall manure the ground, The cares I give, I have, though given away ; And future ages groan for this foul act ;

They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,

Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown ? And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars

K. Rich. Ay, no; - no, ay; — for I must nothing Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound; Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny,

Therefore no, no, for I resign to thee. Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd

Now mark me how I will undo myself : The field of Golgotha, and dead men's sculis. I give this heavy weight from off my head, O, if you rear this house against this house,

And this unwieldy scepter from my hand, It will the woefullest division prove,

The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; That ever fell upon this cursed earth :

With mine own tears I wash away my balm, Prevent, resist it, let it not be so,

With mine own hands I give away my crown, Lest child, child's children, cry against you


With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, North. Well have you argu’d, sir; and, for your With mine own breath release all duteous oaths. pains,

All pomp and majesty I do forswear ; Of capital treason we arrest you here :

My manors, rents, revenues, I forego; My lord of Westminster, be it your charge

My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny: To keep him safely till his day of trial.

God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me! May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit? | God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee!

Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grier'd ; He may surrender ; so we shall proceed

And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd ! Without suspicion.

Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, York.

I will be his conduct. [Exut. And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit! Boling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest, God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, Procure your sureties for your days of answer :- And send him many years of sunshine days ! Little are we beholden to your love, [To CarlislE. What more remains ? And little look'd for at your helping hands.


but that you readi

[Offering a paper. Re-enter YORK, with King RICHARI), and Officers

These accusations, and these grievous crimes, bearing the crown, &c.

Committed by your person, and your followers. K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, Against the state and profit of this land; Before I have shook off the regal thoughts

That, by confessing them, the souls of men Wherewith I reign’d? I hardly yet have learn'd May deem that you are worthily depos'd. To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee : - K. Rich. Must I do so ? and must I ravel out Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me

My weav'd-up follies ? Gentle Northumberland, To this submission. Yet I well remember

If thy offences were upon record,
The favours of these iren: Were they not mine ? Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop,
Did they not sometime cry, all hail ! to me? To read a lecture of them ? If thou would'st,
So Judas did to Christ : but he, in twelve,

There should'st thou find one heinous article, Found truth in all, but one ; I, in twelve thousand, Containing the deposing of a king, none.

And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, God save the king ! - Will no man say, amen ? Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven :Am I both priest and clerk ? well then, amen. Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me,

No more,

Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, - A brittle glory shineth in this face :
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, As brittle as the glory is the face;
Showing an outward pity ; yet you Pilates

(Dashes the glass against the ground. Have here deliver'd me to iny sour cross,

For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers, And water cannot wash away your sín.

Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these articles. How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.

K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see: Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'u And yet salt water blinds them not so much, The shadow of your face. But they can see a sort of traitors here.

K. Rich

Say that again. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,

The shadow of my sorrow ? Ha! let's see: I find myself a traitor with the rest :

'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ; For I have given here my soul's consent,

And these external manners of lament To undeck the pompous body of a king;

Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, Make glory base; and sovereignty, a slave;

That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul; Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant.

There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king, North. My lord,

For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insulting Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way man,

How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title, - And then be gone, and trouble you no more. No, not that name was given me at the font,

Shall I obtain it ? But 'tis usurp'd : Alack the heavy day,


Name it, fair cousin. That I have worn so many winters out,

K. Rich. Fair cousin ? Wly, I am greater than And know not now what name to call myself !

a king : 0, that I were a mockery king of snow,

For, when I was a king, my flatterers Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,

Were then but subjects ; being now a subject, To melt myself away in water-drops!

I have a king here to my flatterer. Good king, - great king, - (and yet not greatly Being so great, I have no need to beg. good,)

Boling. Yet ask. An if my word be sterling yet in England,

K. Rich. And shall I have ? Let it command a mirror hither straight;

Boling. You shall. That it may show me wliat a face I have,

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.

Boling. Whither? Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking- K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your glass. [Exit an Attendant.

sights. North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the

Tower. K. Kich. Fiend ! thou torment'st me ere I come K. Rich. O, good! Convey? - Conveyers are

to hell. Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northum- | That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. berland.

(Ereunt K. Richard, some Lords, and a Guard. North. The commons will not then be satisfied. Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down K. Rich. They shall be satisfied : I'll read enough. Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves. When I do see the very book indeed

[Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisly, Where all my sins are writ, and that's — myself.


Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Re-enter Attendant, with a glass.

Car. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Give me that glass, and therein will I read. Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck

Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot So many blows upon this face of mine,

To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? And made no deeper wounds ? — 0, flattering glass, Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, Like to my followers in prosperity,

You shall not only take the sacrament Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face, To bury mine intents, but to effect That every day under his household roof

Whatever I shall happen to devise : Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face, I see your brows are full of discontent, That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears ; Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies,

Come home with me to supper; I will lay And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? A plot, shall show us all a merry day. (Exeunt.


you all,


SCENE I. - London. A Street leading to the

Enter QUEEN and Ladies.
Queen. This way the king will come; this is the

To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,

To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.

Enter King RICHARD and Guards.
But soft, but see, or rather do not see,

with me.



My fair rose wither : Yet look up; behold;

North My guilt be on my head, and there an end. That you in pity may dissolve to dew,

Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd? - Bad men, ye violate Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand; A twofold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me; Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb, And then, betwixt me and my married wife. And not king Richard ; thou most beauteous inn, Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee, And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. When triumph is become an alehouse guest ? Purt us, Northumberland; I towards the north, K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; not so,

My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp, To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul, She came adorned hither like sweet May, To think our former state a happy dream;

Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day. From which awak'd, the truth of what we are

Queen. And must we be divided ? must we part ? Shows us but this : I am sworn brother, sweet, K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and To grim necessity; and he and I

heart from heart. Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, Queen. Banish us both, and send the king And cloister thee in some religious house: Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, North. That were some love, but little policy. Which our profane hours here have stricken down. Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and ki Rich. So two, together weeping, make one

mind Transform’d, and weaken'd? Hath Bolingbroke Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here ; Depos'd thine intellect ? Hath he been in thy heart ? Better far off, than near, be ne'er the near'. The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paz,

Go, count thy way with sighs ; I, mine with groans. And wounds the earth, it' nothing else, with rage Queen. So longest way shall have the longest To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod;

K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way And fawn on rage with base humility,

being short, Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?

And piece the way out with a heavy heart. K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, beasts,

Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. I had been still a happy king of men.

One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. France :

(They kiss. Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak suy Queen. "Give me mine own again ; 'twere no As from my death-bed, my last living leave.

good part, In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire

To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales

[K'iss again. Of woeful ages, long ago betid :

So, now I have mine own again, begone, And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, That I may strive to kill it with a groan. Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,

X. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond And send the hearers weeping to their beds.

delay : For why, the senseless brands will sympathize Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,

(Exeunt. And, in compassion, weep the fire out : And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, SCENE II. The same.

A Room in the Duke For the deposing of a rightful king.

of York's Palace. Enter NorthUMBERLAND, attended.

Enter York and his DUCHESS. North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the chang'd;

rest, You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.

When weeping made you break the story off And, madam, there is order ta'en for you ;

Of our two cousins coming into London. With all swift speed you must away to France.

York. Where did I leave? K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where- Duch.

At that sad stop, my lord, withal

Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,

tops, The time shall not be many hours of age

Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head,

York. Then, as I said, the duke, great BolingShall break into corruption : thou shalt think,

broke, Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, It is too little, helping him to all ;

Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, way

While all tongues cried — God save thee, Boling. To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,

broke! Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way

You would have thought the very windows spakr, To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. So many greedy looks of young and old The love of wicked friends converts to fear;

Through casements darted their desiring eyco That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both, Upon his visage; and that all the walls, To worthy danger, and deserved death.

With painted imag'ry, had said at once,



Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke !

Duch. What is the matter, my lord ? Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, York. Ho! who is within there ? [Enter a Ser. Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,

vant.] Saddle my horse. Bespake them thus, — I thank you, countrymen : God for his mercy! what treachery is here ! And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ? Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my while ?

horse : York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,

Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,

I will appeach the villain.

[E.rit Servant. Are idly bent on him that enters next,


What's the matter? Thinking his prattle to be tedious :

York. Peace, foolish woman. Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Duch. I will not peace :

What is the matter, Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him ;

Auni. Good mother, be content; it is no more No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : Than my poor life must answer. But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ;


Thy life answer? Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,

Re-enter Servant, with boots.
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience, –

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king, That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,

art amaz'd : And barbarism itself have pitied him.

Hence, villain : never more come in my sight. — But heaven hath a hand in these events;

[To the Servant. To whose high will we bound our calm contents.

York. Give me my boots, I say. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,

Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?

Have we more sons? or are we like to have ?

Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.

And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, York.

Aumerle that was ; And rob me of a happy mother's name?
But that is lost, for being Richard's friend,

Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now : York. Thou fond mad woman,
I am in parliament pledge for his truth,

Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets And interchangeably set down their hands, now,

To kill the king at Oxford. That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ? Duch.

He shall be none; dum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care We'll keep him here : Then what is that to him? not:

York. Away, God knows, I had as lief be none, as one.

Fond woman! were he twenty times my son York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of I would appeach him. time,


Hadst thou groan'd for him, Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. As I have done, thou’dst be more pitiful. What news from Oxford? hold those justs and But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect, triumphs ?

That I have been disloyal to thy bed, Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. And that he is a bastard, not thy son : York. You will be there, I know.

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind : Aum. If God prevent it not ; I purpose so. He is as like thee as a man may be, Burk. What seal is that, that hangs without thy Not like to me, or any of my kin, bosom?

And yet I love him. Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.


Make way, unruly woman. Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

[Erit. York.

No matter then who sees it : Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his I will be satisfied, let me see the writing.

horse; Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me ; Spur, post; and get before him to the king, It is a matter of small consequence,

And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

I'll not be long behind ; though I be old,
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I doubt not but to ride as fast as York :
I fear, I fear,

And never will I rise up from the ground,

What should you fear ? Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee : Away; "Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into Begone.

[Exeunt For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.

York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond SCENE III. - Windsor. A Room in the Castle. That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me see the writing.

Enter BOLINGBROKE, as King; Percs, and other

Lords. Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.

Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son ? York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say. 'Tis full three months, since I did see bim last;

(Snatches it, and reads. If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. Treason' foul treason ! villain! traitor ! slave! I would to God, my lords, he might be found :

Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king;
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,

Fear, and not love, begets his penitence :
With unrestrained loose companions ;

Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,

serpent that will sting thee to the heart. And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ;

Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy ! While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, loyal father of a treacherous son ! Takes on the point of honour, to support

Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, So dissolute a crew.

From whence this stream through muddy passages, Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the Hath held his current, and defil'd himself! prince;

Thy overflow of good converts to bad; And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. And thy abundant goodness shall excuse Boling. And what said the gallant ?

This deadly blot in thy digressing son. Percy. His answer was, - he would unto the York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; stews ;

And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, And from the common' creature pluck a glove, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. And wear it as a favour; and with that

Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies : Boling. As dissolute, as desperate : yet, through Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath, both

The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. I see some sparkles of a better hope,

Duch. [Within.) What ho, my liege! for God's Which elder days may happily bring forth.

sake let me in. But who comes here?

Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this Enter AUNERLE, hastily.

eager cry?

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; tis I. Aum. Where is the king ?

Speak with me, pity me, open the door : Boling.

What means

A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? Boling. Our scene is alter'd, - from a scrious Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your

thing, majesty,

And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King. To have some conference with your grace alone. My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ; Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here I know, she's come to pray for your foul sin.

alone. ( Ereunt Percy and Lords. York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, What is the matter with our cousin now ?

More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound;

(Kinecls This, let alone, will all the rest confound. My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,

Enter Duchess. Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak.

Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fauls nech. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man ; If but the first, how heinous ere it be,

Love, loving not itself, none other can. To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.

York. Thou frantick woman, what dost thou make Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the

here? key,

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear ? That no man enter till my tale be done.

Duch. Sweet York, be patient Hear me, gentle Boling. Have thy desire.


[Kneels. [AUMERLE locks the door. Boling. Rise up, good aunt. York. [Within.] My liege, beware ; look to thy- Duch.

Not yet, I thee beseech : self;

For ever will I kneel upon my knees, Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

And never see day that the happy sees, Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. (Drawing. Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;

By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. Thou hast no cause to fear.

Āum. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool


(K’neels. hardy king :

York. Against them both, my true joints bended Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?


[K'neels. Open the door, or I will break it open.

Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! [BOLINGBROKE opens the door.

Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face;

His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; Enter York.

His words come from his mouth, ours from our Boling. What is the matter, uncle ? speak ;

breast : Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; That we may arm us to encounter it.

We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside : York. Peruse this writing here, and thou slut His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; know

Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow, The treason that my baste forbids me show.

His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. past :

Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have I do repent me; read not my name there,

That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. My heart is not confederate with my hand.

Boling. Good aunt, stand up. York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it Duch.

Nay, do not say down.

But pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up.

stand up

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