My manors, rents, revenues I forego; My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny : God save King Henry, unking'd Richard says, North. No more, but that you read [Offering a paper. These accusations, and these grievous crimes K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:- Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,— Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, And water cannot wash away your sin. North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these articles. And yet salt water blinds them not so much K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man, Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,— No, not that name was given me at the font,一 Good king,-great king, and yet not greatly good,- Let it command a mirror hither straight, That it may show me what a face I have, Boling. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass. [Exit an Attendant. North. Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come. K. Rich. Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I come to hell! Boling. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland. North. The commons will not, then, be satisfied. K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. Re-enter Attendant with a glass. Give me the glass, and therein will I read. And made no deeper wounds?-O flattering glass, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face As brittle as the glory is the face; [Dashes the glass against the ground. For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. — Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow of your face. K. Rich. Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see: 'Tis very true, my grief lies all within; And these external manners of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief Boling. Name it, fair cousin. K. Rich. Fair cousin! Why, I am greater than a king: For when I was a king, my flatterers Were then but subjects; being now a subject, I have a king here to my flatterer. Being so great, I have no need to beg. Boling. Yet ask. K. Rich. And shall I have? K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. Boling. Whither? K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. Boling. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower. K. Rich. O, good! Convey?-conveyers are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. [Exeunt K. RICH., some Lords, and a Guard. Boling. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. [Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE. Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Car. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears: [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I-LONDON. A Street leading to the Tower. Enter QUEEN and Ladies. Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower, To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Enter KING RICHARD and Guards. Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand; K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod, And fawn on rage with base humility, Which art a lion and a king of beasts? K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France: Think I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st, With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales And ere thou bid good-night, to quit their grief And send the hearers weeping to their beds: And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended. North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd; You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. And, madam, there is order ta'en for you; K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal And he shall think that thou, which know'st the way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? |