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And fend him many years of fun-shine days !—
What more remains?

North. No more, but that you read

These accufations, and thefe grievous crimes,
Committed by your perfon, and your followers,
Against the state and profit of this land
That, by confeffing them, the fouls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.

K. Rich. Muft I do fo? and muft I travel out

My weav'd up follies? Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,

Would it not fhame thee, in fo fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? If thou would'st,
There should'st thou find one heinous article,
Containing the depofing of a king,

And cracking the ftrong warrant of an oath,—
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:-
Nay, all of you, that ftand and look upon me,
Whilft that my wretchednefs doth bait myfelf,

Though fome of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,
Shewing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
Have here deliver'd me to my four cross,
And water cannot wash away your fin.

North. My lord, dispatch; read o'er these articles.
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot fee ;
And yet falt-water blinds them not fo much,
But they can see "a fort of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor with the rest:
For I have given here my foul's confent,
To undeck the pompous body of a king;
Make glory base; and fovereignty, a slave;
Proud majefty, a subject; state, a peasant.
North. My lord,-

travel out]-untwist, unfold. - a fort]—a fet, a company.

K. Rich.

W

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, infulting man, Nor no man's lord, I have no name, no title,No, not that name was given me at the font,But 'tis ufurp'd:-Alack the heavy day, That I have worn fo many winters out, And know not now what name to call myself! Oh, that I were a mockery king of snow, Standing before the fun of Bolingbroke, To melt myself away in water-drops !—

[To Boling.

Good king-great king-(and yet not greatly good)
An if my word be sterling yet in England,
Let it command a mirror hither straight;
That it may fhew me what a face I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.

Boling. Go fome of you, and fetch a looking-glass.
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 fatisfy'd.
K. Rich. They shall be fatisfy'd; I'll read enough,
When I do fee the very book indeed

Where all my fins are writ, and that's-myself.

Enter one, with a glass.

Give me that glass, and therein will I read.-
No deeper wrinkles yet? hath forrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine,

And made no deeper wounds?-Oh, flattering glass,
Like to my followers in profperity,

Thou doft beguile me!-Was this face the face
That every day under his houfhold roof

Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face,
That, like the fun, did make beholders wink?
Was this the face, that fac'd fo many follies,

W

haught]-haughty.

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And

And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?

A brittle glory shineth in this face :

[Dafbes the glass against the ground.

As brittle as the glory, is the face;

For there it is, crack'd in an hundred fhivers.-
Mark, filent king, the moral of this sport,-
How foon my forrow hath deftroy'd my face.

Boling. The fhadow of your forrow hath destroy'd
The shadow of your face.

K. Rich. Say that again.

The shadow of my forrow? Ha! let's fee :-
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
And these external manners of lament

Are merely fhadows to the unfeen grief,
That fwells with filence in the tortur'd foul;
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv❜ft
Me caufe to wail, but teacheft me the way
How to lament the caufe. I'll beg one boon,
And then be gone, and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?

Boling. Name it, fair coufin.

K. Rich. Fair coufin? Why, I am greater than a king; For, when I was a king, my flatterers

Were then but fubjects; being now a fubject,

I have a king here to my flatterer.

Being fo great, I have no need to beg.

Boling. Yet afk.

K. Rich. And fhall I have?

Boling. You fhall.

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K. Rich. Whither you will, fo I were from your fights.
Boling. Go fome of you, convey him to the Tower.

K. Rich,

K. Rich. Oh, good! Convey?-Conveyers are you all, That rife thus nimbly by a true king's fall. [Exit. Boling. On Wednesday next, we folemnly fet down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.

[Ex. all but the Abbot, bishop of Carlisle, and Aumerle. Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Carl. 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, You shall not only take the facrament To bury mine intents, but also to effect Whatever I shall happen to devife :I fee, your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of forrow, and your eyes of tears; Come home with me to fupper, and I'll lay A plot, fhall fhew us all a merry day.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

V. SCENE I.

A Street in London.

Enter Queen, and Ladies.

Queen, This way the king will come; this is the way

*To Julius Cæfar's ill-erected tower,

To whose flint bofom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke ;
Here let us reft, if this rebellious earth

Have any resting for her true king's queen.

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* Conveyers]-Jugglers, dealers in fleight of hand.

bury]-conceal, keep fecret.

To Julius Cæfar's, &c.]-The Tower of London is faid to have been built by him.

Enter

Enter King Richard, and guards.

But foft, but fee, or rather do not fee,
My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold;
That you in pity may diffolve to dew,

And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.—
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;

[To K. Rich,

Thou b
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of honour; thou king Richard's tomb,
And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee,
When triumph is become an ale-house guest?

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K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not fo, To make my end too fudden: learn, good foul,

To think our former ftate a happy dream;

From which awak'd, the truth of what we are

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Shews us but this: I am fworn brother, fweet,
To grim neceffity; and he and I

Will keep a league 'till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloifter thee in fome religious houfe:

Our holy lives muft win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.

Queen. What, is my Richard both in fhape and mind
Transform'd, and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke
Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
The lion, dying, thrufteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing elfe, with rage
To be o'erpower'd; And wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly? kifs the rod ?
And fawn on rage with bafe humility,
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?

a the model]-the ground plot. cinn,]-habitation,

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map]-picture.

Join not with grief,]-against me.

• I am fworn brother, fweet, to grim neceffity;]-I am perfectly reconciled to this neceffary confinement.

K. Rich.

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