Of mortal breathing; seize it, if thou dar'st.
Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off,
And never brandish more revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe!

Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;

And spur thee on with full as many lies

As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear
From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.

Aum. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all:

I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.

Sur. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

Fitz. My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence then; And you can witness with me, this is true.

Sur. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.
Fitz. Surrey, thou liest.
Sur.

Dishonourable boy!
That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword,
That it shall render vengeance and revenge,
Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie
In earth as quiet as thy father's skuil.

In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn ;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.

Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse! If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,

I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,
And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies,

And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,

To tie thee to my strong correction.-
As I intend to thrive in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal:
Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say,
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
To execute the noble duke at Calais.

Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage,
That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this,
If he may be repeal'd to try his honour.

Bal. These differences shall all rest under gage,
Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be,
And, though mine enemy, restor'd again
To all his land and signories; when he's return'd,
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.

Carl. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.-
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ; in glorious Christian field
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross,
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens ;
And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself
To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth,
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.
Bel. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?

Carl. As sure as I live, my lord.

Bol. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants, Your differences shall all rest under gage, Till we assign you to your days of trial.

Enter York, attended.

York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee, From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing soul Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields To the possession of thy royal hand: Ascend his throne, descending now from him,And long live Henry, of that name the fourth! Bol. In God's mame, Til ascend the regal throne,

Carl. Marry, God forbid !-
Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
Would God, that any in this noble presence
Were enough noble to be upright judge
Of noble Richard; then true nobless would
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
What subject can give sentence on his king?
And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject?
Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear,
Although apparent guilt be seen in them:
And shall the figure of God's majesty,
His captain, steward, deputy elect,
Anointed, crowned, planted many years,
Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath,
And he himself not present? O, forbid it, God!
That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king.
My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king:
And if you crown him, let me prophecy,-
The blood of English shall manure the ground,
And future ages groan for this foul act;
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound;
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny,

Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
The field of Golgotha, and dead men's sculls.
O, if you rear this house against this house,
It will the woefullest division prove,
That ever fell upon this cursed earth:
Prevent, resist it, let it not be so,

Lest child, child's children, ery against you-woe! North. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,

Of capital treason we arrest you here;-
My lord of Westminster, be it your charge

To keep him safely till his day of trial.-

May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit.
Bol. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view
He may surrender; so we shall proceed
Without suspicion.

[Exit.

York. I will be his conduct. Bol. Lords, you that are here, under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer :Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle.

And little look for at your helping hands. Re-enter York, with King Richard, and Officers bear. ing the Crown, &c.

K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king,
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee :-
Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me

To this submission. Yet I well remember
The favours of these men: Were they not mine?
Did they not sometime cry, all hail! to me?
So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve,
Found truth in all, but one; I, in twelve thousand,

none.

God save the king!-Will no man say, amen?
Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen.
God save the king! although I be not he;
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.-
To do what service am I sent for hither?
York. To do that office, of thine own good will,

Which tired majesty did make thee offer,—

The resignation of thy state and crown

To Henry Bolingbroke.

K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see:

And yet salt water blinds them not so much,

But they can see a sort of traitors here.

the crown

Here, on this side, my hand; on that side, thine.
Now is this golden crown like a deep well,
That owes two buckets filling one another;
The emptier ever dancing in the air,

The other down, unseen, and full of water:
That bucket down, and full of tears, am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.
Bol. I thought you had been willing to resign.
K. Rich. My crown, I am; but still my griefs are

mine:

You may my glories and my state depose,
But not my griefs; still am I king of those.

Bol. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares down.

My care is loss of care, by old care done;
Your care is-gain of care, by new care won:
The cares I give, I have, though given away;
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.
Bol. Are you contented to resign the crown?
K. Rich. Ay, no-no, ay -for I must nothing be;
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.
Now mark me, how I will undo myself;
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths:
All pomp and majesty I do forswear;

My manors, rents, revenues, I forego;
My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny:
God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me!
God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee!
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd;
And thou, with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd!
Long may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit!
God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says,
And send him many years of sunshine days!-
What more remains?

North.

No more, but that you read
[Offering a paper.
These accusations, and these grievous crimes,
Committed by your person, and your followers,
Against the state and profit of this land;
That, by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.

K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out
My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,
Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? If thou would'st,
There should'st thou find one heinous article,
Containing the deposing of a king,

And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,—
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven :-
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me,
Whilst, that my wretchedness doth bait myself,-
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,
Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
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.

Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,-
No, not that name was given me at the font,-
But 'tis usurp'd :-Alack the heavy day,
That I have worn so many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself!
O, that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops!--

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 show me what a face I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.

Bol. 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.

Bol. 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 Wher. 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 that glass, and therein will I read.-
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine,
And made no deeper wounds!-O, flattering glass,
Like to my followers in prosperity,

Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face,
That every day under his household roof
Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face,
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?
Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies,
And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory shineth in this 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.
Bol. 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 lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul; There lies the substance; and I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, And then be gone, and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it?

K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your sights.

Bol. 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. Richard, some Lords, and a Guard. Bal. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.

[Exeunt 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 sacrament
To bury mine intents, but to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devise :-
I see your brows are full of discontent,

Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears;
Come home with me to supper; I will lay
A plot, shall show us all a merry day.

ACT V.

[Exeunt.

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

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,
My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold;
That you in pity may dissolve to dew,

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

K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream ;
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity; and he and I

Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloister thee in some religious house :
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transform'd, and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke

Depos'd thine intellect? bath he been in thy heart?

The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,

And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage

To be o'erpower'd ; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
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,
As from my death-bed, my last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire
With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales
Of woeful ages, long ago betid:

And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,
And, in compassion, weep the fire out:
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
For the deposing of a rightful king.

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; With all swift speed you must away to France.

K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,-
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head,
Shall break into corruption: Thou shalt think,
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to all;

And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way

To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both,
To worthy danger, and deserved death.

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end,
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.
K. Rich. Doubly divore'd?-Bad men, ye violate
A twofold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me;
And then, betwixt me and my married wife.—
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.
-Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day.

Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. North. That were some love, but little policy. Queen. Then, whither he goes, thither let me go. K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; Better far off, than-near, be ne'er the near. Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans. Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans. K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll grban, the way be ing short,

And piece the way out with a heavy heart.

Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part,

What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs?

Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do.
York. You will be there, I know.

Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so.
York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy bo
som?

So, now I have mine own again, be gone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay: Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt.

SCENE II-The same. A Room in the Duke of

York's Palace. Enter York, and his Duchess.
Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you break the story off
Of our two cousins coming into London.
York. Where did I leave?
Duch.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
-Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,

Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,-
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,
While all tongues cried-God save thee, Bolingbroke!
You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage; and that all the walls,
With painted imagery, had said at once,
Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus,-I thank you, countrymen :
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the
while?

York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well grae'd actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,-
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience,-

That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.

But heaven hath a hand in these events;

To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

Enter Aumerle.

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.

Aumerle that was ;

York. But that is lost, for being Richard's friend, And, madam, you must call him Rutland now: 1 am in parliament pledg'd for his truth, And lasting fealty to the new-made king. Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the violets now That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.

Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

York. No matter then who sees it:

I will be satisfied, let me see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me;
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear,

Duch. What should you fear? 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.

York. Bound to himself? what doth be with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.Boy, let me see the writing.

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

show it.

York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. [Snatches it, and reads. Treason! foul treason!-villain! traitor! slave! Duch. What is the matter, my lord?

York. Ho! who's within there? [Enter a Servant.]
Saddle my horse.

God for his mercy! what treachery is here!
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord?

York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse:-
Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain.

Duch. What's the matter?
York. Peace, foolish woman.

[Exit Servant.

Duch. I will not peace :-What is the matter, son?
Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more than
My poor life must answer.
Duch.

Thy life answer!
Re-enter Servant, with boots.

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. Duch. Strike him, Aumerle-Poor boy, thou art a maz'd:

Hence, villain; never more come in my sight-
[To the Servant

York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
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?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
And rob me of a happy mother's name?

Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own?
York. Thou fond mad woman,

Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?

A dozen of them here have ta’en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands,

To kill the king at Oxford.

Open the door, or I will break it open.

SCENE III-Windsor. A Room in the Castle. Enter Bolingbroke, as King; Percy, and other Lords.

Bol. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son?
'Tis full three months, since I did see him last:
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.

I would to God, my lords, he might be found:
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loose companions;
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour, to support
So dissolute a crew.

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince;

And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.
Bol. And what said the gallant?

Percy. His answer was-he would unto the stews; And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, And wear it as a favour; and with that

He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

Bol. As dissolute, as desperate: yet, through both I see some sparkles of a better hope,

Which elder days may happily bring forth.
But who comes here?

To win thy after love, I pardon thee.

[Bolingbroke opens the door, Enter York.

Bol. What is the matter, uncle? speak; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it.

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
The treason that my haste forbids me show.
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past:

I do repent me; read not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

York. "Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.-
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king;
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove

A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.

Bol. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!-
O loyal father of a treacherous son!

Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy passages
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd;
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.
Duch. [Within.] What ho, my liege! for God's sake
let me in.

Bol. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry?

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door;

A beggar begs, that never begg'd before.

Bol. Our socne is alter'd,-from a serious thing,
And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King-
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ;

I know, she's come to pray for your foul sin.
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound;
This, let alone, will all the rest confound.

Enter Duchess.

Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man; Love, loving not itself, none other can.

York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle liege. [Kneels.

Bol. Rise up, good aunt.

Duch.

Not yet, I thee beseech: Forever will I kneel upon my knees,

And never sce day that the happy sees,

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;

Thou hast no cause to fear.

[Drawing.

king:

Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?

His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast:

He prays but faintly, and would be denied;