Now, mark me, how I will undo myfelf;
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy fcepter from my hand,
The pride of kingly fway 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 facred state,
With mine own breath releafe all duteous oaths:
All pomp and Majefty I do forfwear :
My manors, rents, revenues, I forego;
My acts, decrees, and ftatutes, 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 haft all atchiev'd!!
What more remains?
North. No more; but that you read
These accufations, and these 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 ravel out
My weav'd-up follies? Oh Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,
Would it not fhame thee in so fair a troop,
Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your crows. K. Rich. Your cares fet up do not pluck my cares down. My care, is lofs 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 ftill with me they stay. Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown? K Rich. I, no, no, I; for I must nothing be: Therefore no no, for I refign to thee. Now, mark me, &c.
... that haft all atchiev'd!
Long may't thou live in Richard's feat to fit,
And foon tye Richard in an earthy pit!
God fave King Henry, unking'd Richard fays,
And fend him many years of fun-fine days!
What more, &c.
To read a lecture of them? if thou would'st,
There should't thou find one hainous 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 heav'n.
Nay, all of you, that ftand and look upon me,
Whilft that my wretchedness doth bait my self,
Though fome of you with Pilate wash your hands,
Shewing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
Have here deliver'd me to my fow'r cross,
And water cannot wash away your fin.
North. My Lord, difpatch; read o'er thefe articles.
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears: I cannot fee:
And yet falt-water blinds them not so much,
But they can fee a fort of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon my self,
I find my felf a traitor with the reft:
For I have given here my foul's confent,
T'undeck the pompous body of a King;
Made glory bafe; a Sovereign, a flave;
Proud Majefty, a fubject; ftate, a peasant.
North. My Lord-
K. Rich. No Lord of thine, infulting man;
Nor no man's Lord: I have no name, no title;
No, not that name was giv'n 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 my felf.
Oh, that I were a mockery King of fnow,
Standing before the fun of Bolingbroke,
To melt my felf away in water-drops! *
An if my word be fterling 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-glafs.
North. Read o'er this paper, while the glafs doth come.
K. Rich. Fiend, thou torment'ft me, ere I come to hell.
Good King, great King, and yet not greatly good,
And if my, &
Boling. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.
North. The Commons will not then be fatisfy'd.
K. Rich. They fhall be fatisfy'd: I'll read enough,
When I do fee the very book indeed,
Where all my fins are writ, and that's my self.
Enter one with a glass.
Give me that glafs, 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 flatt'ring glass,
Like to my followers in profperity,
Thou doft beguile me. Was this face the face
That every day under his houthold-roof
Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face,
That like the fun did make beholders wink? +
How foon my forrow hath deftroy'd my face!
Boling. The fhadow of your forrow hath deftroy'd
The fhadow of your face.
The fhadow of my forrow! ha, let's fee;
'Tis very true, my grief lyes all within,
And these external manners of laments
Are merely fhadows to the unfeen grief,
That fwells with filence in the tortur'd foul.
There lyes the fubftance; and I thank thee, King,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
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, my fair coufin.
K. Rich. Fair coufin! I am greater than a King: For when I was a King, my flatterers
Is this the face which fac'd fo many follies,
That was at laft out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory fhineth in this face,
As brittle as the glory, is the face,
For there it is, crackt in an hundred fhivers.
Mark, filent King, the moral of this fport,
How foon my forrow, &c.
Were then but fubjects? being now a subject,
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.
K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Boling. Whither?
K. Rich. Whither you will, fo I were from your fight. Boling. Go fome of you, convey him to the Tower. * On Wednesday next we folemnly fet down
Our coronation: Lords, prepare your felves.
[Exeunt all but Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle and Aumerle, SCENE IV.
Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
Carl. The woe's to come: the children yet unborn
Shall feel this day as fharp to them as thorn.
Aum. You holy clergy-men, is there no plot
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?
Abbot. Before I freely fpeak my mind herein,
You shall not only take the facrament,
To bury mine intents, but to effect
Whatever I fhall happen to devise,
I fee your brows are full of difcontent,
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.
ACT V. SCENE I
A Street in London. Enter Queen and Ladies. Queen.HIS way the King will come: this is the way To Julius Cæfar's ill-erected tow'r, To whofe flint bofom my condemned Lord Is doom'd a prifoner, by proud Bolingbroke. Here let us reft, if this rebellious earth
Have any refting for her true King's Queen...
K. Rich. Oh, good! convey: conveyers are you all, That rife thus nimbly by a true King's fall.
Beling. On Wednesday, &cr
Enter King Richard and Guards.
But foft, but fee, or rather do not fee,
My fair Rofe wither; yet look up; behold,
That you in pity may diffolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
O thou, the model where old Troy did ftand, [To K. Rich.
Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb,
And not King Richard; thou moft 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 fudden: learn, good foul,
To think our former ftate a happy dream,
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shews us but this. I am fworn brother, fweet,
To grim Neceffity; and he and I
Will keep a league 'till death. Hye thee to France,
And cloifter thee in fome religious house;
Our holy lives muft win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have ftricken down.
Queen. How, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transform'd and weak? 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 beafts?
K. Rich. A King of beasts indeed; if ought but beafts, I had been ftill a happy King of men.
Good, fometime Queen! prepare thee hence for France;
Think I am dead, and that even here thou tak'ft,
As from my death-bed, my laft living leave.
In winter's tedious nights fit 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,
* Sometime, for formerly.
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