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Procure your fureties for your days of answer :-
Little are we beholden to your love,

[To Carlisle. And little look'd for at your helping hands.

Re-enter York, with King Richard.

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

To this fubmiffion. Yet I well remember
The favours of these men: Were they not mine?
Did they not fometime cry, all hail! to me?
So Judas did to Chrift: but, he in twelve,

Found truth in all, but one; I, in twelve thousand, none.
God fave the king!-Will no man say, amen?
Am I both priest and clerk ? well then, amen.
God fave the king! although I be not he;
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.-
To do what service, am I fent for hither?

York. To do that office, of thine own good will,
Which tired majesty did make thee offer,-

The refignation of thy ftate and crown

To Henry Bolingbroke.

K. Rich. Give me the crown :-Here, coufin, feize the

crown;

Here, coufin, on this fide, my hand; on that fide, 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, unfeen, and full of water:
That bucket down, and full of tears, am I,

Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.

favours]-features.

owes]-is furnished with. Boling.

Boling. I thought, you had been willing to refign. K. Rich. My crown, I am; but ftill my griefs are mine: You may my glories and my ftate depofe,

But not my griefs; still am I king of those.

Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. 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 still with me they stay.
Boling. Are you contented to refign the crown?
K. Rich. Ay, no ;-no, ay ;-for I must nothing be
Therefore no no, for I refign to thee.

Now mark me how I will undo myself :

I give this heavy weight from off my head,
hand,
And this unwieldy fcepter from my
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 release all duteous oaths;
All pomp and majesty 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!
Long may'st thou live in Richard's feat to fit,
And foon lie Richard in an earthy pit!

God fave king Henry, unking'd Richard says,

My care is]-My grief is that my regal cares, to which I have been accustomed, arc at an end.

Ff3

And

And send him many years of fun-fhine days!—
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? 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'ft,
There fhould'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 stand and look upon me,
Whilst that my wretchednefs doth bait myself,-
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, difpatch; 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 fee" a fort of traitors here, Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, I find myself a traitor with the reft : For I have given here my foul's confent, To undeck the pompous body of a king; Make glory bafe; and fovereignty, a flave; Proud majesty, a fubject; ftate, a peasant. North. My lord,

travel out]-untwift, unfold.

a fort]-a fet, a company. K. Rich.

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 fnow,
Standing before the fun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops !-
Good king-great king-(and yet not greatly good)
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 majefty.

[To Boling.

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'ft 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 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-myself.

Enter one, with a glass.

Give me that glass, and therein will I read.—
No deeper wrinkles yet? hath forrow ftruck

So many blows 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.

Ff 4

And

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

A brittle glory shineth in this face :

[Dafbes the glafs 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 destroy'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 shadows to the unfeen grief,
That fwells with filence in the tortur'd foul;
There lies the fubftance: and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv❜ft
Me cause to wail, but teacheft 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?

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,

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