ACT 1

Scene 1

Enter King Richard, John of Gaunt, with other Nobles

and Attendants.

KING RICHARD

Old John of Gaunt, time-honored Lancaster,

Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,

Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son,

Here to make good the boist’rous late appeal,

Which then our leisure would not let us hear,

Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

GAUNT

I have, my liege.

KING RICHARD

Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him

If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,

Or worthily, as a good subject should,

On some known ground of treachery in him?

GAUNT

As near as I could sift him on that argument,

On some apparent danger seen in him

Aimed at your Highness, no inveterate malice.

KING RICHARD

Then call them to our presence.

An Attendant exits.

Face to face,

And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear

The accuser and the accusèd freely speak.

High stomached are they both and full of ire,

In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Enter Bolingbroke and Mowbray.

BOLINGBROKE

Many years of happy days befall

My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege.

MOWBRAY

Each day still better other’s happiness,

Until the heavens, envying earth’s good hap,

Add an immortal title to your crown.

KING RICHARD

We thank you both. Yet one but flatters us,

As well appeareth by the cause you come:

Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.

Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object

Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

BOLINGBROKE

First—heaven be the record to my speech!—

In the devotion of a subject’s love,

Tend’ring the precious safety of my prince,

And free from other misbegotten hate,

Come I appellant to this princely presence.—

Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee;

And mark my greeting well, for what I speak

My body shall make good upon this earth

Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.

Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,

Too good to be so, and too bad to live,

Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,

The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.

Once more, the more to aggravate the note,

With a foul traitor’s name stuff I thy throat,

And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,

What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may

prove.

MOWBRAY

Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal.

’Tis not the trial of a woman’s war,

The bitter clamor of two eager tongues,

Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain.

The blood is hot that must be cooled for this.

Yet can I not of such tame patience boast

As to be hushed and naught at all to say.

First, the fair reverence of your Highness curbs me

From giving reins and spurs to my free speech,

Which else would post until it had returned

These terms of treason doubled down his throat.

Setting aside his high blood’s royalty,

And let him be no kinsman to my liege,

I do defy him, and I spit at him,

Call him a slanderous coward and a villain,

Which to maintain I would allow him odds

And meet him, were I tied to run afoot

Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps

Or any other ground inhabitable

Wherever Englishman durst set his foot.

Meantime, let this defend my loyalty:

By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.

BOLINGBROKE

, throwing down a gage

Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,

Disclaiming here the kindred of the King,

And lay aside my high blood’s royalty,

Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.

If guilty dread have left thee so much strength

As to take up mine honor’s pawn, then stoop.

By that and all the rites of knighthood else

Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,

What I have spoke or thou canst worse devise.

MOWBRAY

, picking up the gage

I take it up, and by that sword I swear

Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,

I’ll answer thee in any fair degree

Or chivalrous design of knightly trial;

And when I mount, alive may I not light

If I be traitor or unjustly fight.

KING RICHARD

What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray’s charge?

It must be great that can inherit us

So much as of a thought of ill in him.

BOLINGBROKE

Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true:

That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles

In name of lendings for your Highness’ soldiers,

The which he hath detained for lewd employments,

Like a false traitor and injurious villain.

Besides I say, and will in battle prove,

Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge

That ever was surveyed by English eye,

That all the treasons for these eighteen years

Complotted and contrivèd in this land

Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and

spring.

Further I say, and further will maintain

Upon his bad life to make all this good,

That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester’s death,

Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,

And consequently, like a traitor coward,

Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of

blood,

Which blood, like sacrificing Abel’s, cries

Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth

To me for justice and rough chastisement.

And, by the glorious worth of my descent,

This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

KING RICHARD

How high a pitch his resolution soars!—

Thomas of Norfolk, what sayst thou to this?

MOWBRAY

O, let my sovereign turn away his face

And bid his ears a little while be deaf,

Till I have told this slander of his blood

How God and good men hate so foul a liar.

KING RICHARD

Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears.

Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom’s heir,

As he is but my father’s brother’s son,

Now by my scepter’s awe I make a vow:

Such neighbor nearness to our sacred blood

Should nothing privilege him nor partialize

The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.

He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou.

Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

MOWBRAY

Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,

Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.

Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais

Disbursed I duly to his Highness’ soldiers;

The other part reserved I by consent,

For that my sovereign liege was in my debt

Upon remainder of a dear account

Since last I went to France to fetch his queen.

Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester’s death,

I slew him not, but to my own disgrace

Neglected my sworn duty in that case.—

For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,

The honorable father to my foe,

Once did I lay an ambush for your life,

A trespass that doth vex my grievèd soul.

But ere I last received the sacrament,

I did confess it, and exactly begged

Your Grace’s pardon, and I hope I had it.—

This is my fault. As for the rest appealed,

It issues from the rancor of a villain,

A recreant, and most degenerate traitor,

Which in myself I boldly will defend,

And interchangeably hurl down my gage

Upon this overweening traitor’s foot,

He throws down a gage.

To prove myself a loyal gentleman,

Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom;

In haste whereof most heartily I pray

Your Highness to assign our trial day.

Bolingbroke picks up the gage.

KING RICHARD

Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me.

Let’s purge this choler without letting blood.

This we prescribe, though no physician.

Deep malice makes too deep incision.

Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed.

Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.—

Good uncle, let this end where it begun;

We’ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.

GAUNT

To be a make-peace shall become my age.—

Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk’s gage.

KING RICHARD

And, Norfolk, throw down his.

GAUNT

When, Harry, when?

Obedience bids I should not bid again.

KING RICHARD

Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.

MOWBRAY

Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.

Mowbray kneels.

My life thou shalt command, but not my shame.

The one my duty owes, but my fair name,

Despite of death that lives upon my grave,

To dark dishonor’s use thou shalt not have.

I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here,

Pierced to the soul with slander’s venomed spear,

The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood

Which breathed this poison.

KING RICHARD

Rage must be withstood.

Give me his gage. Lions make leopards tame.

MOWBRAY

, standing

Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame

And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,

The purest treasure mortal times afford

Is spotless reputation; that away,

Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.

A jewel in a ten-times-barred-up chest

Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.

Mine honor is my life; both grow in one.

Take honor from me, and my life is done.

Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try.

In that I live, and for that will I die.

KING RICHARD

, to Bolingbroke

Cousin, throw up your gage. Do you begin.

BOLINGBROKE

O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!

Shall I seem crestfallen in my father’s sight?

Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height

Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue

Shall wound my honor with such feeble wrong,

Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear

The slavish motive of recanting fear

And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,

Where shame doth harbor, even in Mowbray’s face.

KING RICHARD

We were not born to sue, but to command,

Which, since we cannot do, to make you friends,

Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,

At Coventry upon Saint Lambert’s day.

There shall your swords and lances arbitrate

The swelling difference of your settled hate.

Since we cannot atone you, we shall see

Justice design the victor’s chivalry.—

Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms

Be ready to direct these home alarms.

They exit.

Scene 2

Enter John of Gaunt with the Duchess of Gloucester.

GAUNT

Alas, the part I had in Woodstock’s blood

Doth more solicit me than your exclaims

To stir against the butchers of his life.

But since correction lieth in those hands

Which made the fault that we cannot correct,

Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven,

Who, when they see the hours ripe on Earthearth,

Will rain hot vengeance on offenders’ heads.

DUCHESS

Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?

Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?

Edward’s seven sons, whereof thyself art one,

Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,

Or seven fair branches springing from one root.

Some of those seven are dried by nature’s course,

Some of those branches by the Destinies cut.

But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,

One vial full of Edward’s sacred blood,

One flourishing branch of his most royal root,

Is cracked, and all the precious liquor spilt,

Is hacked down, and his summer leaves all faded,

By envy’s hand and murder’s bloody ax.

Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that

womb,

That metal, that self mold that fashioned thee

Made him a man; and though thou livest and

breathest,

Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent

In some large measure to thy father’s death

In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,

Who was the model of thy father’s life.

Call it not patience, Gaunt. It is despair.

In suff’ring thus thy brother to be slaughtered,

Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,

Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.

That which in mean men we entitle patience

Is pale, cold cowardice in noble breasts.

What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life,

The best way is to venge my Gloucester’s death.

GAUNT

God’s is the quarrel; for God’s substitute,

His deputy anointed in His sight,

Hath caused his death, the which if wrongfully

Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift

An angry arm against His minister.

DUCHESS

Where, then, alas, may I complain myself?

GAUNT

To God, the widow’s champion and defense.

DUCHESS

Why then I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.

Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold

Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.

O, sit my husband’s wrongs on Hereford’s spear,

That it may enter butcher Mowbray’s breast!

Or if misfortune miss the first career,

Be Mowbray’s sins so heavy in his bosom

That they may break his foaming courser’s back

And throw the rider headlong in the lists,

A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!

Farewell, old Gaunt. Thy sometime brother’s wife

With her companion, grief, must end her life.

GAUNT

Sister, farewell. I must to Coventry.

As much good stay with thee as go with me.

DUCHESS

Yet one word more. Grief boundeth where it falls,

Not with the empty hollowness, but weight.

I take my leave before I have begun,

For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.

Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.

Lo, this is all. Nay, yet depart not so!

Though this be all, do not so quickly go;

I shall remember more. Bid him—ah, what?—

With all good speed at Plashy visit me.

Alack, and what shall good old York there see

But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls,

Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?

And what hear there for welcome but my groans?

Therefore commend me; let him not come there

To seek out sorrow that dwells everywhere.

Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die.

The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

They exit.

Scene 3

Enter Lord Marshal and the Duke of Aumerle.

MARSHAL

My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed?

AUMERLE

Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.

MARSHAL

The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,

Stays but the summons of the appellant’s trumpet.

AUMERLE

Why then, the champions are prepared, and stay

For nothing but his Majesty’s approach.

The trumpets sound and the King enters with his Nobles

and Officers; when they are set, enter Mowbray, the

Duke of Norfolk in arms, defendant, with a Herald.

KING RICHARD

Marshal, demand of yonder champion

The cause of his arrival here in arms,

Ask him his name, and orderly proceed

To swear him in the justice of his cause.

MARSHAL

, to Mowbray

In God’s name and the King’s, say who thou art

And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,

Against what man thou com’st, and what thy quarrel.

Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath,

As so defend thee heaven and thy valor.

MOWBRAY

My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

Who hither come engagèd by my oath—

Which God defend a knight should violate!—

Both to defend my loyalty and truth

To God, my king, and my succeeding issue,

Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me,

And by the grace of God and this mine arm

To prove him, in defending of myself,

A traitor to my God, my king, and me;

And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.

The trumpets sound. Enter Bolingbroke, Duke of

Hereford, appellant, in armor, with a Herald.

KING RICHARD

Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms

Both who he is and why he cometh hither

Thus plated in habiliments of war,

And formally, according to our law,

Depose him in the justice of his cause.

MARSHAL

, to Bolingbroke

What is thy name? And wherefore com’st thou hither,

Before King Richard in his royal lists?

Against whom comest thou? And what’s thy quarrel?

Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven.

BOLINGBROKE

Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby

Am I, who ready here do stand in arms

To prove, by God’s grace and my body’s valor,

In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

That he is a traitor foul and dangerous

To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.

And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.

MARSHAL

On pain of death, no person be so bold

Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,

Except the Marshal and such officers

Appointed to direct these fair designs.

BOLINGBROKE

Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign’s hand

And bow my knee before his Majesty;

For Mowbray and myself are like two men

That vow a long and weary pilgrimage.

Then let us take a ceremonious leave

And loving farewell of our several friends.

MARSHAL

, to King Richard

The appellant in all duty greets your Highness

And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.

KING RICHARD

, coming down

We will descend and fold him in our arms.

He embraces Bolingbroke.

Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,

So be thy fortune in this royal fight.

Farewell, my blood—which, if today thou shed,

Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

BOLINGBROKE

O, let no noble eye profane a tear

For me if I be gored with Mowbray’s spear.

As confident as is the falcon’s flight

Against a bird do I with Mowbray fight.

My loving lord, I take my leave of you.—

Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;

Not sick, although I have to do with death,

But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.—

Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet

The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.

O, thou the earthly author of my blood,

Whose youthful spirit in me regenerate

Doth with a twofold vigor lift me up

To reach at victory above my head,

Add proof unto mine armor with thy prayers,

And with thy blessings steel my lance’s point

That it may enter Mowbray’s waxen coat

And furbish new the name of John o’ Gaunt,

Even in the lusty havior of his son.

GAUNT

God in thy good cause make thee prosperous.

Be swift like lightning in the execution,

And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,

Fall like amazing thunder on the casque

Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.

Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.

BOLINGBROKE

Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!

MOWBRAY

However God or fortune cast my lot,

There lives or dies, true to King Richard’s throne,

A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.

Never did captive with a freer heart

Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace

His golden uncontrolled enfranchisement

More than my dancing soul doth celebrate

This feast of battle with mine adversary.

Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,

Take from my mouth the wish of happy years.

As gentle and as jocund as to jest

Go I to fight. Truth hath a quiet breast.

KING RICHARD

Farewell, my lord. Securely I espy

Virtue with valor couchèd in thine eye.—

Order the trial, marshal, and begin.

MARSHAL

Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,

Receive thy lance; and God defend the right.

He presents a lance to Bolingbroke.

BOLINGBROKE

Strong as a tower in hope, I cry

Amen!

MARSHAL

, to an Officer

Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.

An Officer presents a lance to Mowbray.

FIRST HERALD

Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby

Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,

On pain to be found false and recreant,

To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,

A traitor to his God, his king, and him,

And dares him to set forward to the fight.

SECOND HERALD

Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,

On pain to be found false and recreant,

Both to defend himself and to approve

Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby

To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,

Courageously and with a free desire

Attending but the signal to begin.

MARSHAL

Sound, trumpets, and set forward, combatants.

Trumpets sound.

Richard throws down his warder.

Stay! The King hath thrown his warder down.

KING RICHARD

Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,

And both return back to their chairs again.

To his council. Withdraw with us, and let the

trumpets sound

While we return these dukes what we decree.

Trumpets sound while Richard consults with Gaunt

and other Nobles.

To Bolingbroke and Mowbray. Draw near,

And list what with our council we have done.

For that our kingdom’s earth should not be soiled

With that dear blood which it hath fosterèd;

And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect

Of civil wounds plowed up with neighbor’s sword;

And for we think the eagle-wingèd pride

Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,

With rival-hating envy, set on you

To wake our peace, which in our country’s cradle

Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep,

Which, so roused up with boist’rous untuned

drums,

With harsh resounding trumpets’ dreadful bray,

And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,

Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace

And make us wade even in our kindred’s blood:

Therefore we banish you our territories.

You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,

Till twice five summers have enriched our fields,

Shall not regreet our fair dominions,

But tread the stranger paths of banishment.

BOLINGBROKE

Your will be done. This must my comfort be:

That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,

And those his golden beams to you here lent

Shall point on me and gild my banishment.

KING RICHARD

Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,

Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:

The sly, slow hours shall not determinate

The dateless limit of thy dear exile.

The hopeless word of

never to return

Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.

MOWBRAY

A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,

And all unlooked-for from your Highness’ mouth.

A dearer merit, not so deep a maim

As to be cast forth in the common air,

Have I deservèd at your Highness’ hands.

The language I have learnt these forty years,

My native English, now I must forgo;

And now my tongue’s use is to me no more

Than an unstringèd viol or a harp,

Or like a cunning instrument cased up,

Or, being open, put into his hands

That knows no touch to tune the harmony.

Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue,

Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips,

And dull unfeeling barren ignorance

Is made my jailor to attend on me.

I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,

Too far in years to be a pupil now.

What is thy sentence then but speechless death,

Which robs my tongue from breathing native

breath?

KING RICHARD

It boots thee not to be compassionate.

After our sentence plaining comes too late.

MOWBRAY

Then thus I turn me from my country’s light,

To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.

He begins to exit.

KING RICHARD

Return again, and take an oath with thee.

To Mowbray and Bolingbroke. Lay on our royal

sword your banished hands.

They place their right hands on the hilts of

Richard’s sword.

Swear by the duty that you owe to God—

Our part therein we banish with yourselves—

To keep the oath that we administer:

You never shall, so help you truth and God,

Embrace each other’s love in banishment,

Nor never look upon each other’s face,

Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile

This louring tempest of your homebred hate,

Nor never by advisèd purpose meet

To plot, contrive, or complot any ill

’Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

BOLINGBROKE

I swear.

MOWBRAY

And I, to keep all this.

They step back.

BOLINGBROKE

Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:

By this time, had the King permitted us,

One of our souls had wandered in the air,

Banished this frail sepulcher of our flesh,

As now our flesh is banished from this land.

Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm.

Since thou hast far to go, bear not along

The clogging burden of a guilty soul.

MOWBRAY

No, Bolingbroke; if ever I were traitor,

My name be blotted from the book of life,

And I from heaven banished as from hence.

But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know,

And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.—

Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;

Save back to England, all the world’s my way.

He exits.

KING RICHARD

, to Gaunt

Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes

I see thy grievèd heart. Thy sad aspect

Hath from the number of his banished years

Plucked four away.

To Bolingbroke. Six frozen

winters spent,

Return with welcome home from banishment.

BOLINGBROKE

How long a time lies in one little word!

Four lagging winters and four wanton springs

End in a word; such is the breath of kings.

GAUNT

I thank my liege that in regard of me

He shortens four years of my son’s exile.

But little vantage shall I reap thereby;

For, ere the six years that he hath to spend

Can change their moons and bring their times

about,

My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light

Shall be extinct with age and endless night;

My inch of taper will be burnt and done,

And blindfold death not let me see my son.

KING RICHARD

Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.

GAUNT

But not a minute, king, that thou canst give.

Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,

And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow.

Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,

But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage.

Thy word is current with him for my death,

But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.

KING RICHARD

Thy son is banished upon good advice,

Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave.

Why at our justice seem’st thou then to lour?

GAUNT

Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.

You urged me as a judge, but I had rather

You would have bid me argue like a father.

O, had it been a stranger, not my child,

To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.

A partial slander sought I to avoid,

And in the sentence my own life destroyed.

Alas, I looked when some of you should say

I was too strict, to make mine own away.

But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue

Against my will to do myself this wrong.

KING RICHARD

, to Bolingbroke

Cousin, farewell.—And, uncle, bid him so.

Six years we banish him, and he shall go.

Flourish. King Richard exits with his Attendants.

AUMERLE

, to Bolingbroke

Cousin, farewell. What presence must not know,

From where you do remain let paper show.

MARSHAL

, to Bolingbroke

My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride,

As far as land will let me, by your side.

GAUNT

, to Bolingbroke

O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,

That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?

BOLINGBROKE

I have too few to take my leave of you,

When the tongue’s office should be prodigal

To breathe the abundant dolor of the heart.

GAUNT

Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.

BOLINGBROKE

Joy absent, grief is present for that time.

GAUNT

What is six winters? They are quickly gone.

BOLINGBROKE

To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.

GAUNT

Call it a travel that thou tak’st for pleasure.

BOLINGBROKE

My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,

Which finds it an enforcèd pilgrimage.

GAUNT

The sullen passage of thy weary steps

Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set

The precious jewel of thy home return.

BOLINGBROKE

Nay, rather every tedious stride I make

Will but remember me what a deal of world

I wander from the jewels that I love.

Must I not serve a long apprenticehood

To foreign passages, and in the end,

Having my freedom, boast of nothing else

But that I was a journeyman to grief?

GAUNT

All places that the eye of heaven visits

Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.

Teach thy necessity to reason thus:

There is no virtue like necessity.

Think not the King did banish thee,

But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit

Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.

Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honor,

And not the King exiled thee; or suppose

Devouring pestilence hangs in our air

And thou art flying to a fresher clime.

Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it

To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com’st.

Suppose the singing birds musicians,

The grass whereon thou tread’st the presence

strewed,

The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more

Than a delightful measure or a dance;

For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite

The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

BOLINGBROKE

O, who can hold a fire in his hand

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?

Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite

By bare imagination of a feast?

Or wallow naked in December snow

By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat?

O no, the apprehension of the good

Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.

Fell sorrow’s tooth doth never rankle more

Than when he bites but lanceth not the sore.

GAUNT

Come, come, my son, I’ll bring thee on thy way.

Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.

BOLINGBROKE

Then, England’s ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu,

My mother and my nurse that bears me yet.

Where’er I wander, boast of this I can,

Though banished, yet a trueborn Englishman.

They exit.

Scene 4

Enter the King with Green and Bagot, at one door,

and the Lord Aumerle at another.

KING RICHARD

We did observe.—Cousin Aumerle,

How far brought you high Hereford on his way?

AUMERLE

I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,

But to the next highway, and there I left him.

KING RICHARD

And say, what store of parting tears were shed?

AUMERLE

Faith, none for me, except the northeast wind,

Which then blew bitterly against our faces,

Awaked the sleeping rheum and so by chance

Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

KING RICHARD

What said our cousin when you parted with him?

AUMERLE

Farewell.

And, for my heart disdainèd that my tongue

Should so profane the word, that taught me craft

To counterfeit oppression of such grief

That words seemed buried in my sorrow’s grave.

Marry, would the word

farewell have lengthened

hours

And added years to his short banishment,

He should have had a volume of farewells.

But since it would not, he had none of me.

KING RICHARD

He is our cousin, cousin, but ’tis doubt,

When time shall call him home from banishment,

Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.

Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,

Observed his courtship to the common people,

How he did seem to dive into their hearts

With humble and familiar courtesy,

What reverence he did throw away on slaves,

Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles

And patient underbearing of his fortune,

As ’twere to banish their affects with him.

Off goes his bonnet to an oysterwench;

A brace of draymen bid God speed him well

And had the tribute of his supple knee,

With

Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends,

As were our England in reversion his,

And he our subjects’ next degree in hope.

GREEN

Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts.

Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,

Expedient manage must be made, my liege,

Ere further leisure yield them further means

For their advantage and your Highness’ loss.

KING RICHARD

We will ourself in person to this war.

And, for our coffers, with too great a court

And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,

We are enforced to farm our royal realm,

The revenue whereof shall furnish us

For our affairs in hand. If that come short,

Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters,

Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,

They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold

And send them after to supply our wants,

For we will make for Ireland presently.

Enter Bushy.

Bushy, what news?

BUSHY

Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,

Suddenly taken, and hath sent posthaste

To entreat your Majesty to visit him.

KING RICHARD

Where lies he?

BUSHY

At Ely House.

KING RICHARD

Now put it, God, in the physician’s mind

To help him to his grave immediately!

The lining of his coffers shall make coats

To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.

Come, gentlemen, let’s all go visit him.

Pray God we may make haste and come too late.

ALL

Amen!

They exit.

ACT 2

Scene 1

Enter John of Gaunt sick, with the Duke of York, and

Attendants.

GAUNT

Will the King come, that I may breathe my last

In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?

YORK

Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath,

For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

GAUNT

O, but they say the tongues of dying men

Enforce attention like deep harmony.

Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in

vain,

For they breathe truth that breathe their words in

pain.

He that no more must say is listened more

Than they whom youth and ease have taught to

gloze.

More are men’s ends marked than their lives before.

The setting sun, and music at the close,

As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,

Writ in remembrance more than things long past.

Though Richard my life’s counsel would not hear,

My death’s sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

YORK

No, it is stopped with other flattering sounds,

As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond;

Lascivious meters, to whose venom sound

The open ear of youth doth always listen;

Report of fashions in proud Italy,

Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation

Limps after in base imitation.

Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity—

So it be new, there’s no respect how vile—

That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?

Then all too late comes counsel to be heard

Where will doth mutiny with wit’s regard.

Direct not him whose way himself will choose.

’Tis breath thou lack’st, and that breath wilt thou

lose.

GAUNT

Methinks I am a prophet new inspired,

And thus expiring do foretell of him:

His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,

For violent fires soon burn out themselves;

Small showers last long, but sudden storms are

short;

He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;

With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder;

Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,

Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.

This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle,

This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

This other Eden, demi-paradise,

This fortress built by Nature for herself

Against infection and the hand of war,

This happy breed of men, this little world,

This precious stone set in the silver sea,

Which serves it in the office of a wall,

Or as a moat defensive to a house,

Against the envy of less happier lands,

This blessèd plot, this earth, this realm, this

England,

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,

Feared by their breed and famous by their birth,

Renownèd for their deeds as far from home

For Christian service and true chivalry

As is the sepulcher in stubborn Jewry

Of the world’s ransom, blessèd Mary’s son,

This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,

Dear for her reputation through the world,

Is now leased out—I die pronouncing it—

Like to a tenement or pelting farm.

England, bound in with the triumphant sea,

Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege

Of wat’ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame,

With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds.

That England that was wont to conquer others

Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,

How happy then were my ensuing death!

Enter King and Queen, Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot,

Ross, Willoughby, etc.

YORK

The King is come. Deal mildly with his youth,

For young hot colts being reined do rage the more.

QUEEN

, to Gaunt

How fares our noble uncle Lancaster?

KING RICHARD

, to Gaunt

What comfort, man? How is ’t with agèd Gaunt?

GAUNT

O, how that name befits my composition!

Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old.

Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast,

And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?

For sleeping England long time have I watched;

Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt.

The pleasure that some fathers feed upon

Is my strict fast—I mean my children’s looks—

And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt.

Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,

Whose hollow womb inherits naught but bones.

KING RICHARD

Can sick men play so nicely with their names?

GAUNT

No, misery makes sport to mock itself.

Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,

I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.

KING RICHARD

Should dying men flatter with those that live?

GAUNT

No, no, men living flatter those that die.

KING RICHARD

Thou, now a-dying, sayest thou flatterest me.

GAUNT

O, no, thou diest, though I the sicker be.

KING RICHARD

I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

GAUNT

Now He that made me knows I see thee ill,

Ill in myself to see, and in thee, seeing ill.

Thy deathbed is no lesser than thy land,

Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;

And thou, too careless-patient as thou art,

Commit’st thy anointed body to the cure

Of those physicians that first wounded thee.

A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,

Whose compass is no bigger than thy head,

And yet encagèd in so small a verge,

The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.

O, had thy grandsire with a prophet’s eye

Seen how his son’s son should destroy his sons,

From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,

Deposing thee before thou wert possessed,

Which art possessed now to depose thyself.

Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,

It were a shame to let this land by lease;

But, for thy world enjoying but this land,

Is it not more than shame to shame it so?

Landlord of England art thou now, not king.

Thy state of law is bondslave to the law,

And thou—

KING RICHARD

A lunatic lean-witted fool,

Presuming on an ague’s privilege,

Darest with thy frozen admonition

Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood

With fury from his native residence.

Now, by my seat’s right royal majesty,

Wert thou not brother to great Edward’s son,

This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head

Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.

GAUNT

O, spare me not, my brother Edward’s son,

For that I was his father Edward’s son!

That blood already, like the pelican,

Hast thou tapped out and drunkenly caroused.

My brother Gloucester—plain, well-meaning soul,

Whom fair befall in heaven ’mongst happy souls—

May be a precedent and witness good

That thou respect’st not spilling Edward’s blood.

Join with the present sickness that I have,

And thy unkindness be like crooked age

To crop at once a too-long withered flower.

Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!

These words hereafter thy tormentors be!—

Convey me to my bed, then to my grave.

Love they to live that love and honor have.

He exits, carried off by Attendants.

KING RICHARD

And let them die that age and sullens have,

For both hast thou, and both become the grave.

YORK

I do beseech your Majesty, impute his words

To wayward sickliness and age in him.

He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear

As Harry, Duke of Hereford, were he here.

KING RICHARD

Right, you say true: as Hereford’s love, so his;

As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

Enter Northumberland.

NORTHUMBERLAND

My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty.

KING RICHARD

What says he?

NORTHUMBERLAND

Nay, nothing; all is said.

His tongue is now a stringless instrument;

Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

YORK

Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

KING RICHARD

The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;

His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.

So much for that. Now for our Irish wars:

We must supplant those rough rugheaded kern,

Which live like venom where no venom else

But only they have privilege to live.

And, for these great affairs do ask some charge,

Towards our assistance we do seize to us

The plate, coin, revenues, and movables

Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possessed.

YORK

How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long

Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?

Not Gloucester’s death, nor Hereford’s banishment,

Nor Gaunt’s rebukes, nor England’s private wrongs,

Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke

About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,

Have ever made me sour my patient cheek

Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign’s face.

I am the last of noble Edward’s sons,

Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.

In war was never lion raged more fierce,

In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,

Than was that young and princely gentleman.

His face thou hast, for even so looked he,

Accomplished with the number of thy hours;

But when he frowned, it was against the French

And not against his friends. His noble hand

Did win what he did spend, and spent not that

Which his triumphant father’s hand had won.

His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,

But bloody with the enemies of his kin.

O, Richard! York is too far gone with grief,

Or else he never would compare between.

KING RICHARD

Why, uncle, what’s the matter?

YORK

O, my liege,

Pardon me if you please. If not, I, pleased

Not to be pardoned, am content withal.

Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands

The royalties and rights of banished Hereford?

Is not Gaunt dead? And doth not Hereford live?

Was not Gaunt just? And is not Harry true?

Did not the one deserve to have an heir?

Is not his heir a well-deserving son?

Take Hereford’s rights away, and take from time

His charters and his customary rights;

Let not tomorrow then ensue today;

Be not thyself; for how art thou a king

But by fair sequence and succession?

Now afore God—God forbid I say true!—

If you do wrongfully seize Hereford’s rights,

Call in the letters patents that he hath

By his attorneys general to sue

His livery, and deny his offered homage,

You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,

You lose a thousand well-disposèd hearts,

And prick my tender patience to those thoughts

Which honor and allegiance cannot think.

KING RICHARD

Think what you will, we seize into our hands

His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.

YORK

I’ll not be by the while. My liege, farewell.

What will ensue hereof there’s none can tell;

But by bad courses may be understood

That their events can never fall out good.

He exits.

KING RICHARD

Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight.

Bid him repair to us to Ely House

To see this business. Tomorrow next

We will for Ireland, and ’tis time, I trow.

And we create, in absence of ourself,

Our uncle York Lord Governor of England,

For he is just and always loved us well.—

Come on, our queen. Tomorrow must we part.

Be merry, for our time of stay is short.

King and Queen exit with others;

Northumberland, Willoughby, and Ross remain.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

ROSS

And living too, for now his son is duke.

WILLOUGHBY

Barely in title, not in revenues.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Richly in both, if justice had her right.

ROSS

My heart is great, but it must break with silence

Ere ’t be disburdened with a liberal tongue.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Nay, speak thy mind, and let him ne’er speak more

That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!

WILLOUGHBY

, to Ross

Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of

Hereford?

If it be so, out with it boldly, man.

Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.

ROSS

No good at all that I can do for him,

Unless you call it good to pity him,

Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Now, afore God, ’tis shame such wrongs are borne

In him, a royal prince, and many more

Of noble blood in this declining land.

The King is not himself, but basely led

By flatterers; and what they will inform

Merely in hate ’gainst any of us all,

That will the King severely prosecute

’Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

ROSS

The commons hath he pilled with grievous taxes,

And quite lost their hearts. The nobles hath he fined

For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

WILLOUGHBY

And daily new exactions are devised,

As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what.

But what i’ God’s name doth become of this?

NORTHUMBERLAND

Wars hath not wasted it, for warred he hath not,

But basely yielded upon compromise

That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows.

More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.

ROSS

The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

WILLOUGHBY

The King grown bankrupt like a broken man.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.

ROSS

He hath not money for these Irish wars,

His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,

But by the robbing of the banished duke.

NORTHUMBERLAND

His noble kinsman. Most degenerate king!

But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,

Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm;

We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,

And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

ROSS

We see the very wrack that we must suffer,

And unavoided is the danger now

For suffering so the causes of our wrack.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Not so. Even through the hollow eyes of death

I spy life peering; but I dare not say

How near the tidings of our comfort is.

WILLOUGHBY

Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.

ROSS

Be confident to speak, Northumberland.

We three are but thyself, and speaking so

Thy words are but as thoughts. Therefore be bold.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc,

A bay in Brittany, received intelligence

That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord

Cobham,

That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,

His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,

Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,

Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis

Coint—

All these well furnished by the Duke of Brittany

With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,

Are making hither with all due expedience

And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.

Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay

The first departing of the King for Ireland.

If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,

Imp out our drooping country’s broken wing,

Redeem from broking pawn the blemished crown,

Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter’s gilt,

And make high majesty look like itself,

Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh.

But if you faint, as fearing to do so,

Stay and be secret, and myself will go.

ROSS

To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.

WILLOUGHBY

Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

They exit.

Scene 2

Enter the Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.

BUSHY

Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.

You promised, when you parted with the King,

To lay aside life-harming heaviness

And entertain a cheerful disposition.

QUEEN

To please the King I did; to please myself

I cannot do it. Yet I know no cause

Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,

Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest

As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks

Some unborn sorrow ripe in Fortune’s womb

Is coming towards me, and my inward soul

With nothing trembles. At some thing it grieves

More than with parting from my lord the King.

BUSHY

Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows

Which shows like grief itself but is not so;

For sorrow’s eyes, glazed with blinding tears,

Divides one thing entire to many objects,

Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon

Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry

Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,

Looking awry upon your lord’s departure,

Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail,

Which, looked on as it is, is naught but shadows

Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,

More than your lord’s departure weep not. More is

not seen,

Or if it be, ’tis with false sorrow’s eye,

Which for things true weeps things imaginary.

QUEEN

It may be so, but yet my inward soul

Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe’er it be,

I cannot but be sad—so heavy sad

As thought, on thinking on no thought I think,

Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

BUSHY

’Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

QUEEN

’Tis nothing less. Conceit is still derived

From some forefather grief. Mine is not so,

For nothing hath begot my something grief—

Or something hath the nothing that I grieve.

’Tis in reversion that I do possess,

But what it is that is not yet known what,

I cannot name. ’Tis nameless woe, I wot.

Enter Green.

GREEN

God save your Majesty!—And well met, gentlemen.

I hope the King is not yet shipped for Ireland.

QUEEN

Why hopest thou so? ’Tis better hope he is,

For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.

Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipped?

GREEN

That he, our hope, might have retired his power

And driven into despair an enemy’s hope,

Who strongly hath set footing in this land.

The banished Bolingbroke repeals himself

And with uplifted arms is safe arrived

At Ravenspurgh.

QUEEN

Now God in heaven forbid!

GREEN

Ah, madam, ’tis too true. And that is worse,

The Lord Northumberland, his son young Harry

Percy,

The Lords of Ross, Beaumont, and Willoughby,

With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

BUSHY

Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland

And all the rest revolted faction traitors?

GREEN

We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester

Hath broken his staff, resigned his stewardship,

And all the Household servants fled with him

To Bolingbroke.

QUEEN

So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,

And Bolingbroke my sorrow’s dismal heir.

Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,

And I, a gasping new-delivered mother,

Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined.

BUSHY

Despair not, madam.

QUEEN

Who shall hinder me?

I will despair, and be at enmity

With cozening hope. He is a flatterer,

A parasite, a keeper-back of death,

Who gently would dissolve the bands of life

Which false hope lingers in extremity.

Enter York.

GREEN

Here comes the Duke of York.

QUEEN

With signs of war about his agèd neck.

O, full of careful business are his looks!—

Uncle, for God’s sake speak comfortable words.

YORK

Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.

Comfort’s in heaven, and we are on the Earthearth,

Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.

Your husband, he is gone to save far off

Whilst others come to make him lose at home.

Here am I left to underprop his land,

Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.

Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;

Now shall he try his friends that flattered him.

Enter a Servingman.

SERVINGMAN

My lord, your son was gone before I came.

YORK

He was? Why, so go all which way it will.

The nobles they are fled;, the commons they are

cold,

And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford’s side.

Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;

Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.

Hold, take my ring.

SERVINGMAN

My lord, I had forgot to tell your Lordship:

Today as I came by I callèd there—

But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

YORK

What is ’t, knave?

SERVINGMAN

An hour before I came, the Duchess died.

YORK

God for His mercy, what a tide of woes

Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!

I know not what to do. I would to God,

So my untruth had not provoked him to it,

The King had cut off my head with my brother’s!

What, are there no posts dispatched for Ireland?

How shall we do for money for these wars?—

Come, sister—cousin I would say, pray pardon

me.—

Go, fellow, get thee home. Provide some carts

And bring away the armor that is there.

Servingman exits.

Gentlemen, will you go muster men?

If I know how or which way to order these affairs

Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,

Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.

T’ one is my sovereign, whom both my oath

And duty bids defend; t’ other again

Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged,

Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.

Well, somewhat we must do.

To Queen. Come,

cousin,

I’ll dispose of you.—Gentlemen, go muster up your

men

And meet me presently at Berkeley.

I should to Plashy too,

But time will not permit. All is uneven,

And everything is left at six and seven.

Duke of York and Queen exit.

Bushy, Green, and Bagot remain.

BUSHY

The wind sits fair for news to go for Ireland,

But none returns. For us to levy power

Proportionable to the enemy

Is all unpossible.

GREEN

Besides, our nearness to the King in love

Is near the hate of those love not the King.

BAGOT

And that is the wavering commons, for their love

Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them

By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

BUSHY

Wherein the King stands generally condemned.

BAGOT

If judgment lie in them, then so do we,

Because we ever have been near the King.

GREEN

Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow Castle.

The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

BUSHY

Thither will I with you, for little office

Will the hateful commons perform for us,

Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.—

Will you go along with us?

BAGOT

No, I will to Ireland to his Majesty.

Farewell. If heart’s presages be not vain,

We three here part that ne’er shall meet again.

BUSHY

That’s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

GREEN

Alas, poor duke, the task he undertakes

Is numb’ring sands and drinking oceans dry.

Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.

Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.

BUSHY

Well, we may meet again.

BAGOT

I fear me, never.

They exit.

Scene 3

Enter Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, and

Northumberland.

BOLINGBROKE

How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

NORTHUMBERLAND

Believe me, noble lord,

I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.

These high wild hills and rough uneven ways

Draws out our miles and makes them wearisome.

And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,

Making the hard way sweet and delectable.

But I bethink me what a weary way

From Ravenspurgh to Cotshall will be found

In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,

Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled

The tediousness and process of my travel.

But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have

The present benefit which I possess,

And hope to joy is little less in joy

Than hope enjoyed. By this the weary lords

Shall make their way seem short as mine hath done

By sight of what I have, your noble company.

BOLINGBROKE

Of much less value is my company

Than your good words. But who comes here?

Enter Harry Percy.

NORTHUMBERLAND

It is my son, young Harry Percy,

Sent from my brother Worcester whencesoever.—

Harry, how fares your uncle?

PERCY

I had thought, my lord, to have learned his health of

you.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Why, is he not with the Queen?

PERCY

No, my good lord, he hath forsook the court,

Broken his staff of office, and dispersed

The Household of the King.

NORTHUMBERLAND

What was his reason? He was not so resolved

When last we spake together.

PERCY

Because your Lordship was proclaimèd traitor.

But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh

To offer service to the Duke of Hereford,

And sent me over by Berkeley to discover

What power the Duke of York had levied there,

Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?

PERCY

No, my good lord, for that is not forgot

Which ne’er I did remember. To my knowledge

I never in my life did look on him.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Then learn to know him now. This is the Duke.

PERCY

, to Bolingbroke

My gracious lord, I tender you my service,

Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,

Which elder days shall ripen and confirm

To more approvèd service and desert.

BOLINGBROKE

I thank thee, gentle Percy, and be sure

I count myself in nothing else so happy

As in a soul rememb’ring my good friends;

And as my fortune ripens with thy love,

It shall be still thy true love’s recompense.

My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.

Gives Percy his hand.

NORTHUMBERLAND

, to Percy

How far is it to Berkeley, and what stir

Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

PERCY

There stands the castle by yon tuft of trees,

Manned with three hundred men, as I have heard,

And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and

Seymour,

None else of name and noble estimate.

Enter Ross and Willoughby.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,

Bloody with spurring, fiery red with haste.

BOLINGBROKE

Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues

A banished traitor. All my treasury

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enriched,

Shall be your love and labor’s recompense.

ROSS

Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

WILLOUGHBY

And far surmounts our labor to attain it.

BOLINGBROKE

Evermore thank’s the exchequer of the poor,

Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,

Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

Enter Berkeley.

NORTHUMBERLAND

It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.

BERKELEY

, to Bolingbroke

My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.

BOLINGBROKE

My lord, my answer is—to

Lancaster;

And I am come to seek that name in England.

And I must find that title in your tongue

Before I make reply to aught you say.

BERKELEY

Mistake me not, my lord, ’tis not my meaning

To rase one title of your honor out.

To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,

From the most gracious regent of this land,

The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on

To take advantage of the absent time,

And fright our native peace with self-borne arms.

Enter York.

BOLINGBROKE

I shall not need transport my words by you.

Here comes his Grace in person.

He kneels.

My noble uncle.

YORK

Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,

Whose duty is deceivable and false.

BOLINGBROKE

, standing

My gracious uncle—

YORK

Tut, tut!

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.

I am no traitor’s uncle, and that word

grace

In an ungracious mouth is but profane.

Why have those banished and forbidden legs

Dared once to touch a dust of England’s ground?

But then, more why: why have they dared to march

So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,

Frighting her pale-faced villages with war

And ostentation of despisèd arms?

Com’st thou because the anointed king is hence?

Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind

And in my loyal bosom lies his power.

Were I but now lord of such hot youth

As when brave Gaunt thy father and myself

Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,

From forth the ranks of many thousand French,

O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine,

Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee

And minister correction to thy fault!

BOLINGBROKE

My gracious uncle, let me know my fault.

On what condition stands it and wherein?

YORK

Even in condition of the worst degree,

In gross rebellion and detested treason.

Thou art a banished man, and here art come,

Before the expiration of thy time,

In braving arms against thy sovereign.

BOLINGBROKE

As I was banished, I was banished Hereford,

But as I come, I come for Lancaster.

And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace

Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.

You are my father, for methinks in you

I see old Gaunt alive. O, then, my father,

Will you permit that I shall stand condemned

A wandering vagabond, my rights and royalties

Plucked from my arms perforce and given away

To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?

If that my cousin king be king in England,

It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.

You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin.

Had you first died and he been thus trod down,

He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father

To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.

I am denied to sue my livery here,

And yet my letters patents give me leave.

My father’s goods are all distrained and sold,

And these, and all, are all amiss employed.

What would you have me do? I am a subject,

And I challenge law. Attorneys are denied me,

And therefore personally I lay my claim

To my inheritance of free descent.

NORTHUMBERLAND

, to York

The noble duke hath been too much abused.

ROSS

, to York

It stands your Grace upon to do him right.

WILLOUGHBY

, to York

Base men by his endowments are made great.

YORK

My lords of England, let me tell you this:

I have had feeling of my cousin’s wrongs

And labored all I could to do him right.

But in this kind to come, in braving arms,

Be his own carver, and cut out his way

To find out right with wrong, it may not be.

And you that do abet him in this kind

Cherish rebellion and are rebels all.

NORTHUMBERLAND

The noble duke hath sworn his coming is

But for his own, and for the right of that

We all have strongly sworn to give him aid.

And let him never see joy that breaks that oath.

YORK

Well, well. I see the issue of these arms.

I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,

Because my power is weak and all ill-left.

But if I could, by Him that gave me life,

I would attach you all and make you stoop

Unto the sovereign mercy of the King.

But since I cannot, be it known unto you

I do remain as neuter. So fare you well—

Unless you please to enter in the castle

And there repose you for this night.

BOLINGBROKE

An offer, uncle, that we will accept.

But we must win your Grace to go with us

To Bristow Castle, which they say is held

By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,

The caterpillars of the commonwealth,

Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.

YORK

It may be I will go with you; but yet I’ll pause,

For I am loath to break our country’s laws.

Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are.

Things past redress are now with me past care.

They exit.

Scene 4

Enter Earl of Salisbury and a Welsh Captain.

WELSH CAPTAIN

My Lord of Salisbury, we have stayed ten days

And hardly kept our countrymen together,

And yet we hear no tidings from the King.

Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.

SALISBURY

Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman.

The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.

WELSH CAPTAIN

’Tis thought the King is dead. We will not stay.

The bay trees in our country are all withered,

And meteors fright the fixèd stars of heaven;

The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the Earthearth,

And lean-looked prophets whisper fearful change;

Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,

The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,

The other to enjoy by rage and war.

These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.

Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled,

As well assured Richard their king is dead.

He exits.

SALISBURY

Ah, Richard! With the eyes of heavy mind

I see thy glory like a shooting star

Fall to the base earth from the firmament.

Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,

Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest.

Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,

And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

He exits.

ACT 3

Scene 1

Enter Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, York,

Northumberland, with other Lords, and Bushy and

Green prisoners.

BOLINGBROKE

Bring forth these men.—

Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls,

Since presently your souls must part your bodies,

With too much urging your pernicious lives,

For ’twere no charity; yet to wash your blood

From off my hands, here in the view of men

I will unfold some causes of your deaths:

You have misled a prince, a royal king,

A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments

By you unhappied and disfigured clean.

You have in manner with your sinful hours

Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him,

Broke the possession of a royal bed,

And stained the beauty of a fair queen’s cheeks

With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.

Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,

Near to the King in blood, and near in love

Till you did make him misinterpret me,

Have stooped my neck under your injuries

And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds,

Eating the bitter bread of banishment,

Whilst you have fed upon my seigniories,

Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods,

From my own windows torn my household coat,

Rased out my imprese, leaving me no sign,

Save men’s opinions and my living blood,

To show the world I am a gentleman.

This and much more, much more than twice all

this,

Condemns you to the death.—See them delivered

over

To execution and the hand of death.

BUSHY

More welcome is the stroke of death to me

Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.

GREEN

My comfort is that heaven will take our souls

And plague injustice with the pains of hell.

BOLINGBROKE

My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatched.

Northumberland exits with Bushy and Green.

To York. Uncle, you say the Queen is at your

house.

For God’s sake, fairly let her be entreated.

Tell her I send to her my kind commends.

Take special care my greetings be delivered.

YORK

A gentleman of mine I have dispatched

With letters of your love to her at large.

BOLINGBROKE

Thanks, gentle uncle.—Come, lords, away,

To fight with Glendower and his complices.

A while to work, and after holiday.

They exit.

Scene 2

Drums. Flourish and colors. Enter the King, Aumerle,

Carlisle, and Soldiers.

KING RICHARD

Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand?

AUMERLE

Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air

After your late tossing on the breaking seas?

KING RICHARD

Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy

To stand upon my kingdom once again.

He kneels.

Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,

Though rebels wound thee with their horses’ hoofs.

As a long-parted mother with her child

Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,

So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,

And do thee favors with my royal hands.

Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth,

Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense,

But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,

And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,

Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet

Which with usurping steps do trample thee.

Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies,

And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,

Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,

Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch

Throw death upon thy sovereign’s enemies.

Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.

This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones

Prove armèd soldiers, ere her native king

Shall falter under foul rebellion’s arms.

CARLISLE

Fear not, my lord. That power that made you king

Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.

The means that heavens yield must be embraced

And not neglected. Else heaven would,

And we will not—heaven’s offer we refuse,

The proffered means of succor and redress.

AUMERLE

He means, my lord, that we are too remiss,

Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,

Grows strong and great in substance and in power.

KING RICHARD

Discomfortable cousin, know’st thou not

That when the searching eye of heaven is hid

Behind the globe that lights the lower world,

Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen

In murders and in outrage boldly here?

But when from under this terrestrial ball

He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines

And darts his light through every guilty hole,

Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,

The cloak of night being plucked from off their

backs,

Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.

So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke,

Who all this while hath reveled in the night

Whilst we were wand’ring with the Antipodes,

Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,

His treasons will sit blushing in his face,

Not able to endure the sight of day,

But self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea

Can wash the balm off from an anointed king.

The breath of worldly men cannot depose

The deputy elected by the Lord.

For every man that Bolingbroke hath pressed

To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,

God for His Richard hath in heavenly pay

A glorious angel. Then, if angels fight,

Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.

Enter Salisbury.

Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?

SALISBURY

Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,

Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue

And bids me speak of nothing but despair.

One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,

Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.

O, call back yesterday, bid time return,

And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men.

Today, today, unhappy day too late,

Overthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;

For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,.

Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed, and fled.

AUMERLE

Comfort, my liege. Why looks your Grace so pale?

KING RICHARD

But now the blood of twenty thousand men

Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;

And till so much blood thither come again

Have I not reason to look pale and dead?

All souls that will be safe, fly from my side,

For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

AUMERLE

Comfort, my liege. Remember who you are.

KING RICHARD

I had forgot myself. Am I not king?

Awake, thou coward majesty, thou sleepest!

Is not the King’s name twenty thousand names?

Arm, arm, my name! A puny subject strikes

At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,

You favorites of a king. Are we not high?

High be our thoughts. I know my Uncle York

Hath power enough to serve our turn.—But who

comes here?

Enter Scroop.

SCROOP

More health and happiness betide my liege

Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him.

KING RICHARD

Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared.

The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.

Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, ’twas my care,

And what loss is it to be rid of care?

Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?

Greater he shall not be. If he serve God,

We’ll serve Him too, and be his fellow so.

Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend.

They break their faith to God as well as us.

Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay.

The worst is death, and death will have his day.

SCROOP

Glad am I that your Highness is so armed

To bear the tidings of calamity.

Like an unseasonable stormy day

Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores

As if the world were all dissolved to tears,

So high above his limits swells the rage

Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land

With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.

Whitebeards have armed their thin and hairless

scalps

Against thy Majesty; boys with women’s voices

Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints

In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown;

Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows

Of double-fatal yew against thy state.

Yea, distaff women manage rusty bills

Against thy seat. Both young and old rebel,

And all goes worse than I have power to tell.

KING RICHARD

Too well, too well thou tell’st a tale so ill.

Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?

What is become of Bushy? Where is Green,

That they have let the dangerous enemy

Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?

If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it!

I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.

SCROOP

Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.

KING RICHARD

O villains, vipers, damned without redemption!

Dogs easily won to fawn on any man!

Snakes in my heart blood warmed, that sting my

heart!

Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!

Would they make peace? Terrible hell

Make war upon their spotted souls for this!

SCROOP

Sweet love, I see, changing his property,

Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.

Again uncurse their souls. Their peace is made

With heads and not with hands. Those whom you

curse

Have felt the worst of death’s destroying wound

And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground.

AUMERLE

Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?

SCROOP

Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads.

AUMERLE

Where is the Duke my father with his power?

KING RICHARD

No matter where. Of comfort no man speak.

Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,

Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes

Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.

Let’s choose executors and talk of wills.

And yet not so, for what can we bequeath

Save our deposèd bodies to the ground?

Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke’s,

And nothing can we call our own but death

And that small model of the barren earth

Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.

For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground

And tell sad stories of the death of kings—

How some have been deposed, some slain in war,

Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,

Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed,

All murdered. For within the hollow crown

That rounds the mortal temples of a king

Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits,

Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,

Allowing him a breath, a little scene,

To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks,

Infusing him with self and vain conceit,

As if this flesh which walls about our life

Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,

Comes at the last and with a little pin

Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!

Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood

With solemn reverence. Throw away respect,

Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,

For you have but mistook me all this while.

I live with bread like you, feel want,

Taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus,

How can you say to me I am a king?

CARLISLE

My lord, wise men ne’er sit and wail their woes,

But presently prevent the ways to wail.

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,

Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe,

And so your follies fight against yourself.

Fear, and be slain—no worse can come to fight;

And fight and die is death destroying death,

Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.

AUMERLE

My father hath a power. Inquire of him,

And learn to make a body of a limb.

KING RICHARD

Thou chid’st me well.—Proud Bolingbroke, I come

To change blows with thee for our day of doom.—

This ague fit of fear is overblown.

An easy task it is to win our own.—

Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?

Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.

SCROOP

Men judge by the complexion of the sky

The state and inclination of the day;

So may you by my dull and heavy eye.

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.

I play the torturer by small and small

To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken.

Your uncle York is joined with Bolingbroke,

And all your northern castles yielded up,

And all your southern gentlemen in arms

Upon his party.

KING RICHARD

Thou hast said enough.

To Aumerle. Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst

lead me forth

Of that sweet way I was in to despair.

What say you now? What comfort have we now?

By heaven, I’ll hate him everlastingly

That bids me be of comfort anymore.

Go to Flint Castle. There I’ll pine away;

A king, woe’s slave, shall kingly woe obey.

That power I have, discharge, and let them go

To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,

For I have none. Let no man speak again

To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

AUMERLE

My liege, one word.

KING RICHARD

He does me double wrong

That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.

Discharge my followers. Let them hence away,

From Richard’s night to Bolingbroke’s fair day.

They exit.

Scene 3

Enter with

Drum and Colors Bolingbroke, York,

Northumberland, with Soldiers and Attendants.

BOLINGBROKE

So that by this intelligence we learn

The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury

Is gone to meet the King, who lately landed

With some few private friends upon this coast.

NORTHUMBERLAND

The news is very fair and good, my lord:

Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.

YORK

It would beseem the Lord Northumberland

To say

King Richard. Alack the heavy day

When such a sacred king should hide his head!

NORTHUMBERLAND

Your Grace mistakes; only to be brief

Left I his title out.

YORK

The time hath been, would you have been so brief

with him,

He would have been so brief to shorten you,

For taking so the head, your whole head’s length.

BOLINGBROKE

Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.

YORK

Take not, good cousin, further than you should,

Lest you mistake. The heavens are over our heads.

BOLINGBROKE

I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself

Against their will. But who comes here?

Enter Percy.

Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?

PERCY

The castle royally is manned, my lord,

Against thy entrance.

BOLINGBROKE

Royally? Why, it contains no king.

PERCY

Yes, my good lord,

It doth contain a king. King Richard lies

Within the limits of yon lime and stone,

And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,

Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman

Of holy reverence—who, I cannot learn.

NORTHUMBERLAND

O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.

BOLINGBROKE

, to Northumberland

Noble lord,

Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle,

Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley

Into his ruined ears, and thus deliver:

Henry Bolingbroke

On both his knees doth kiss King Richard’s hand,

And sends allegiance and true faith of heart

To his most royal person, hither come

Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,

Provided that my banishment repealed

And lands restored again be freely granted.

If not, I’ll use the advantage of my power

And lay the summer’s dust with showers of blood

Rained from the wounds of slaughtered

Englishmen—

The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke

It is such crimson tempest should bedrench

The fresh green lap of fair King Richard’s land,

My stooping duty tenderly shall show.

Go signify as much while here we march

Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.

Northumberland and Trumpets

approach the battlements.

Let’s march without the noise of threat’ning drum,

That from this castle’s tottered battlements

Our fair appointments may be well perused.

Methinks King Richard and myself should meet

With no less terror than the elements

Of fire and water when their thund’ring shock

At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.

Be he the fire, I’ll be the yielding water;

The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain

My waters—on the earth, and not on him.

March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.

Bolingbroke’s Soldiers march,

the trumpets sound.

Richard appeareth on the walls with Aumerle.

See, see, King Richard doth himself appear

As doth the blushing discontented sun

From out the fiery portal of the east

When he perceives the envious clouds are bent

To dim his glory and to stain the track

Of his bright passage to the occident.

YORK

Yet looks he like a king. Behold, his eye,

As bright as is the eagle’s, lightens forth

Controlling majesty. Alack, alack for woe

That any harm should stain so fair a show!

KING RICHARD

, to Northumberland, below

We are amazed, and thus long have we stood

To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,

Because we thought ourself thy lawful king.

An if we be, how dare thy joints forget

To pay their awful duty to our presence?

If we be not, show us the hand of God

That hath dismissed us from our stewardship,

For well we know no hand of blood and bone

Can gripe the sacred handle of our scepter,

Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.

And though you think that all, as you have done,

Have torn their souls by turning them from us,

And we are barren and bereft of friends,

Yet know, my master, God omnipotent,

Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf

Armies of pestilence, and they shall strike

Your children yet unborn and unbegot,

That lift your vassal hands against my head

And threat the glory of my precious crown.

Tell Bolingbroke—for yon methinks he stands—

That every stride he makes upon my land

Is dangerous treason. He is come to open

The purple testament of bleeding war;

But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,

Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers’ sons

Shall ill become the flower of England’s face,

Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace

To scarlet indignation, and bedew

Her pastures’ grass with faithful English blood.

NORTHUMBERLAND

The King of heaven forbid our lord the King

Should so with civil and uncivil arms

Be rushed upon! Thy thrice-noble cousin,

Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand,

And by the honorable tomb he swears

That stands upon your royal grandsire’s bones,

And by the royalties of both your bloods,

Currents that spring from one most gracious head,

And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,

And by the worth and honor of himself,

Comprising all that may be sworn or said,

His coming hither hath no further scope

Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg

Enfranchisement immediate on his knees;

Which on thy royal party granted once,

His glittering arms he will commend to rust,

His barbèd steeds to stables, and his heart

To faithful service of your Majesty.

This swears he, as he is a prince and just,

And as I am a gentleman I credit him.

KING RICHARD

Northumberland, say thus the King returns:

His noble cousin is right welcome hither,

And all the number of his fair demands

Shall be accomplished without contradiction.

With all the gracious utterance thou hast,

Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.

Northumberland returns to Bolingbroke.

To Aumerle. We do debase ourselves, cousin, do

we not,

To look so poorly and to speak so fair?

Shall we call back Northumberland and send

Defiance to the traitor and so die?

AUMERLE

No, good my lord, let’s fight with gentle words,

Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful

swords.

KING RICHARD

O God, O God, that e’er this tongue of mine

That laid the sentence of dread banishment

On yon proud man should take it off again

With words of sooth! O, that I were as great

As is my grief, or lesser than my name!

Or that I could forget what I have been,

Or not remember what I must be now.

Swell’st thou, proud heart? I’ll give thee scope to

beat,

Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.

AUMERLE

Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.

KING RICHARD

What must the King do now? Must he submit?

The King shall do it. Must he be deposed?

The King shall be contented. Must he lose

The name of king? I’ God’s name, let it go.

I’ll give my jewels for a set of beads,

My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,

My gay apparel for an almsman’s gown,

My figured goblets for a dish of wood,

My scepter for a palmer’s walking-staff,

My subjects for a pair of carvèd saints,

And my large kingdom for a little grave,

A little, little grave, an obscure grave;

Or I’ll be buried in the King’s highway,

Some way of common trade, where subjects’ feet

May hourly trample on their sovereign’s head;

For on my heart they tread now whilst I live,

And, buried once, why not upon my head?

Aumerle, thou weep’st, my tender-hearted cousin.

We’ll make foul weather with despisèd tears;

Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn

And make a dearth in this revolting land.

Or shall we play the wantons with our woes

And make some pretty match with shedding tears?

As thus, to drop them still upon one place

Till they have fretted us a pair of graves

Within the earth; and therein laid—there lies

Two kinsmen digged their graves with weeping eyes.

Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see

I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.

Northumberland approaches the battlements.

Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,

What says King Bolingbroke? Will his Majesty

Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?

You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.

NORTHUMBERLAND

My lord, in the base court he doth attend

To speak with you, may it please you to come down.

KING RICHARD

Down, down I come, like glist’ring Phaëton,

Wanting the manage of unruly jades.

In the base court—base court, where kings grow

base,

To come at traitors’ calls and do them grace.

In the base court come down—down court, down

king,

For nightowls shriek where mounting larks should

sing.

Richard exits above

and

Northumberland returns to Bolingbroke.

BOLINGBROKE

What says his Majesty?

NORTHUMBERLAND

Sorrow and grief of heart

Makes him speak fondly like a frantic man,

Yet he is come.

Richard enters below.

BOLINGBROKE

Stand all apart,

And show fair duty to his Majesty.

He kneels down.

My gracious lord.

KING RICHARD

Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee

To make the base earth proud with kissing it.

Me rather had my heart might feel your love

Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy.

Up, cousin, up. Your heart is up, I know,

Thus high at least

indicating his crown, although

your knee be low.

BOLINGBROKE

, standing

My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.

KING RICHARD

Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.

BOLINGBROKE

So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,

As my true service shall deserve your love.

KING RICHARD

Well you deserve. They well deserve to have

That know the strong’st and surest way to get.—

Uncle, give me your hands. Nay, dry your eyes.

Tears show their love but want their remedies.—

Cousin, I am too young to be your father,

Though you are old enough to be my heir.

What you will have I’ll give, and willing, too,

For do we must what force will have us do.

Set on towards London, cousin, is it so?

BOLINGBROKE

Yea, my good lord.

KING RICHARD

Then I must not say no.

They exit.

Scene 4

Enter the Queen with her Ladies-in-waiting.

QUEEN

What sport shall we devise here in this garden

To drive away the heavy thought of care?

LADY

Madam, we’ll play at bowls.

QUEEN

’Twill make me think the world is full of rubs

And that my fortune runs against the bias.

LADY

Madam, we’ll dance.

QUEEN

My legs can keep no measure in delight

When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief.

Therefore no dancing, girl. Some other sport.

LADY

Madam, we’ll tell tales.

QUEEN

Of sorrow or of joy?

LADY

Of either, madam.

QUEEN

Of neither, girl,

For if of joy, being altogether wanting,

It doth remember me the more of sorrow;

Or if of grief, being altogether had,

It adds more sorrow to my want of joy.

For what I have I need not to repeat,

And what I want it boots not to complain.

LADY

Madam, I’ll sing.

QUEEN

’Tis well that thou hast cause,

But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou

weep.

LADY

I could weep, madam, would it do you good.

QUEEN

And I could sing, would weeping do me good,

And never borrow any tear of thee.

Enter a Gardener and two Servingmen.

But stay, here come the gardeners.

Let’s step into the shadow of these trees.

My wretchedness unto a row of pins,

They will talk of state, for everyone doth so

Against a change. Woe is forerun with woe.

Queen and Ladies step aside.

GARDENER

, to one Servingman

Go, bind thou up young dangling apricokes

Which, like unruly children, make their sire

Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight.

Give some supportance to the bending twigs.—

Go thou, and like an executioner

Cut off the heads of too sprays

That look too lofty in our commonwealth.

All must be even in our government.

You thus employed, I will go root away

The noisome weeds which without profit suck

The soil’s fertility from wholesome flowers.

MAN

Why should we, in the compass of a pale,

Keep law and form and due proportion,

Showing as in a model our firm estate,

When our sea-wallèd garden, the whole land,

Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,

Her fruit trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined,

Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs

Swarming with caterpillars?

GARDENER

Hold thy peace.

He that hath suffered this disordered spring

Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf.

The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did

shelter,

That seemed in eating him to hold him up,

Are plucked up, root and all, by Bolingbroke—

I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

MAN

What, are they dead?

GARDENER

They are. And Bolingbroke

Hath seized the wasteful king. O, what pity is it

That he had not so trimmed and dressed his land

As we this garden! We at time of year

Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,

Lest, being overproud in sap and blood,

With too much riches it confound itself.

Had he done so to great and growing men,

They might have lived to bear and he to taste

Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches

We lop away, that bearing boughs may live.

Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,

Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.

MAN

What, think you the King shall be deposed?

GARDENER

Depressed he is already, and deposed

’Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night

To a dear friend of the good Duke of York’s

That tell black tidings.

QUEEN

O, I am pressed to death through want of speaking!

Stepping forward.

Thou old Adam’s likeness, set to dress this garden,

How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this

unpleasing news?

What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee

To make a second fall of cursèd man?

Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?

Dar’st thou, thou little better thing than earth,

Divine his downfall? Say where, when, and how

Cam’st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch!

GARDENER

Pardon me, madam. Little joy have I

To breathe this news, yet what I say is true.

King Richard, he is in the mighty hold

Of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes both are weighed.

In your lord’s scale is nothing but himself

And some few vanities that make him light,

But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,

Besides himself, are all the English peers,

And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.

Post you to London and you will find it so.

I speak no more than everyone doth know.

QUEEN

Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,

Doth not thy embassage belong to me,

And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest

To serve me last that I may longest keep

Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go

To meet at London London’s king in woe.

What, was I born to this, that my sad look

Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?—

Gard’ner, for telling me these news of woe,

Pray God the plants thou graft’st may never grow.

She exits with Ladies.

GARDENER

Poor queen, so that thy state might be no worse,

I would my skill were subject to thy curse.

Here did she fall a tear. Here in this place

I’ll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace.

Rue even for ruth here shortly shall be seen

In the remembrance of a weeping queen.

They exit.

ACT 4

Scene 1

Enter Bolingbroke with the Lords Aumerle,

Northumberland, Harry Percy, Fitzwater, Surrey, the

Bishop of Carlisle, the Abbot of Westminster, and

another Lord, Herald, Officers to parliament.

BOLINGBROKE

Call forth Bagot.

Enter Officers with Bagot.

Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind

What thou dost know of noble Gloucester’s death,

Who wrought it with the King, and who performed

The bloody office of his timeless end.

BAGOT

Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.

BOLINGBROKE

Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.

Aumerle steps forward.

BAGOT

My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue

Scorns to unsay what once it hath delivered.

In that dead time when Gloucester’s death was

plotted,

I heard you say

Is not my arm of length,

That reacheth from the restful English court

As far as Calais, to mine uncle’s head?

Amongst much other talk that very time

I heard you say that you had rather refuse

The offer of an hundred thousand crowns

Than Bolingbroke’s return to England,

Adding withal how blest this land would be

In this your cousin’s death.

AUMERLE

Princes and noble lords,

What answer shall I make to this base man?

Shall I so much dishonor my fair stars

On equal terms to give him chastisement?

Either I must, or have mine honor soiled

With the attainder of his slanderous lips.

He throws down a gage.

There is my gage, the manual seal of death

That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest,

And will maintain what thou hast said is false

In thy heart-blood, though being all too base

To stain the temper of my knightly sword.

BOLINGBROKE

Bagot, forbear. Thou shalt not take it up.

AUMERLE

Excepting one, I would he were the best

In all this presence that hath moved me so.

FITZWATER

, throwing down a gage

If that thy valor stand on sympathy,

There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine.

By that fair sun which shows me where thou

stand’st,

I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak’st it,

That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester’s death.

If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest,

And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,

Where it was forgèd, with my rapier’s point.

AUMERLE

, taking up the gage

Thou dar’st not, coward, live to see that day.

FITZWATER

Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.

AUMERLE

Fitzwater, thou art damned to hell for this.

PERCY

Aumerle, thou liest! His honor is as true

In this appeal as thou art all unjust;

And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,

He throws down a gage.

To prove it on thee to the extremest point

Of mortal breathing. Seize it if thou dar’st.

AUMERLE

, taking up the gage

An if I do not, may my hands rot off

And never brandish more revengeful steel

Over the glittering helmet of my foe!

ANOTHER LORD

, throwing down a gage

I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle,

And spur thee on with full as many lies

As may be holloed in thy treacherous ear

From sun to sun. There is my honor’s pawn.

Engage it to the trial if thou darest.

AUMERLE

, taking up the gage

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.

SURREY

My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well

The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

FITZWATER

’Tis very true. You were in presence then,

And you can witness with me this is true.

SURREY

As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.

FITZWATER

Surrey, thou liest.

SURREY

Dishonorable 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 skull.

He throws down a gage.

In proof whereof, there is my honor’s pawn.

Engage it to the trial if thou dar’st.

FITZWATER

, taking up the gage

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.

He throws down a gage.

As I intend to thrive in this new world,

Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.—

Besides, I heard the banished Norfolk say

That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men

To execute the noble duke at Calais.

AUMERLE

Some honest Christian trust me with a gage.

A Lord hands him a gage.

Aumerle throws it down.

That Norfolk lies, here do I throw down this,

If he may be repealed to try his honor.

BOLINGBROKE

These differences shall all rest under gage

Till Norfolk be repealed. Repealed he shall be,

And though mine enemy, restored again

To all his lands and seigniories. When he is

returned,

Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.

CARLISLE

That honorable day shall never be seen.

Many a time hath banished Norfolk fought

For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,

Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross

Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens;

And, toiled with works of war, retired 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 colors he had fought so long.

BOLINGBROKE

Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?

CARLISLE

As surely as I live, my lord.

BOLINGBROKE

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.

YORK

Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee

From plume-plucked Richard, who with willing

soul

Adopts thee heir, and his high scepter yields

To the possession of thy royal hand.

Ascend his throne, descending now from him,

And long live Henry, fourth of that name!

BOLINGBROKE

In God’s name, I’ll ascend the regal throne.

CARLISLE

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 noblesse 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 judged 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 judged by subject and inferior breath,

And he himself not present? O, forfend it God

That in a Christian climate souls refined

Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!

I speak to subjects and a subject speaks,

Stirred up by God 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 prophesy

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 called

The field of Golgotha and dead men’s skulls.

O, if you raise this house against this house,

It will the woefullest division prove

That ever fell upon this cursèd earth!

Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,

Lest child, child’s children, cry against you woe!

NORTHUMBERLAND

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 it please you, lords, to grant the commons’

suit?

BOLINGBROKE

Fetch hither Richard, that in common view

He may surrender. So we shall proceed

Without suspicion.

YORK

I will be his conduct.

He exits.

BOLINGBROKE

Lords, you that here are under our arrest,

Procure your sureties for your days of answer.

Little are we beholding to your love

And little looked for at your helping hands.

Enter Richard and York.

KING RICHARD

Alack, why am I sent for to a king

Before I have shook off the regal thoughts

Wherewith I reigned? I hardly yet have learned

To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee.

Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me

To this submission. Yet I well remember

The favors 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 goodwill

Which tired majesty did make thee offer:

The resignation of thy state and crown

To Henry Bolingbroke.

KING RICHARD

Give me the crown.—Here, cousin, seize the crown.

Here, cousin.

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.

BOLINGBROKE

I thought you had been willing to resign.

KING RICHARD

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.

BOLINGBROKE

Part of your cares you give me with your crown.

KING RICHARD

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.

BOLINGBROKE

Are you contented to resign the crown?

KING RICHARD

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 scepter 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 forgo;

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 grieved,

And thou with all pleased that hast all achieved.

Long mayst thou live in Richard’s seat to sit,

And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit.

God save King Henry, unkinged Richard says,

And send him many years of sunshine days.

What more remains?

NORTHUMBERLAND

, offering Richard a paper

No more, but that you read

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 deposed.

KING RICHARD

Must I do so? And must I ravel out

My weaved-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,

If thy offenses were upon record,

Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop

To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,

There shouldst thou find one heinous article

Containing the deposing of a king

And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,

Marked with a blot, damned 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 delivered me to my sour cross,

And water cannot wash away your sin.

NORTHUMBERLAND

My lord, dispatch. Read o’er these articles.

KING RICHARD

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.

Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,

I find myself a traitor with the rest,

For I have given here my soul’s consent

T’ undeck the pompous body of a king,

Made glory base and sovereignty a slave,

Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.

NORTHUMBERLAND

My lord—

KING RICHARD

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,

But ’tis usurped. 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.

BOLINGBROKE

Go, some of you, and fetch a looking-glass.

An Attendant exits.

NORTHUMBERLAND

Read o’er this paper while the glass doth come.

KING RICHARD

Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell!

BOLINGBROKE

Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.

NORTHUMBERLAND

The commons will not then be satisfied.

KING RICHARD

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.

Enter one with a glass.

Give me that glass, and therein will I read.

He takes the mirror.

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck

So many blows upon this face of mine

And made no deeper wounds? O flatt’ring glass,

Like to my followers in prosperity,

Thou dost beguile me. Was this face the face

That every day under his householdHousehold roof

Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face

That like the sun did make beholders wink?

Is this the face which faced so many follies,

That was at last outfaced by Bolingbroke?

A brittle glory shineth in this face.

As brittle as the glory is the face,

He breaks the mirror.

For there it is, cracked in an hundred shivers.—

Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport:

How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face.

BOLINGBROKE

The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyed

The shadow of your face.

KING RICHARD

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

That swells with silence in the tortured 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?

BOLINGBROKE

Name it, fair cousin.

KING RICHARD

Fair cousin? 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.

BOLINGBROKE

Yet ask.

KING RICHARD

And shall I have?

BOLINGBROKE

You shall.

KING RICHARD

Then give me leave to go.

BOLINGBROKE

Whither?

KING RICHARD

Whither you will, so I were from your sights.

BOLINGBROKE

Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower.

KING RICHARD

O, good!

Convey? Conveyers are you all,

That rise thus nimbly by a true king’s fall.

Richard exits with Guards.

BOLINGBROKE

On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down

Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.

They exit. The Abbot of Westminster, the Bishop of

Carlisle, Aumerle remain.

ABBOT

A woeful pageant have we here beheld.

CARLISLE

The woe’s to come. The children yet unborn

Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.

AUMERLE

You holy clergymen, is there no plot

To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?

ABBOT

My lord,

Before I freely speak my mind herein,

You shall not only take the sacrament

To bury mine intents, but also 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’ll lay

A plot shall show us all a merry day.

They exit.

ACT 5

Scene 1

Enter the Queen with her Attendants.

QUEEN

This way the King will come. This is the way

To Julius Caesar’s ill-erected tower,

To whose flint bosom my condemnèd lord

Is doomed a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke.

Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth

Have any resting for her true king’s queen.

Enter Richard and Guard.

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 honor, thou King Richard’s tomb,

And not King Richard! Thou most beauteous inn,

Why should hard-favored grief be lodged in thee

When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

KING RICHARD

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 awaked, 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 thrown down.

QUEEN

What, is my Richard both in shape and mind

Transformed and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke

Deposed thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?

The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw

And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage

To be o’er-powered; and wilt thou, pupil-like,

Take the correction, mildly kiss the rod,

And fawn on rage with base humility,

Which art a lion and the king of beasts?

KING RICHARD

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 takest,

As from my deathbed, thy 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 quite their griefs,

Tell thou the lamentable tale of me,

And send the hearers weeping to their beds.

Forwhy 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-blackcoal black,

For the deposing of a rightful king.

Enter Northumberland.

NORTHUMBERLAND

My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed.

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.

KING RICHARD

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.

He shall think that thou, which knowest the way

To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,

Being ne’er so little urged another way,

To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.

The love of wicked men converts to fear,

That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both

To worthy danger and deservèd death.

NORTHUMBERLAND

My guilt be on my head, and there an end.

Take leave and part, for you must part forthwith.

KING RICHARD

Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate

A twofold marriage—twixt my crown and me,

And then betwixt me and my married wife.

To Queen. 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 adornèd hither like sweet May,

Sent back like Hallowmas or short’st of day.

QUEEN

And must we be divided? Must we part?

KING RICHARD

Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

QUEEN

, to Northumberland

Banish us both, and send the King with me.

NORTHUMBERLAND

That were some love, but little policy.

QUEEN

Then whither he goes, thither let me go.

KING RICHARD

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.

KING RICHARD

Twice for one step I’ll groan, the way being short,

And piece the way out with a heavy heart.

Come, come, in wooing sorrow let’s be brief,

Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.

One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part.

Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.

They kiss.

QUEEN

Give me mine own again. ’Twere no good part

To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.

They kiss.

So, now I have mine own again, begone,

That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

KING RICHARD

We make woe wanton with this fond delay.

Once more, adieu! The rest let sorrow say.

They exit.

Scene 2

Enter Duke of York and the Duchess.

DUCHESS

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?

DUCHESS

At that sad stop, my lord,

Where rude misgoverned 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 seemed to know,

With slow but stately pace kept on his course,

Whilst 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 the one side to the other turning,

Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed’s neck,

Bespake them thus:

I thank you, countrymen.

And thus still doing, thus he passed along.

DUCHESS

Alack, poor Richard! Where rode he the whilst?

YORK

As in a theater the eyes of men,

After a well-graced 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 gentle 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 steeled

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 honor I for aye allow.

Enter Aumerle.

DUCHESS

Here comes my son Aumerle.

YORK

Aumerle that was;

But that is lost for being Richard’s friend,

And, madam, you must call him Rutland now.

I am in parliament pledge for his truth

And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

DUCHESS

Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now

That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?

AUMERLE

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 cropped before you come to prime.

What news from Oxford? Do these jousts and

triumphs hold?

AUMERLE

For aught I know, my lord, they do.

YORK

You will be there, I know.

AUMERLE

If God prevent not, I purpose so.

YORK

What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom?

Yea, lookst thou pale? Let me see the writing.

AUMERLE

My lord, ’tis nothing.

YORK

No matter, then, who see it.

I will be satisfied. Let me see the writing.

AUMERLE

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—

DUCHESS

What should you fear?

’Tis nothing but some bond that he is entered into

For gay apparel ’gainst the triumph day.

YORK

Bound to himself? What doth he with a bond

That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.—

Boy, let me see the writing.

AUMERLE

I do beseech you, pardon me. I may not show it.

YORK

I will be satisfied. Let me see it, I say.

He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it.

YORK

Treason! Foul treason! Villain, traitor, slave!

DUCHESS

What is the matter, my lord?

YORK

, calling offstage

Ho, who is within there? Saddle my horse!—

God for his mercy, what treachery is here!

DUCHESS

Why, what is it, my lord?

YORK

, calling offstage

Give me my boots, I say! Saddle my horse!—

Now by mine honor, by my life, by my troth,

I will appeach the villain.

DUCHESS

What is the matter?

YORK

Peace, foolish woman.

DUCHESS

I will not peace!—What is the matter, Aumerle?

AUMERLE

Good mother, be content. It is no more

Than my poor life must answer.

DUCHESS

Thy life answer?

YORK

, calling offstage

Bring me my boots!—I will unto the King.

His man enters with his boots.

DUCHESS

Strike him, Aumerle! Poor boy, thou art amazed.—

Hence, villain, never more come in my sight.

YORK

Give me my boots, I say.

His man helps him on with his boots,

then exits.

DUCHESS

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.

DUCHESS

He shall be none. We’ll keep him here.

Then what is that to him?

YORK

Away, fond woman! Were he twenty times my son,

I would appeach him.

DUCHESS

Hadst thou groaned for him as I have done,

Thou wouldst be more pitiful.

But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect

That I have been disloyal to thy bed,

And that he is a bastard, not thy son.

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind!

He is as like thee as a man may be,

Not like to me or any of my kin,

And yet I love him.

YORK

Make way, unruly woman!

He exits.

DUCHESS

After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse,

Spur post, and get before him to the King,

And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.

I’ll not be long behind. Though I be old,

I doubt not but to ride as fast as York.

And never will I rise up from the ground

Till Bolingbroke have pardoned thee. Away, begone!

They exit.

Scene 3

Enter the King with his Nobles.

KING HENRY

Can no man tell me 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 unrestrainèd 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 honor to support

So dissolute a crew.

PERCY

My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince,

And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.

KING HENRY

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 favor, and with that

He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

KING HENRY

As dissolute as desperate. Yet through both

I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years

May happily bring forth. But who comes here?

Enter Aumerle amazed.

AUMERLE

Where is the King?

KING HENRY

What means our cousin, that he stares and looks so

wildly?

AUMERLE

God save your Grace. I do beseech your Majesty

To have some conference with your Grace alone.

KING HENRY

, to his Nobles

Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.

The Nobles exit.

What is the matter with our cousin now?

AUMERLE

, kneeling

Forever may my knees grow to the earth,

My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,

Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

KING HENRY

Intended or committed was this fault?

If on the first, how heinous e’er it be,

To win thy after-love I pardon thee.

AUMERLE

, standing

Then give me leave that I may turn the key

That no man enter till my tale be done.

KING HENRY

Have thy desire.

Aumerle locks the door.

The Duke of York knocks at the door and crieth.

YORK

, within

My liege, beware! Look to thyself!

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

KING HENRY

, to Aumerle

Villain, I’ll make thee safe.

He draws his sword.

AUMERLE

Stay thy revengeful hand. Thou hast no cause to fear.

YORK

, within

Open the door, secure, foolhardy king!

Shall I for love speak treason to thy face?

Open the door, or I will break it open.

King Henry unlocks the door.

Enter York.

KING HENRY

What is the matter, uncle? Speak.

Recover breath. Tell us how near is danger

That we may arm us to encounter it.

YORK

, giving King Henry a paper

Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know

The treason that my haste forbids me show.

AUMERLE

, to King Henry

Remember, as thou read’st, thy promise passed.

I do repent me. Read not my name there.

My heart is not confederate with my hand.

YORK

It was, 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.

KING HENRY

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 defiled 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 honor with his shame,

As thriftless sons their scraping fathers’ gold.

Mine honor lives when his dishonor dies,

Or my shamed life in his dishonor lies.

Thou kill’st me in his life: giving him breath,

The traitor lives, the true man’s put to death.

DUCHESS

, within

What ho, my liege! For God’s sake, let me in!

KING HENRY

What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?

DUCHESS

, within

A woman, and thy aunt, great king. ’Tis I.

Speak with me, pity me. Open the door!

A beggar begs that never begged before.

KING HENRY

Our scene is altered from a serious thing,

And now changed to

The Beggar and the King.—

My dangerous cousin, let your mother in.

I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.

Aumerle opens the door.

Duchess of York enters and kneels.

YORK

If thou do pardon whosoever pray,

More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.

This festered joint cut off, the rest rest sound.

This let alone will all the rest confound.

DUCHESS

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?

DUCHESS

Sweet York, be patient.—Hear me, gentle liege.

KING HENRY

Rise up, good aunt.

DUCHESS

Not yet, I thee beseech.

Forever will I walk upon my knees

And never see day that the happy sees,

Till thou give joy, until thou bid me joy

By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.

AUMERLE

, kneeling

Unto my mother’s prayers I bend my knee.

YORK

, kneeling

Against them both my true joints bended be.

Ill mayst thou thrive if thou grant any grace.

DUCHESS

Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face.

His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;

His words come from his mouth, ours from our

breast.

He prays but faintly, and would be denied.

We pray with heart and soul and all beside.

His weary joints would gladly rise, I know.

Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow.

His prayers are full of false hypocrisy,

Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.

Our prayers do outpray his. Then let them have

That mercy which true prayer ought to have.

KING HENRY

Good aunt, stand up.

DUCHESS

Nay, do not say

stand up.

Say

pardon first, and afterwards

stand up.

An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,

Pardon should be the first word of thy speech.

I never longed to hear a word till now.

Say

pardon, king; let pity teach thee how.

The word is short, but not so short as sweet.

No word like

pardon for kings’ mouths so meet.

YORK

Speak it in French, king. Say

pardonne moy.

DUCHESS

Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?

Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,

That sets the word itself against the word!

To King Henry. Speak

pardon as ’tis current in

our land;

The chopping French we do not understand.

Thine eye begins to speak; set thy tongue there,

Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,

That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do

pierce,

Pity may move thee

pardon to rehearse.

KING HENRY

Good aunt, stand up.

DUCHESS

I do not sue to stand.

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

KING HENRY

I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.

DUCHESS

O, happy vantage of a kneeling knee!

Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again.

Twice saying

pardon doth not pardon twain,

But makes one pardon strong.

KING HENRY

I pardon him with all my heart.

DUCHESS

A god on Earthearth thou art.

They all stand.

KING HENRY

But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,

With all the rest of that consorted crew,

Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.

Good uncle, help to order several powers

To Oxford, or where’er these traitors are.

They shall not live within this world, I swear,

But I will have them, if I once know where.

Uncle, farewell,—and cousin, adieu.

Your mother well hath prayed; and prove you true.

DUCHESS

, to Aumerle

Come, my old son. I pray God make thee new.

They exit.

Scene 4

Enter Sir Pierce Exton and Servants.

EXTON

Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake,

Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?

Was it not so?

SERVINGMAN

These were his very words.

EXTON

Have I no friend? quoth he. He spake it twice

And urged it twice together, did he not?

SERVINGMAN

He did.

EXTON

And speaking it, he wishtly looked on me,

As who should say

I would thou wert the man

That would divorce this terror from my heart—

Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let’s go.

I am the King’s friend, and will rid his foe.

They exit.

Scene 5

Enter Richard alone.

RICHARD

I have been studying how I may compare

This prison where I live unto the world,

And for because the world is populous

And here is not a creature but myself,

I cannot do it. Yet I’ll hammer it out.

My brain I’ll prove the female to my soul,

My soul the father, and these two beget

A generation of still-breeding thoughts,

And these same thoughts people this little world,

In humors like the people of this world,

For no thought is contented. The better sort,

As thoughts of things divine, are intermixed

With scruples, and do set the word itself

Against the word, as thus:

Come, little ones,

And then again,

It is as hard to come as for a camel

To thread the postern of a small needle’s eye.

Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot

Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails

May tear a passage through the flinty ribs

Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls,

And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.

Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves

That they are not the first of fortune’s slaves,

Nor shall not be the last—like silly beggars

Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame

That many have and others must sit there,

And in this thought they find a kind of ease,

Bearing their own misfortunes on the back

Of such as have before endured the like.

Thus play I in one person many people,

And none contented. Sometimes am I king.

Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,

And so I am; then crushing penury

Persuades me I was better when a king.

Then am I kinged again, and by and by

Think that I am unkinged by Bolingbroke,

And straight am nothing. But whate’er I be,

Nor I nor any man that but man is

With nothing shall be pleased till he be eased

With being nothing.

(The music plays.) Music do I

hear?

Ha, ha, keep time! How sour sweet music is

When time is broke and no proportion kept.

So is it in the music of men’s lives.

And here have I the daintiness of ear

To check time broke in a disordered string;

But for the concord of my state and time

Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.

I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;

For now hath time made me his numb’ring clock.

My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar

Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,

Whereto my finger, like a dial’s point,

Is pointing still in cleansing them from tears.

Now, sir, the sound that tells what hour it is

Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,

Which is the bell. So sighs and tears and groans

Show minutes, times, and hours. But my time

Runs posting on in Bolingbroke’s proud joy,

While I stand fooling here, his jack of the clock.

This music mads me. Let it sound no more,

For though it have holp madmen to their wits,

In me it seems it will make wise men mad.

Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me,

For ’tis a sign of love, and love to Richard

Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

Enter a Groom of the stable.

GROOM

Hail, royal prince!

RICHARD

Thanks, noble peer.

The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.

What art thou, and how comest thou hither,

Where no man never comes but that sad dog

That brings me food to make misfortune live?

GROOM

I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,

When thou wert king; who, traveling towards York,

With much ado at length have gotten leave

To look upon my sometime royal master’s face.

O, how it earned my heart when I beheld

In London streets, that coronation day,

When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary,

That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,

That horse that I so carefully have dressed.

RICHARD

Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,

How went he under him?

GROOM

So proudly as if he disdained the ground.

RICHARD

So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!

That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;

This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.

Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down

(Since pride must have a fall) and break the neck

Of that proud man that did usurp his back?

Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee,

Since thou, created to be awed by man,

Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse,

And yet I bear a burden like an ass,

Spurred, galled, and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke.

Enter one, the Keeper, to Richard with meat.

KEEPER

, to Groom

Fellow, give place. Here is no longer stay.

RICHARD

, to Groom

If thou love me, ’tis time thou wert away.

GROOM

What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.

Groom exits.

KEEPER

My lord, will ’t please you to fall to?

RICHARD

Taste of it first as thou art wont to do.

KEEPER

My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton,

Who lately came from the King, commands the

contrary.

RICHARD

, attacking the Keeper

The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee!

Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

KEEPER

Help, help, help!

The Murderers Exton and his men rush in.

RICHARD

How now, what means death in this rude assault?

Villain, thy own hand yields thy death’s instrument.

Richard seizes a weapon from a Murderer

and kills him with it.

Go thou and fill another room in hell.

He kills another Murderer.

Here Exton strikes him down.

That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire

That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand

Hath with the King’s blood stained the King’s own

land.

Mount, mount, my soul. Thy seat is up on high,

Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.

He dies.

EXTON

As full of valor as of royal blood.

Both have I spilled. O, would the deed were good!

For now the devil that told me I did well

Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.

This dead king to the living king I’ll bear.

Take hence the rest and give them burial here.

They exit with the bodies.

Scene 6

Enter King Henry, with the Duke of York.

KING HENRY

Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear

Is that the rebels have consumed with fire

Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire,

But whether they be ta’en or slain we hear not.

Enter Northumberland.

Welcome, my lord. What is the news?

NORTHUMBERLAND

First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.

The next news is: I have to London sent

The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent.

The manner of their taking may appear

At large discoursèd in this paper here.

He gives King Henry a paper.

KING HENRY

We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains,

And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

Enter Lord Fitzwater.

FITZWATER

My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London

The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely,

Two of the dangerous consorted traitors

That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

KING HENRY

Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot.

Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter Harry Percy with the Bishop of Carlisle.

PERCY

The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,

With clog of conscience and sour melancholy

Hath yielded up his body to the grave.

But here is Carlisle living, to abide

Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.

KING HENRY

Carlisle, this is your doom:

Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,

More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life.

So, as thou liv’st in peace, die free from strife;

For, though mine enemy thou hast ever been,

High sparks of honor in thee have I seen.

Enter Exton and Servingmen with the coffin.

EXTON

Great king, within this coffin I present

Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies

The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,

Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought.

KING HENRY

Exton, I thank thee not, for thou hast wrought

A deed of slander with thy fatal hand

Upon my head and all this famous land.

EXTON

From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.

KING HENRY

They love not poison that do poison need,

Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead,

I hate the murderer, love him murderèd.

The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labor,

But neither my good word nor princely favor.

With Cain go wander through shades of night,

And never show thy head by day nor light.

Exton exits.

Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe

That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.

Come mourn with me for what I do lament,

And put on sullen black incontinent.

I’ll make a voyage to the Holy Land

To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.

Servingmen lift the coffin to carry it out.

March sadly after. Grace my mournings here