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I speak to Subjects, and a Subject speaks,
this curfed earth. Prevent, resist it, let it not be fo, Left children's children cry against you, woe.
North. Well have you argu’d, 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 tryal. * May't please you, lords, to grant the Commons' fuit?
Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may surrender : so we shall proceed Without suspicion. York. I will be his conduct.
[Exit. Boling. Lords, you that here are under our Arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer: Little are we beholden to your love, And little look'd for at your helping hands.
4 May't please you, lords, &c.] This Scene, where Richard is introduced, from these words, mav't please you, &c. to the fourth Scene of this Act, is entirely added since the firit Edition.
Enter King Richard, and York.
, to,a King,
York. To do that office of thine own goodwill,
seize the Crown,
Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign.
K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares
K. Rich. Ay, no ;-no, ay ;--for I must Nothing.be : :*
With mine own tongue deny my sacred State ;
All pomp and Majesty I do forswear :
K. Rich. Muit I do fo? and must I ravel out
If thy offences were upon record,
North. My lord, dispatch, read o'er these articles.
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears : I cannot see: And yet falt-water blinds them not so much, s But they can see a Sort of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon my self, I find my self a traitor with the rest: For I have given here my soul's consent, T' undeck the pompous body of a King ; Made Glory bale; a Sovereign a Nave; Proud Majesty, a subject: State, a peasant, North. My lord
[man; K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught-insulting it Nor no man's lord: I have no Name, no Title ; No, not that Name was giv'n me at the Font, But 'tis usurp’d. Alack, the heavy day, That I have worn so many winters out, And know not now, what name to call my self! Oh, that I were a mockery-King of snow, Standing before the Sun of Bolingbroke, To melt my self away in water-drops ! Good King;—great King, ---(and yet not greatly good,) An if my word be sterling yet in England, (To Boling.
s But they can see a Sost
ji. ea pack, a company.
Let it command a mirror hither straight,
Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-glass.
[hell. K. Rich. Fiend, thou torment'st me, ere I come to Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. North. The Commons will not then be satisfy'd.
K. Rich. They shall be satisfy'd: I'll read enough, When I do fee the very Book, indeed, Where all my fins are writ, and that's my self,
Enter One, with a Glass. Give me that Glass, and therein will I read. No deeper wrinkles yet? hath Sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine, And made no deeper wounds? oh, fatt'ring Glass ! Like to my Followers in prosperity, Thou doft beguile me. Was this face, the face That every day under his houfhold roof Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face, That, like the Sun, did make beholders wink? Is this the face, which fac'd so That was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? A brittle Glory shineth in this face;
[Dafhes the Glass against the Ground. As brittle, as the glory, is the face; For there it is, crackt in an hundred shivers. Mark, silent King, the Moral of this sport; How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.
Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow of your face.
K. Rich. Say That again.