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

No more, but that you read [Offering a paper.

These accusations, and these grievous crimes,
Committed by your person, and your followers,
Against the state and profit of this land;
That, by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.

K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out My weav'd up folly! Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record,

Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? If thou would'st,
There should'st thou find one heinous article,
Containing the deposing of a king,

And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven.-
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me,

Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,
Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross,
And water cannot wash away your sin.

North. My lord, dispatch: read o'er these articles.
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see;
And yet salt water blinds them not so much,
But they can see a sort of traitors here.
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,
To undeck the pompous body of a king;
Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave,
Proud majesty a subject; state a peasant.
North. My lord,-

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insulting

man,

Nor no man's lord: I have no name, no title, No, not that naine was given me at the font, But 'tis usurp'd.-Alack, the heavy day!

That I have worn so many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself.
O! that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water drops!-

Good king,-great king,-and yet not greatly good.
An if my name 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.
Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-
glass.
[Exit an Attendant.
North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth

come.

K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come to hell. Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. North. The commons will not then be satisfied. K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, When I do see the very book indeed, Where all my sins are writ, and that's-myself.

Re-enter Attendant, with a glass.

Give me the glass, and therein will I read.-
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine,

And made no deeper wounds?-O, flattering glass!
Like to my followers in prosperity,

Thou dost beguile me. Was this face the face,
That every day under his household roof

Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face,
That like the sun did make beholders wink?
Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies,
And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory shineth in this face:
As brittle as the glory is the face;

[Dashes the glass against the ground.
For there it is, crack'd in a thousand 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.

'The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see :-
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief,
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul;
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,
And then begone and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?

Boling.

Name it, fair cousin.

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.
Boling. Yet ask.

K. Rich. And shall I have it?
Boling. You shall.

K. Rich. Why then give me leave to go.
Boling. Whither?

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

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

K. Rich. O, good! Convey?-Conveyers are you all,

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

[Exeunt King RICHARD, and Guard. Boling. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down

Our coronation lords, prepare yourselves. [Exeunt all but the ABBOT, Bishop of CARLISLE and AUMERLE.

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Bishop. The woe's to come: the children yet unborn

Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?

Abbot. 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:
A plot, shall show us all a merry day.

¡Excunt.

SCENE I.-London. A Street leading to the Tower. Enter QUEEN, and Attendants.

Queen. This way the king will come : this is the way

To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,

To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke.
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.

Enter King RICHARD, and 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 honour; thou king Richard's tomb,
And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do

not so,

To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream;
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this. I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity; and he and I

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

Transform'd and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke
Depos'd thine intellect? 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'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod,
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?

K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts,

I had been still a happy king of men.

Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for
France:

Think I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st,
As from my death-bed, my last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire
With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales
Of woeful ages long ago betid;

And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief,

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

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended.

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd:

You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.-
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you:
With all swift speed you must away to France.
K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder, where-
withal

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 urg'd, another way

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

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

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

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with

me.

North. That were some love, but little policy. Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one

woe.

Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
Better far off, than near, be ne'er the near.
Go; count thy way with sighs, I mine with groans.

When weeping made you break the story off,
Of our two cousins coming into London.
York. Where did I leave?
Duch.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling-
broke,

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,

Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
While all tongues cried—“ God save thee, Boling-
broke !"

You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage; and that all the walls

With painted imagery had said at once,

Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!" Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespake them thus,- I thank you, countrymen :" And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst ?

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

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on 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, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.

But heaven hath a hand in these events,

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

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

York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond

That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.--
Boy, let me see the writing.

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

show it.

Aum. Good mother, be content: it is no more Than my poor life must answer.

Duch.
Thy life answer?
York. Bring me my boots: I will unto the king.

Enter Servant with boots.

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art amaz'd.

Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.[Exit Servant.

York. Give me my boots, I say.

Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?

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.

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, As I have done, thou would'st 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, nor any of my kin,
And yet I love him.

York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit. Duch. 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 pardon'd thee. Away! be-
gone.

[Exeunt.

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

Boling. 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 unrestrained loose companions;
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
While he, young wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour to support

So dissolute a crew.

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

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

Percy. His answer was,-he would unto the

Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your majesty,

alone.

To have some conference with your grace alone.
Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here
[Exeunt PERCY, and Lords.
What is the matter with our cousin now?
Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
[Kneels.

My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak.

Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault?
If on the first, how heinous e'er it be,
To win thy after love I pardon thee.

Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,

That no man enter till my tale be done.
Boling. Have thy desire.

[AUMERLE locks the door. York. [Within.] My liege, beware! look to thyself:

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing.
Aum. 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.

[BOLINGBROKE opens the door.

Enter YORK.

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

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know

The treason that my haste forbids me show.
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise

past.

I do repent me; read not my name there :
My heart is not confederate with my hand.
York. 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.
Boling. O, heinous, strong, and bold conspi-
racy!--

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

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

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

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king:

'tis I.

Speak with me, pity me, open the door:

A beggar begs, that never begg'd before.