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That by confeffing them, the foules of men
May deeme that you are worthily depofde.
Rich. Must I doe fo? and mult I rauell out
My weaud vp folly * gentle Northumberland ?
If thy offences were vpon record,
Would it not fame thee info faire a troope,
To read a lecture of them, if thou would/,
There shouldst thou find one hainous article,
Containing the deposing of a king,
And cracking the frong warrant of an oath,
Markt with a blot, damd in the booke of heauen :
Nay || of you that stand and looke vpon,
Whilst that my wretchednese doth bate + my selfe;
Though forne of you (with Pilate) wash your hands,
Shewing an outward pittie, yet you Pilates,
Haue heere deliuered me to my fowre crose,
And water cannot wash away your finne.
North. My lord difpatch, read ore these articles.
Rich. Mine eyes are full of teires, I cannot see i
and yet salt water blinds them not so much,
But they can fee a sort of traitors here:
Nay, if I turne mine eies vpon my selfe,
I find my selfe a traitor with the rest ;
For I have giuen here my foules consent
To vndecke the pompous body of a king ;
Made glorie base, and soueraigntie a slaue ;
Proud maieftie a fubiet, Aate a peasant.
North. My lord.
Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,
Nor no mans lord; I haue no name, no title,
No not that name was giuen me at the font,
But tis vfiirpt; alache the beauic day
That I haue worne so many winters out,
And know not now, what name to call my selfe,
O that I were a mockerie king of snow,
Standing before the sunne of Bullingbrooke,
To melt my selfe away in water drops.
Good king, great king; and yet not greatly good;
And if my name be starling, yet in England
Let it command a mirrour hither straite
That it may few me what a face I haue,
Since it is banckrout of his maiestie.
Bul. Go fome of you and fetch a looking-glasse.
North. Read ore this paper while the glase doth come.
Rich. Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell.
Bul. Vrge it no more, my lord Northumberland.
North. The commons will not then be satisfied.
Rich. They shall be satisfied, lle read enough,
When I doe see the very booke indeed.
Where all my finnes are writ, and that's my selfe,
Giue me the glaffe + : no deeper wrinkles yet?
Hath forrow stroke so many blowes upon this
Face of mine, and made no deeper wounds ?
Oh flattering glasse, like to my followers in prosperitie!
Was this the face that euery day under his
Housbold roofe did keepe ten thousandmen?
Was this the face that faast so many follies,
And was at last out-faast by Bullingbrooke ?
A brittle glorie fbineth in this face,
As brittle as the glorie is the face,
For there it is crackt in a hundred fiuers:
Marke filent king the morall of this spor,
How soone my forrow hath destroyd my face.
Bul. The sbadow of your forrow hath deftroyd
The shadow of your face.
* Enter one witb a glase,
+Give me ibat glafle and therein will I reade.
Rich. Say that againe : the shadow of my forrow;
Ha lets fee : tis very true, my griefe
Lies all within, and these externall manners
Of laments are meerely sbadowes to the unseene.
Griefe that swells with silence in the tertured foule : *
And I thank thee king that not onely giuéft
Me caufe to waile, but teacheft me the way
How to lament the cause : Ile begge one boone,
And then be gone, and trouble you no more. A
Bull. Name it faire coofin.
Rich. Faire coose, why $? I am greater then a king.
For when I was a king, my flatterers were then but ** fubiezts
Being now a subiect, I haue a king heere
To my flatterer; being so great, I hauc no need to beg.
Bul. Yet aske.
Rich. And shall I haue it tt?
Bul. You sball.
Rich. Why ill then giue me leauc to goe.
Bul. Whither ?
Ric. Whither you will, so I were from your fights.
Bul. Goe some of you comuay him to the tower.
Rich. O good conuay, conuayers are you all,
That rise thus nimbly by a true kings fall.
If Bul. On Wednesday next we folemnely set downe, Our coronation; lords prepare yourfelues.
Exeunt. Manet West. Carleill, Aumerle.
Abbot. A woefull pageant haue we heere beheld.
Car. The woe's to come; the children yet vnborne, Shall feele this day as sharpe to them as thorne.
* There lies tbe fubßance, and Itbank tbee king for tby great bounty, tbat, &c. fourth edition. || Sball I obtaine it? $ Can I
At it omitted. · NI W by omitted. $$ Let it be so, and loe on Wednesday feext, We folemnly proclaime our coronation. Lords be ready all. Fird Edition.
Aum. You holy clergiemen, is there no plot,
To rid the realme of this pernitious blot?
Abbot. * Before I freely speake my mind heerein,
You shall not onely take the facrament
To bury mine intent, but also to effect
What euer I shall happen to deuise :-
I see your browes are fall of difcontent,
Your heart of forrow, and your eies of teares:
Come home with me to supper, lle lay a plot,
Shall shew vs all a merry day.
Enter queene, with her attendants f.
Queene. This way the kiog will come, this is the way
To Iulius Cæfars ill erected tower.
To whose flint bosome my condemned lord
Is doomde a prisoner by proud Bullingbrooke.
Heere let vs reft, if this rebellious earth
Haue any resting for her true kings queene.
But soft, but fee, or rather, do not see,
My faire rose wither : yet looke vp, behold,
That you in pittie may diffolue to deaw,
And wash him fresh againe with true loue teares.
Ah thou the modell where old Troy did stand!
Thou mappe of honour, thou king Richards toombe:
And not king Richard: thou most beauteous innc,
Why should hard fauourd griefe be lodged in thce,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?
Rich. Ioyne not with griefe, faire woman, do not so,
To make my end too fudden, learne good foule,
• My lord before, &c. t Asus Quintus. Scæna Prima.
To thinke our former state a happy dreame,
From which awakt, the truth of what we are,
Shewes vs but this: I am sworne (brother sweete)
To grimme necessitie, and he and I
Will keepe a league till death. Hie * thee to France,
And cloyster thee in some religious house:
Our holy lives must winne a new worlds crowne,
Which our prophane houres here, haue thrown + downe.
Queene. What is my Richard both in shape and mind,
Transformd and weakned? hath Bullingbrooke
Deposd thine intellect ? hath he been in thy heart?
The lyon dying thrusteth foorth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage,
To be o’repowerd; and wilt thou pupil-like
Take thy correction, mildly kisse the rodde,
And fawne on rage with bace humilitie,
Which art a lyon, and a king of beasts?
King. A king of beasts indeed, if aught but beasts f
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good (sometime queene) prepare thee hence for France,
Thinke I am dead, and that euen heere thou takeit
As from my death-bed my last liuing leaue.
In winters tedious nights I fit by the fire
With good old folkes, and let them tell thee tales
Of woefull ages long agoe beride,
And ere thou bid good || to quite their griefe,
Tell thou the lamentable tale s of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their beds:
For why, the sencelesse brands will fimpathy
The heauy accent of thy ft moouing tongue,
And in compassion weepe the fire out;
And some will mourne in alhes, fome cole blacke,
For the deposing of a rightfull king.
• High. +fricken. f beaji. I night, li good nigbt, $ fall** fimpatbife, it my.