1

That by confeffing them, the foules of men
May deeme that you are worthily depofde.

Rich. Muft I doe fo? and muft I rauell out
My weaud up folly * gentle Northumberland?
If thy offences were vpon record,

Would it not fame thee in fo faire a troope,
To read a lecture of them, if thou wouldst,

There shouldst thou find one hainous article,
Containing the depofing of a king,

And cracking the ftrong warrant of an oath,
Markt with a blot, damd in the booke of heauen:
Nay of you that stand and looke vpon,

Whilft that my wretchedneffe doth bate my felfe;
†
Though fome of you (with Pilate) wash your hands,
Shewing an outward pittie, yet you Pilates,
Haue heere deliuered me to my fowre croffe,
And water cannot wash away your finne.

North. My lord dispatch, read ore thefe articles.
Rich. Mine eyes are full of teares, I cannot fee;
And yet falt water blinds them not fo much,
But they can fee a fort of traitors here:
Nay, if I turne mine eies vpon my felfe,
I find my felfe a traitor with the reft;
For I have giuen here my foules confent
To vndecke the pompous body of a king;
Made glorie bafe, and foueraigntie ‡ a slaus ;
Proud maieftie a fubiect, ftate 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 given me at the font,
But tis vfurpt; alacke the heauic day

That I haue worne fo many winters out,

*follies.

Nay al

+ bait.

ta foveraigne.

And

And know not now, what name to call my felfe,
O that I were a mockerie king of Snow,
Standing before the funne of Bullingbrooke,
To melt my felfe away in water drops.

Good king, great king; and yet not greatly good;
And if my name be ftarling, yet in England
Let it command a mirrour hither traite

That it may fhew me what a face I haue,
Since it is banckrout of his maieftie.

Bul. Go fome of you and fetch a looking-glaffe.

North. Read ore this paper while the glafje 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 fatisfied.
Rich. They fhall be fatisfied, Ile read enough,
When I doe fee the very booke indeed.
Where all my finnes are writ, and that's my felfe,
Giue me the glaffe: no deeper wrinkles yet?
Hath forrow ftroke fo many blowes upon this
Face of mine, and made no deeper wounds?

Oh flattering glaffe, like to my followers in profperitie!
Was this the face that euery day under his
Houfbold roofe did keepe ten thousandmen?
Was this the face that faaft fo many follies,
And was at laft out-faaft 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 fhiuers:
Marke filent king the morall of this fpor,
How foone my forrow hath destroyd my face.

Bul. The fhadow of your forrow hath deftroyd
The fhadow of your face.

Enter one with a glaffe,

+Give me that glaffe and therein will I reade.

Rich. Say that againe: the fhadow of my forrow; Ha lets fee: tis very true, my griefe

Lies all within, and thefe externall manners

Of laments are meerely shadowes to the unfeene.
Griefe that fwells with filence in the tortured foule :
And I thank thee king that not onely giueft
Me caufe to waile, but teacheft me the way
How to lament the caufe: Ile begge one boone,
And then be gone, and trouble you no more. ||
Bull. Name it faire coofin.

Rich. Faire coole, why ? I am greater then a king.

For when I was a king, my flatterers were then but ** fubie&ts Being now a fubiect, I have a king heere

To my flatterer; being so great, I have no need to beg.

Bul. Yet afke.

Rich. And fhall I haue it ††?

Bul. You sball.

Rich. Why then giue me leaue to goe.

Bul. Whither?

Ric. Whither you will, fo I were from your fights.
Bul. Goe fome of you conuay him to the tower.
Rich. O good conuay, conuayers are you all,

That rife thus nimbly by a true kings fall.

§§ Bul. On Wednesday next we folemnely set downe, Our coronation; lords prepare yourfelues.

Exeunt. Manet Weft. 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 fharpe to them as thorne.

There lies the fubßance, and I thank thee king for thy great bounty, that, &c. fourth edition.

Shall I obtaine it?
Why omitted.

tit omitted. next, We folemnly proclaime our coronation.

Cafin I am.

** #y. §§ Let it be so, and loe on Wednesday Lords be ready all. First Edition.

Aum.

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 fhall not onely take the facrament

To bury mine intent, but alfo to effect
What euer I fhall happen to deuife:-
I fee your browes are full of difcontent,
Your heart of forrow, and your eies of teares:
Come home with me to fupper, Ile lay a plot,
Shall fhew vs all a merry day.

Enter queene, with her attendants t

Exeunt. t

Queene. This way the king will come, this is the way To Iulius Cafars ill erected tower.

To whofe flint bofome my condemned lord

Is doomde a prifoner by proud Bullingbrooke.
Heere let vs reft, if this rebellious earth

Haue any refting for her true kings queene.

Enter Richard. ||

But foft, but fee, or rather, do not fee,
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 moft beauteous inne,
Why should hard fauourd griefe be lodged in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

Rich. Ioyne not with griefe, faire woman, do not fo,
To make my end too fudden, learne good foule,

• My lord before, &c. † Altus Quintus. Scœna Prima. and gard

‡ and ladies.

Το

To thinke our former ftate a happy dreame,
From which awakt, the truth of what we are,
Shewes vs but this: I am fworne (brother sweete)
To grimme neceffitie, and he and I

Will keepe a league till death. Hie* thee to France,
And cloyfter thee in fome religious house :

Our holy liues must winne a new worlds crowne,
Which our prophane houres here, haue thrown

downe.

Queene. What is my Richard both in fhape and mind, Transformd and weakned? hath Bullingbrooke Depofd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? The lyon dying thrusteth foorth his paw, And wounds the earth, if nothing elfe, 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 beafts indeed, if aught but beafts f

I had been still a happy king of men.

Good (fometime queene) prepare thee hence for France,
Thinke I am dead, and that euen heere thou takest

As from my death-bed my last liuing leaue.

In winters tedious nights ‡ fit by the fire

With good old folkes, and let them tell thee tales
Of woefull ages long agoe betide,

And ere thou bid good to quite their griefe,
Tell thou the lamentable tale § of me,

And fend the hearers weeping to their beds:
For why, the fenceleffe brands will fimpathy
The heauy accent of thy ++ moouing tongue,

And in compaffion weepe the fire out;

And fome will mourne in afhes, fome cole blacke,

For the depofing of a rightfull king.

Higb. firicken. † beaft. ‡ night. good night, § fall. ** fimpatbife. †† my.

Enter