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b. Ermek sc.

Richard. I wasted Time and now doth Time waste me, For now hath Time made me his numbring clock.

Publish'd by F. & C. Rivington, London. Aug. 15.1803.

The cares I give, I have, though given away;
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.
Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown?
K. Rich. 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,8
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 forego;
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 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;

say here, that his cares are not made less by the increase of Bolingbroke's cares; for this reason, that his care is the loss of care, -his grief is, that his regal cares are at an end, by the cessation of the care to which he had been accustomed. JOHNSON.

8

my balm,] The oil of consecration. He has mentioned it before. JOHNSON.

1

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 follies? 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 mayself,-
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, despatch; read o'er these articles.

I

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; Make 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 name was given me at the font,-
But 'tis usurp'd:-Alack the heavy day,

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a sort

·] A pack, a company. WARBURTON. 3- haught,] i. e. haughty.

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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.

Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-
glass.
[Exit an Attendant.
North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth

come.

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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 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?-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 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. 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 be gone, and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it?

Boling.

Name it, fair cousin.

K. Rich. Fair cousin? Why, 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.

Boling. Yet ask.

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

K. Rich. 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.

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