King Richard II

    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 flatt'ring 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?    Is this the face which fac'd so many follies    That 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.  BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd    The shadow of your face.  KING RICHARD. Say that again.    The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see.    'Tis very true: my grief lies all within;    And these external manner of laments    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?  BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin.  KING RICHARD. Fair cousin! 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.  BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask.  KING RICHARD. And shall I have?  BOLINGBROKE. You shall.  KING RICHARD. Then give me leave to go.  BOLINGBROKE. Whither?  KING RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights.  BOLINGBROKE. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.  KING RICHARD. O, good! Convey! Conveyers are you all,    That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.[Exeunt KING RICHARD, some Lords and a Guard]  BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down    Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.[Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE]  ABBOT. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.  CARLISLE. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn    Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.  AUMERLE. 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.    Come home with me to supper; I will lay    A plot shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt]

ACT 5 SCENE 1 London. A street leading to the Tower

[Enter the QUEEN, with her attendants]

  QUEEN. This way the King will come; this is the way    To Julius Caesar'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?  KING RICHARD. 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    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 thrown down.  QUEEN. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind    Transform'd and weak'ned? 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'erpow'r'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,    Take the correction mildly, kiss the rod,    And fawn on rage with base humility,    Which art a lion and the king of beasts?  KING RICHARD. 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 takest,    As from my death-bed, thy 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 griefs    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]

  NORTHUMBERLAND. 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.  KING RICHARD. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal    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;    And 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 men converts to fear;    That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both    To worthy danger and deserved death.  NORTHUMBERLAND. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.    Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.  KING RICHARD. Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, you 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?  KING RICHARD. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart fromheart.  QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the King with me.  NORTHUMBERLAND. That were some love, but little policy.  QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let me go.  KING RICHARD. 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.  QUEEN. So longest way shall have the longest moans.  KING RICHARD. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way beingshort,    And piece the way out with a heavy heart.    Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,    Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.    One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;    Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.  QUEEN. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part    To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.    So, now I have mine own again, be gone.    That I may strive to kill it with a groan.  KING RICHARD. We make woe wanton with this fond delay.    Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt]

SCENE 2 The DUKE OF YORK's palace

[Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS]

  DUCHESS. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,    When weeping made you break the story off,    Of our two cousins' coming into London.  YORK. Where did I leave?  DUCHESS. At that sad stop, my lord,    Where rude misgoverned hands from windows' tops    Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.  YORK. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,    Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed    Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,    With slow but stately pace kept on his course,    Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, Bolingbroke!'    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 the one side to the other turning,    Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,    Bespake them thus, 'I thank you, countrymen.'    And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.  DUCHESS. Alack, 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.  DUCHESS. Here comes my son Aumerle.  YORK. Aumerle that was    But that is lost for being Richard's friend,    And madam, you must call him Rudand now.    I am in Parliament pledge for his truth    And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

[Enter AUMERLE]

  DUCHESS. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now    That strew the green lap of the new come spring?  AUMERLE. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.    God knows I had as lief be none as one.  YORK. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,    Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.    What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold?  AUMERLE. For aught I know, my lord, they do.  YORK. You will be there, I know.  AUMERLE. If God prevent not, I purpose so.  YORK. What seal is that that without thy bosom?    Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.  AUMERLE. My lord, 'tis nothing.  YORK. No matter, then, who see it.    I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.  AUMERLE. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me;    It is a matter of small consequence    Which for some reasons I would not have seen.  YORK. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.    I fear, I fear-  DUCHESS. What should you fear?    'Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent'red 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.  AUMERLE. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.  YORK. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.                [He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it]    Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!  DUCHESS. What is the matter, my lord?  YORK. Ho! who is within there?

[Enter a servant]

    Saddle my horse.    God for his mercy, what treachery is here!  DUCHESS. Why, York, what is it, my lord?  YORK. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.[Exit servant]    Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,    I will appeach the villain.  DUCHESS. What is the matter?  YORK. Peace, foolish woman.  DUCHESS. I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?  AUMERLE. Good mother, be content; it is no more    Than my poor life must answer.  DUCHESS. Thy life answer!  YORK. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.

[His man enters with his boots]

  DUCHESS. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz'd.    Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.  YORK. Give me my boots, I say.  DUCHESS. Why, York, what wilt thou do?    Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?    Have we more sons? or are we like to have?    Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?    And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age    And rob me of a happy mother's name?    Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own?  YORK. Thou fond mad woman,    Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?    A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,    And interchangeably set down their hands    To kill the King at Oxford.  DUCHESS. He shall be none;    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.  DUCHESS. Hadst thou groan'd for him    As I have done, thou wouldst 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, or any of my kin,    And yet I love him.  YORK. Make way, unruly woman! [Exit]  DUCHESS. 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 3 Windsor Castle

[Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and other LORDS]

  BOLINGBROKE. 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,    Which 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 those triumphs held at Oxford.  BOLINGBROKE. And what said the gallant?  PERCY. His answer was, he would unto the stews,    And from the common'st creature pluck a glove    And wear it as a favour; and with that    He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.  BOLINGBROKE. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both    I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years    May happily bring forth. But who comes here?

[Enter AUMERLE amazed]

  AUMERLE. Where is the King?  BOLINGBROKE. What means our cousin that he stares and looks    So wildly?  AUMERLE. God save your Grace! I do beseech your Majesty,    To have some conference with your Grace alone.  BOLINGBROKE. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.[Exeunt PERCY and LORDS]    What is the matter with our cousin now?  AUMERLE. 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.  BOLINGBROKE. Intended or committed was this fault?    If on the first, how heinous e'er it be,    To win thy after-love I pardon thee.  AUMERLE. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,    That no man enter till my tale be done.  BOLINGBROKE. Have thy desire.            [The DUKE OF YORK knocks at the door and crieth]  YORK. [Within] My liege, beware; look to thyself;    Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.  BOLINGBROKE. [Drawing] Villain, I'll make thee safe.  AUMERLE. 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.

[Enter YORK]

  BOLINGBROKE. 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.  AUMERLE. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd.    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.  BOLINGBROKE. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!    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.  DUCHESS. [Within] What ho, my liege, for God's sake, let me in.  BOLINGBROKE. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry?  DUCHESS. [Within] 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.  BOLINGBROKE. Our scene is alt'red from a serious thing,    And now chang'd to 'The Beggar and the King.'    My dangerous cousin, let your mother in.    I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.  YORK. If thou do pardon whosoever pray,    More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.    This fest'red joint cut off, the rest rest sound;    This let alone will all the rest confound.

[Enter DUCHESS]

  DUCHESS. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man!    Love loving not itself, none other can.  YORK. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?    Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?  DUCHESS. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.[Kneels]  BOLINGBROKE. Rise up, good aunt.  DUCHESS. Not yet, I thee beseech.    For ever will I walk upon my knees,    And never see day that the happy sees    Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy    By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.  AUMERLE. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee.[Kneels]  YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be.[Kneels]    Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!  DUCHESS. Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face;    His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;    His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast.    He prays but faintly and would be denied;    We pray with heart and soul, and all beside.    His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;    Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow.    His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;    Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.    Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have    That mercy which true prayer ought to have.  BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.  DUCHESS. Nay, do not say 'stand up';    Say 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.'    An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,    'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech.    I never long'd to hear a word till now;    Say 'pardon,' King; let pity teach thee how.    The word is short, but not so short as sweet;    No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet.  YORK. Speak it in French, King, say 'pardonne moy.'  DUCHESS. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?    Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,    That sets the word itself against the word!    Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land;    The chopping French we do not understand.    Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there;    Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,    That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,    Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse.  BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.  DUCHESS. I do not sue to stand;    Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.  BOLINGBROKE. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.  DUCHESS. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!    Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again.    Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain,    But makes one pardon strong.  BOLINGBROKE. With all my heart    I pardon him.  DUCHESS. A god on earth thou art.  BOLINGBROKE. But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,    With all the rest of that consorted crew,    Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.    Good uncle, help to order several powers    To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are.    They shall not live within this world, I swear,    But I will have them, if I once know where.    Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, adieu;    Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.  DUCHESS. Come, my old son; I pray God make thee new.[Exeunt]

SCENE 4 Windsor Castle

[Enter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a servant]

  EXTON. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake?    'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?'    Was it not so?  SERVANT. These were his very words.  EXTON. 'Have I no friend?' quoth he. He spake it twice    And urg'd it twice together, did he not?  SERVANT. He did.  EXTON. And, speaking it, he wishtly look'd on me,    As who should say 'I would thou wert the man    That would divorce this terror from my heart';    Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let's go.    I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt]

SCENE 5 Pomfret Castle. The dungeon of the Castle

[Enter KING RICHARD]

  KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compare    This prison where I live unto the world    And, for because the world is populous    And here is not a creature but myself,    I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.    My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,    My soul the father; and these two beget    A generation of still-breeding thoughts,    And these same thoughts people this little world,    In humours like the people of this world,    For no thought is contented. The better sort,    As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd    With scruples, and do set the word itself    Against the word,    As thus: 'Come, little ones'; and then again,    'It is as hard to come as for a camel    To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'    Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot    Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails    May tear a passage through the flinty ribs    Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls;    And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.    Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves    That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,    Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars    Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,    That many have and others must sit there;    And in this thought they find a kind of ease,    Bearing their own misfortunes on the back    Of such as have before endur'd the like.    Thus play I in one person many people,    And none contented. Sometimes am I king;    Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,    And so I am. Then crushing penury    Persuades me I was better when a king;    Then am I king'd again; and by and by    Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,    And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be,    Nor I, nor any man that but man is,    With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd    With being nothing. [The music plays]    Music do I hear?    Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is    When time is broke and no proportion kept!    So is it in the music of men's lives.    And here have I the daintiness of ear    To check time broke in a disorder'd string;    But, for the concord of my state and time,    Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.    I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;    For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock:    My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar    Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,    Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,    Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.    Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is    Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,    Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans,    Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time    Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,    While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock.    This music mads me. Let it sound no more;    For though it have holp madmen to their wits,    In me it seems it will make wise men mad.    Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!    For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard    Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.

[Enter a GROOM of the stable]