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By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd:
Where every horse bears his commanding rein,
And may direct his course as please himself,
As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent,
In my opinion, ought to be prevented.
GLOUCESTER:
I hope the king made peace with all of us
And the compact is firm and true in me.
RIVERS:
And so in me; and so, I think, in all:
Yet, since it is but green, it should be put
To no apparent likelihood of breach,
Which haply by much company might be urged:
Therefore I say with noble Buckingham,
That it is meet so few should fetch the prince.
HASTINGS:
And so say I.
GLOUCESTER:
Then be it so; and go we to determine
Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.
Madam, and you, my mother, will you go
To give your censures in this weighty business?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
With all our harts.
BUCKINGHAM:
My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,
For God's sake, let not us two be behind;
For, by the way, I'll sort occasion,
As index to the story we late talk'd of,
To part the queen's proud kindred from the king.
GLOUCESTER:
My other self, my counsel's consistory,
My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin,
I, like a child, will go by thy direction.
Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind.
First Citizen:
Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast?
Second Citizen:
I promise you, I scarcely know myself:
Hear you the news abroad?
First Citizen:
Ay, that the king is dead.
Second Citizen:
Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better:
I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world.
Third Citizen:
Neighbours, God speed!
First Citizen:
Give you good morrow, sir.
Third Citizen:
Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death?
Second Citizen:
Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!
Third Citizen:
Then, masters, look to see a troublous world.
First Citizen:
No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign.
Third Citizen:
Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child!
Second Citizen:
In him there is a hope of government,
That in his nonage council under him,
And in his full and ripen'd years himself,
No doubt, shall then and till then govern well.
First Citizen:
So stood the state when Henry the Sixth
Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old.
Third Citizen:
Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot;
For then this land was famously enrich'd
With politic grave counsel; then the king
Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace.
First Citizen:
Why, so hath this, both by the father and mother.
Third Citizen:
Better it were they all came by the father,
Or by the father there were none at all;
For emulation now, who shall be nearest,
Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.
O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!
And the queen's sons and brothers haught and proud:
And were they to be ruled, and not to rule,
This sickly land might solace as before.
First Citizen:
Come, come, we fear the worst; all shall be well.
Third Citizen:
When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand;
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?
Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.
All may be well; but, if God sort it so,
'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.
Second Citizen:
Truly, the souls of men are full of dread: |
Ye cannot reason almost with a man
That looks not heavily and full of fear.
Third Citizen:
Before the times of change, still is it so:
By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust
Ensuing dangers; as by proof, we see
The waters swell before a boisterous storm.
But leave it all to God. whither away?
Second Citizen:
Marry, we were sent for to the justices.
Third Citizen:
And so was I: I'll bear you company.
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:
Last night, I hear, they lay at Northampton;
At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night:
To-morrow, or next day, they will be here.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I long with all my heart to see the prince:
I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
But I hear, no; they say my son of York
Hath almost overta'en him in his growth.
YORK:
Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow.
YORK:
Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper,
My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow
More than my brother: 'Ay,' quoth my uncle
Gloucester,
'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:'
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold
In him that did object the same to thee;
He was the wretched'st thing when he was young,
So long a-growing and so leisurely,
That, if this rule were true, he should be gracious.
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:
Why, madam, so, no doubt, he is.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.
YORK:
Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd,
I could have given my uncle's grace a flout,
To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
How, my pretty York? I pray thee, let me hear it.
YORK:
Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast
That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old
'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.
Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this?
YORK:
Grandam, his nurse.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wert born.
YORK:
If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
A parlous boy: go to, you are too shrewd.
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:
Good madam, be not angry with the child.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Pitchers have ears.
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:
Here comes a messenger. |
What news?
Messenger:
Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
How fares the prince?
Messenger:
Well, madam, and in health.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
What is thy news then?
Messenger:
Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to Pomfret,
With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Who hath committed them?
Messenger:
The mighty dukes
Gloucester and Buckingham.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
For what offence?
Messenger:
The sum of all I can, I have disclosed;
What news?
Messenger:
Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
How fares the prince?
Messenger:
Well, madam, and in health.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
What is thy news then?
Messenger:
Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to Pomfret,
With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Who hath committed them?
Messenger:
The mighty dukes
Gloucester and Buckingham.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
For what offence?
Messenger:
Why or for what these nobles were committed
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Ay me, I see the downfall of our house!
The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind;
Insulting tyranny begins to jet
Upon the innocent and aweless throne:
Welcome, destruction, death, and massacre!
I see, as in a map, the end of all.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Accursed and unquiet wrangling days,
How many of you have mine eyes beheld!
My husband lost his life to get the crown;
And often up and down my sons were toss'd,
For me to joy and weep their gain and loss:
And being seated, and domestic broils
Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors.
Make war upon themselves; blood against blood,
Self against self: O, preposterous
And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen;
Or let me die, to look on death no more!
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Come, come, my boy; we will to sanctuary.
Madam, farewell.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I'll go along with you.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
You have no cause.
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:
My gracious lady, go;
And thither bear your treasure and your goods.
For my part, I'll resign unto your grace
The seal I keep: and so betide to me
As well I tender you and all of yours!
Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary.
BUCKINGHAM:
Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber.
GLOUCESTER:
Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign
The weary way hath made you melancholy.
PRINCE EDWARD:
No, uncle; but our crosses on the way
Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy
I want more uncles here to welcome me.
GLOUCESTER:
Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years
Hath not yet dived into the world's deceit
Nor more can you distinguish of a man
Than of his outward show; which, God he knows,
Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.
Those uncles which you want were dangerous;
Your grace attended to their sugar'd words,
But look'd not on the poison of their hearts :
God keep you from them, and from such false friends!
PRINCE EDWARD:
God keep me from false friends! but they were none.
GLOUCESTER:
My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you. |
Lord Mayor:
God bless your grace with health and happy days!
PRINCE EDWARD:
I thank you, good my lord; and thank you all.
I thought my mother, and my brother York,
Would long ere this have met us on the way
Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not
To tell us whether they will come or no!
BUCKINGHAM:
And, in good time, here comes the sweating lord.
PRINCE EDWARD:
Welcome, my lord: what, will our mother come?
HASTINGS:
On what occasion, God he knows, not I,
The queen your mother, and your brother York,
Have taken sanctuary: the tender prince
Would fain have come with me to meet your grace,
But by his mother was perforce withheld.
BUCKINGHAM:
Fie, what an indirect and peevish course
Is this of hers! Lord cardinal, will your grace
Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York
Unto his princely brother presently?
If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him,
And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.
CARDINAL:
My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory
Can from his mother win the Duke of York,
Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate
To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid
We should infringe the holy privilege
Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land
Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.
BUCKINGHAM:
You are too senseless--obstinate, my lord,
Too ceremonious and traditional
Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,
You break not sanctuary in seizing him.
The benefit thereof is always granted
To those whose dealings have deserved the place,
And those who have the wit to claim the place:
This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserved it;
And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it:
Then, taking him from thence that is not there,
You break no privilege nor charter there.
Oft have I heard of sanctuary men;
But sanctuary children ne'er till now.
CARDINAL:
My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once.
Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?
HASTINGS:
I go, my lord.
PRINCE EDWARD:
Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.
Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,
Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?
GLOUCESTER:
Where it seems best unto your royal self.
If I may counsel you, some day or two
Your highness shall repose you at the Tower:
Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit
For your best health and recreation.
PRINCE EDWARD:
I do not like the Tower, of any place.
Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?
BUCKINGHAM:
He did, my gracious lord, begin that place;
Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.
PRINCE EDWARD:
Is it upon record, or else reported
Successively from age to age, he built it?
BUCKINGHAM:
Upon record, my gracious lord.
PRINCE EDWARD:
But say, my lord, it were not register'd,
Methinks the truth should live from age to age,
As 'twere retail'd to all posterity,
Even to the general all-ending day.
GLOUCESTER:
PRINCE EDWARD:
What say you, uncle?
GLOUCESTER:
I say, without characters, fame lives long.
Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity,
I moralize two meanings in one word.
PRINCE EDWARD:
That Julius Caesar was a famous man;
With what his valour did enrich his wit,
His wit set down to make his valour live
Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;
For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham,-- |
BUCKINGHAM:
What, my gracious lord?
PRINCE EDWARD:
An if I live until I be a man,
I'll win our ancient right in France again,
Or die a soldier, as I lived a king.
GLOUCESTER:
BUCKINGHAM:
Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York.
PRINCE EDWARD:
Richard of York! how fares our loving brother?
YORK:
Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now.
PRINCE EDWARD:
Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours:
Too late he died that might have kept that title,
Which by his death hath lost much majesty.
GLOUCESTER:
How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?
YORK:
I thank you, gentle uncle. |
O, my lord,
You said that idle weeds are fast in growth
The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
GLOUCESTER:
He hath, my lord.
YORK:
And therefore is he idle?
GLOUCESTER:
O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.
YORK:
Then is he more beholding to you than I.
GLOUCESTER:
He may command me as my sovereign;
But you have power in me as in a kinsman.
YORK:
I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.
GLOUCESTER:
My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart.
PRINCE EDWARD:
A beggar, brother?
YORK:
Of my kind uncle, that I know will give;
And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.
GLOUCESTER:
A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.
YORK:
A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it.
GLOUCESTER:
A gentle cousin, were it light enough.
YORK:
O, then, I see, you will part but with light gifts;
In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.
GLOUCESTER:
It is too heavy for your grace to wear.
YORK:
I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.
GLOUCESTER:
What, would you have my weapon, little lord?
YORK:
I would, that I might thank you as you call me.
GLOUCESTER:
How?
YORK:
Little.
PRINCE EDWARD:
My Lord of York will still be cross in talk:
Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.
YORK:
You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me:
Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;
Because that I am little, like an ape,
He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.
BUCKINGHAM:
With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!
To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,
He prettily and aptly taunts himself:
So cunning and so young is wonderful.
GLOUCESTER:
My lord, will't please you pass along?
Myself and my good cousin Buckingham
Will to your mother, to entreat of her
To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.
YORK:
What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?
PRINCE EDWARD:
My lord protector needs will have it so.
YORK:
I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.
GLOUCESTER:
Why, what should you fear?
YORK:
Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost:
My grandam told me he was murdered there.
PRINCE EDWARD:
I fear no uncles dead.
GLOUCESTER:
Nor none that live, I hope.
PRINCE EDWARD:
An if they live, I hope I need not fear.
But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,
Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. |
O, my lord,
You said that idle weeds are fast in growth
The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
GLOUCESTER:
He hath, my lord.
YORK:
And therefore is he idle?
GLOUCESTER:
O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.
YORK:
Then is he more beholding to you than I.
GLOUCESTER:
He may command me as my sovereign;
But you have power in me as in a kinsman.
YORK:
I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.
GLOUCESTER:
My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart.
PRINCE EDWARD:
A beggar, brother?
YORK:
Of my kind uncle, that I know will give;
And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.
GLOUCESTER:
A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.
YORK:
A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it.
GLOUCESTER:
A gentle cousin, were it light enough.
YORK:
O, then, I see, you will part but with light gifts;
In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.
GLOUCESTER:
It is too heavy for your grace to wear.
YORK:
I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.
GLOUCESTER:
What, would you have my weapon, little lord?
YORK:
I would, that I might thank you as you call me.
GLOUCESTER:
How?
YORK:
Little.
PRINCE EDWARD:
My Lord of York will still be cross in talk:
Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.
YORK:
You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me:
Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;
Because that I am little, like an ape,
He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.
BUCKINGHAM:
With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!
To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,
He prettily and aptly taunts himself:
So cunning and so young is wonderful.
GLOUCESTER:
My lord, will't please you pass along?
Myself and my good cousin Buckingham
Will to your mother, to entreat of her
To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.
YORK:
What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?
PRINCE EDWARD:
My lord protector needs will have it so.
YORK:
I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.
GLOUCESTER:
Why, what should you fear?
YORK:
Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost:
My grandam told me he was murdered there.
PRINCE EDWARD:
I fear no uncles dead.
GLOUCESTER:
Nor none that live, I hope.
PRINCE EDWARD:
An if they live, I hope I need not fear.
But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,
BUCKINGHAM:
Think you, my lord, this little prating York
Was not incensed by his subtle mother
To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?
GLOUCESTER:
No doubt, no doubt; O, 'tis a parlous boy;
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable
He is all the mother's, from the top to toe.
BUCKINGHAM:
Well, let them rest. |
Come hither, Catesby.
Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend
As closely to conceal what we impart:
Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way;
What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter
To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,
For the instalment of this noble duke
In the seat royal of this famous isle?
CATESBY:
He for his father's sake so loves the prince,
Come hither, Catesby.
Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend
As closely to conceal what we impart:
Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way;
What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter
To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,
For the instalment of this noble duke
In the seat royal of this famous isle?
CATESBY:
That he will not be won to aught against him.
BUCKINGHAM:
What think'st thou, then, of Stanley? what will he?
CATESBY:
He will do all in all as Hastings doth.
BUCKINGHAM:
Well, then, no more but this: go, gentle Catesby,
And, as it were far off sound thou Lord Hastings,
How doth he stand affected to our purpose;
And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,
To sit about the coronation.
If thou dost find him tractable to us,
Encourage him, and show him all our reasons:
If he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling,
Be thou so too; and so break off your talk,
And give us notice of his inclination:
For we to-morrow hold divided councils,
Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd.
GLOUCESTER:
Commend me to Lord William: tell him, Catesby,
His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries
To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle;
And bid my friend, for joy of this good news,
Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.
BUCKINGHAM:
Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly.
CATESBY:
My good lords both, with all the heed I may.
GLOUCESTER:
Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?
CATESBY:
You shall, my lord.
GLOUCESTER:
At Crosby Place, there shall you find us both.
BUCKINGHAM:
Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive
Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?
GLOUCESTER:
Chop off his head, man; somewhat we will do:
And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me
The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables
Whereof the king my brother stood possess'd.
BUCKINGHAM:
I'll claim that promise at your grace's hands.
GLOUCESTER:
And look to have it yielded with all willingness.
Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards
We may digest our complots in some form.
Messenger:
What, ho! my lord!
HASTINGS:
Messenger:
A messenger from the Lord Stanley.
HASTINGS:
What is't o'clock?
Messenger:
Upon the stroke of four.
HASTINGS:
Cannot thy master sleep these tedious nights?
Messenger:
So it should seem by that I have to say.
First, he commends him to your noble lordship.
HASTINGS:
And then?
Messenger:
And then he sends you word
He dreamt to-night the boar had razed his helm:
Besides, he says there are two councils held;
And that may be determined at the one
which may make you and him to rue at the other.
Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure,
If presently you will take horse with him,
And with all speed post with him toward the north,
To shun the danger that his soul divines.
HASTINGS: |
Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;
Bid him not fear the separated councils
His honour and myself are at the one,
And at the other is my servant Catesby
Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us
Whereof I shall not have intelligence.
Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting instance:
And for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond
To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers
To fly the boar before the boar pursues,
Were to incense the boar to follow us
And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.
Go, bid thy master rise and come to me
And we will both together to the Tower,
Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.
Messenger:
My gracious lord, I'll tell him what you say.
CATESBY:
Many good morrows to my noble lord!
HASTINGS:
Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring
What news, what news, in this our tottering state?
CATESBY:
It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord;
And I believe twill never stand upright
Tim Richard wear the garland of the realm.
HASTINGS:
How! wear the garland! dost thou mean the crown?
CATESBY:
Ay, my good lord.
HASTINGS:
I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders
Ere I will see the crown so foul misplaced.
But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?
CATESBY:
Ay, on my life; and hopes to find forward
Upon his party for the gain thereof:
And thereupon he sends you this good news,
That this same very day your enemies,
The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret.
HASTINGS:
Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,
Because they have been still mine enemies:
But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side,
To bar my master's heirs in true descent,
God knows I will not do it, to the death.
CATESBY:
God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!
HASTINGS:
But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence,
That they who brought me in my master's hate
I live to look upon their tragedy.
I tell thee, Catesby--
CATESBY:
What, my lord?
HASTINGS:
Ere a fortnight make me elder,
I'll send some packing that yet think not on it.
CATESBY:
'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,
When men are unprepared and look not for it.
HASTINGS:
O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out
With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do
With some men else, who think themselves as safe
As thou and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear
To princely Richard and to Buckingham.
CATESBY:
The princes both make high account of you;
For they account his head upon the bridge.
HASTINGS:
I know they do; and I have well deserved it.
Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?
Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?
STANLEY:
My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby:
You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,
I do not like these several councils, I.
HASTINGS:
My lord,
I hold my life as dear as you do yours;
And never in my life, I do protest,
Was it more precious to me than 'tis now:
Think you, but that I know our state secure,
I would be so triumphant as I am?
STANLEY:
The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London,
Were jocund, and supposed their state was sure,
And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;
But yet, you see how soon the day o'ercast.
This sudden stag of rancour I misdoubt: |
Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward!
What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent.
HASTINGS:
Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my lord?
To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded.
LORD STANLEY:
They, for their truth, might better wear their heads
Than some that have accused them wear their hats.
But come, my lord, let us away.
HASTINGS:
Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow.
How now, sirrah! how goes the world with thee?
Pursuivant:
The better that your lordship please to ask.
HASTINGS:
I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now
Than when I met thee last where now we meet:
Then was I going prisoner to the Tower,
By the suggestion of the queen's allies;
But now, I tell thee--keep it to thyself--
This day those enemies are put to death,
And I in better state than e'er I was.
Pursuivant:
God hold it, to your honour's good content!
HASTINGS:
Gramercy, fellow: there, drink that for me.
Pursuivant:
God save your lordship!
Priest:
Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour.
HASTINGS:
I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart.
I am in your debt for your last exercise;
Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.
BUCKINGHAM:
What, talking with a priest, lord chamberlain?
Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest;
Your honour hath no shriving work in hand.
HASTINGS:
Good faith, and when I met this holy man,
Those men you talk of came into my mind.
What, go you toward the Tower?
BUCKINGHAM:
I do, my lord; but long I shall not stay
I shall return before your lordship thence.
HASTINGS:
'Tis like enough, for I stay dinner there.
BUCKINGHAM:
HASTINGS:
I'll wait upon your lordship.
RATCLIFF:
Come, bring forth the prisoners.
RIVERS:
Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this:
To-day shalt thou behold a subject die
For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.
GREY:
God keep the prince from all the pack of you!
A knot you are of damned blood-suckers!
VAUGHAN:
You live that shall cry woe for this after.
RATCLIFF:
Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out.
RIVERS:
O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison,
Fatal and ominous to noble peers!
Within the guilty closure of thy walls
Richard the second here was hack'd to death;
And, for more slander to thy dismal seat,
We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink.
GREY:
Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads,
For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.
RIVERS:
Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed she Buckingham,
Then cursed she Richard. |
O, remember, God
To hear her prayers for them, as now for us
And for my sister and her princely sons,
Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,
Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt.
RATCLIFF:
Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.
RIVERS:
Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us all embrace:
And take our leave, until we meet in heaven.
HASTINGS:
My lords, at once: the cause why we are met
Is, to determine of the coronation.
In God's name, speak: when is the royal day?
BUCKINGHAM:
Are all things fitting for that royal time?
DERBY:
It is, and wants but nomination.
O, remember, God
To hear her prayers for them, as now for us
And for my sister and her princely sons,
Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood,
Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt.
RATCLIFF:
Make haste; the hour of death is expiate.
RIVERS:
Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us all embrace:
And take our leave, until we meet in heaven.
HASTINGS:
My lords, at once: the cause why we are met
Is, to determine of the coronation.
In God's name, speak: when is the royal day?
BUCKINGHAM:
Are all things fitting for that royal time?
DERBY:
It is, and wants but nomination.
BISHOP OF ELY:
To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day.
BUCKINGHAM:
Who knows the lord protector's mind herein?
Who is most inward with the royal duke?
BISHOP OF ELY:
Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind.
BUCKINGHAM:
Who, I, my lord I we know each other's faces,
But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine,
Than I of yours;
Nor I no more of his, than you of mine.
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.
HASTINGS:
I thank his grace, I know he loves me well;
But, for his purpose in the coronation.
I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd
His gracious pleasure any way therein:
But you, my noble lords, may name the time;
And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice,
Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part.
BISHOP OF ELY:
Now in good time, here comes the duke himself.
GLOUCESTER:
My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow.
I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope,
My absence doth neglect no great designs,
Which by my presence might have been concluded.
BUCKINGHAM:
Had not you come upon your cue, my lord
William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part,--
I mean, your voice,--for crowning of the king.
GLOUCESTER:
Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder;
His lordship knows me well, and loves me well.
HASTINGS:
I thank your grace.
GLOUCESTER:
My lord of Ely!
BISHOP OF ELY:
My lord?
GLOUCESTER:
When I was last in Holborn,
I saw good strawberries in your garden there
I do beseech you send for some of them.
BISHOP OF ELY:
Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart.
GLOUCESTER:
Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business,
And finds the testy gentleman so hot,
As he will lose his head ere give consent
His master's son, as worshipful as he terms it,
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.
BUCKINGHAM: |
Withdraw you hence, my lord, I'll follow you.
DERBY:
We have not yet set down this day of triumph.
To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden;
For I myself am not so well provided
As else I would be, were the day prolong'd.
BISHOP OF ELY:
Where is my lord protector? I have sent for these
strawberries.
HASTINGS:
His grace looks cheerfully and smooth to-day;
There's some conceit or other likes him well,
When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit.
I think there's never a man in Christendom
That can less hide his love or hate than he;
For by his face straight shall you know his heart.
DERBY:
What of his heart perceive you in his face
By any likelihood he show'd to-day?
HASTINGS:
Marry, that with no man here he is offended;
For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.
DERBY:
I pray God he be not, I say.
GLOUCESTER:
I pray you all, tell me what they deserve
That do conspire my death with devilish plots
Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd
Upon my body with their hellish charms?
HASTINGS:
The tender love I bear your grace, my lord,
Makes me most forward in this noble presence
To doom the offenders, whatsoever they be
I say, my lord, they have deserved death.
GLOUCESTER:
Then be your eyes the witness of this ill:
See how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm
Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up:
And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch,
Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore,
That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.
HASTINGS:
If they have done this thing, my gracious lord--
GLOUCESTER:
If I thou protector of this damned strumpet--
Tellest thou me of 'ifs'? Thou art a traitor:
Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear,
I will not dine until I see the same.
Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done:
The rest, that love me, rise and follow me.
HASTINGS:
Woe, woe for England! not a whit for me;
For I, too fond, might have prevented this.
Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm;
But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly:
Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble,
And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower,
As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.
O, now I want the priest that spake to me:
I now repent I told the pursuivant
As 'twere triumphing at mine enemies,
How they at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd,
And I myself secure in grace and favour.
O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse
Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head!
RATCLIFF:
Dispatch, my lord; the duke would be at dinner:
Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head.
HASTINGS:
O momentary grace of mortal men,
Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!
Who builds his hopes in air of your good looks,
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast,
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
LOVEL:
Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim.
HASTINGS:
O bloody Richard! miserable England!
I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee
That ever wretched age hath look'd upon.
Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head.
They smile at me that shortly shall be dead.
GLOUCESTER:
Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change thy colour, |
Murder thy breath in the middle of a word,
And then begin again, and stop again,
As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror?
BUCKINGHAM:
Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian;
Speak and look back, and pry on every side,
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw,
Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks
Are at my service, like enforced smiles;
And both are ready in their offices,
At any time, to grace my stratagems.
But what, is Catesby gone?
GLOUCESTER:
He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along.
BUCKINGHAM:
Lord mayor,--
GLOUCESTER:
Look to the drawbridge there!
BUCKINGHAM:
Hark! a drum.
GLOUCESTER:
Catesby, o'erlook the walls.
BUCKINGHAM:
Lord mayor, the reason we have sent--
GLOUCESTER:
Look back, defend thee, here are enemies.
BUCKINGHAM:
God and our innocency defend and guard us!
GLOUCESTER:
Be patient, they are friends, Ratcliff and Lovel.
LOVEL:
Here is the head of that ignoble traitor,
The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.
GLOUCESTER:
So dear I loved the man, that I must weep.
I took him for the plainest harmless creature
That breathed upon this earth a Christian;
Made him my book wherein my soul recorded
The history of all her secret thoughts:
So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue,
That, his apparent open guilt omitted,
I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife,
He lived from all attainder of suspect.
BUCKINGHAM:
Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd traitor
That ever lived.
Would you imagine, or almost believe,
Were't not that, by great preservation,
We live to tell it you, the subtle traitor
This day had plotted, in the council-house
To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester?
Lord Mayor:
What, had he so?
GLOUCESTER:
What, think You we are Turks or infidels?
Or that we would, against the form of law,
Proceed thus rashly to the villain's death,
But that the extreme peril of the case,
The peace of England and our persons' safety,
Enforced us to this execution?
Lord Mayor:
Now, fair befall you! he deserved his death;
And you my good lords, both have well proceeded,
To warn false traitors from the like attempts.
I never look'd for better at his hands,
After he once fell in with Mistress Shore.
GLOUCESTER:
Yet had not we determined he should die,
Until your lordship came to see his death;
Which now the loving haste of these our friends,
Somewhat against our meaning, have prevented:
Because, my lord, we would have had you heard
The traitor speak, and timorously confess
The manner and the purpose of his treason;
That you might well have signified the same
Unto the citizens, who haply may
Misconstrue us in him and wail his death.
Lord Mayor:
But, my good lord, your grace's word shall serve,
As well as I had seen and heard him speak
And doubt you not, right noble princes both,
But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens
With all your just proceedings in this cause.
GLOUCESTER:
And to that end we wish'd your lord-ship here,
To avoid the carping censures of the world.
BUCKINGHAM:
But since you come too late of our intents,
Yet witness what you hear we did intend:
And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell.
GLOUCESTER:
Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham.
The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post: |
There, at your meet'st advantage of the time,
Infer the bastardy of Edward's children:
Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen,
Only for saying he would make his son
Heir to the crown; meaning indeed his house,
Which, by the sign thereof was termed so.
Moreover, urge his hateful luxury
And bestial appetite in change of lust;
Which stretched to their servants, daughters, wives,
Even where his lustful eye or savage heart,
Without control, listed to make his prey.
Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person:
Tell them, when that my mother went with child
Of that unsatiate Edward, noble York
My princely father then had wars in France
And, by just computation of the time,
Found that the issue was not his begot;
Which well appeared in his lineaments,
Being nothing like the noble duke my father:
But touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off,
Because you know, my lord, my mother lives.
BUCKINGHAM:
Fear not, my lord, I'll play the orator
As if the golden fee for which I plead
Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu.
GLOUCESTER:
If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's Castle;
Where you shall find me well accompanied
With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops.
BUCKINGHAM:
I go: and towards three or four o'clock
Look for the news that the Guildhall affords.
GLOUCESTER:
Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw;
Go thou to Friar Penker; bid them both
Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle.
Now will I in, to take some privy order,
To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight;
And to give notice, that no manner of person
At any time have recourse unto the princes.
Scrivener:
This is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings;
Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd,
That it may be this day read over in Paul's.
And mark how well the sequel hangs together:
Eleven hours I spent to write it over,
For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me;
The precedent was full as long a-doing:
And yet within these five hours lived Lord Hastings,
Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty
Here's a good world the while! Why who's so gross,
That seeth not this palpable device?
Yet who's so blind, but says he sees it not?
Bad is the world; and all will come to nought,
When such bad dealings must be seen in thought.
GLOUCESTER:
How now, my lord, what say the citizens?
BUCKINGHAM:
Now, by the holy mother of our Lord,
The citizens are mum and speak not a word.
GLOUCESTER:
Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children?
BUCKINGHAM:
I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,
And his contract by deputy in France;
The insatiate greediness of his desires,
And his enforcement of the city wives;
His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,
As being got, your father then in France,
His resemblance, being not like the duke;
Withal I did infer your lineaments,
Being the right idea of your father,
Both in your form and nobleness of mind;
Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
Your dicipline in war, wisdom in peace,
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility:
Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose
Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse
And when mine oratory grew to an end
I bid them that did love their country's good
Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal king!'
GLOUCESTER:
Ah! and did they so?
BUCKINGHAM:
No, so God help me, they spake not a word;
But, like dumb statues or breathing stones, |
Gazed each on other, and look'd deadly pale.
Which when I saw, I reprehended them;
And ask'd the mayor what meant this wilful silence:
His answer was, the people were not wont
To be spoke to but by the recorder.
Then he was urged to tell my tale again,
'Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd;'
But nothing spake in warrant from himself.
When he had done, some followers of mine own,
At the lower end of the hall, hurl'd up their caps,
And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!'
And thus I took the vantage of those few,
'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I;
'This general applause and loving shout
Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard:'
And even here brake off, and came away.
GLOUCESTER:
What tongueless blocks were they! would not they speak?
BUCKINGHAM:
No, by my troth, my lord.
GLOUCESTER:
Will not the mayor then and his brethren come?
BUCKINGHAM:
The mayor is here at hand: intend some fear;
Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit:
And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,
And stand betwixt two churchmen, good my lord;
For on that ground I'll build a holy descant:
And be not easily won to our request:
Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it.
GLOUCESTER:
I go; and if you plead as well for them
As I can say nay to thee for myself,
No doubt well bring it to a happy issue.
BUCKINGHAM:
Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor knocks.
Welcome my lord; I dance attendance here;
I think the duke will not be spoke withal.
Here comes his servant: how now, Catesby,
What says he?
CATESBY:
My lord: he doth entreat your grace;
To visit him to-morrow or next day:
He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
Divinely bent to meditation;
And no worldly suit would he be moved,
To draw him from his holy exercise.
BUCKINGHAM:
Return, good Catesby, to thy lord again;
Tell him, myself, the mayor and citizens,
In deep designs and matters of great moment,
No less importing than our general good,
Are come to have some conference with his grace.
CATESBY:
I'll tell him what you say, my lord.
BUCKINGHAM:
Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!
He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed,
But on his knees at meditation;
Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,
But meditating with two deep divines;
Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,
But praying, to enrich his watchful soul:
Happy were England, would this gracious prince
Take on himself the sovereignty thereof:
But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it.
Lord Mayor:
Marry, God forbid his grace should say us nay!
BUCKINGHAM:
I fear he will.
How now, Catesby, what says your lord?
CATESBY:
My lord,
He wonders to what end you have assembled
Such troops of citizens to speak with him,
His grace not being warn'd thereof before:
My lord, he fears you mean no good to him.
BUCKINGHAM:
Sorry I am my noble cousin should
Suspect me, that I mean no good to him:
By heaven, I come in perfect love to him;
And so once more return and tell his grace.
When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence,
So sweet is zealous contemplation.
Lord Mayor:
See, where he stands between two clergymen!
BUCKINGHAM:
Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, |
To stay him from the fall of vanity:
And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,
True ornaments to know a holy man.
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince,
Lend favourable ears to our request;
And pardon us the interruption
Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.
GLOUCESTER:
My lord, there needs no such apology:
I rather do beseech you pardon me,
Who, earnest in the service of my God,
Neglect the visitation of my friends.
But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure?
BUCKINGHAM:
Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,
And all good men of this ungovern'd isle.
GLOUCESTER:
I do suspect I have done some offence
That seems disgracious in the city's eyes,
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.
BUCKINGHAM:
You have, my lord: would it might please your grace,
At our entreaties, to amend that fault!
GLOUCESTER:
Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?
BUCKINGHAM:
Then know, it is your fault that you resign
The supreme seat, the throne majestical,
The scepter'd office of your ancestors,
Your state of fortune and your due of birth,
The lineal glory of your royal house,
To the corruption of a blemished stock:
Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
Which here we waken to our country's good,
This noble isle doth want her proper limbs;
Her face defaced with scars of infamy,
Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf
Of blind forgetfulness and dark oblivion.
Which to recure, we heartily solicit
Your gracious self to take on you the charge
And kingly government of this your land,
Not as protector, steward, substitute,
Or lowly factor for another's gain;
But as successively from blood to blood,
Your right of birth, your empery, your own.
For this, consorted with the citizens,
Your very worshipful and loving friends,
And by their vehement instigation,
In this just suit come I to move your grace.
GLOUCESTER:
I know not whether to depart in silence,
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof.
Best fitteth my degree or your condition
If not to answer, you might haply think
Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,
Which fondly you would here impose on me;
If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
So season'd with your faithful love to me.
Then, on the other side, I cheque'd my friends.
Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first,
And then, in speaking, not to incur the last,
Definitively thus I answer you.
Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert
Unmeritable shuns your high request.
First if all obstacles were cut away,
And that my path were even to the crown,
As my ripe revenue and due by birth
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,
So mighty and so many my defects,
As I had rather hide me from my greatness,
Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,
Than in my greatness covet to be hid,
And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.
But, God be thank'd, there's no need of me,
And much I need to help you, if need were;
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
Will well become the seat of majesty,
And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.
On him I lay what you would lay on me,
The right and fortune of his happy stars;
Which God defend that I should wring from him!
BUCKINGHAM:
My lord, this argues conscience in your grace;
But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,
All circumstances well considered. |
You say that Edward is your brother's son:
So say we too, but not by Edward's wife;
For first he was contract to Lady Lucy--
Your mother lives a witness to that vow--
And afterward by substitute betroth'd
To Bona, sister to the King of France.
These both put by a poor petitioner,
A care-crazed mother of a many children,
A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
Even in the afternoon of her best days,
Made prize and purchase of his lustful eye,
Seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts
To base declension and loathed bigamy
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
This Edward, whom our manners term the prince.
More bitterly could I expostulate,
Save that, for reverence to some alive,
I give a sparing limit to my tongue.
Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
This proffer'd benefit of dignity;
If non to bless us and the land withal,
Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry
From the corruption of abusing times,
Unto a lineal true-derived course.
Lord Mayor:
Do, good my lord, your citizens entreat you.
BUCKINGHAM:
Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.
CATESBY:
O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit!
GLOUCESTER:
Alas, why would you heap these cares on me?
I am unfit for state and majesty;
I do beseech you, take it not amiss;
I cannot nor I will not yield to you.
BUCKINGHAM:
If you refuse it,--as, in love and zeal,
Loath to depose the child, Your brother's son;
As well we know your tenderness of heart
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
Which we have noted in you to your kin,
And egally indeed to all estates,--
Yet whether you accept our suit or no,
Your brother's son shall never reign our king;
But we will plant some other in the throne,
To the disgrace and downfall of your house:
And in this resolution here we leave you.--
Come, citizens: 'zounds! I'll entreat no more.
GLOUCESTER:
O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham.
CATESBY:
Call them again, my lord, and accept their suit.
ANOTHER:
Do, good my lord, lest all the land do rue it.
GLOUCESTER:
Would you enforce me to a world of care?
Well, call them again. I am not made of stone,
But penetrable to your. |
kind entreats,
Albeit against my conscience and my soul.
Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men,
Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
To bear her burthen, whether I will or no,
I must have patience to endure the load:
But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach
Attend the sequel of your imposition,
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
For God he knows, and you may partly see,
How far I am from the desire thereof.
Lord Mayor:
God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it.
GLOUCESTER:
In saying so, you shall but say the truth.
BUCKINGHAM:
Then I salute you with this kingly title:
Long live Richard, England's royal king!
Lord Mayor:
Amen.
BUCKINGHAM:
To-morrow will it please you to be crown'd?
GLOUCESTER:
Even when you please, since you will have it so.
BUCKINGHAM:
To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace:
And so most joyfully we take our leave.
GLOUCESTER:
Come, let us to our holy task again.
Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Who meets us here? my niece Plantagenet
Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester?
kind entreats,
Albeit against my conscience and my soul.
Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men,
Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
To bear her burthen, whether I will or no,
I must have patience to endure the load:
But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach
Attend the sequel of your imposition,
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
For God he knows, and you may partly see,
How far I am from the desire thereof.
Lord Mayor:
God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it.
GLOUCESTER:
In saying so, you shall but say the truth.
BUCKINGHAM:
Then I salute you with this kingly title:
Long live Richard, England's royal king!
Lord Mayor:
Amen.
BUCKINGHAM:
To-morrow will it please you to be crown'd?
GLOUCESTER:
Even when you please, since you will have it so.
BUCKINGHAM:
To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace:
And so most joyfully we take our leave.
GLOUCESTER:
Come, let us to our holy task again.
Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Who meets us here? my niece Plantagenet
Now, for my life, she's wandering to the Tower,
On pure heart's love to greet the tender princes.
Daughter, well met.
LADY ANNE:
God give your graces both
A happy and a joyful time of day!
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
As much to you, good sister! Whither away?
LADY ANNE:
No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess,
Upon the like devotion as yourselves,
To gratulate the gentle princes there.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Kind sister, thanks: we'll enter all together.
And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
How doth the prince, and my young son of York?
BRAKENBURY:
Right well, dear madam. |
By your patience,
I may not suffer you to visit them;
The king hath straitly charged the contrary.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
The king! why, who's that?
BRAKENBURY:
I cry you mercy: I mean the lord protector.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
By your patience,
I may not suffer you to visit them;
The king hath straitly charged the contrary.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
The king! why, who's that?
BRAKENBURY:
I cry you mercy: I mean the lord protector.
The Lord protect him from that kingly title!
Hath he set bounds betwixt their love and me?
I am their mother; who should keep me from them?
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I am their fathers mother; I will see them.
LADY ANNE:
Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:
Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame
And take thy office from thee, on my peril.
BRAKENBURY:
No, madam, no; I may not leave it so:
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.
LORD STANLEY:
Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,
And reverend looker on, of two fair queens.
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
O, cut my lace in sunder, that my pent heart
May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon
With this dead-killing news!
LADY ANNE:
Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!
DORSET:
Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your grace?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee hence!
Death and destruction dog thee at the heels;
Thy mother's name is ominous to children.
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell
Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,
Lest thou increase the number of the dead;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.
LORD STANLEY:
Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam.
Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
You shall have letters from me to my son
To meet you on the way, and welcome you.
Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
O ill-dispersing wind of misery!
O my accursed womb, the bed of death!
A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
Whose unavoided eye is murderous.
LORD STANLEY:
Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.
LADY ANNE:
And I in all unwillingness will go.
I would to God that the inclusive verge
Of golden metal that must round my brow
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain!
Anointed let me be with deadly venom,
And die, ere men can say, God save the queen!
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory
To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.
LADY ANNE:
No! why? When he that is my husband now
Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse,
When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands
Which issued from my other angel husband
And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd;
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
This was my wish: 'Be thou,' quoth I, ' accursed,
For making me, so young, so old a widow! |
And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife--if any be so mad--
As miserable by the life of thee
As thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Even in so short a space, my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words
And proved the subject of my own soul's curse,
Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep,
But have been waked by his timorous dreams.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining.
LADY ANNE:
No more than from my soul I mourn for yours.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory!
LADY ANNE:
Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave of it!
DUCHESS OF YORK:
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower.
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
Whom envy hath immured within your walls!
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.
KING RICHARD III:
Stand all apart Cousin of Buckingham!
BUCKINGHAM:
My gracious sovereign?
KING RICHARD III:
Give me thy hand.
Thus high, by thy advice
And thy assistance, is King Richard seated;
But shall we wear these honours for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
BUCKINGHAM:
Still live they and for ever may they last!
KING RICHARD III:
O Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
To try if thou be current gold indeed
Young Edward lives: think now what I would say.
BUCKINGHAM:
Say on, my loving lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king,
BUCKINGHAM:
Why, so you are, my thrice renowned liege.
KING RICHARD III:
Ha! am I king? 'tis so: but Edward lives.
BUCKINGHAM:
True, noble prince.
KING RICHARD III:
O bitter consequence,
That Edward still should live! 'True, noble prince!'
Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull:
Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead;
And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
What sayest thou? speak suddenly; be brief.
BUCKINGHAM:
Your grace may do your pleasure.
KING RICHARD III:
Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezeth:
Say, have I thy consent that they shall die?
BUCKINGHAM:
Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord
Before I positively herein:
I will resolve your grace immediately.
CATESBY:
KING RICHARD III:
I will converse with iron-witted fools
And unrespective boys: none are for me
That look into me with considerate eyes:
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
Boy!
Page:
My lord?
KING RICHARD III:
Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold
Would tempt unto a close exploit of death?
Page:
My lord, I know a discontented gentleman,
Whose humble means match not his haughty mind:
Gold were as good as twenty orators,
And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.
KING RICHARD III:
What is his name?
Page:
His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. |
KING RICHARD III:
I partly know the man: go, call him hither.
The deep-revolving witty Buckingham
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel:
Hath he so long held out with me untired,
And stops he now for breath?
How now! what news with you?
STANLEY:
My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorset's fled
To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea
Where he abides.
KING RICHARD III:
Catesby!
CATESBY:
My lord?
KING RICHARD III:
Rumour it abroad
That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die:
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman,
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter:
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.
Look, how thou dream'st! I say again, give out
That Anne my wife is sick and like to die:
About it; for it stands me much upon,
To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.
I must be married to my brother's daughter,
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass.
Murder her brothers, and then marry her!
Uncertain way of gain! But I am in
So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin:
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.
Is thy name Tyrrel?
TYRREL:
James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.
KING RICHARD III:
Art thou, indeed?
TYRREL:
Prove me, my gracious sovereign.
KING RICHARD III:
Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?
TYRREL:
Ay, my lord;
But I had rather kill two enemies.
KING RICHARD III:
Why, there thou hast it: two deep enemies,
Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep's disturbers
Are they that I would have thee deal upon:
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.
TYRREL:
Let me have open means to come to them,
And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.
KING RICHARD III:
Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel
Go, by this token: rise, and lend thine ear:
There is no more but so: say it is done,
And I will love thee, and prefer thee too.
TYRREL:
'Tis done, my gracious lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep?
TYRREL:
Ye shall, my Lord.
BUCKINGHAM:
My Lord, I have consider'd in my mind
The late demand that you did sound me in.
KING RICHARD III:
Well, let that pass. |
Dorset is fled to Richmond.
BUCKINGHAM:
I hear that news, my lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Stanley, he is your wife's son well, look to it.
BUCKINGHAM:
My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise,
For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd;
The earldom of Hereford and the moveables
The which you promised I should possess.
KING RICHARD III:
Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.
BUCKINGHAM:
What says your highness to my just demand?
KING RICHARD III:
As I remember, Henry the Sixth
Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
A king, perhaps, perhaps,--
BUCKINGHAM:
My lord!
KING RICHARD III:
How chance the prophet could not at that time
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?
BUCKINGHAM:
My lord, your promise for the earldom,--
KING RICHARD III:
Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,
Dorset is fled to Richmond.
BUCKINGHAM:
I hear that news, my lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Stanley, he is your wife's son well, look to it.
BUCKINGHAM:
My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise,
For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd;
The earldom of Hereford and the moveables
The which you promised I should possess.
KING RICHARD III:
Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.
BUCKINGHAM:
What says your highness to my just demand?
KING RICHARD III:
As I remember, Henry the Sixth
Did prophesy that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
A king, perhaps, perhaps,--
BUCKINGHAM:
My lord!
KING RICHARD III:
How chance the prophet could not at that time
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?
BUCKINGHAM:
My lord, your promise for the earldom,--
KING RICHARD III:
The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle,
And call'd it Rougemont: at which name I started,
Because a bard of Ireland told me once
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.
BUCKINGHAM:
My Lord!
KING RICHARD III:
Ay, what's o'clock?
BUCKINGHAM:
I am thus bold to put your grace in mind
Of what you promised me.
KING RICHARD III:
Well, but what's o'clock?
BUCKINGHAM:
Upon the stroke of ten.
KING RICHARD III:
Well, let it strike.
BUCKINGHAM:
Why let it strike?
KING RICHARD III:
Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I am not in the giving vein to-day.
BUCKINGHAM:
Why, then resolve me whether you will or no.
KING RICHARD III:
Tut, tut,
Thou troublest me; am not in the vein.
BUCKINGHAM:
Is it even so? rewards he my true service
With such deep contempt made I him king for this?
O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone
To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on!
TYRREL:
The tyrannous and bloody deed is done.
The most arch of piteous massacre
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn
To do this ruthless piece of butchery,
Although they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, |
Melting with tenderness and kind compassion
Wept like two children in their deaths' sad stories.
'Lo, thus' quoth Dighton, 'lay those tender babes:'
'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest, 'girdling one another
Within their innocent alabaster arms:
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
Which once,' quoth Forrest, 'almost changed my mind;
But O! the devil'--there the villain stopp'd
Whilst Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature,
That from the prime creation e'er she framed.'
Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse;
They could not speak; and so I left them both,
To bring this tidings to the bloody king.
And here he comes.
All hail, my sovereign liege!
KING RICHARD III:
Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?
TYRREL:
If to have done the thing you gave in charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then,
For it is done, my lord.
KING RICHARD III:
But didst thou see them dead?
TYRREL:
I did, my lord.
KING RICHARD III:
And buried, gentle Tyrrel?
TYRREL:
The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
But how or in what place I do not know.
KING RICHARD III:
Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,
And thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell till soon.
The son of Clarence have I pent up close;
His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the crown,
To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer.
CATESBY:
My lord!
KING RICHARD III:
Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly?
CATESBY:
Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Richmond;
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
KING RICHARD III:
Ely with Richmond troubles me more near
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army.
Come, I have heard that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!
Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield;
We must be brief when traitors brave the field.
QUEEN MARGARET:
So, now prosperity begins to mellow
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,
To watch the waning of mine adversaries.
A dire induction am I witness to,
And will to France, hoping the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Ah, my young princes! ah, my tender babes!
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,
Hover about me with your airy wings
And hear your mother's lamentation!
QUEEN MARGARET:
Hover about her; say, that right for right
Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
So many miseries have crazed my voice, |
That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb,
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?
QUEEN MARGARET:
Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet.
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs,
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?
QUEEN MARGARET:
When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal living ghost,
Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,
Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,
Unlawfully made drunk with innocents' blood!
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
O, that thou wouldst as well afford a grave
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.
O, who hath any cause to mourn but I?
QUEEN MARGARET:
If ancient sorrow be most reverend,
Give mine the benefit of seniory,
And let my woes frown on the upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society,
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine:
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
I had a Harry, till a Richard kill'd him:
Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him;
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;
I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him.
From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death:
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,
That foul defacer of God's handiwork,
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.
O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother's body,
And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!
DUCHESS OF YORK:
O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes!
God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
QUEEN MARGARET:
Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward:
Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
Young York he is but boot, because both they
Match not the high perfection of my loss:
Thy Clarence he is dead that kill'd my Edward;
And the beholders of this tragic play,
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer,
Only reserved their factor, to buy souls
And send them thither: but at hand, at hand,
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end:
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray.
To have him suddenly convey'd away.
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I prey,
That I may live to say, The dog is dead!
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
O, thou didst prophesy the time would come
That I should wish for thee to help me curse
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad!
QUEEN MARGARET:
I call'd thee then vain flourish of my fortune; |
I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen;
The presentation of but what I was;
The flattering index of a direful pageant;
One heaved a-high, to be hurl'd down below;
A mother only mock'd with two sweet babes;
A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble,
A sign of dignity, a garish flag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot,
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where are thy children? wherein dost thou, joy?
Who sues to thee and cries 'God save the queen'?
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art:
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd yoke;
From which even here I slip my weary neck,
And leave the burthen of it all on thee.
Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance:
These English woes will make me smile in France.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies!
QUEEN MARGARET:
Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days;
Compare dead happiness with living woe;
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
And he that slew them fouler than he is:
Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse:
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine!
QUEEN MARGARET:
Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Why should calamity be full of words?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Windy attorneys to their client woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries!
Let them have scope: though what they do impart
Help not all, yet do they ease the heart.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me.
And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
My damned son, which thy two sweet sons smother'd.
I hear his drum: be copious in exclaims.
KING RICHARD III:
Who intercepts my expedition?
DUCHESS OF YORK:
O, she that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her accursed womb
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done!
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Hidest thou that forehead with a golden crown,
Where should be graven, if that right were right,
The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown,
And the dire death of my two sons and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children?
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence?
And little Ned Plantagenet, his son?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey?
KING RICHARD III: |
A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, drums!
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord's enointed: strike, I say!
Either be patient, and entreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Art thou my son?
KING RICHARD III:
Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Then patiently hear my impatience.
KING RICHARD III:
Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
Which cannot brook the accent of reproof.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
O, let me speak!
KING RICHARD III:
Do then: but I'll not hear.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I will be mild and gentle in my speech.
KING RICHARD III:
And brief, good mother; for I am in haste.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee,
God knows, in anguish, pain and agony.
KING RICHARD III:
And came I not at last to comfort you?
DUCHESS OF YORK:
No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well,
Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell.
A grievous burthen was thy birth to me;
Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious,
Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous,
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subdued, bloody,
treacherous,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:
What comfortable hour canst thou name,
That ever graced me in thy company?
KING RICHARD III:
Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd
your grace
To breakfast once forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,
Let me march on, and not offend your grace.
Strike the drum.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I prithee, hear me speak.
KING RICHARD III:
You speak too bitterly.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Hear me a word;
For I shall never speak to thee again.
KING RICHARD III:
So.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance,
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror,
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish
And never look upon thy face again.
Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
My prayers on the adverse party fight;
And there the little souls of Edward's children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies
And promise them success and victory.
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end;
Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse
Abides in me; I say amen to all.
KING RICHARD III:
Stay, madam; I must speak a word with you.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
I have no more sons of the royal blood
For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;
And therefore level not to hit their lives.
KING RICHARD III:
You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
And must she die for this? O, let her live,
And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;
Slander myself as false to Edward's bed;
Throw over her the veil of infamy: |
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
KING RICHARD III:
Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
To save her life, I'll say she is not so.
KING RICHARD III:
Her life is only safest in her birth.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
And only in that safety died her brothers.
KING RICHARD III:
Lo, at their births good stars were opposite.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.
KING RICHARD III:
All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
True, when avoided grace makes destiny:
My babes were destined to a fairer death,
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.
KING RICHARD III:
You speak as if that I had slain my cousins.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame,
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.
KING RICHARD III:
Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise
And dangerous success of bloody wars,
As I intend more good to you and yours,
Than ever you or yours were by me wrong'd!
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
What good is cover'd with the face of heaven,
To be discover'd, that can do me good?
KING RICHARD III:
The advancement of your children, gentle lady.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?
KING RICHARD III:
No, to the dignity and height of honour
The high imperial type of this earth's glory.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Flatter my sorrows with report of it;
Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou demise to any child of mine?
KING RICHARD III:
Even all I have; yea, and myself and all,
Will I withal endow a child of thine;
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs
Which thou supposest I have done to thee.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Be brief, lest that be process of thy kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.
KING RICHARD III:
Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.
KING RICHARD III:
What do you think?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul:
So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers;
And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it.
KING RICHARD III:
Be not so hasty to confound my meaning:
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And mean to make her queen of England.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?
KING RICHARD III:
Even he that makes her queen who should be else?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
What, thou?
KING RICHARD III: |
I, even I: what think you of it, madam?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
How canst thou woo her?
KING RICHARD III:
That would I learn of you,
As one that are best acquainted with her humour.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
And wilt thou learn of me?
KING RICHARD III:
Madam, with all my heart.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,
A pair of bleeding-hearts; thereon engrave
Edward and York; then haply she will weep:
Therefore present to her--as sometime Margaret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,--
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body
And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith.
If this inducement force her not to love,
Send her a story of thy noble acts;
Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake,
Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
KING RICHARD III:
Come, come, you mock me; this is not the way
To win our daughter.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
There is no other way
Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.
KING RICHARD III:
Say that I did all this for love of her.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
KING RICHARD III:
Look, what is done cannot be now amended:
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends, Ill give it to your daughter.
If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,
To quicken your increase, I will beget
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter
A grandam's name is little less in love
Than is the doting title of a mother;
They are as children but one step below,
Even of your mettle, of your very blood;
Of an one pain, save for a night of groans
Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.
Your children were vexation to your youth,
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
The loss you have is but a son being king,
And by that loss your daughter is made queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity:
The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife.
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;
Again shall you be mother to a king,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repair'd with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see:
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl,
Advantaging their loan with interest
Of ten times double gain of happiness.
Go, then my mother, to thy daughter go
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale
Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys
And when this arm of mine hath chastised
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victress, Caesar's Caesar.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
What were I best to say? her father's brother
Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle?
Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles? |
Under what title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the law, my honour and her love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
KING RICHARD III:
Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.
KING RICHARD III:
Say that the king, which may command, entreats.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
That at her hands which the king's King forbids.
KING RICHARD III:
Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
To wail the tide, as her mother doth.
KING RICHARD III:
Say, I will love her everlastingly.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
But how long shall that title 'ever' last?
KING RICHARD III:
Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
But how long fairly shall her sweet lie last?
KING RICHARD III:
So long as heaven and nature lengthens it.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
So long as hell and Richard likes of it.
KING RICHARD III:
Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject love.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.
KING RICHARD III:
Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.
KING RICHARD III:
Then in plain terms tell her my loving tale.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Plain and not honest is too harsh a style.
KING RICHARD III:
Your reasons are too shallow and too quick.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
O no, my reasons are too deep and dead;
Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave.
KING RICHARD III:
Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break.
KING RICHARD III:
Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,--
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Profaned, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd.
KING RICHARD III:
I swear--
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
By nothing; for this is no oath:
The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour;
The garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue;
The crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory.
if something thou wilt swear to be believed,
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.
KING RICHARD III:
Now, by the world--
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.
KING RICHARD III:
My father's death--
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Thy life hath that dishonour'd.
KING RICHARD III:
Then, by myself--
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Thyself thyself misusest.
KING RICHARD III:
Why then, by God--
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
God's wrong is most of all.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
The unity the king thy brother made
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain:
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him,
The imperial metal, circling now thy brow,
Had graced the tender temples of my child,
And both the princes had been breathing here,
Which now, two tender playfellows to dust, |
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now?
KING RICHARD III:
The time to come.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast;
For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee.
The children live, whose parents thou hast
slaughter'd,
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age;
The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd,
Old wither'd plants, to wail it with their age.
Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast
Misused ere used, by time misused o'erpast.
KING RICHARD III:
As I intend to prosper and repent,
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
Of hostile arms! myself myself confound!
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours!
Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest!
Be opposite all planets of good luck
To my proceedings, if, with pure heart's love,
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,
I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter!
In her consists my happiness and thine;
Without her, follows to this land and me,
To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul,
Death, desolation, ruin and decay:
It cannot be avoided but by this;
It will not be avoided but by this.
Therefore, good mother,--I must can you so--
Be the attorney of my love to her:
Plead what I will be, not what I have been;
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve:
Urge the necessity and state of times,
And be not peevish-fond in great designs.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Shall I be tempted of the devil thus?
KING RICHARD III:
Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Shall I forget myself to be myself?
KING RICHARD III:
Ay, if yourself's remembrance wrong yourself.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
But thou didst kill my children.
KING RICHARD III:
But in your daughter's womb I bury them:
Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed
Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?
KING RICHARD III:
And be a happy mother by the deed.
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
I go. |
Write to me very shortly.
And you shall understand from me her mind.
KING RICHARD III:
Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell.
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!
How now! what news?
RATCLIFF:
My gracious sovereign, on the western coast
Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back:
'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;
And there they hull, expecting but the aid
Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.
KING RICHARD III:
Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk:
Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he?
CATESBY:
Here, my lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Fly to the duke:
Post thou to Salisbury
When thou comest thither--
Dull, unmindful villain,
Why stand'st thou still, and go'st not to the duke?
CATESBY:
First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind,
What from your grace I shall deliver to him.
KING RICHARD III:
O, true, good Catesby: bid him levy straight
The greatest strength and power he can make,
And meet me presently at Salisbury.
CATESBY:
I go.
RATCLIFF:
What is't your highness' pleasure I shall do at
Write to me very shortly.
And you shall understand from me her mind.
KING RICHARD III:
Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell.
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!
How now! what news?
RATCLIFF:
My gracious sovereign, on the western coast
Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back:
'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;
And there they hull, expecting but the aid
Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.
KING RICHARD III:
Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk:
Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he?
CATESBY:
Here, my lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Fly to the duke:
Post thou to Salisbury
When thou comest thither--
Dull, unmindful villain,
Why stand'st thou still, and go'st not to the duke?
CATESBY:
First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind,
What from your grace I shall deliver to him.
KING RICHARD III:
O, true, good Catesby: bid him levy straight
The greatest strength and power he can make,
And meet me presently at Salisbury.
CATESBY:
I go.
RATCLIFF:
Salisbury?
KING RICHARD III:
Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go?
RATCLIFF:
Your highness told me I should post before.
KING RICHARD III:
My mind is changed, sir, my mind is changed.
How now, what news with you?
STANLEY:
None good, my lord, to please you with the hearing;
Nor none so bad, but it may well be told.
KING RICHARD III:
Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!
Why dost thou run so many mile about,
When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way?
Once more, what news?
STANLEY:
Richmond is on the seas.
KING RICHARD III:
There let him sink, and be the seas on him!
White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there?
STANLEY:
I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
KING RICHARD III:
Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess? |
STANLEY:
Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely,
He makes for England, there to claim the crown.
KING RICHARD III:
Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway'd?
Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd?
What heir of York is there alive but we?
And who is England's king but great York's heir?
Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea?
STANLEY:
Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.
KING RICHARD III:
Unless for that he comes to be your liege,
You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.
STANLEY:
No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not.
KING RICHARD III:
Where is thy power, then, to beat him back?
Where are thy tenants and thy followers?
Are they not now upon the western shore.
Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships!
STANLEY:
No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.
KING RICHARD III:
Cold friends to Richard: what do they in the north,
When they should serve their sovereign in the west?
STANLEY:
They have not been commanded, mighty sovereign:
Please it your majesty to give me leave,
I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace
Where and what time your majesty shall please.
KING RICHARD III:
Ay, ay. |
thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond:
I will not trust you, sir.
STANLEY:
Most mighty sovereign,
You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful:
I never was nor never will be false.
KING RICHARD III:
Well,
Go muster men; but, hear you, leave behind
Your son, George Stanley: look your faith be firm.
Or else his head's assurance is but frail.
STANLEY:
So deal with him as I prove true to you.
Messenger:
My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
As I by friends am well advertised,
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate
Bishop of Exeter, his brother there,
With many more confederates, are in arms.
Second Messenger:
My liege, in Kent the Guildfords are in arms;
And every hour more competitors
Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth.
Third Messenger:
My lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham--
KING RICHARD III:
Out on you, owls! nothing but songs of death?
Take that, until thou bring me better news.
Third Messenger:
The news I have to tell your majesty
Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd;
And he himself wander'd away alone,
No man knows whither.
KING RICHARD III:
I cry thee mercy:
There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the traitor in?
Third Messenger:
Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.
Fourth Messenger:
Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset,
'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace,
The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest:
Richmond, in Yorkshire, sent out a boat
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks
If they were his assistants, yea or no;
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham.
Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
Hoisted sail and made away for Brittany.
KING RICHARD III:
March on, march on, since we are up in arms;
If not to fight with foreign enemies,
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.
CATESBY:
My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken; |
thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond:
I will not trust you, sir.
STANLEY:
Most mighty sovereign,
You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful:
I never was nor never will be false.
KING RICHARD III:
Well,
Go muster men; but, hear you, leave behind
Your son, George Stanley: look your faith be firm.
Or else his head's assurance is but frail.
STANLEY:
So deal with him as I prove true to you.
Messenger:
My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
As I by friends am well advertised,
Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate
Bishop of Exeter, his brother there,
With many more confederates, are in arms.
Second Messenger:
My liege, in Kent the Guildfords are in arms;
And every hour more competitors
Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth.
Third Messenger:
My lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham--
KING RICHARD III:
Out on you, owls! nothing but songs of death?
Take that, until thou bring me better news.
Third Messenger:
The news I have to tell your majesty
Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd;
And he himself wander'd away alone,
No man knows whither.
KING RICHARD III:
I cry thee mercy:
There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the traitor in?
Third Messenger:
Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.
Fourth Messenger:
Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset,
'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace,
The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest:
Richmond, in Yorkshire, sent out a boat
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks
If they were his assistants, yea or no;
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham.
Upon his party: he, mistrusting them,
Hoisted sail and made away for Brittany.
KING RICHARD III:
March on, march on, since we are up in arms;
If not to fight with foreign enemies,
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.
CATESBY:
That is the best news: that the Earl of Richmond
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford,
Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.
KING RICHARD III:
Away towards Salisbury! while we reason here,
A royal battle might be won and lost
Some one take order Buckingham be brought
To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.
DERBY:
Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:
That in the sty of this most bloody boar
My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold:
If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
The fear of that withholds my present aid.
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?
CHRISTOPHER:
At Pembroke, or at Harford-west, in Wales.
DERBY:
What men of name resort to him?
CHRISTOPHER:
Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;
Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley;
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,
And Rice ap Thomas with a valiant crew;
And many more of noble fame and worth:
And towards London they do bend their course,
If by the way they be not fought withal.
DERBY:
Return unto thy lord; commend me to him:
Tell him the queen hath heartily consented
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
These letters will resolve him of my mind. |
Farewell.
BUCKINGHAM:
Will not King Richard let me speak with him?
Sheriff:
No, my good lord; therefore be patient.
Farewell.
BUCKINGHAM:
Will not King Richard let me speak with him?
Sheriff:
BUCKINGHAM:
Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey,
Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
By underhand corrupted foul injustice,
If that your moody discontented souls
Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
Even for revenge mock my destruction!
This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not?
Sheriff:
It is, my lord.
BUCKINGHAM:
Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday.
This is the day that, in King Edward's time,
I wish't might fall on me, when I was found
False to his children or his wife's allies
This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall
By the false faith of him I trusted most;
This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul
Is the determined respite of my wrongs:
That high All-Seer that I dallied with
Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men
To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms:
Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon my head;
'When he,' quoth she, 'shall split thy heart with sorrow,
Remember Margaret was a prophetess.'
Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame;
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
RICHMOND:
Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,
Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny,
Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we march'd on without impediment;
And here receive we from our father Stanley
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,
That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines,
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough
In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine
Lies now even in the centre of this isle,
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn
From Tamworth thither is but one day's march.
In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends,
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
OXFORD:
Every man's conscience is a thousand swords,
To fight against that bloody homicide.
HERBERT:
I doubt not but his friends will fly to us.
BLUNT:
He hath no friends but who are friends for fear.
Which in his greatest need will shrink from him.
RICHMOND:
All for our vantage. |
Then, in God's name, march:
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings:
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
KING RICHARD III:
Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.
My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?
SURREY:
My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.
KING RICHARD III:
My Lord of Norfolk,--
NORFOLK:
Here, most gracious liege.
KING RICHARD III:
Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we not?
NORFOLK:
We must both give and take, my gracious lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Up with my tent there! here will I lie tonight;
But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that.
Who hath descried the number of the foe?
NORFOLK:
Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.
KING RICHARD III:
Why, our battalion trebles that account:
Then, in God's name, march:
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings:
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
KING RICHARD III:
Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.
My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad?
SURREY:
My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.
KING RICHARD III:
My Lord of Norfolk,--
NORFOLK:
Here, most gracious liege.
KING RICHARD III:
Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we not?
NORFOLK:
We must both give and take, my gracious lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Up with my tent there! here will I lie tonight;
But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that.
Who hath descried the number of the foe?
NORFOLK:
Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.
KING RICHARD III:
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength,
Which they upon the adverse party want.
Up with my tent there! Valiant gentlemen,
Let us survey the vantage of the field
Call for some men of sound direction
Let's want no discipline, make no delay,
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day.
RICHMOND:
The weary sun hath made a golden set,
And by the bright track of his fiery car,
Gives signal, of a goodly day to-morrow.
Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.
Give me some ink and paper in my tent
I'll draw the form and model of our battle,
Limit each leader to his several charge,
And part in just proportion our small strength.
My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir William Brandon,
And you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me.
The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment:
Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him
And by the second hour in the morning
Desire the earl to see me in my tent:
Yet one thing more, good Blunt, before thou go'st,
Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, dost thou know?
BLUNT:
Unless I have mista'en his colours much,
Which well I am assured I have not done,
His regiment lies half a mile at least
South from the mighty power of the king.
RICHMOND:
If without peril it be possible,
Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him,
And give him from me this most needful scroll.
BLUNT:
Upon my life, my lord, I'll under-take it;
And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!
RICHMOND:
Good night, good Captain Blunt. |
Come gentlemen,
Let us consult upon to-morrow's business
In to our tent; the air is raw and cold.
KING RICHARD III:
What is't o'clock?
CATESBY:
It's supper-time, my lord;
Come gentlemen,
Let us consult upon to-morrow's business
In to our tent; the air is raw and cold.
KING RICHARD III:
What is't o'clock?
CATESBY:
It's nine o'clock.
KING RICHARD III:
I will not sup to-night.
Give me some ink and paper.
What, is my beaver easier than it was?
And all my armour laid into my tent?
CATESBY:
If is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.
KING RICHARD III:
Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge;
Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.
NORFOLK:
I go, my lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.
NORFOLK:
I warrant you, my lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Catesby!
CATESBY:
My lord?
KING RICHARD III:
Send out a pursuivant at arms
To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power
Before sunrising, lest his son George fall
Into the blind cave of eternal night.
Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.
Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.
Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.
Ratcliff!
RATCLIFF:
My lord?
KING RICHARD III:
Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?
RATCLIFF:
Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself,
Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop
Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.
KING RICHARD III:
So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine:
I have not that alacrity of spirit,
Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have.
Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?
RATCLIFF:
It is, my lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Bid my guard watch; leave me.
Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent
And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.
DERBY:
Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!
RICHMOND:
All comfort that the dark night can afford
Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!
Tell me, how fares our loving mother?
DERBY:
I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother
Who prays continually for Richmond's good:
So much for that. |
The silent hours steal on,
And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
In brief,--for so the season bids us be,--
Prepare thy battle early in the morning,
And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.
I, as I may--that which I would I cannot,--
With best advantage will deceive the time,
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms:
But on thy side I may not be too forward
Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,
Be executed in his father's sight.
Farewell: the leisure and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love
And ample interchange of sweet discourse,
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon:
God give us leisure for these rites of love!
Once more, adieu: be valiant, and speed well!
RICHMOND:
Good lords, conduct him to his regiment:
I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap,
Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow,
When I should mount with wings of victory:
Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.
O Thou, whose captain I account myself,
The silent hours steal on,
And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
In brief,--for so the season bids us be,--
Prepare thy battle early in the morning,
And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.
I, as I may--that which I would I cannot,--
With best advantage will deceive the time,
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms:
But on thy side I may not be too forward
Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,
Be executed in his father's sight.
Farewell: the leisure and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love
And ample interchange of sweet discourse,
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon:
God give us leisure for these rites of love!
Once more, adieu: be valiant, and speed well!
RICHMOND:
Good lords, conduct him to his regiment:
I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap,
Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow,
When I should mount with wings of victory:
Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.
Look on my forces with a gracious eye;
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall
The usurping helmets of our adversaries!
Make us thy ministers of chastisement,
That we may praise thee in the victory!
To thee I do commend my watchful soul,
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes:
Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still!
Ghost of Prince Edward:
Ghost of King Henry VI:
Ghost of CLARENCE:
Ghost of RIVERS:
Ghost of GREY:
Ghost of VAUGHAN:
All:
Ghost of HASTINGS:
Ghosts of young Princes:
Ghost of LADY ANNE:
Ghost of BUCKINGHAM:
KING RICHARD III:
Give me another horse: bind up my wounds.
Have mercy, Jesu!--Soft! I did but dream.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? myself? there's none else by:
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am:
Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why:
Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself?
Alack. I love myself. Wherefore? for any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
O, no! alas, I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself!
I am a villain: yet I lie. |
I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well: fool, do not flatter.
I am not.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree
Murder, stem murder, in the direst degree;
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty!
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
And if I die, no soul shall pity me:
Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself?
Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd
Came to my tent; and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
RATCLIFF:
My lord!
KING RICHARD III:
'Zounds! who is there?
RATCLIFF:
Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock
Hath twice done salutation to the morn;
Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.
KING RICHARD III:
O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream!
What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true?
RATCLIFF:
No doubt, my lord.
KING RICHARD III:
O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,--
RATCLIFF:
Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.
KING RICHARD III:
By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard
Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.
It is not yet near day. |
Come, go with me;
Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
To see if any mean to shrink from me.
LORDS:
Good morrow, Richmond!
RICHMOND:
Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,
That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.
LORDS:
How have you slept, my lord?
RICHMOND:
The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams
That ever enter'd in a drowsy head,
Have I since your departure had, my lords.
Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd,
Came to my tent, and cried on victory:
I promise you, my soul is very jocund
In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
How far into the morning is it, lords?
LORDS:
Upon the stroke of four.
RICHMOND:
Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction.
More than I have said, loving countrymen,
The leisure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this,
God and our good cause fight upon our side;
The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces;
Richard except, those whom we fight against
Had rather have us win than him they follow:
For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen,
A bloody tyrant and a homicide;
One raised in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
One that made means to come by what he hath,
And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him;
Abase foul stone, made precious by the foil
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;
One that hath ever been God's enemy:
Then, if you fight against God's enemy,
God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;
If you do fight against your country's foes,
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire;
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;
If you do free your children from the sword,
Your children's children quit it in your age. |
Come, go with me;
Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
To see if any mean to shrink from me.
LORDS:
Good morrow, Richmond!
RICHMOND:
Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,
That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.
LORDS:
How have you slept, my lord?
RICHMOND:
The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams
That ever enter'd in a drowsy head,
Have I since your departure had, my lords.
Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd,
Came to my tent, and cried on victory:
I promise you, my soul is very jocund
In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
How far into the morning is it, lords?
LORDS:
Upon the stroke of four.
RICHMOND:
Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction.
More than I have said, loving countrymen,
The leisure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this,
God and our good cause fight upon our side;
The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces;
Richard except, those whom we fight against
Had rather have us win than him they follow:
For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen,
A bloody tyrant and a homicide;
One raised in blood, and one in blood establish'd;
One that made means to come by what he hath,
And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him;
Abase foul stone, made precious by the foil
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;
One that hath ever been God's enemy:
Then, if you fight against God's enemy,
God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;
If you do fight against your country's foes,
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire;
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;
If you do free your children from the sword,
Then, in the name of God and all these rights,
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
The least of you shall share his part thereof.
Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;
God and Saint George! Richmond and victory!
KING RICHARD III:
What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?
RATCLIFF:
That he was never trained up in arms.
KING RICHARD III:
He said the truth: and what said Surrey then?
RATCLIFF:
He smiled and said 'The better for our purpose.'
KING RICHARD III:
He was in the right; and so indeed it is.
Ten the clock there. Give me a calendar.
Who saw the sun to-day?
RATCLIFF:
Not I, my lord.
KING RICHARD III:
Then he disdains to shine; for by the book
He should have braved the east an hour ago
A black day will it be to somebody. |
Ratcliff!
RATCLIFF:
My lord?
KING RICHARD III:
The sun will not be seen to-day;
The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.
I would these dewy tears were from the ground.
Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me
More than to Richmond? for the selfsame heaven
That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.
NORFOLK:
Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.
KING RICHARD III:
Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse.
Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power:
I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,
Ratcliff!
RATCLIFF:
My lord?
KING RICHARD III:
The sun will not be seen to-day;
The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.
I would these dewy tears were from the ground.
Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me
More than to Richmond? for the selfsame heaven
That frowns on me looks sadly upon him.
NORFOLK:
Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.
KING RICHARD III:
Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse.
Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power:
And thus my battle shall be ordered:
My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,
Consisting equally of horse and foot;
Our archers shall be placed in the midst
John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.
They thus directed, we will follow
In the main battle, whose puissance on either side
Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.
This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou, Norfolk?
NORFOLK:
A good direction, warlike sovereign.
This found I on my tent this morning.
KING RICHARD III:
Messenger:
My lord, he doth deny to come.
KING RICHARD III:
Off with his son George's head!
NORFOLK:
My lord, the enemy is past the marsh
After the battle let George Stanley die.
KING RICHARD III:
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom:
Advance our standards, set upon our foes
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
Upon them! victory sits on our helms.
CATESBY:
Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!
The king enacts more wonders than a man,
Daring an opposite to every danger:
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!
KING RICHARD III:
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
CATESBY:
Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to a horse.
KING RICHARD III:
Slave, I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die:
I think there be six Richmonds in the field;
Five have I slain to-day instead of him.
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
RICHMOND:
God and your arms be praised, victorious friends,
The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.
DERBY:
Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee.
Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty
From the dead temples of this bloody wretch
Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal:
Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.
RICHMOND:
Great God of heaven, say Amen to all!
But, tell me, is young George Stanley living?
DERBY:
He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town;
Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. |
RICHMOND:
What men of name are slain on either side?
DERBY:
John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,
Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.
RICHMOND:
Inter their bodies as becomes their births:
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled
That in submission will return to us:
And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament,
We will unite the white rose and the red:
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,
That long have frown'd upon their enmity!
What traitor hears me, and says not amen?
England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself;
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son,
The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire:
All this divided York and Lancaster,
Divided in their dire division,
O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true succeeders of each royal house,
By God's fair ordinance conjoin together!
And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so.
Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace,
With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days!
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
That would reduce these bloody days again,
And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
Let them not live to taste this land's increase
That would with treason wound this fair land's peace!
Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again:
That she may long live here, God say amen!
KING RICHARD II:
Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son,
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
JOHN OF GAUNT:
I have, my liege.
KING RICHARD II:
Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
Or worthily, as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him?
JOHN OF GAUNT:
As near as I could sift him on that argument,
On some apparent danger seen in him
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice.
KING RICHARD II:
Then call them to our presence; face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser and the accused freely speak:
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Many years of happy days befal
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown!
KING RICHARD II:
We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,
As well appeareth by the cause you come;
Namely to appeal each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
First, heaven be the record to my speech!
In the devotion of a subject's love,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak
My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,
Too good to be so and too bad to live,
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note, |
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,
What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove.
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this:
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
As to be hush'd and nought at all to say:
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
Which else would post until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
I do defy him, and I spit at him;
Call him a slanderous coward and a villain:
Which to maintain I would allow him odds,
And meet him, were I tied to run afoot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable,
Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
Mean time let this defend my loyalty,
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king,
And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
If guilty dread have left thee so much strength
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop:
By that and all the rites of knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
I take it up; and by that sword I swear
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
And when I mount, alive may I not light,
If I be traitor or unjustly fight!
KING RICHARD II:
What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?
It must be great that can inherit us
So much as of a thought of ill in him.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true;
That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
Besides I say and will in battle prove,
Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English eye,
That all the treasons for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
Further I say and further will maintain
Upon his bad life to make all this good,
That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,
And consequently, like a traitor coward,
Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood:
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
To me for justice and rough chastisement;
And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.
KING RICHARD II:
How high a pitch his resolution soars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
O, let my sovereign turn away his face
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
Till I have told this slander of his blood,
How God and good men hate so foul a liar.
KING RICHARD II:
Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, |
As he is but my father's brother's son,
Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow,
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul:
He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais
Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;
The other part reserved I by consent,
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
Upon remainder of a dear account,
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death,
I slew him not; but to my own disgrace
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe
Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul
But ere I last received the sacrament
I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.
This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd,
It issues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor
Which in myself I boldly will defend;
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
To prove myself a loyal gentleman
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.
KING RICHARD II:
Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me;
Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
This we prescribe, though no physician;
Deep malice makes too deep incision;
Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed;
Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
To be a make-peace shall become my age:
Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.
KING RICHARD II:
And, Norfolk, throw down his.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
When, Harry, when?
Obedience bids I should not bid again.
KING RICHARD II:
Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
The one my duty owes; but my fair name,
Despite of death that lives upon my grave,
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here,
Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear,
The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
Which breathed this poison.
KING RICHARD II:
Rage must be withstood:
Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame.
And I resign my gage. |
My dear dear lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation: that away,
Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:
Take honour from me, and my life is done:
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
In that I live and for that will I die.
KING RICHARD II:
Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
My dear dear lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation: that away,
Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:
Take honour from me, and my life is done:
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
In that I live and for that will I die.
KING RICHARD II:
Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.
O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!
Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong,
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive of recanting fear,
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face.
KING RICHARD II:
We were not born to sue, but to command;
Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day:
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate:
Since we can not atone you, we shall see
Justice design the victor's chivalry.
Lord marshal, command our officers at arms
Be ready to direct these home alarms.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims,
To stir against the butchers of his life!
But since correction lieth in those hands
Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;
Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
DUCHESS:
Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,
Or seven fair branches springing from one root:
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,
One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,
One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt,
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb,
That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee
Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,
Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father's death,
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair:
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,
Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
That which in mean men we intitle patience
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. |
What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,
The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute,
His deputy anointed in His sight,
Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully,
Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
An angry arm against His minister.
DUCHESS:
Where then, alas, may I complain myself?
JOHN OF GAUNT:
To God, the widow's champion and defence.
DUCHESS:
Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:
O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast!
Or, if misfortune miss the first career,
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,
They may break his foaming courser's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!
Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife
With her companion grief must end her life.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry:
As much good stay with thee as go with me!
DUCHESS:
Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls,
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:
I take my leave before I have begun,
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York.
Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so;
Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
I shall remember more. |
Bid him--ah, what?--
With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see
But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
And what hear there for welcome but my groans?
Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.
Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die:
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
Lord Marshal:
My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.
Lord Marshal:
The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay
For nothing but his majesty's approach.
KING RICHARD II:
Marshal, demand of yonder champion
The cause of his arrival here in arms:
Ask him his name and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.
Lord Marshal:
In God's name and the king's, say who thou art
And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,
Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel:
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath;
As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;
Who hither come engaged by my oath--
Which God defend a knight should violate!--
Both to defend my loyalty and truth
To God, my king and my succeeding issue,
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me:
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
KING RICHARD II:
Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
Both who he is and why he cometh hither
Thus plated in habiliments of war,
And formally, according to our law,
Depose him in the justice of his cause.
Lord Marshal:
What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither, |
Bid him--ah, what?--
With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see
But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
And what hear there for welcome but my groans?
Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.
Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die:
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
Lord Marshal:
My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.
Lord Marshal:
The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay
For nothing but his majesty's approach.
KING RICHARD II:
Marshal, demand of yonder champion
The cause of his arrival here in arms:
Ask him his name and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.
Lord Marshal:
In God's name and the king's, say who thou art
And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,
Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel:
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath;
As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;
Who hither come engaged by my oath--
Which God defend a knight should violate!--
Both to defend my loyalty and truth
To God, my king and my succeeding issue,
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me:
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
KING RICHARD II:
Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms,
Both who he is and why he cometh hither
Thus plated in habiliments of war,
And formally, according to our law,
Depose him in the justice of his cause.
Lord Marshal:
Before King Richard in his royal lists?
Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby
Am I; who ready here do stand in arms,
To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour,
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,
To God of heaven, King Richard and to me;
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
Lord Marshal:
On pain of death, no person be so bold
Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,
Except the marshal and such officers
Appointed to direct these fair designs.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand,
And bow my knee before his majesty:
For Mowbray and myself are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave
And loving farewell of our several friends.
Lord Marshal:
The appellant in all duty greets your highness,
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.
KING RICHARD II:
We will descend and fold him in our arms.
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight!
Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
O let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear:
As confident as is the falcon's flight |
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My loving lord, I take my leave of you;
Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;
Not sick, although I have to do with death,
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:
O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up
To reach at victory above my head,
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers;
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point,
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,
And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt,
Even in the lusty havior of his son.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
Be swift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy:
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive!
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
However God or fortune cast my lot,
There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne,
A loyal, just and upright gentleman:
Never did captive with a freer heart
Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
This feast of battle with mine adversary.
Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years:
As gentle and as jocund as to jest
Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.
KING RICHARD II:
Farewell, my lord: securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the trial, marshal, and begin.
Lord Marshal:
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.
Lord Marshal:
Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.
First Herald:
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, his king and him;
And dares him to set forward to the fight.
Second Herald:
Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend himself and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal;
Courageously and with a free desire
Attending but the signal to begin.
Lord Marshal:
Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants.
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.
KING RICHARD II:
Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
And both return back to their chairs again:
Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound
While we return these dukes what we decree.
Draw near,
And list what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd
With that dear blood which it hath fostered;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword;
And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
With rival-hating envy, set on you
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums,
With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray,
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, |
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood,
Therefore, we banish you our territories:
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Your will be done: this must my comfort be,
Sun that warms you here shall shine on me;
And those his golden beams to you here lent
Shall point on me and gild my banishment.
KING RICHARD II:
Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
The sly slow hours shall not determinate
The dateless limit of thy dear exile;
The hopeless word of 'never to return'
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth:
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your highness' hands.
The language I have learn'd these forty years,
My native English, now I must forego:
And now my tongue's use is to me no more
Than an unstringed viol or a harp,
Or like a cunning instrument cased up,
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony:
Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue,
Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips;
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now:
What is thy sentence then but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?
KING RICHARD II:
It boots thee not to be compassionate:
After our sentence plaining comes too late.
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
Then thus I turn me from my country's light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
KING RICHARD II:
Return again, and take an oath with thee.
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to God--
Our part therein we banish with yourselves--
To keep the oath that we administer:
You never shall, so help you truth and God!
Embrace each other's love in banishment;
Nor never look upon each other's face;
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;
Nor never by advised purpose meet
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
I swear.
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
And I, to keep all this.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:--
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our souls had wander'd in the air.
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land:
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burthen of a guilty soul.
THOMAS MOWBRAY:
No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banish'd as from hence!
But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know;
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.
Farewell, my liege. |
Now no way can I stray;
Save back to England, all the world's my way.
KING RICHARD II:
Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banish'd years
Now no way can I stray;
Save back to England, all the world's my way.
KING RICHARD II:
Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect
Pluck'd four away.
Six frozen winter spent,
Return with welcome home from banishment.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
How long a time lies in one little word!
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs
End in a word: such is the breath of kings.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
I thank my liege, that in regard of me
He shortens four years of my son's exile:
But little vantage shall I reap thereby;
For, ere the six years that he hath to spend
Can change their moons and bring their times about
My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light
Shall be extinct with age and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me see my son.
KING RICHARD II:
Why uncle, thou hast many years to live.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
But not a minute, king, that thou canst give:
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him for my death,
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
KING RICHARD II:
Thy son is banish'd upon good advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave:
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour?
JOHN OF GAUNT:
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
You urged me as a judge; but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
O, had it been a stranger, not my child,
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild:
A partial slander sought I to avoid,
And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.
Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
I was too strict to make mine own away;
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
Against my will to do myself this wrong.
KING RICHARD II:
Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so:
Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know,
From where you do remain let paper show.
Lord Marshal:
My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,
As far as land will let me, by your side.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends?
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue's office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
What is six winters? they are quickly gone.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
The sullen passage of thy weary steps
Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set |
The precious jewel of thy home return.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
Will but remember me what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages, and in the end,
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
But that I was a journeyman to grief?
JOHN OF GAUNT:
All places that the eye of heaven visits
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
Teach thy necessity to reason thus;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not the king did banish thee,
But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour
And not the king exiled thee; or suppose
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air
And thou art flying to a fresher clime:
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest:
Suppose the singing birds musicians,
The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd,
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance;
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way:
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!
Where'er I wander, boast of this I can,
Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman.
KING RICHARD II:
We did observe. |
Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his way?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
But to the next highway, and there I left him.
KING RICHARD II:
And say, what store of parting tears were shed?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
KING RICHARD II:
What said our cousin when you parted with him?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
'Farewell:'
And, for my heart disdained that my tongue
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
To counterfeit oppression of such grief
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours
And added years to his short banishment,
He should have had a volume of farewells;
But since it would not, he had none of me.
KING RICHARD II:
He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green
Observed his courtship to the common people;
How he did seem to dive into their hearts
With humble and familiar courtesy,
What reverence he did throw away on slaves,
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles
And patient underbearing of his fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his way?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
But to the next highway, and there I left him.
KING RICHARD II:
And say, what store of parting tears were shed?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
KING RICHARD II:
What said our cousin when you parted with him?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
'Farewell:'
And, for my heart disdained that my tongue
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
To counterfeit oppression of such grief
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours
And added years to his short banishment,
He should have had a volume of farewells;
But since it would not, he had none of me.
KING RICHARD II:
He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green
Observed his courtship to the common people;
How he did seem to dive into their hearts
With humble and familiar courtesy,
What reverence he did throw away on slaves,
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles
And patient underbearing of his fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
A brace of draymen bid God speed him well
And had the tribute of his supple knee,
With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;'
As were our England in reversion his,
And he our subjects' next degree in hope.
GREEN:
Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts.
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,
Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
Ere further leisure yield them further means
For their advantage and your highness' loss.
KING RICHARD II:
We will ourself in person to this war: |
And, for our coffers, with too great a court
And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
We are inforced to farm our royal realm;
The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand: if that come short,
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold
And send them after to supply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland presently.
Bushy, what news?
BUSHY:
Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,
Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste
To entreat your majesty to visit him.
KING RICHARD II:
Where lies he?
BUSHY:
At Ely House.
KING RICHARD II:
Now put it, God, in the physician's mind
To help him to his grave immediately!
The lining of his coffers shall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him:
Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!
All:
Amen.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
Will the king come, that I may breathe my last
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?
DUKE OF YORK:
Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
O, but they say the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention like deep harmony:
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain,
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
He that no more must say is listen'd more
Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;
More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before:
The setting sun, and music at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past:
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.
DUKE OF YORK:
No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,
As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond,
Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound
The open ear of youth doth always listen;
Report of fashions in proud Italy,
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
Limps after in base imitation.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity--
So it be new, there's no respect how vile--
That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
Direct not him whose way himself will choose:
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
Methinks I am a prophet new inspired
And thus expiring do foretell of him:
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
For violent fires soon burn out themselves;
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;
He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home, |
For Christian service and true chivalry,
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son,
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!
DUKE OF YORK:
The king is come: deal mildly with his youth;
For young hot colts being raged do rage the more.
QUEEN:
How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?
KING RICHARD II:
What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt?
JOHN OF GAUNT:
O how that name befits my composition!
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old:
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;
And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?
For sleeping England long time have I watch'd;
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt:
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon,
Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks;
And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt:
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.
KING RICHARD II:
Can sick men play so nicely with their names?
JOHN OF GAUNT:
No, misery makes sport to mock itself:
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
KING RICHARD II:
Should dying men flatter with those that live?
JOHN OF GAUNT:
No, no, men living flatter those that die.
KING RICHARD II:
Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.
KING RICHARD II:
I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;
Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;
And yet, incaged in so small a verge,
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,
Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd,
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,
It were a shame to let this land by lease;
But for thy world enjoying but this land,
Is it not more than shame to shame it so?
Landlord of England art thou now, not king:
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou--
KING RICHARD II:
A lunatic lean-witted fool,
Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Darest with thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood
With fury from his native residence.
Now, by my seat's right royal majesty,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head |
Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.
JOHN OF GAUNT:
O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son,
For that I was his father Edward's son;
That blood already, like the pelican,
Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused:
My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul,
Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls!
May be a precedent and witness good
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood:
Join with the present sickness that I have;
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too long wither'd flower.
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
These words hereafter thy tormentors be!
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
Love they to live that love and honour have.
KING RICHARD II:
And let them die that age and sullens have;
For both hast thou, and both become the grave.
DUKE OF YORK:
I do beseech your majesty, impute his words
To wayward sickliness and age in him:
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.
KING RICHARD II:
Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his;
As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.
KING RICHARD II:
What says he?
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Nay, nothing; all is said
His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
DUKE OF YORK:
Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
KING RICHARD II:
The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.
So much for that. |
Now for our Irish wars:
We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,
Which live like venom where no venom else
But only they have privilege to live.
And for these great affairs do ask some charge,
Towards our assistance we do seize to us
The plate, corn, revenues and moveables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.
DUKE OF YORK:
How long shall I be patient? ah, how long
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first:
In war was never lion raged more fierce,
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely gentleman.
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;
But when he frown'd, it was against the French
And not against his friends; his noble hand
Did will what he did spend and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won;
His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or else he never would compare between.
KING RICHARD II:
Why, uncle, what's the matter?
DUKE OF YORK:
O my liege,
Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? |
Now for our Irish wars:
We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,
Which live like venom where no venom else
But only they have privilege to live.
And for these great affairs do ask some charge,
Towards our assistance we do seize to us
The plate, corn, revenues and moveables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.
DUKE OF YORK:
How long shall I be patient? ah, how long
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first:
In war was never lion raged more fierce,
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely gentleman.
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;
But when he frown'd, it was against the French
And not against his friends; his noble hand
Did will what he did spend and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won;
His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or else he never would compare between.
KING RICHARD II:
Why, uncle, what's the matter?
DUKE OF YORK:
O my liege,
Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time
His charters and his customary rights;
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;
Be not thyself; for how art thou a king
But by fair sequence and succession?
Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!--
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,
Call in the letters patent that he hath
By his attorneys-general to sue
His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts
And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.
KING RICHARD II:
Think what you will, we seize into our hands
His plate, his goods, his money and his lands.
DUKE OF YORK:
I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell:
What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell;
But by bad courses may be understood
That their events can never fall out good.
KING RICHARD II:
Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight:
Bid him repair to us to Ely House
To see this business. |
To-morrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow:
And we create, in absence of ourself,
Our uncle York lord governor of England;
For he is just and always loved us well.
Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
Be merry, for our time of stay is short
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.
LORD ROSS:
And living too; for now his son is duke.
LORD WILLOUGHBY:
Barely in title, not in revenue.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Richly in both, if justice had her right.
LORD ROSS:
My heart is great; but it must break with silence,
Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.
To-morrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow:
And we create, in absence of ourself,
Our uncle York lord governor of England;
For he is just and always loved us well.
Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
Be merry, for our time of stay is short
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.
LORD ROSS:
And living too; for now his son is duke.
LORD WILLOUGHBY:
Barely in title, not in revenue.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Richly in both, if justice had her right.
LORD ROSS:
My heart is great; but it must break with silence,
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!
LORD WILLOUGHBY:
Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?
If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.
LORD ROSS:
No good at all that I can do for him;
Unless you call it good to pity him,
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne
In him, a royal prince, and many moe
Of noble blood in this declining land.
The king is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform,
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
That will the king severely prosecute
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
LORD ROSS:
The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes,
And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
LORD WILLOUGHBY:
And daily new exactions are devised,
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what:
But what, o' God's name, doth become of this?
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not,
But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows:
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.
LORD ROSS:
The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
LORD WILLOUGHBY:
The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.
LORD ROSS:
He hath not money for these Irish wars,
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
His noble kinsman: most degenerate king!
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm;
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.
LORD ROSS:
We see the very wreck that we must suffer;
And unavoided is the danger now,
For suffering so the causes of our wreck. |
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death
I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.
LORD WILLOUGHBY:
Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.
LORD ROSS:
Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so,
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay
In Brittany, received intelligence
That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint,
All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay and be secret, and myself will go.
LORD ROSS:
To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.
LORD WILLOUGHBY:
Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.
BUSHY:
Madam, your majesty is too much sad:
You promised, when you parted with the king,
To lay aside life-harming heaviness
And entertain a cheerful disposition.
QUEEN:
To please the king I did; to please myself
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks,
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming towards me, and my inward soul
With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.
BUSHY:
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon
Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. |
Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen;
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
QUEEN:
It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad
As, though on thinking on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
BUSHY:
'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
QUEEN:
'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived
From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
For nothing had begot my something grief;
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:
'Tis in reversion that I do possess;
But what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.
GREEN:
God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.
QUEEN:
Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is;
Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen;
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
QUEEN:
It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad
As, though on thinking on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
BUSHY:
'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
QUEEN:
'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived
From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
For nothing had begot my something grief;
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:
'Tis in reversion that I do possess;
But what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.
GREEN:
God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:
I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.
QUEEN:
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope:
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?
GREEN:
That he, our hope, might have retired his power,
And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land:
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arrived
At Ravenspurgh.
QUEEN:
Now God in heaven forbid!
GREEN:
Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse,
The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
BUSHY:
Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland
And all the rest revolted faction traitors?
GREEN:
We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him
To Bolingbroke.
QUEEN:
So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.
BUSHY:
Despair not, madam.
QUEEN:
Who shall hinder me?
I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope: he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper back of death,
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false hope lingers in extremity.
GREEN:
Here comes the Duke of York.
QUEEN: |
With signs of war about his aged neck:
O, full of careful business are his looks!
Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words.
DUKE OF YORK:
Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts:
Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief.
Your husband, he is gone to save far off,
Whilst others come to make him lose at home:
Here am I left to underprop his land,
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.
Servant:
My lord, your son was gone before I came.
DUKE OF YORK:
He was? Why, so! go all which way it will!
The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:
Hold, take my ring.
Servant:
My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,
To-day, as I came by, I called there;
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
DUKE OF YORK:
What is't, knave?
Servant:
An hour before I came, the duchess died.
DUKE OF YORK:
God for his mercy! what a tide of woes
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
I know not what to do: I would to God,
So my untruth had not provoked him to it,
The king had cut off my head with my brother's.
What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland?
How shall we do for money for these wars?
Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me.
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts
And bring away the armour that is there.
Gentlemen, will you go muster men?
If I know how or which way to order these affairs
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen:
The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; the other again
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd,
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll
Dispose of you.
Gentlemen, go, muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkeley.
I should to Plashy too;
But time will not permit: all is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven.
BUSHY:
The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,
But none returns. |
For us to levy power
Proportionable to the enemy
Is all unpossible.
GREEN:
Besides, our nearness to the king in love
Is near the hate of those love not the king.
BAGOT:
And that's the wavering commons: for their love
Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
BUSHY:
Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd.
BAGOT:
If judgement lie in them, then so do we,
Because we ever have been near the king.
GREEN:
Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle:
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
BUSHY:
Thither will I with you; for little office
The hateful commons will perform for us,
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
Will you go along with us?
BAGOT:
No; I will to Ireland to his majesty.
Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain,
We three here art that ne'er shall meet again.
BUSHY:
That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.
GREEN:
Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes
Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry:
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
For us to levy power
Proportionable to the enemy
Is all unpossible.
GREEN:
Besides, our nearness to the king in love
Is near the hate of those love not the king.
BAGOT:
And that's the wavering commons: for their love
Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
BUSHY:
Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd.
BAGOT:
If judgement lie in them, then so do we,
Because we ever have been near the king.
GREEN:
Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle:
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
BUSHY:
Thither will I with you; for little office
The hateful commons will perform for us,
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
Will you go along with us?
BAGOT:
No; I will to Ireland to his majesty.
Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain,
We three here art that ne'er shall meet again.
BUSHY:
That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.
GREEN:
Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes
Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry:
Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.
BUSHY:
Well, we may meet again.
BAGOT:
I fear me, never.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Believe me, noble lord,
I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire:
These high wild hills and rough uneven ways
Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome,
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
But I bethink me what a weary way
From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,
Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled
The tediousness and process of my travel:
But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have
The present benefit which I possess;
And hope to joy is little less in joy
Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords
Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done
By sight of what I have, your noble company.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Of much less value is my company
Than your good words. |
But who comes here?
NORTHUMBERLAND:
It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.
But who comes here?
NORTHUMBERLAND:
It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Harry, how fares your uncle?
HENRY PERCY:
I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Why, is he not with the queen?
HENRY PERCY:
No, my good Lord; he hath forsook the court,
Broken his staff of office and dispersed
The household of the king.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
What was his reason?
He was not so resolved when last we spake together.
HENRY PERCY:
Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,
To offer service to the Duke of Hereford,
And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover
What power the Duke of York had levied there;
Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?
HENRY PERCY:
No, my good lord, for that is not forgot
Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge,
I never in my life did look on him.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Then learn to know him now; this is the duke.
HENRY PERCY:
My gracious lord, I tender you my service,
Such as it is, being tender, raw and young:
Which elder days shall ripen and confirm
To more approved service and desert.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure
I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul remembering my good friends;
And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,
It shall be still thy true love's recompense:
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir
Keeps good old York there with his men of war?
HENRY PERCY:
There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard;
And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour;
None else of name and noble estimate.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues
A banish'd traitor: all my treasury
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd
Shall be your love and labour's recompense.
LORD ROSS:
Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.
LORD WILLOUGHBY:
And far surmounts our labour to attain it.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. |
But who comes here?
NORTHUMBERLAND:
It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.
LORD BERKELEY:
My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
My lord, my answer is--to Lancaster;
And I am come to seek that name in England;
And I must find that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you say.
LORD BERKELEY:
Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning
To raze one title of your honour out:
To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,
From the most gracious regent of this land,
The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on
To take advantage of the absent time
And fright our native peace with self-born arms.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
I shall not need transport my words by you;
But who comes here?
NORTHUMBERLAND:
It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.
LORD BERKELEY:
My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
My lord, my answer is--to Lancaster;
And I am come to seek that name in England;
And I must find that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you say.
LORD BERKELEY:
Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning
To raze one title of your honour out:
To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,
From the most gracious regent of this land,
The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on
To take advantage of the absent time
And fright our native peace with self-born arms.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Here comes his grace in person. |
My noble uncle!
DUKE OF YORK:
Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
Whose duty is deceiveable and false.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
My gracious uncle--
DUKE OF YORK:
Tut, tut!
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle:
I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace.'
In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But then more 'why?' why have they dared to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,
Frighting her pale-faced villages with war
And ostentation of despised arms?
Comest thou because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French,
O, then how quickly should this arm of mine.
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee
And minister correction to thy fault!
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
My gracious uncle, let me know my fault:
On what condition stands it and wherein?
DUKE OF YORK:
Even in condition of the worst degree,
In gross rebellion and detested treason:
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come
Before the expiration of thy time,
In braving arms against thy sovereign.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;
But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
You are my father, for methinks in you
I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father,
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties
Pluck'd from my arms perforce and given away
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
If that my cousin king be King of England,
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. |
My noble uncle!
DUKE OF YORK:
Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
Whose duty is deceiveable and false.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
My gracious uncle--
DUKE OF YORK:
Tut, tut!
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle:
I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace.'
In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But then more 'why?' why have they dared to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,
Frighting her pale-faced villages with war
And ostentation of despised arms?
Comest thou because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French,
O, then how quickly should this arm of mine.
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee
And minister correction to thy fault!
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
My gracious uncle, let me know my fault:
On what condition stands it and wherein?
DUKE OF YORK:
Even in condition of the worst degree,
In gross rebellion and detested treason:
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come
Before the expiration of thy time,
In braving arms against thy sovereign.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;
But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
You are my father, for methinks in you
I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father,
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties
Pluck'd from my arms perforce and given away
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
If that my cousin king be King of England,
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin;
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.
I am denied to sue my livery here,
And yet my letters-patents give me leave:
My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold,
And these and all are all amiss employ'd.
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And I challenge law: attorneys are denied me;
And therefore, personally I lay my claim
To my inheritance of free descent.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
The noble duke hath been too much abused.
LORD ROSS:
It stands your grace upon to do him right.
LORD WILLOUGHBY:
Base men by his endowments are made great.
DUKE OF YORK:
My lords of England, let me tell you this:
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs
And laboured all I could to do him right;
But in this kind to come, in braving arms,
Be his own carver and cut out his way,
To find out right with wrong, it may not be;
And you that do abet him in this kind
Cherish rebellion and are rebels all.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
The noble duke hath sworn his coming is
But for his own; and for the right of that
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;
And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath!
DUKE OF YORK:
Well, well, I see the issue of these arms:
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
Because my power is weak and all ill left:
But if I could, by Him that gave me life,
I would attach you all and make you stoop |
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;
But since I cannot, be it known to you
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;
Unless you please to enter in the castle
And there repose you for this night.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
An offer, uncle, that we will accept:
But we must win your grace to go with us
To Bristol castle, which they say is held
By Bushy, Bagot and their complices,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
DUKE OF YORK:
It may be I will go with you: but yet I'll pause;
For I am loath to break our country's laws.
Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are:
Things past redress are now with me past care.
Captain:
My lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days,
And hardly kept our countrymen together,
And yet we hear no tidings from the king;
Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell.
EARL OF SALISBURY:
Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman:
The king reposeth all his confidence in thee.
Captain:
'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay.
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap,
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,
The other to enjoy by rage and war:
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.
Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled,
As well assured Richard their king is dead.
EARL OF SALISBURY:
Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind
I see thy glory like a shooting star
Fall to the base earth from the firmament.
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest:
Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Bring forth these men.
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls--
Since presently your souls must part your bodies--
With too much urging your pernicious lives,
For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood
From off my hands, here in the view of men
I will unfold some causes of your deaths.
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied and disfigured clean:
You have in manner with your sinful hours
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him,
Broke the possession of a royal bed
And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.
Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,
Near to the king in blood, and near in love
Till you did make him misinterpret me,
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,
And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
Whilst you have fed upon my signories,
Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods,
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Razed out my imprese, leaving me no sign,
Save men's opinions and my living blood,
To show the world I am a gentleman.
This and much more, much more than twice all this,
Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd over
To execution and the hand of death.
BUSHY:
More welcome is the stroke of death to me
Than Bolingbroke to England. |
Lords, farewell.
GREEN:
My comfort is that heaven will take our souls
And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.
Uncle, you say the queen is at your house;
For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated:
Lords, farewell.
GREEN:
My comfort is that heaven will take our souls
And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.
Uncle, you say the queen is at your house;
Tell her I send to her my kind commends;
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd.
DUKE OF YORK:
A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd
With letters of your love to her at large.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Thank, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away.
To fight with Glendower and his complices:
Awhile to work, and after holiday.
KING RICHARD II:
Barkloughly castle call they this at hand?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Yea, my lord. |
How brooks your grace the air,
After your late tossing on the breaking seas?
KING RICHARD II:
Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy
To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs:
As a long-parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favours with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet
Which with usurping steps do trample thee:
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords:
This earth shall have a feeling and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE:
Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you king
Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
The means that heaven yields must be embraced,
And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse,
The proffer'd means of succor and redress.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great in substance and in power.
KING RICHARD II:
Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,
Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen
In murders and in outrage, boldly here;
But when from under this terrestrial ball
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons and detested sins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night
Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,
Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,
His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day,
But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea |
How brooks your grace the air,
After your late tossing on the breaking seas?
KING RICHARD II:
Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy
To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs:
As a long-parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favours with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet
Which with usurping steps do trample thee:
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords:
This earth shall have a feeling and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE:
Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you king
Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
The means that heaven yields must be embraced,
And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse,
The proffer'd means of succor and redress.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great in substance and in power.
KING RICHARD II:
Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,
Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen
In murders and in outrage, boldly here;
But when from under this terrestrial ball
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons and detested sins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night
Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,
Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,
His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day,
But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.
Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord:
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.
Welcome, my lord how far off lies your power?
EARL OF SALISBURY:
Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm: discomfort guides my tongue
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth:
O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy state:
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead.
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Comfort, my liege; why looks your grace so pale?
KING RICHARD II:
But now the blood of twenty thousand men |
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;
And, till so much blood thither come again,
Have I not reason to look pale and dead?
All souls that will be safe fly from my side,
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.
KING RICHARD II:
I had forgot myself; am I not king?
Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.
Is not the king's name twenty thousand names?
Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes
At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,
Ye favourites of a king: are we not high?
High be our thoughts: I know my uncle York
Hath power enough to serve our turn. |
But who comes here?
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
More health and happiness betide my liege
Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him!
KING RICHARD II:
Mine ear is open and my heart prepared;
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care
And what loss is it to be rid of care?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve Him too and be his fellow so:
Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God as well as us:
Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay:
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
Glad am I that your highness is so arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day,
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all dissolved to tears,
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.
White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
KING RICHARD II:
Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it:
I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.
KING RICHARD II:
O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted souls for this offence!
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate:
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound
And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Where is the duke my father with his power?
KING RICHARD II:
No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; |
But who comes here?
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
More health and happiness betide my liege
Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him!
KING RICHARD II:
Mine ear is open and my heart prepared;
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care
And what loss is it to be rid of care?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve Him too and be his fellow so:
Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God as well as us:
Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay:
The worst is death, and death will have his day.
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
Glad am I that your highness is so arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day,
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all dissolved to tears,
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.
White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
KING RICHARD II:
Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it:
I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.
KING RICHARD II:
O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!
Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted souls for this offence!
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate:
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse
Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound
And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Where is the duke my father with his power?
KING RICHARD II:
No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth,
Let's choose executors and talk of wills:
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings;
How some have been deposed; some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;
Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd;
All murder'd: for within the hollow crown |
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus
Comes at the last and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence: throw away respect,
Tradition, form and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while:
I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,
How can you say to me, I am a king?
BISHOP OF CARLISLE:
My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes,
But presently prevent the ways to wail.
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,
Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe,
And so your follies fight against yourself.
Fear and be slain; no worse can come to fight:
And fight and die is death destroying death;
Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
My father hath a power; inquire of him
And learn to make a body of a limb.
KING RICHARD II:
Thou chidest me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come
To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
This ague fit of fear is over-blown;
An easy task it is to win our own.
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The state and inclination of the day:
So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
I play the torturer, by small and small
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:
Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke,
And all your northern castles yielded up,
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
Upon his party.
KING RICHARD II:
Thou hast said enough.
Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth
Of that sweet way I was in to despair!
What say you now? what comfort have we now?
By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go to Flint castle: there I'll pine away;
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.
That power I have, discharge; and let them go
To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,
For I have none: let no man speak again
To alter this, for counsel is but vain.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
My liege, one word.
KING RICHARD II:
He does me double wrong
That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers: let them hence away,
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
So that by this intelligence we learn
The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed
With some few private friends upon this coast.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
The news is very fair and good, my lord:
Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.
DUKE OF YORK:
It would beseem the Lord Northumberland
To say 'King Richard:' alack the heavy day
When such a sacred king should hide his head.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Your grace mistakes; only to be brief
Left I his title out.
DUKE OF YORK:
The time hath been,
Would you have been so brief with him, he would
Have been so brief with you, to shorten you,
For taking so the head, your whole head's length. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.
DUKE OF YORK:
Take not, good cousin, further than you should.
Lest you mistake the heavens are o'er our heads.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself
Against their will. |
But who comes here?
Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle yield?
HENRY PERCY:
The castle royally is mann'd, my lord,
Against thy entrance.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Royally!
Why, it contains no king?
HENRY PERCY:
Yes, my good lord,
It doth contain a king; King Richard lies
Within the limits of yon lime and stone:
And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman
Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Noble lords,
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:
Henry Bolingbroke
On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand
And sends allegiance and true faith of heart
To his most royal person, hither come
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,
Provided that my banishment repeal'd
And lands restored again be freely granted:
If not, I'll use the advantage of my power
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen:
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,
My stooping duty tenderly shall show.
Go, signify as much, while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.
Let's march without the noise of threatening drum,
That from this castle's tatter'd battlements
Our fair appointments may be well perused.
Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thundering shock
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:
The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain
My waters; on the earth, and not on him.
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.
See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,
As doth the blushing discontented sun
From out the fiery portal of the east,
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
To dim his glory and to stain the track
Of his bright passage to the occident.
DUKE OF YORK:
Yet looks he like a king: behold, his eye,
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth
Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe,
That any harm should stain so fair a show!
KING RICHARD II:
We are amazed; and thus long have we stood
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king:
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence?
If we be not, show us the hand of God
That hath dismissed us from our stewardship;
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.
And though you think that all, as you have done,
Have torn their souls by turning them from us,
And we are barren and bereft of friends;
Yet know, my master, God omnipotent,
Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf
Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike
Your children yet unborn and unbegot,
That lift your vassal hands against my head
And threat the glory of my precious crown.
Tell Bolingbroke--for yond methinks he stands-- |
But who comes here?
Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle yield?
HENRY PERCY:
The castle royally is mann'd, my lord,
Against thy entrance.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Royally!
Why, it contains no king?
HENRY PERCY:
Yes, my good lord,
It doth contain a king; King Richard lies
Within the limits of yon lime and stone:
And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman
Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Noble lords,
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver:
Henry Bolingbroke
On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand
And sends allegiance and true faith of heart
To his most royal person, hither come
Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,
Provided that my banishment repeal'd
And lands restored again be freely granted:
If not, I'll use the advantage of my power
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen:
The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land,
My stooping duty tenderly shall show.
Go, signify as much, while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.
Let's march without the noise of threatening drum,
That from this castle's tatter'd battlements
Our fair appointments may be well perused.
Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thundering shock
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water:
The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain
My waters; on the earth, and not on him.
March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.
See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,
As doth the blushing discontented sun
From out the fiery portal of the east,
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
To dim his glory and to stain the track
Of his bright passage to the occident.
DUKE OF YORK:
Yet looks he like a king: behold, his eye,
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth
Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe,
That any harm should stain so fair a show!
KING RICHARD II:
We are amazed; and thus long have we stood
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king:
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence?
If we be not, show us the hand of God
That hath dismissed us from our stewardship;
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.
And though you think that all, as you have done,
Have torn their souls by turning them from us,
And we are barren and bereft of friends;
Yet know, my master, God omnipotent,
Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf
Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike
Your children yet unborn and unbegot,
That lift your vassal hands against my head
And threat the glory of my precious crown.
That every stride he makes upon my land
Is dangerous treason: he is come to open
The purple testament of bleeding war;
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons
Shall ill become the flower of England's face, |
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To scarlet indignation and bedew
Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
The king of heaven forbid our lord the king
Should so with civil and uncivil arms
Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice noble cousin
Harry Bolingbroke doth humbly kiss thy hand;
And by the honourable tomb he swears,
That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones,
And by the royalties of both your bloods,
Currents that spring from one most gracious head,
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Comprising all that may be sworn or said,
His coming hither hath no further scope
Than for his lineal royalties and to beg
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees:
Which on thy royal party granted once,
His glittering arms he will commend to rust,
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart
To faithful service of your majesty.
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;
And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him.
KING RICHARD II:
Northumberland, say thus the king returns:
His noble cousin is right welcome hither;
And all the number of his fair demands
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction:
With all the gracious utterance thou hast
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.
We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,
To look so poorly and to speak so fair?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
Defiance to the traitor, and so die?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words
Till time lend friends and friends their helpful swords.
KING RICHARD II:
O God, O God! that e'er this tongue of mine,
That laid the sentence of dread banishment
On yon proud man, should take it off again
With words of sooth! O that I were as great
As is my grief, or lesser than my name!
Or that I could forget what I have been,
Or not remember what I must be now!
Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat,
Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.
KING RICHARD II:
What must the king do now? must he submit?
The king shall do it: must he be deposed?
The king shall be contented: must he lose
The name of king? o' God's name, let it go:
I'll give my jewels for a set of beads,
My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,
My gay apparel for an almsman's gown,
My figured goblets for a dish of wood,
My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff,
My subjects for a pair of carved saints
And my large kingdom for a little grave,
A little little grave, an obscure grave;
Or I'll be buried in the king's highway,
Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head;
For on my heart they tread now whilst I live;
And buried once, why not upon my head?
Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin!
We'll make foul weather with despised tears;
Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn,
And make a dearth in this revolting land.
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes,
And make some pretty match with shedding tears?
As thus, to drop them still upon one place,
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
Within the earth; and, therein laid,--there lies
Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes.
Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see
I talk but idly, and you laugh at me.
Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,
What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? |
You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
My lord, in the base court he doth attend
To speak with you; may it please you to come down.
KING RICHARD II:
Down, down I come; like glistering Phaethon,
Wanting the manage of unruly jades.
In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,
To come at traitors' calls and do them grace.
In the base court? Come down? Down, court!
down, king!
For night-owls shriek where mounting larks
should sing.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
What says his majesty?
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Sorrow and grief of heart
Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man
Yet he is come.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Stand all apart,
And show fair duty to his majesty.
My gracious lord,--
KING RICHARD II:
Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee
To make the base earth proud with kissing it:
Me rather had my heart might feel your love
Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy.
Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,
Thus high at least, although your knee be low.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.
KING RICHARD II:
Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,
As my true service shall deserve your love.
KING RICHARD II:
Well you deserve: they well deserve to have,
That know the strong'st and surest way to get.
Uncle, give me your hands: nay, dry your eyes;
Tears show their love, but want their remedies.
Cousin, I am too young to be your father,
Though you are old enough to be my heir.
What you will have, I'll give, and willing too;
For do we must what force will have us do.
Set on towards London, cousin, is it so?
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Yea, my good lord.
KING RICHARD II:
Then I must not say no.
QUEEN:
What sport shall we devise here in this garden,
To drive away the heavy thought of care?
Lady:
Madam, we'll play at bowls.
QUEEN:
'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs,
And that my fortune rubs against the bias.
Lady:
Madam, we'll dance.
QUEEN:
My legs can keep no measure in delight,
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:
Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport.
Lady:
Madam, we'll tell tales.
QUEEN:
Of sorrow or of joy?
Lady:
Of either, madam.
QUEEN:
Of neither, girl:
For of joy, being altogether wanting,
It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
Or if of grief, being altogether had,
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy:
For what I have I need not to repeat;
And what I want it boots not to complain.
Lady:
Madam, I'll sing.
QUEEN:
'Tis well that thou hast cause
But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep.
Lady:
I could weep, madam, would it do you good.
QUEEN:
And I could sing, would weeping do me good,
And never borrow any tear of thee.
But stay, here come the gardeners:
Let's step into the shadow of these trees.
My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
They'll talk of state; for every one doth so
Against a change; woe is forerun with woe.
Gardener:
Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,
Which, like unruly children, make their sire |
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight:
Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
Go thou, and like an executioner,
Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays,
That look too lofty in our commonwealth:
All must be even in our government.
You thus employ'd, I will go root away
The noisome weeds, which without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.
Servant:
Why should we in the compass of a pale
Keep law and form and due proportion,
Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,
Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,
Her fruit-trees all upturned, her hedges ruin'd,
Her knots disorder'd and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars?
Gardener:
Hold thy peace:
He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:
The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
That seem'd in eating him to hold him up,
Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke,
I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.
Servant:
What, are they dead?
Gardener:
They are; and Bolingbroke
Hath seized the wasteful king. O, what pity is it
That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land
As we this garden! We at time of year
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees,
Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,
With too much riches it confound itself:
Had he done so to great and growing men,
They might have lived to bear and he to taste
Their fruits of duty: superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.
Servant:
What, think you then the king shall be deposed?
Gardener:
Depress'd he is already, and deposed
'Tis doubt he will be: letters came last night
To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's,
That tell black tidings.
QUEEN:
O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking!
Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,
How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?
What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee
To make a second fall of cursed man?
Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?
Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,
Camest thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.
Gardener:
Pardon me, madam: little joy have I
To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are weigh'd:
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself,
And some few vanities that make him light;
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
Besides himself, are all the English peers,
And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.
Post you to London, and you will find it so;
I speak no more than every one doth know.
QUEEN:
Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Thy sorrow in my breast. |
Come, ladies, go,
To meet at London London's king in woe.
What, was I born to this, that my sad look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
Gardener, for telling me these news of woe,
Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow.
GARDENER:
Poor queen! so that thy state might be no worse,
I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
Here did she fall a tear; here in this place
Come, ladies, go,
To meet at London London's king in woe.
What, was I born to this, that my sad look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
Gardener, for telling me these news of woe,
Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow.
GARDENER:
Poor queen! so that thy state might be no worse,
I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Call forth Bagot.
Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind;
What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death,
Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd
The bloody office of his timeless end.
BAGOT:
Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.
BAGOT:
My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue
Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd.
In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted,
I heard you say, 'Is not my arm of length,
That reacheth from the restful English court
As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?'
Amongst much other talk, that very time,
I heard you say that you had rather refuse
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns
Than Bolingbroke's return to England;
Adding withal how blest this land would be
In this your cousin's death.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Princes and noble lords,
What answer shall I make to this base man?
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,
On equal terms to give him chastisement?
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd
With the attainder of his slanderous lips.
There is my gage, the manual seal of death,
That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest,
And will maintain what thou hast said is false
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base
To stain the temper of my knightly sword.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this presence that hath moved me so.
LORD FITZWATER:
If that thy valour stand on sympathy,
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine:
By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st,
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest it
That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death.
If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest;
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Thou darest not, coward, live to see that day.
LORD FITZWATER:
Now by my soul, I would it were this hour.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this.
HENRY PERCY:
Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true
In this appeal as thou art all unjust;
And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,
To prove it on thee to the extremest point
Of mortal breathing: seize it, if thou darest. |
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
An if I do not, may my hands rot off
And never brandish more revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe!
Lord:
I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;
And spur thee on with full as many lies
As may be holloa'd in thy treacherous ear
From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn;
Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all:
I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.
DUKE OF SURREY:
My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
LORD FITZWATER:
'Tis very true: you were in presence then;
And you can witness with me this is true.
DUKE OF SURREY:
As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.
LORD FITZWATER:
Surrey, thou liest.
DUKE OF SURREY:
Dishonourable boy!
That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword,
That it shall render vengeance and revenge
Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie
In earth as quiet as thy father's skull:
In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn;
Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.
LORD FITZWATER:
How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,
And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies,
And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,
To tie thee to my strong correction.
As I intend to thrive in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal:
Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
To execute the noble duke at Calais.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Some honest Christian trust me with a gage
That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this,
If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
These differences shall all rest under gage
Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be,
And, though mine enemy, restored again
To all his lands and signories: when he's return'd,
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE:
That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens:
And toil'd with works of war, retired himself
To Italy; and there at Venice gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth,
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?
BISHOP OF CARLISLE:
As surely as I live, my lord.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom
Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,
Your differences shall all rest under gage
Till we assign you to your days of trial.
DUKE OF YORK:
Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee
From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing soul
Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields
To the possession of thy royal hand:
Ascend his throne, descending now from him;
And long live Henry, fourth of that name!
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE:
Marry. |
God forbid!
Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
God forbid!
Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
Would God that any in this noble presence
Were enough noble to be upright judge
Of noble Richard! then true noblesse would
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
What subject can give sentence on his king?
And who sits here that is not Richard's subject?
Thieves are not judged but they are by to hear,
Although apparent guilt be seen in them;
And shall the figure of God's majesty,
His captain, steward, deputy-elect,
Anointed, crowned, planted many years,
Be judged by subject and inferior breath,
And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,
That in a Christian climate souls refined
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king:
My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king:
And if you crown him, let me prophesy:
The blood of English shall manure the ground,
And future ages groan for this foul act;
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;
Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls.
O, if you raise this house against this house,
It will the woefullest division prove
That ever fell upon this cursed earth.
Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,
Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe!
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,
Of capital treason we arrest you here.
My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge
To keep him safely till his day of trial.
May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Fetch hither Richard, that in common view
He may surrender; so we shall proceed
Without suspicion.
DUKE OF YORK:
I will be his conduct.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Lords, you that here are under our arrest,
Procure your sureties for your days of answer.
Little are we beholding to your love,
And little look'd for at your helping hands.
KING RICHARD II:
Alack, why am I sent for to a king,
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs:
Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me
To this submission. Yet I well remember
The favours of these men: were they not mine?
Did they not sometime cry, 'all hail!' to me?
So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve,
Found truth in all but one: I, in twelve thousand, none.
God save the king! Will no man say amen?
Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen.
God save the king! although I be not he;
And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.
To do what service am I sent for hither?
DUKE OF YORK:
To do that office of thine own good will
Which tired majesty did make thee offer,
The resignation of thy state and crown
To Henry Bolingbroke.
KING RICHARD II:
Give me the crown. |
Here, cousin, seize the crown;
Here cousin:
On this side my hand, and on that side yours.
Now is this golden crown like a deep well
That owes two buckets, filling one another,
The emptier ever dancing in the air,
The other down, unseen and full of water:
That bucket down and full of tears am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Here, cousin, seize the crown;
Here cousin:
On this side my hand, and on that side yours.
Now is this golden crown like a deep well
That owes two buckets, filling one another,
The emptier ever dancing in the air,
The other down, unseen and full of water:
That bucket down and full of tears am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.
I thought you had been willing to resign.
KING RICHARD II:
My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine:
You may my glories and my state depose,
But not my griefs; still am I king of those.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Part of your cares you give me with your crown.
KING RICHARD II:
Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.
My care is loss of care, by old care done;
Your care is gain of care, by new care won:
The cares I give I have, though given away;
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Are you contented to resign the crown?
KING RICHARD II:
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 sceptre from my hand,
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart;
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release all duty's 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 grieved,
And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved!
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit!
God save King Harry, unking'd Richard says,
And send him many years of sunshine days!
What more remains?
NORTHUMBERLAND:
No more, but that you read
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 deposed.
KING RICHARD II:
Must I do so? and must I ravel out
My weaved-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 wouldst,
There shouldst 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,
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.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
My lord, dispatch; read o'er these articles.
KING RICHARD II:
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.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
My lord,--
KING RICHARD II:
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,
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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come.
KING RICHARD II:
Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I come to hell!
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
The commons will not then be satisfied.
KING RICHARD II:
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.
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 faced so many follies,
And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory shineth in this face:
As brittle as the glory is the face;
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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd
The shadow or your face.
KING RICHARD II:
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 laments
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortured soul;
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only givest
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?
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Name it, fair cousin.
KING RICHARD II:
'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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Yet ask.
KING RICHARD II:
And shall I have?
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
You shall.
KING RICHARD II:
Then give me leave to go.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Whither?
KING RICHARD II:
Whither you will, so I were from your sights.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
I'll beg one boon,
And then be gone and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Name it, fair cousin.
KING RICHARD II:
'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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Yet ask.
KING RICHARD II:
And shall I have?
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
You shall.
KING RICHARD II:
Then give me leave to go.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Whither?
KING RICHARD II:
Whither you will, so I were from your sights.
Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.
KING RICHARD II:
O, good! convey? conveyers are you all,
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
On Wednesday next we solemnly set down
Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.
Abbot:
A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE:
The woe's to come; the children yet unborn.
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
DUKE OF 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; and I'll lay
A plot shall show us all a merry day.
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.
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 lodged in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?
KING RICHARD II:
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 awaked, 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 weaken'd? hath Bolingbroke deposed
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?
KING RICHARD II:
A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime 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.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed:
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 II:
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
Shalt 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 know'st the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er so little urged, 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 II:
Doubly divorced! 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 toward 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 II:
Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.
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 II:
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 II:
Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short, |
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 weaken'd? hath Bolingbroke deposed
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?
KING RICHARD II:
A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime 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.
NORTHUMBERLAND:
My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed:
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 II:
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
Shalt 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 know'st the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er so little urged, 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 II:
Doubly divorced! 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 toward 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 II:
Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.
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 II:
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 II:
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 might strive to kill it with a groan.
KING RICHARD II:
We make woe wanton with this fond delay:
Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
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.
DUKE OF YORK:
Where did I leave?
DUCHESS OF YORK:
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.
DUKE OF 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 OF YORK:
Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?
DUKE OF YORK:
As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-graced 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 OF YORK:
Here comes my son Aumerle.
DUKE OF YORK:
Aumerle that was;
But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Welcome, my son: who are the violets now
That strew the green lap of the new come spring?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not:
God knows I had as lief be none as one.
DUKE OF 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? hold those justs and triumphs?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
For aught I know, my lord, they do.
DUKE OF YORK:
You will be there, I know.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
If God prevent not, I purpose so.
DUKE OF YORK: |
What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom?
Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
My lord, 'tis nothing.
DUKE OF YORK:
No matter, then, who see it;
I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.
DUKE OF 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.
DUKE OF YORK:
Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear,--
DUCHESS OF YORK:
What should you fear?
'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.
DUKE OF 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.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.
DUKE OF YORK:
I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.
Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!
DUCHESS OF YORK:
What is the matter, my lord?
DUKE OF YORK:
Ho! who is within there?
Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy, what treachery is here!
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Why, what is it, my lord?
DUKE OF YORK:
Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.
Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth,
I will appeach the villain.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
What is the matter?
DUKE OF YORK:
Peace, foolish woman.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Good mother, be content; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Thy life answer!
DUKE OF YORK:
Bring me my boots: I will unto the king.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Strike him, Aumerle. |
Poor boy, thou art amazed.
Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.
DUKE OF YORK:
Give me my boots, I say.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
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?
DUKE OF 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 OF YORK:
He shall be none;
We'll keep him here: then what is that to him?
DUKE OF YORK:
Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
I would appeach him.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
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.
DUKE OF YORK:
Make way, unruly woman!
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Poor boy, thou art amazed.
Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.
DUKE OF YORK:
Give me my boots, I say.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
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?
DUKE OF 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 OF YORK:
He shall be none;
We'll keep him here: then what is that to him?
DUKE OF YORK:
Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
I would appeach him.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
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.
DUKE OF YORK:
Make way, unruly woman!
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!
HENRY 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,
Away, be gone!
HENRY 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,
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.
HENRY PERCY:
My lord, some two days since I saw the prince,
And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
And what said the gallant?
HENRY 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.
HENRY 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?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Where is the king?
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
What means our cousin, that he stares and looks
So wildly?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty,
To have some conference with your grace alone.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.
What is the matter with our cousin now?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth
Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.
HENRY 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.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Then give me leave that I may turn the key,
That no man enter till my tale be done.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Have thy desire.
DUKE OF YORK:
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Villain, I'll make thee safe.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.
DUKE OF YORK:
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
What is the matter, uncle? speak;
Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.
DUKE OF YORK:
Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
The treason that my haste forbids me show.
DUKE OF 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.
DUKE OF 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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
O heinous, strong and bold conspiracy!
O loyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain, |
But who comes here?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Where is the king?
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
What means our cousin, that he stares and looks
So wildly?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty,
To have some conference with your grace alone.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.
What is the matter with our cousin now?
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth
Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.
HENRY 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.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Then give me leave that I may turn the key,
That no man enter till my tale be done.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Have thy desire.
DUKE OF YORK:
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Villain, I'll make thee safe.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.
DUKE OF YORK:
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
What is the matter, uncle? speak;
Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.
DUKE OF YORK:
Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
The treason that my haste forbids me show.
DUKE OF 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.
DUKE OF 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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
O heinous, strong and bold conspiracy!
O loyal father of a treacherous son!
From when this stream through muddy passages
Hath held his current and defiled himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.
DUKE OF 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 shamed 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 OF YORK:
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?
DUCHESS OF YORK:
A woman, and thy aunt, great king; 'tis I.
Speak with me, pity me, open the door.
A beggar begs that never begg'd before.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
And now changed to 'The Beggar and the King.'
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in:
I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.
DUKE OF YORK:
If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound;
This let alone will all the rest confound.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
O king, believe not this hard-hearted man!
Love loving not itself none other can.
DUKE OF YORK:
Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? |
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Sweet York, be patient. |
Hear me, gentle liege.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Rise up, good aunt.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
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.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee.
DUKE OF YORK:
Against them both my true joints bended be.
Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!
DUCHESS OF YORK:
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 shall 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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Nay, do not say, 'stand up;'
Say, 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.'
And 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.
DUKE OF YORK:
Speak it in French, king; say, 'pardonne moi.'
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That set'st 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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I do not sue to stand;
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
With all my heart
I pardon him.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
A god on earth thou art.
HENRY 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 too, adieu:
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new.
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. |
Hear me, gentle liege.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Rise up, good aunt.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
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.
DUKE OF AUMERLE:
Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee.
DUKE OF YORK:
Against them both my true joints bended be.
Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!
DUCHESS OF YORK:
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 shall 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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Nay, do not say, 'stand up;'
Say, 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.'
And 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.
DUKE OF YORK:
Speak it in French, king; say, 'pardonne moi.'
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That set'st 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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
I do not sue to stand;
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
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.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE:
With all my heart
I pardon him.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
A god on earth thou art.
HENRY 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 too, adieu:
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.
DUCHESS OF YORK:
Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new.
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:
EXTON: |