How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.
Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd
The shadow of your face.

K. Rich.

Say that again.

The shadow of my sorrow? Hà! let's see:-
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ;
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief,
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul;
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,
And then be gone, and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?

Boling.

Name it, fair cousin.

K. Rich. Fair cousin? Why, I am greater than a

king:

For, when I was a king, my flatterers

Were then but subjects; being now a subject,

I have a king here to my flatterer.

Being so great, I have no need to beg.

Boling. Yet ask.

K. Rich. And shall I have ?

Boling. You shall.

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.

Boling. Whither?

K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your

sights.

Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower.

K. Rich. O, good! Convey?-Conveyers are you

all,

That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.

[Exeunt K. RICHARD, some Lords, and a Guard. Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.

[Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle, and AUMERLE.

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
Car. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?
Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein,
You shall not only take the sacrament
To bury mine intents, but to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devise :-

I see your brows are full of discontent,
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears;
Come home with me to supper; I will lay
A plot, shall show us all a merry day.

ACT V.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I. London. A Street leading to the Tower,

Queen. This

Enter Queen, and Ladies.

way the king will come; this is the way

To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,7

To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner, by proud Bolingbroke:

5 Jugglers, also robbers.

6 Conceal. 7 Tower of London.

Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth

Have any resting for her true king's queen.

Enter King RICHARD, and Guards.

But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold;
in pity may dissolve to dew,

That you
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.-
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;
Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb,
And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee,
When triumph is become an ale-house guest?

K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream;
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity; and he and 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 weakened? Hath Bolingbroke
Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod;

Picture of greatness.

And fawn on rage with base humility,

Which art a lion, and a king of beasts ?

K. Rich. 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 tak'st,
As from my death-bed, my 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 :9

And, ere thou bid good night, to quit' their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,

And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue,

And, in compassion, weep the fire out:
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,

For the deposing of a rightful king.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended.

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd; You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.

And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;
With all swift speed you must away to France.

K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,-
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head,
Shall break into corruption: thou shalt think,
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half,

Passed. 1 Be even with them.

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 urg'd, another way

To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both,
To worthy danger, and deserved death.

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.
K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd?-Bad men, ye violate
A twofold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me;
And then, betwixt me and my married wife.—
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.-
Part us, Northumberland'; I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;
My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,

2

Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day.

Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. North. That were some love, but little policy.

Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go? K. Rich. 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'.3 Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans. Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans. All-hallows, i. e. All-saints, Nov. 1.

3 Never the nigher.