Of Noble Richard; then true nobleness would
Learn him forbearance from fo foul a wrong.
What fubject can give fentence on his King?
And who fits here that is not Richard's fubject?
Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear,
Although apparent guilt be feen in them.
And fhall the figure of God's Majefty,
His Captain, Steward, Deputy elect,
Anointed, crown'd, and planted many years,
Be judg'd by fubject and inferior breath,
And he himself not prefent! Oh, forbid it!!
That, in a Chriftian climate, fouls refin'd
Should shew so heinous, black, obscene a deed.
I speak to fubjects, and a fubject speaks,
Stirr'd up by Heav'n, 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 fall manure the ground,
And future ages groan for this foul act.
Peace fhall go fleep with Turks and Infidels, wit
And in this feat 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 mens' fculis.
Oh, if you rear this houfe againft this houfe,
It will the wofullest division prove,
That ever fell upon this curfed earth.
Prevent, refift it, let it not be fo,

Left childrens children cry against you, Woe.

North. Well have you argu'd, Sir; and for your pains,

Of capital treafon we arreft you here.

My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge,

To keep him fafely till his day of trial.

May't pleafe you, Lords, to grant the Commons' fuit?

Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may furrender: fo we shall proceed

Without fufpicion. 1

York. I will be his conduct..

Boling. Lords, you that here are under our arreft,

Procure your fureties for your days of anfwer::

Exit.

Little are we beholden to your love,
And little look'd for at your helping hands.

SCENE III. Enter King Richard and York.
K. Rich. Alack why am I fent for to a King,
Before I have fhook off the regal thoughts
Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd
T' infinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee.
Give forrow leave a while to tutor me
To this fubmiffion. Yet I well remember
The favours of these men were they not mine?
Did they not fometime cry, All hail! to me?
So Judas did to Chrift; but he, in twelve,

Found truth in all, but one; 1, in twelve thousand, none *.
To do what fervice, am I fent for hither?

York. To do that office of thine own good will,

Which tired Majefty did make thee offer;

The refignation of thy ftate and crown.

K. Rich. Give me the crown..

Here, coufin, feize

Here, on this fide, my hand; on that fide, thine t.

-in twelve thoufand, none.

God fave the King!-will no man fay, Amen ?

Am I both priest and clerk? well then, Amen.

God fave the King, although I be not he:
And yet, Amen, if heav'n do think him me.
To do what service, &c.

on that fide, thine.

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, unfeen and full of water;
That bucket down, and full of tears; am 1;

Drinking my griefs, whilft you mount up on high.

Boling I thought you had been willing to refign.

K. Rich. My crown, I am; but fill my griefs are mine: You may my glories, and my ftate depofe,

But not my griefs: ftillam 1 King of those.

Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. K. Rich. Your cares fet up, do not pluck my cares down. My care, is lofs of care, by old care done;

Now

Your care, is gain of care, by new care won.
The cares give, I have, though given away;

They tend the rown, yet fill with me they stay.

Boling.

1

Now mark me how I will undo myself:
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy fceptre from off my hand,
The pride of kingly fway 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 facred ftate;
With mine own breath releafe all duteous oaths.

t

All pomp and majefly I do forfwear:

My manors, rents, revenues, I forego;
My acts, decrees, and ftatutes I deny.
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!
God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee!
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd,
And thou with all pleas'd, that haft all atchiev'd* !
What more remains?

North. No more; but that you read

Thefe accufations, and thefe grievous crimes
Committed by your perfon, and your followers,
Against the ftate and profit of this land;
That, by confeffing them, the fouls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.

K. Rich. Muft I do fo? and must 1 ravel ont
My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,

Would it not fhame thee, in fo fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? if thou would'ft,
There should't thou find one heinous article,
Containing the depofing of a King;

And cracking the ftrong warrant of an oath,
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heav'n.
Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me,

Boling. Are you contented to refign the crown?
K. Rich. Ay, no;-no, ay; for I must nothing be:.
Therefore no no: for I refign to thee.

Now, mark me, &c.

1

that haft all atchiev'd!

Long may'st thou live in Richard's feat to fit,

And foon lie Richard in an earthly pit!

God fave King Henry, unking'd Richard fay

And fend him many years of fun-fhine days!
What more, &c.

Whilft

Whilft that my wretchednefs doth bait myself,

Though fome of you with Pilate wash your hands,
Shewing an outward pity; yet you Pilates

Have here deliver'd me to my four crofs,

And water cannot wash away your

fin.

North. My Lord, difpatch; read o'er thefe articles. K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears: I cannot fee: And yet falt-water blinds them not fo much, But they can see a fort* of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, I find myself a traitor with the reft: For I have given here my foul's confent, T'undeck the pompous body of a King, Made glory bafe, a fovereign a flave, Proud majesty a fubject, ftate a peasant. North. My Lord

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught-infulting man; Nor no man's lord: I have no name, no title?

No, not that name was given me at the font,
But 'tis ufurp'd. Alack, the heavy day,
That I have worn fo many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself!
Oh, that I were a mockery king of fnow,
Standing before the fun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myfelf away in water-drops +!

And if my word be fterling yet in England, [To Boling.
Let it command a mirror hither straight,
That it may, fhew me what a face I have,

Since it is bankrupt of his Majefty.

Boling. Go fome of you, and fetch a looking-glafs. North. Read o'er this paper while the glafs doth come. K. Rich Fiend, thou torment'ft me ere I come to hell, Boling. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland. North. The Commons will not then be fatisfy'd. K. Rich. They fhall be fatisfy'd: I'll read enough When I do fee the very book, indeed,

Where all my fins are writ, and that's myself.

Enter

Good King,-great King,—(and yet not greatly good,)^.

And if my word, &c.

Enter one with a glass.

Give me that glass, and therein will I read.
No deeper wrinkles yet? hath forrow struck

So

many blows upon this face of mine,

And made no deeper wounds? Oh, flatt'ring glafs!
Like to my followers in profperity,

Thou doft 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 fun, did make beholders wink*?
How foon my forrow hath deftroy'd my face.
Boling. The fhadow of your forrow hath deftroy'd
The fhadow of your face.

K. Rich. Say that again.

The fhadow of my forrow! ha, let's fee;
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
And these external manners of laments
Are merely fhadows to the unfeen grief,
That fwells with filence in the tortur'd foul.
There lies the fubftance: and I thank thee, King,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'it
Me caufe 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 coufin.

K. Rich. Fair coufin! I am greater than a King :: For when I was a King, my flatterers

Were then but fubjects; being now a fubject,

I have a King here to my flatterer.

Being fo great, I have no need to beg.
Boling. Yet afk.

K. Rich. And fhall I have?

beholders wink?

Is this the face which fac'd fo many follies,
That was at laft out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory fhineth in this face;

Boling.

[Dafhes the glass against the grounds

As brittle as the glory is the face;
For there it is, crack'd in an hundred fhivers.
Mark, filent King, the moral of this sport;
How foon my forrow, &c.