Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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2.2 Enter the Queen, Bushy, and Bagot

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

At nothing trembles. With something 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, looked on as it is, is naught but shadows

Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,

More than your lord’s departure weep not: more is 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 thought—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 hath 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.

Enter Green

GREEN

God save your majesty, and well met, gentlemen.

I hope the King is not yet shipped for Ireland.

QUEEN

Why hop‘st thou so? ’Tis better hope he is,

For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.

Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipped?

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 banished 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 Harry Percy,

The Lords of Ross, Beaumont, and Willoughby,

With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

BUSHY

Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland,

And all the rest, revolted faction-traitors?

GREEN

We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester

Hath broke his staff, resigned 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-delivered mother,

Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined.

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 bonds of life,

Which false hope lingers in extremity.

Enter the Duke of York, ⌈wearing a gorget⌉

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.

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 flattered him.

Enter a Servingman

SERVINGMAN

My lord, your son was gone before I came.

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 Pleshey, to my sister Gloucester.

Bid her send me presently a thousand pound—

Hold; take my ring.

SERVINGMAN

My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,

Today as I came by I called there—

But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

YORK What is’t, knave?

SERVINGMAN

An hour before I came, the Duchess died.

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 dispatched for Ireland?

How shall we do for money for these wars?

(To the Queen) Come, sister—cousin, I would say; pray

pardon me.

(To the Servingman) Go, fellow, get thee home. Provide

some carts,

And bring away the armour that is there.

⌈Exit Servingman⌉

Gentlemen, will you go muster men?

If I know how or which way to order these affairs

Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,

Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.

T‘one is my sovereign, whom both my oath

And duty bids defend; t’other again

Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged,

Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.

Well, somewhat we must do. (To the Queen) Come,

cousin,

I’ll dispose of you.—

Gentlemen, go muster up your men,

And meet me presently at Berkeley Castle.

I should to Pleshey too, but time will not permit.

All is uneven,

And everything is left at six and seven.

Exeunt the Duke of York and the Queen. Bushy, Bagot, and Green remain

BUSHY

The wind sits fair for news to go for 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 is 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 condemned.

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

Will the hateful commoners perform for us,

Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.

(To Bagot) 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 part 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 numb’ring sands and drinking oceans dry.

Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.

⌈BAGOT⌉

Farewell at once, for once, for all and ever.

BUSHY

Well, we may meet again.

BAGOT I fear me never.

Exeunt ⌈Bushy and Green at one door, and Bagot at another door⌉

2.3 Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, and the Earl of Northumberland

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 enjoyed. By this the weary lords

Shall make their way seem short as mine hath done

By sight of what I have: your noble company.

BOLINGBROKE

Of much less value is my company

Than your good words.

Enter Harry Percy

But who comes here?

NORTHUMBERLAND

It is my son, young Harry Percy,

Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.

Harry, how fares your uncle?

HARRY PERCY

I had thought, my lord, to have learned his health of

you.

NORTHUMBERLAND Why, is he not with the Queen?

HARRY 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.

HARRY 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?

HARRY 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.

HARRY 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.

BOLINGBROKE

I thank thee, gentle Percy, and be sure

I count myself in nothing else so happy

As in a soul rememb’ring 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.

He gives Percy his hand

NORTHUMBERLAND

How far is it to Berkeley, and what stir

Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

HARRY PERCY

There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,

Manned 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.

Enter Lord Ross and Lord Willoughby

NORTHUMBERLAND

Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,

Bloody with spurring, fiery red with haste.

BOLINGBROKE

Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues

A banished traitor. All my treasury

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enriched,

Shall be your love and labour’s recompense.

ROSS

Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

WILLOUGHBY

And far surmounts our labour to attain it.

BOLINGBROKE

Evermore thank’s the exchequer of the poor,

Which till my infant fortune comes to years

Stands for my bounty.

Enter Berkeley

But who comes here?

NORTHUMBERLAND

It is my lord of Berkeley, as I guess.

BERKELEY

My lord of Hereford, my message is to you.

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.

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-borne arms.

Enter the Duke of York

BOLINGBROKE

I shall not need transport my words by you.

Here comes his grace in person.—My noble uncle!

He kneels

YORK

Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,

Whose duty is deceivable and false.

BOLINGBROKE My gracious uncle—

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 banished 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?

Com’st 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!

BOLINGBROKE

My gracious uncle, let me know my fault.

On what condition stands it and wherein?

YORK

Even in condition of the worst degree:

In gross rebellion and detested treason.

Thou art a banished man, and here art come

Before the expiration of thy time

In braving arms against thy sovereign.

BOLINGBROKE ⌈standing⌉

As I was banished, I was banished 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 condemned

A wandering vagabond, my rights and royalties

Plucked from my arms perforce and given away

To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?

If that my cousin King be King in England,

It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.

You have a son, Aumerle my noble kinsman.

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 distrained and sold,

And these and all are all amiss employed.

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.

ROSS

It stands your grace upon to do him right.

WILLOUGHBY

Base men by his endowments are made great.

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 never see joy that breaks that oath.

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.

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.

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.

Exeunt

2.4 Enter the Earl of Salisbury and a Welsh Captain

WELSH CAPTAIN

My lord of Salisbury, we have stayed ten days,

And hardly kept our countrymen together,

And yet we hear no tidings from the King.

Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell.

SALISBURY

Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman.

The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.

WELSH CAPTAIN

’Tis thought the King is dead. We will not stay.

The bay trees in our country are all withered,

And meteors fright the fixèd stars of heaven.

The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth,

And lean-looked 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.

Exit

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. Exit

3.1 Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, the Duke of York, the Earl of Northumberland, ⌈Lord Ross, Harry Percy, and Lord Willoughby⌉

BOLINGBROKE Bring forth these men.

Enter Bushy and Green, guarded as prisoners

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 stained 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 stooped my neck under your injuries,

And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds,

Eating the bitter bread of banishment,

Whilst you have fed upon my signories,

Disparked my parks and felled 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 delivered over

To execution and the hand of death.

BUSHY

More welcome is the stroke of death to me

Than Bolingbroke to England.

GREEN

My comfort is that heaven will take our souls,

And plague injustice with the pains of hell.

BOLINGBROKE

My lord Northumberland, see them dispatched.

Exit Northumberland, with Bushy and Green, guarded

Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house.

For God’s sake, fairly let her be intreated.

Tell her I send to her my kind commends.

Take special care my greetings be delivered.

YORK

A gentleman of mine I have dispatched

With letters of your love to her at large.

BOLINGBROKE

Thanks, gentle uncle.—Come, lords, away,

To fight with Glyndwr and his complices.

A while to work, and after, holiday.

Exeunt

3.2 ⌈Flourish.⌉ Enter King Richard, the Duke of Aumerle, the Bishop of Carlisle, and ⌈soldiers, with drum and colours⌉

KING RICHARD

Harlechly Castle call they this at hand?

AUMERLE

Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air

After your late tossing on the breaking seas?

KING RICHARD

Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy

To stand upon my kingdom once again.

He touches the ground

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.

AUMERLE

He means, my lord, that we are too remiss,

Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,

Grows strong and great in substance and in friends.

KING RICHARD

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 bloody 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 plucked from off their backs,

Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?

So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,

Who all this while hath revelled in the night

Whilst we were wand’ring 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

Can wash the balm from an anointed king.

The breath of worldly men cannot depose

The deputy elected by the Lord.

For every man that Bolingbroke hath pressed

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.

Enter the Earl of Salisbury

Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?

SALISBURY

Nor nea’er 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.

Today, today, unhappy day too late,

Overthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;

For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,

Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed, and fled.

AUMERLE

Comfort, my liege. Why looks your grace so pale?

KING RICHARD

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.

AUMERLE

Comfort, my liege. Remember who you are.

KING RICHARD

I had forgot myself. Am I not King?

Awake, thou sluggard majesty, thou sleep’st!

Is not the King’s name forty 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.

Enter Scrope

But who comes here?

SCROPE

More health and happiness betide my liege

Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him.

KING RICHARD

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, loss, decay:

The worst is death, and death will have his day.

SCROPE

Glad am I that your highness is so armed

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.

Whitebeards have armed their thin and hairless scalps

Against thy majesty. Boys with women’s voices

Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints no

In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown.

Thy 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

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.

SCROPE

Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.

KING RICHARD

O villains, vipers damned without redemption!

Dogs easily won to fawn on any man I

Snakes in my heart-blood warmed, 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!

SCROPE

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.

AUMERLE

Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?

SCROPE

Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.

AUMERLE

Where is the Duke my father, with his power?

KING RICHARD

No matter where. Of comfort no man speak.

Let’s talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs,

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.

⌈Sitting⌉ 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 poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed,

All murdered. 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 feared, and kill with looks,

Infusing him with self and vain conceit,

As if this flesh which walls about our life

Were brass impregnable; and humoured 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 wail their present 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.

AUMERLE

My father hath a power. Enquire of him,

And learn to make a body of a limb.

KING RICHARD ⌈standing⌉

Thou chid’st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I come

To change blows with thee for our day of doom.

This ague-fit of fear is overblown.

An easy task it is to win our own.

Say, Scrope, where lies our uncle with his power?

Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.

SCROPE

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 joined with Bolingbroke,

And all your northern castles yielded up,

And all your southern gentlemen in arms

Upon his faction.

KING RICHARD Thou hast said enough.

(To Aumerle) 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.

AUMERLE

My liege, one word.

KING RICHARD

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.

Exeunt