King Richard II

When this play first appeared in print in 1597 under the title The Tragedy of King Richard the Second, the episode showing Richard relinquishing his crown to Bolingbroke in 4.1 was omitted, as it was in subsequent editions until 1608. Scholars assume that this was because the deposition of a king was an inflammatory topic in Elizabethan England, and that the printed texts of the play (though not, apparently, the performances) were subject to political censorship. Such an assumption is supported by an anecdote recorded by William Lambarde in which Queen Elizabeth compared herself to Richard II, and by the incident in 1601 when the Earl of Essex paid for a special performance of a Richard II play, most likely Shakespeare’s, on the eve of his abortive rebellion, presumably hoping it would incite people to assist him in deposing the Queen.

Despite the fact that one of the Globe shareholders described King Richard II in 1601 as ‘so old and so long out of use that they should have small or no company at it’, the play is usually dated around 1595, partly because it makes use of Samuel Daniel’s The Civil Wars, of which the first four books were published that year. It must also have preceded the King Henry IV plays, which are dated 1596-7 on circumstantial evidence. The main source is Raphael Holinshed’s account of the last two years of Richard’s reign in his Chronicles, of which Shakespeare used the 1587 edition. He seems also to have consulted the translation of Froissart’s Chronicles by John Bouchier, Lord Berners, and possibly the anonymous play Woodstock (c. 1592–3) which focuses on the murder of the Duke of Gloucester (called ‘Woodstock’ by John of Gaunt in King Richard II at 1.2.1).

While King Richard II is the first of Shakespeare’s second tetralogy on English history, it goes back in time to the beginning of the events that led to the Wars of the Roses. In the first tetralogy, consisting of the three King Henry VI plays and King Richard III, Shakespeare had previously dramatized history from the death of Henry V through the long period of contention between the Houses of York and Lancaster to the death of Richard III and the establishment of the Tudor dynasty with the accession of Henry VII after the battle of Bosworth. The second tetralogy, consisting of King Richard II, the King Henry IV plays and King Henry V, forms a kind of extended prequel to the first by showing the deposition of Richard II and the usurpation of the throne by Henry Bolingbroke (who became Henry IV), Henry IV’s problems with incipient rebellion, and his son Henry V’s solution to the problem of unrest at home by taking his father’s advice to ‘busy giddy minds / With foreign quarrels’ (2 Henry IV 4.5.213-14). As the final Chorus of King Henry V reminds us, this solution turns out to be a temporary one.

King Richard II seems to have been a popular play before the Civil War but ran into censorship problems during the Restoration and was little performed in the eighteenth century. In 1815 Edmund Kean reintroduced the play to the London stage, presenting Richard as a tragic hero rather than as an incompetent king, and interpretations of this kind, sometimes ending with the death of Richard, dominated the nineteenth century. As in the case of Hamlet, the twentieth century broadly continued this focus on the psychology of the individual hero at the expense of the play’s political issues.

The Arden text is based on the 1597 First Quarto, with the addition of the deposition scene (4.1.162–318) from the 1623 First Folio.

LIST OF ROLES

King RICHARD the Second
John of GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster	uncle to the King
Henry BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford	son to John of Gaunt, afterwards King Henry IV
Thomas MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk
The DUCHESS of Gloucester	widow to Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester
The Lord MARSHAL
The Duke of AUMERLE	son to the Duke of York
Two HERALDS
Sir Henry GREENE
Sir John BUSHY
Sir John BAGOT
EDMUND of Langley, Duke of YORK	uncle to the King
Henry Percy, Earl of NORTHUMBERLAND
Lord ROSS
Lord WILLOUGHBY
Isabel, QUEEN	to King Richard
The Duke of York’s SERVINGMAN
Harry PERCY	surnamed Hotspur, son to the Earl of Northumberland
Lord BERKELEY
The Earl of SALISBURY
A Welsh CAPTAIN
The Bishop of CARLISLE
Sir Stephen SCROOPE
Two LADIES	attendant upon Queen Isabel
GARDENER
His MAN
Lord FITZWATER
LORD
The Duke of SURREY
The ABBOT of Westminster
The DUCHESS OF YORK
Sir Piers EXTON
His SERVANT
GROOM	of the stable to King Richard
The KEEPER	of the prison at Pomfret

Guards, Soldiers and Servants

1.1 Enter KING RICHARD, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other nobles and attendants.

RICHARD     Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,
Hast thou according to thy oath and band
Brought hither Henry Herford thy bold son,
Here to make good the boist’rous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear,	5
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
GAUNT I have, my liege.
RICHARD     Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice,
Or worthily as a good subject should	10
On some known ground of treachery in him?
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.
RICHARD     Then call them to our presence; face to face,	15
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.
Enter BOLINGBROKE and MOWBRAY.
BOLINGBROKE     Many years of happy days befall	20
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
MOWBRAY     Each day still better other’s happiness
Until the heavens, envying earth’s good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown!
RICHARD     We thank you both, yet one but flatters us,	25
As well appeareth by the cause you come,
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason:
Cousin of Herford, what dost thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
BOLINGBROKE
First – heaven be the record to my speech!	30
In the devotion of a subject’s love,
Tend’ring 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,	35
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,	40
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,	45
What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove.
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;	50
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,	55
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,	60
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	65
Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
Meantime, let this defend my loyalty –
By all my hopes most falsely doth he lie.
BOLINGBROKE
Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king,	70
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,	75
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.
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	80
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial;
And when I mount, alive may I not light,
If I be traitor or unjustly fight!
RICHARD
What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray’s charge?
It must be great that can inherit us	85
So much as of a thought of ill in him.
BOLINGBROKE
Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true:
That Mowbray hath receiv’d eight thousand nobles
In name of lendings for your Highness’ soldiers,
The which he hath detain’d for lewd imployments,	90
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	95
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,	100
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,
And consequently, like a traitor coward,
Sluic’d out his innocent soul through streams of blood,
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel’s, cries
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth	105
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.
RICHARD     How high a pitch his resolution soars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what say’st thou to this?	110
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.
RICHARD     Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears.	115
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	120
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.
He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.
MOWBRAY     Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart
Through the false passage of thy throat thou liest.	125
Three parts of that receipt I had for Callice
Disburs’d I duly to his Highness’ soldiers;
The other part reserv’d I by consent,
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
Upon remainder of a dear account	130
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,	135
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 receiv’d the sacrament,
I did confess it, and exactly begg’d	140
Your grace’s pardon, and I hope I had it.
This is my fault – as for the rest appeal’d,
It issues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor,
Which in myself I boldly will defend,	145
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	150
Your Highness to assign our trial day.
RICHARD     Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul’d by me,
Let’s purge this choler without letting blood –
This we prescribe, though no physician;
Deep malice makes too deep incision.	155
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.
GAUNT     To be a make-peace shall become my age.	160
Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk’s gage.
RICHARD     And, Norfolk, throw down his.
GAUNT     When, Harry, when?
Obedience bids I should not bid again.
RICHARD     Norfolk, throw down we bid, there is no boot.
MOWBRAY     Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot;	165
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 disgrac’d, impeach’d, and baffl’d here,	170
Pierc’d to the soul with slander’s venom’d spear,
The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
Which breath’d this poison.
RICHARD     Rage must be withstood:
Give me his gage; lions make leopards tame.
MOWBRAY
Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame,	175
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	180
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.	185
RICHARD     Cousin, throw up your gage, do you begin.
BOLINGBROKE
O God defend my soul from such deep sin!
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father’s sight?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this out-dar’d dastard? Ere my tongue	190
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.	195
RICHARD     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	200
The swelling difference of your settled hate.
Since we cannot atone you, we shall see
Justice design the victor’s chivalry.
Marshal, command our officers-at-arms
Be ready to direct these home alarms.     Exeunt.	205

1.2 Enter JOHN OF GAUNT with the DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER.

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,	5
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?	10
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;	15
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,	20
By envy’s hand, and murder’s bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb,
That mettle, that self mould, that fashioned thee
Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,
Yet art thou slain in him; thou dost consent	25
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 suff’ring thus thy brother to be slaught’red,	30
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,	35
The best way is to venge my Gloucester’s death.
GAUNT     God’s is the quarrel – for God’s substitute,
His deputy anointed in His sight,
Hath caus’d his death; the which if wrongfully,
Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift	40
An angry arm against His minister.
DUCHESS     Where then, alas, may I complain myself?
GAUNT     To God, the widow’s champion and defence.
DUCHESS     Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold	45
Our cousin Herford and fell Mowbray fight.
O, sit my husband’s wrongs on Herford’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	50
That they may break his foaming courser’s back
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitive recreant to my cousin Herford!
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother’s wife
With her companion, grief, must end her life.	55
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,	60
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? –	65
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?	70
Therefore commend me; let him not come there
To seek out sorrow that dwells everywhere.
Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die:
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.     Exeunt.

1.3 Enter Lord Marshal and the DUKE AUMERLE.

MARSHAL     My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Herford arm’d?
AUMERLE     Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.
MARSHAL     The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,
Stays but the summons of the appellant’s trumpet.
AUMERLE
Why then, the champions are prepar’d, and stay	5
For nothing but his Majesty’s approach.
The trumpets sound and the KING enters with his nobles;
when they are set, enter MOWBRAY in arms, defendant.
RICHARD     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.	10
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 com’st and what thy quarrel.
Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath,
As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!	15
MOWBRAY
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
Who hither come ingaged 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,	20
Against the Duke of Herford 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!	25
The trumpets sound. Enter BOLINGBROKE, appellant, in armour.
RICHARD     Marshal, demand of 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.	30
MARSHAL
What is thy name? and wherefore com’st thou hither
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!
BOLINGBROKE     Harry of Herford, Lancaster and Derby	35
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’s a traitor foul and dangerous,
To God of heaven, King Richard and to me –	40
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
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.	45
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	50
And loving farewell of our several friends.
MARSHAL
The appellant in all duty greets your Highness,
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.
RICHARD     We will descend and fold him in our arms.
Cousin of Herford, as thy cause is right,	55
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.
BOLINGBROKE O, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gor’d with Mowbray’s spear!	60
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,	65
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	70
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,	75
And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt,
Even in the lusty haviour of his son.
GAUNT     God in thy good cause make thee prosperous,
Be swift like lightning in the execution,
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,	80
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy!
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.
BOLINGBROKE
Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!
MOWBRAY     However God or Fortune cast my lot,	85
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,	90
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	95
Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.
RICHARD     Farewell, my lord, securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.
MARSHAL     Harry of Herford, Lancaster and Derby,	100
Receive thy lance, and God defend the right!
BOLINGBROKE     Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.
MARSHAL
Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.
1 HERALD     Harry of Herford, Lancaster and Derby,
Stands here, for God, his sovereign, and himself,	105
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.
2 HERALD
Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,	110
On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Herford, Lancaster and Derby,
To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,
Courageously, and with a free desire,	115
Attending but the signal to begin.
MARSHAL
Sound trumpets, and set forward, combatants.
[A charge sounded.]
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.
RICHARD
Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,
And both return back to their chairs again.	120
Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound,
While we return these dukes what we decree.
[A long flourish]
Draw near,
And list what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom’s earth should not be soil’d	125
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,	130
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 rous’d up with boist’rous untun’d drums,
With harsh-resounding trumpets’ dreadful bray,	135
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 Herford, upon pain of life,	140
Till twice five summers have enrich’d our fields,
Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger paths or banishment.
BOLINGBROKE
You will be done; this must my comfort be,
That sun that warms you here, shall shine on me,	145
And those his golden beams to you here lent
Shall point on me and gild my banishment.
RICHARD     Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce.
The sly slow hours shall not determinate	150
The dateless limit of thy dear exile;
The hopeless word of ‘never to return’
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
MOWBRAY     A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook’d for from your Highness’ mouth;	155
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 learnt these forty years,
My native English, now I must forgo,	160
And now my tongue’s use is to me no more
Than an unstringed viol or a harp,
Or like a cunning instrument cas’d up –
Or being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.	165
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,	170
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?
RICHARD     It boots thee not to be compassionate;
After our sentence plaining comes too late.	175
MOWBRAY
Then thus I turn me from my country’s light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
RICHARD     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 –	180
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,	185
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.	190
BOLINGBROKE I swear.
MOWBRAY     And I, to keep all this.
BOLINGBROKE     Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our souls had wand’red in the air,	195
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.	200
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.	205
Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray –
Save back to England all the world’s my way.     Exit.
RICHARD     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	210
Pluck’d four away.
[to Bolingbroke] Six frozen winters spent,
Return with welcome home from banishment.
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.	215
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,	220
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.
RICHARD     Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.	225
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;	230
Thy word is current with him for my death,
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
RICHARD     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?	235
GAUNT     Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
You urg’d 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.	240
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	245
Against my will to do myself this wrong.
RICHARD     Cousin, farewell – and uncle, bid him so,
Six years we banish him and he shall go.
Flourish. Exeunt King Richard and train.
AUMERLE     Cousin, farewell; what presence must not know,
From where you do remain let paper show.	250
MARSHAL     My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride
As far as land will let me by your side.
GAUNT     O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends?
BOLINGBROKE I have too few to take my leave of you,	255
When the tongue’s office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.
GAUNT     Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
BOLINGBROKE     Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
GAUNT     What is six winters? they are quickly gone –	260
BOLINGBROKE
To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.
GAUNT     Call it a travel that thou tak’st for pleasure.
BOLINGBROKE     My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage.
GAUNT     The sullen passage of thy weary steps	265
Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home return.
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.	270
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?
GAUNT     All places that the eye of heaven visits	275
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	280
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not the king exil’d thee; or suppose
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.	285
Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com’st.
Suppose the singing birds musicians,
The grass whereon thou tread’st the presence strew’d,
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more	290
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.
BOLINGBROKE O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?	295
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	300
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.
GAUNT     Come, come, my son, I’ll bring thee on thy way,
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.	305
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 true-born Englishman.
Exeunt.

1.4 Enter the KING with BAGOT and GREENE at one door; and the LORD AUMERLE at another.

RICHARD     We did observe. Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Herford on his way?
AUMERLE I brought high Herford, if you call him so,
But to the next highway, and there I left him.
RICHARD
And say, what store of parting tears were shed?	5
AUMERLE
Faith, none for me, except the north-east wind,
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
Awak’d the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
RICHARD
What said our cousin when you parted with him?	10
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.	15
Marry, would the word ‘farewell’ have length’ned 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.
RICHARD     He is our cousin, cousin, but ’tis doubt,	20
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Ourself and Bushy
Observ’d his courtship to the common people,
How he did seem to dive into their hearts	25
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.	30
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
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,	35
And he our subjects’ next degree in hope.
GREENE
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	40
For their advantage and your Highness’ loss.
RICHARD     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 inforc’d to farm our royal realm,	45
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,	50
And send them after to supply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland presently.
Enter BUSHY.
Bushy, what news?
BUSHY     Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,
Suddenly taken, and hath sent post-haste	55
To intreat your Majesty to visit him.
RICHARD     Where lies he?
BUSHY     At Ely House.
RICHARD     Now put it, God, in the physician’s mind
To help him to his grave immediately!	60
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.      Exeunt.	65

2.1 Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, etc.

GAUNT     Will the king come that I may breathe my last
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?
YORK
Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
GAUNT     O, but they say the tongues of dying men	5
Inforce 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 listened more
Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;	10
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,	15
My death’s sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.
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,	20
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 –	25
That is not quickly buzz’d 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.	30
GAUNT     Methinks I am a prophet new inspir’d,
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;	35
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 scept’red isle,	40
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,	45
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,	50
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	55
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 leas’d out – I die pronouncing it –
Like to a tenement or pelting farm.	60
England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of wat’ry Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds;
That England, that was wont to conquer others,	65
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!
Enter KING, QUEEN, AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREENE, BAGOT, ROSS and WILLOUGHBY.
YORK     The king is come, deal mildly with his youth,
For young hot colts being rein’d do rage the more.	70
QUEEN     How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?
RICHARD
What comfort, man? how is’t with aged Gaunt?
GAUNT     O, how that name befits my composition!
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old.
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast,	75
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,	80
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.
RICHARD     Can sick men play so nicely with their names?
GAUNT     No, misery makes sport to mock itself:	85
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
RICHARD     Should dying men flatter with those that live?
GAUNT     No, no, men living flatter those that die.
RICHARD     Thou now a-dying sayest thou flatterest me.	90
GAUNT     Oh no, thou diest, though I the sicker be.
RICHARD     I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.
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,	95
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,	100
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,	105
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;	110
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 –
RICHARD     A lunatic lean-witted fool,	115
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,	120
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.
GAUNT     O, spare me not, my brother Edward’s son,
For that I was his father Edward’s son;	125
That blood already, like the pelican,
Hast thou tapp’d out and drunkenly carous’d:
My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul,
Whom fair befall in heaven ’mongst happy souls,
May be a president and witness good	130
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 withered flower.
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!	135
These words hereafter thy tormentors be!
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave –
Love they to live that love and honour have.     Exit.
RICHARD     And let them die that age and sullens have,
For both hast thou, and both become the grave.	140
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 Herford, were he here.
RICHARD     Right, you say true; as Herford’s love, so his;	145
As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.
NORTHUMBERLAND
My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty.
RICHARD     What says he?
NORTHUMBERLAND     Nay nothing, all is said:
His tongue is now a stringless instrument;
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.	150
YORK     Be York the next that must be bankrout so!
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
RICHARD     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:	155
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	160
The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess’d.
YORK     How long shall I be patient? ah, how long
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
Not Gloucester’s death, nor Herford’s banishment,	165
Nor 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.	170
I am the last of noble Edward’s sons,
Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.
In war was never lion rag’d more fierce,
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely gentleman.	175
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 win what he did spend, and spent not that	180
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 –	185
RICHARD     Why, uncle, what’s the matter?
YORK     O my liege,
Pardon me, if you please; if not, I pleas’d
Not to be pardoned, am content withal.
Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands
The royalties and rights of banish’d Herford?	190
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Herford live?
Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
Take Herford’s rights away, and take from time	195
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! –	200
If you do wrongfully seize Herford’s rights,
Call in the letters patents that he hath
By his attorneys-general to sue
His livery, and deny his off ’red homage,
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,	205
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.
RICHARD     Think what you will, we seize into our hands
His plate, his goods, his money and his lands.	210
GAUNT     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.     Exit.
RICHARD     Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight,	215
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;	220
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.
Exeunt King, Queen, Aumerle, Bushy, Greene and Bagot.
NORTHUMBERLAND
Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.
ROSS     And living too, for now his son is Duke.	225
WILLOUGHBY     Barely in title, not in revenues.
NORTHUMBERLAND
Richly in both, if justice had her right.
ROSS     My heart is great, but it must break with silence,
Ere’t be disburdened with a liberal tongue.
NORTHUMBERLAND
Nay, speak thy mind, and let him ne’er speak more	230
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm.
WILLOUGHBY
Tends that that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Herford?
If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.
ROSS     No good at all that I can do for him,	235
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 mo
Of noble blood in this declining land;	240
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.	245
ROSS     The commons hath he pill’d with grievous taxes,
And quite lost their hearts. The nobles hath he fin’d
For ancient quarrels and quite lost their hearts.
WILLOUGHBY     And daily new exactions are devis’d.
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what –	250
But what a God’s name doth become of this?
NORTHUMBERLAND
Wars hath not wasted it, for warr’d he hath not,
But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his ancestors achiev’d with blows;
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.	255
ROSS     The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
WILLOUGHBY
The king’s grown bankrout like a broken man.
NORTHUMBERLAND
Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.
ROSS     He hath not money for these Irish wars,
His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,	260
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 seek no shelter to avoid the storm;
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,	265
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.
ROSS     We see the very wrack that we must suffer,
And unavoided is the danger now,
For suffering so the causes of our wrack.
NORTHUMBERLAND
Not so, even through the hollow eyes of death	270
I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.
WILLOUGHBY
Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours.
ROSS     Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
We three are but thyself, and, speaking so,	275
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold.
NORTHUMBERLAND
Then thus: I have from le Port Blanc,
A bay in Brittaine, receiv’d intelligence
That Harry Duke of Herford, Rainold Lord Cobham,
The son of Richard Earl of Arundel,	280
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 furnished by the Duke of Brittaine	285
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.	290
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,	295
Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.
ROSS     To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.
WILLOUGHBY
Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.     Exeunt.	300

2.2 Enter the QUEEN, BUSHY and BAGOT.

BUSHY     Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.
You promis’d, 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	5
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	10
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.	15
For sorrow’s eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects,
Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz’d upon,
Show nothing but confusion; ey’d awry,
Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,	20
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,	25
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,	30
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 deriv’d
From some forefather grief; mine is not so,	35
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.	40
Enter GREENE.
GREENE
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,
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp’d?	45
GREENE
That he, our hope, might have retir’d 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 arriv’d	50
At Ravenspurgh.
QUEEN     Now God in heaven forbid!
GREENE     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.	55
BUSHY     Why have you not proclaim’d Northumberland
And all the rest revolted faction traitors?
GREENE     We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broken his staff, resign’d his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him	60
To Bolingbroke.
QUEEN     So, Greene, 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,	65
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,	70
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false Hope lingers in extremity.
Enter YORK.
GREENE     Here comes the Duke of York.
QUEEN     With signs of war about his aged neck;
O, full of careful business are his looks!	75
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,	80
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.	85
Enter a Servant.
SERVANT     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 cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Herford’s side.
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester,	90
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.	95
YORK     What is’t, knave?
SERVANT     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,	100
So my untruth had not provok’d him to it,
The king had cut my head off 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.	105
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts
And bring away the armour that is there.
Exit Servant.
Gentlemen, will you go muster men?
If I know how or which way to order these affairs,
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,	110
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen:
Th’one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th’other again
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong’d,
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.	115
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,	120
And everything is left at six and seven.
Exeunt York and Queen.
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.	125
GREENE     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.	130
BUSHY     Wherein the king stands generally condemn’d.
BAGOT     If judgment lie in them, then so do we,
Because we ever have been near the king.
GREENE
Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow castle,
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.	135
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.	140
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.
GREENE     Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes
Is numb’ring sands and drinking oceans dry;	145
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
Farewell at once – for once, for all, and ever.
BUSHY     Well, we may meet again.
BAGOT     I fear me, never.
Exeunt.

2.3 Enter BOLINGBROKE and 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,	5
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 Cotshall will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,	10
Which I protest hath very much beguil’d
The tediousness and process of my travel.
But theirs is sweet’ned with the hope to have
The present benefit which I possess,
And hope to joy is little less in joy	15
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.
BOLINGBROKE     Of much less value is my company
Than your good words. But who comes here?	20
Enter HARRY PERCY.
NORTHUMBERLAND     It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.
Harry, how fares your uncle?
PERCY
I had thought, my lord, to have learn’d his health of
you.
NORTHUMBERLAND     Why, is he not with the queen?	25
PERCY     No, my good lord, he hath forsook the court,
Broken his staff of office and dispers’d
The household of the king.
NORTHUMBERLAND     What was his reason?
He was not so resolv’d when last we spake together.
PERCY     Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.	30
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh
To offer service to the Duke of Herford,
And sent me over by Berkeley to discover
What power the Duke of York had levied there,
Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.	35
NORTHUMBERLAND
Have you forgot the Duke of Herford, boy?
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.	40
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	45
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.	50
NORTHUMBERLAND
How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir
Keeps good old York there with his men of war?
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 –	55
None else of name and noble estimate.
Enter ROSS and 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 banish’d traitor. All my treasury	60
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more inrich’d,
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,	65
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?
Enter BERKELEY.
NORTHUMBERLAND
It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.
BERKELEY     My Lord of Herford, my message is to you.
BOLINGBROKE     My lord, my answer is – to Lancaster,	70
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 race one title of your honour out.	75
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.	80
Enter YORK.
BOLINGBROKE
I shall not need transport my words by you;
Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle!
[Kneels.]
YORK     Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
Whose duty is deceivable and false.
BOLINGBROKE     My gracious uncle –	85
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
Dar’d once to touch a dust of England’s ground?	90
But then more ‘why?’ – why have they dar’d to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,
Frighting her pale-fac’d villages with war
And ostentation of despised arms?
Com’st thou because the anointed king is hence?	95
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,	100
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:	105
On what condition stands it and wherein?
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,	110
In braving arms against thy sovereign.
BOLINGBROKE
As I was banish’d, I was banish’d Herford;
But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.	115
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	120
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 cousin;
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,	125
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,	130
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.	135
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,	140
And labour’d 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	145
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!	150
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	155
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;
But since I cannot, be it known unto 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.	160
BOLINGBROKE     An offer, uncle, that we will accept.
But we must win your grace to go with us
To Bristow castle, which they say is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,	165
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.	170
Exeunt.

2.4 Enter EARL OF SALISBURY and a Welsh Captain.

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.
SALISBURY     Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman:	5
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-fac’d moon looks bloody on the earth,	10
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.	15
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.	20
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.