How do we measure the worth of our rulers? By the justice of their claim to power or the quality of their actions at the helm of state? King Richard II has wasted public funds and is under the influence of self-serving flatterers. He has arranged the murder of his uncle, Thomas of Woodstock, a plain-speaking elder statesman who has resisted Richard’s misrule. Yet he is the rightful king, anointed by God. In the central scene of Shakespeare’s play, the king is forced to participate in a ceremony in which he formally removes himself from the throne. Deposition was a matter so sensitive that this scene was censored out of the early printed editions of the play, so resonant that the Earl of Essex and his fellow conspirators commissioned Shakespeare’s acting company to put on a special performance of Richard II on the eve of their rebellion against Queen Elizabeth. Their intention must have been to use the theater as a way of preparing the people of London for their challenge to the monarch.
After the failure of their march on the palace, one of Essex’s men, Sir Gilly Meyrick, was sentenced to death for, among other things, commissioning this performance. Shakespeare’s company managed to persuade the Star Chamber that they had only undertaken the performance for the sake of an extra fee and that they had no involvement in the real-life plot. They escaped with a reprimand. Though Shakespeare’s sometime patron the Earl of Southampton marched with Essex, it would be foolhardy to infer the dramatist’s own loyalties from this incident. To judge from the choices he made in dramatizing his historical source materials, he seems to have been more interested in the human story of Richard’s fall than the politics of rebellion.
It is likely that the Essex faction commissioned the special performance not so much for its actual content—we cannot be sure that the deposition was actually staged at this time in the play’s life—as for the broad association between the rise of Henry Bullingbrook and the career of the charismatic earl. Essex’s men were probably remembering a book originally dedicated to their master, Sir John Hayward’s The First Part of the Life and Reign of King Henry IV. Published in 1599, it had caused much controversy as a result of its detailed treatment of Richard’s removal from the throne. The play must, nevertheless, have been very attractive to Essex and his followers, not only because it seemed to give good reasons for taking action against an ineffective, vacillating monarch, but also because it appeared to lament the decline of chivalric England. One of Essex’s chief strategies during his rise to prominence at court in the 1590s was to portray himself as a hero from a nobler age that had gone. He invoked the code of “honor” and made himself synonymous with such displays as the Accession Day tilts, in which courtiers would joust like knights of old.
The beginning of the play, so redolent of the medieval “rites of knighthood,” would have been very much to Essex’s taste. Mowbray and Bullingbrook throw down their gages and prepare for single combat with sword and lance. They are concerned above all with “spotless reputation”: “Mine honour is my life; both grow in one,” says Mowbray, “Take honour from me, and my life is done.” Honor is seen as the hallmark of the “trueborn Englishman.” The feuding dukes regard themselves as true patriots, appealing to “English earth” and lamenting that in exile they must forgo their “native English” language. Richard’s native language, by contrast, was French (which was also the nationality of his wife) and his court is implicitly seen as a place of French affectation. King Richard stands accused of wasting the patrimony of the English nation. He has been fleeced by his flatterers and costly Irish wars have required him to “lease out” the land. Given that Queen Elizabeth’s exchequer was also heavily overdrawn as a result of the Irish problem, Shakespeare was probably being diplomatic as well as practical in not attempting to stage Richard’s military campaign in Ireland, which is described at great length in his source, Holinshed’s Chronicles. The focus remains firmly on the English land, imagined metaphorically as a sea-walled garden “full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up.” Within two years of the play appearing in print, John of Gaunt’s “this sceptred isle” speech was ripped from its context and included in an anthology called England’s Parnassus as an exemplar of patriotic writing. It appears there as an unfinished sentence, lacking the sting in the tail: “this England…Is now leased out…That England, that was wont to conquer others, / Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.” True patriotism, the original context reveals, involves fierce criticism of bad government as well as rhetorical praise of the land.
But if the bad governor is sacredly endowed as God’s anointed deputy on earth, then is it permissible to remove him, even in the name of England and “true chivalry”? If the king is synonymous with the law, then to turn the law against him may seem a contradiction in terms, as the Bishop of Carlisle recognizes: “What subject can give sentence on his king?” The monarch was traditionally imagined to have two bodies: as body politic, the king was incarnation of the nation; as body natural, he was a mortal like anyone else. This was what made possible the paradoxical words “The king is dead, long live the king.” When Richard stages his own unthroning, he inverts the words of the coronation service, shatters a mirror, and gives up one of his two bodies.
What is left for the private self when the public persona is stripped away? Without “honor,” according to the contentious dukes, “Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.” But what would a king be without his crown, without a name, and a title? Once Richard has broken the mirror, he turns from his image to his inner self. Whereas monarchy depends on exterior show, inwardness is explored through the medium of words. Richard is by far the most inward-looking of Shakespeare’s kings. By focusing on the individual consciousness, considering Richard’s fate in psychological terms, Shakespeare neatly sidesteps the alarmingly destabilizing political consequences of the moment when a subject gives sentence on a king. “I had forgot myself. Am I not king?” In the very act of asking this question, Richard reveals that the answer is “no”: since a king has two bodies, he has the right to speak in the royal “we,” but here Richard is no more than an “I.” In speaking of himself he veers between “I,” “we,” and “he” (“What must the king do now? Must he submit?”). Inconsistent pronouns are the surest sign of the instability of his self.
Soliloquy and rhetorical elaboration are forms of self-dramatization. Richard sustains himself through a bravura linguistic performance: “Let’s talk of graves…” He makes himself the object of his subjective musings: “Must he lose the name of king?” He watches himself losing his grip on his role: “Ay, no; no, ay, for I must nothing be.” And he becomes more and more aware that to be is also to act, that we are all role-players: “Thus play I in one prison many people, / And none contented” (“one prison” is the Folio text’s interesting variant on the original Quarto’s “one person”—“prison” nicely suggests both Richard’s confined location and the traditional idea of the body as prison of the soul, which is then released to eternity in death). He leaves the stage in the manner of “a well-graced actor.”
Though the Folio text is titled The Life and Death of King Richard the Second, the earlier Quarto edition was called The Tragedy of King Richard the Second. The structure of the drama answers to a very traditional idea of tragedy as a story in which a powerful figure falls from earthly prosperity and in so doing rises to greatness of soul. Pity for Richard is the prevailing tragic emotion in the closing scenes. “It seems to be the design of the poet to raise Richard to esteem in his fall, and consequently to interest the reader in his favour,” wrote Dr. Johnson. Note “the reader” there, not the spectator—this is a play that has been more admired on page than stage. Johnson continues: “He gives him only passive fortitude, the virtue of a confessor, rather than of a king. In his prosperity we saw him imperious and oppressive; but in his distress he is wise, patient, and pious.”
By concentrating on the inner life of Richard, Shakespeare diminishes some of the major elements of the play that was his structural model, Christopher Marlowe’s Edward II. The flatterers Bushy, Bagot, and Green are given very small roles and the exclusion of the queen from the king’s affections is not fully developed. In Marlowe’s dramatization of the fall of a weak king and the rise of his rival, the minions—first Gaveston and then Spencer—are central not only to the politics but also to the sexuality of the play. They are explicitly the king’s lovers. The abused queen becomes a lead player in the rebellion against the king. Shakespeare’s Richard by contrast seems too self-absorbed to be powerfully driven by sexual desire. Samuel Taylor Coleridge spoke intriguingly of the character’s feminine friendism, but that is not quite a euphemism for homoerotic feeling.
As the man who rises when Richard falls, Bullingbrook’s story remains unfinished. But Shakespeare anticipates the civil war that will wrack his reign. The role of Northumberland, who cooperates with Bullingbrook but will eventually turn against him, is greatly expanded from its seed in Holinshed’s Chronicles. Richard delivers a prophecy that “The time shall not be many hours of age / More than it is ere foul sin, gathering head, / Shall break into corruption” and predicts rightly that Northumberland will seek to pluck King Henry IV from his usurped throne. As he wrote these words, Shakespeare must have been thinking of how he was going to continue the story in another play.
PLOT: In the presence of King Richard, Henry Bullingbrook accuses Thomas Mowbray of embezzling crown funds and of plotting the death of his uncle, the Duke of Gloucester. They will not be reconciled and are about to fight, but Richard stops the combat before it can begin. Bullingbrook is exiled for ten years (later reduced to six); Mowbray is exiled for life. John of Gaunt (Duke of Lancaster, uncle to the king and father to Bullingbrook) dies after accusing Richard of improper government. Richard orders the seizure of Gaunt’s property, thus denying Bullingbrook his inheritance. He then departs for Ireland, appointing his other uncle York to govern in his absence. Northumberland reveals that Bullingbrook has returned to England with an army. Bullingbrook persuades his uncle York that he has returned for his rightful inheritance, not to start a rebellion against the crown. Richard returns from Ireland to discover that his Welsh troops have deserted him, that York has allied himself with Bullingbrook, and that the common people are rising against him. Bullingbrook and his supporters meet with Richard. Bullingbrook promises to surrender his arms if his banishment is repealed and his inheritance restored. Richard agrees to his demands. Richard’s cousin Aumerle is accused of murdering the Duke of Gloucester. Bullingbrook arrests everyone involved in the allegations. Richard agrees to abdicate. Bullingbrook announces his coronation. A plot is hatched to restore Richard to the throne. York discovers that his son Aumerle is involved in a plot to kill Bullingbrook. Aumerle confesses to Bullingbrook, and is pardoned. Richard is killed while imprisoned in Pomfret Castle. Bullingbrook receives news of his supporters’ efforts to defeat his detractors. Exton presents Richard’s body to Bullingbrook, only to be rewarded with banishment. Bullingbrook promises to undertake a pilgrimage to expiate his sins.
MAJOR PARTS: (with percentage of lines/number of speeches/scenes on stage) King Richard II (27%/98/9), Henry Bullingbrook (15%/90/8), Duke of York (10%/54/8), John of Gaunt (7%/28/4), Northumberland (5%/38/6), Mowbray (5%/13/2), Queen (4%/25/4), Aumerle (3%/38/7), Duchess of York (3%/28/2), Bishop of Carlisle (2%/6/2), Duchess of Gloucester (2%/4/1), Gardener (2%/6/1).
LINGUISTIC MEDIUM: 100% verse, with high proportion of rhyme.
DATE: 1595–96. Registered for publication August 1597. Written after Samuel Daniel’s First Four Books of the Civil Wars (registered October 1594, apparently published 1595); perhaps postdates renowned Accession Day tilts of November 1595. Described in February 1601 as “old and long out of use.”
SOURCES: primary source is the account of the last two years of Richard’s reign in Raphael Holinshed’s Chronicles (1587 edition), supplemented—especially for various details in the final act—by Samuel Daniel’s First Four Books of the Civil Wars between the two Houses of Lancaster and York (1594–95). Christopher Marlowe’s Edward II (1592?) was a major dramatic influence, both structurally (the fall of a weak king and the rise of his rival) and thematically (flatterers, Irish wars, a marginalized queen). Some scholars also detect the influence of the anonymous chronicle play of Woodstock: as well as verbal parallels, there are resemblances between Shakespeare’s John of Gaunt and this play’s Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester, but recent scholarship suggests that Shakespeare’s play precedes Woodstock, not vice versa. The garden scene is apparently without source, though the comparison between a disordered state and an overgrown garden was traditional.
TEXT: First printed in Quarto in 1597, with text deriving from Shakespeare’s working manuscript or a transcription of it; the deposition scene was, however, omitted for reasons of censorship. The First Quarto was reprinted several times (Second and Third Quartos, 1598; Fourth Quarto, 1608; Fifth Quarto, 1615). These later Quartos correct a few obvious errors in the First Quarto, but introduce many misprints. The Second Quarto was one of the first printed play texts to include Shakespeare’s name on the title page. The Fourth Quarto printed the deposition sequence for the first time, but in a defective text. The Folio text seems to have been printed from the Third Quarto (though a few editors argue that it was based on either the Fifth Quarto or a defective copy of the Third Quarto with the missing final leaves made up from the Fifth Quarto), but the Folio editor also consulted a manuscript closely related to theatrical production, perhaps the company “playbook.” The Folio restored many First Quarto readings that had been corrupted in later Quartos, printed a good text of the deposition scene for the first time, added and systematized stage directions, made some alterations to staging for the sake of clarification, introduced act divisions, replaced “God” with “heaven” in accordance with the 1606 Act to restrain Abuses, made a few verbal alterations, and omitted about fifty lines (these mostly seem to be deliberate theatrical cuts, though a clutch of individual lines might have been dropped inadvertently). Most modern editions are based on the First Quarto, with the deposition scene, stage directions, and many individual readings taken from the Folio. Our text resists this sort of conflation and is based on Folio, with the correction of manifest printers’ errors. The Quarto-only passages are given at the end of the play.
GENEALOGY: See this page.
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD THE SECOND
KING RICHARD II of England
QUEEN, Richard’s wife
JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster, Richard’s uncle
HENRY BULLINGBROOK, Duke of Hereford, John of Gaunt’s son, later King Henry IV
DUKE OF YORK, Edmund of Langley, Richard’s uncle
DUCHESS OF YORK, his wife
DUKE OF AUMERLE, their son and Earl of Rutland
DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, widow of Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester (Richard’s uncle)
THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk
EARL OF SALISBURY
DUKE OF SURREY
LORD BERKELEY
BISHOP OF CARLISLE
ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP
BUSHY
BAGOT
GREEN
EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND
HARRY PERCY, Northumberland’s son
LORD ROSS
LORD WILLOUGHBY
LORD FITZWATERS
SIR PIERS OF EXTON
LORD
LORD MARSHAL
TWO HERALDS
CAPTAIN of the Welsh army
TWO LADIES attending the Queen
GARDENER
SERVANT to the Gardener
SERVANT to York
KEEPER of the prison at Pomfret Castle
TWO SERVANTS to Exton
GROOM of Richard’s stable
Various Soldiers, Attendants, Lords
Hast thou2 according to thy oath and band
Brought hither Henry Hereford3 thy bold son,
Here to make good the boist’rous4 late appeal,
5 Which then our5 leisure would not let us hear,
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
If he appeal the duke on ancient9 malice,
10 Or worthily, as a good subject should,
On some known ground11 of treachery in him?
On some apparent13 danger seen in him
Aimed at your highness, no inveterate14 malice.
Face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
Th’accuser and the accusèd freely speak;
High-stomached18 are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
My gracious21 sovereign, my most loving liege!
Until the heavens, envying earth’s good hap,23
Add an immortal title24 to your crown!
As well appeareth26 by the cause you come,
Namely, to appeal27 each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object28
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
In the devotion of a subject’s love,
Tend’ring32 the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten33 hate,
Come I appellant34 to this princely presence.
35 Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark36 my greeting well, for what I speak
My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine soul answer38 it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant;39
40 Too good40 to be so and too bad to live,
Since the more fair and crystal41 is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate43 the note,
With a foul traitor’s name stuff I thy throat;
45 And wish — so please my sovereign — ere45 I move,
What my tongue speaks my right46 drawn sword may prove.
’Tis not the trial48 of a woman’s war,
The bitter clamour of two eager49 tongues,
50 Can arbitrate50 this cause betwixt us twain.
The blood51 is hot that must be cooled for this.
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
As to be hushed and nought at all to say.
First, the fair reverence of54 your highness curbs me
55 From giving reins and spurs to my free speech,
Which else56 would post until it had returned
These terms of treason doubly down his throat.
Setting58 aside his high blood’s royalty,
And let59 him be no kinsman to my liege,
60 I do defy60 him, and I spit at him,
Call him a slanderous coward and a villain,
Which to maintain I would allow him odds,62
And meet63 him, were I tied to run afoot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
65 Or any other ground inhabitable65
Wherever Englishman durst66 set his foot.
Meantime, let this67 defend my loyalty:
By all my hopes most falsely doth he lie.
70 Disclaiming here the kindred of a king,
And lay aside my high blood’s royalty,
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.72
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength
As to take up mine honour’s pawn,74 then stoop.
75 By that and all the rites of knighthood else,
Will I make good76 against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoken, or thou canst devise.77
Which gently79 laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
80 I’ll answer thee in80 any fair degree,
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
And when I mount, alive may I not light,82
If I be traitor or unjustly83 fight!
85 It must be great that can inherit us85
So much as of a thought of ill in him.
That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles88
In name of lendings89 for your highness’ soldiers,
90 The which he hath detained for lewd90 employments,
Like a false traitor and injurious91 villain.
Besides I say, and will in battle prove,
Or93 here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
That ever was surveyed by English eye,
95 That all the treasons for these eighteen years
Complotted96 and contrivèd in this land
Fetched97 from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
Further I say, and further will maintain
Upon his bad life to make all this good,
100 That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester’s100 death,
Suggest101 his soon-believing adversaries,
And consequently, like a traitor coward,
Sluiced out103 his innocent soul through streams of blood:
Which blood, like sacrificing104 Abel’s, cries
105 Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth
To me for justice and rough chastisement.106
And by the glorious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.
110 Thomas of Norfolk, what sayest thou to this?
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
Till I have told this slander of113 his blood,
How God and good men hate so foul a liar.
Were he my brother, nay, our kingdom’s heir,
As he is but my father’s brother’s son,
Now, by my sceptre’s awe,118 I make a vow,
Such neighbour119 nearness to our sacred blood
120 Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize120
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou.
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.
125 Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.
Three parts of that receipt126 I had for Calais
Disbursed I duly to his highness’ soldiers;
The other part reserved I by consent,
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
130 Upon130 remainder of a dear account,
Since last I went to France to fetch131 his queen.
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester’s death,
I slew him not; but to mine own disgrace
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
135 For you, my noble lord of Lancaster,135
The honourable father to my foe,
Once I did lay an ambush for your life —
A trespass138 that doth vex my grievèd soul.
But ere I last received the sacrament
140 I did confess it, and exactly140 begged
Your grace’s pardon, and I hope I had it.
This is my fault. As for the rest appealed,142
It issues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant144 and most degenerate traitor
145 Which145 in myself I boldly will defend,
And interchangeably146 hurl down my gage Throws down his gage
Upon this overweening147 traitor’s foot,
To prove myself a loyal gentleman
Even in149 the best blood chambered in his bosom.
150 In haste whereof,150 most heartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.
Let’s purge153 this choler without letting blood.
This we prescribe, though no physician:
155 Deep malice makes too deep incision.
Forget, forgive, conclude156 and be agreed:
Our doctors157 say this is no time to bleed.
Good uncle, let this end where it begun:
We’ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.
Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk’s gage.
Obedience bids I should not bid again.
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
The one my duty owes, but my fair name,167
Despite of death that lives upon my grave,
To dark dishonour’s use thou shalt not have.
170 I am disgraced, impeached170 and baffled here,
Pierced to the soul with slander’s venomed spear,
The which no balm172 can cure but his heart-blood
Which breathed this poison.
175 Give me his gage. Lions make leopards175 tame.
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation: that away,179
180 Men are but gilded180 loam or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barred-up181 chest
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:183
Take honour from me, and my life is done.
185 Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try.185
In that I live and for that will I die.
Shall I seem crest-fall’n189 in my father’s sight?
190 Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height190
Before this out-dared191 dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong,
Or sound so base a parle,193 my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive194 of recanting fear,
195 And spit it bleeding in his195 high disgrace,
Where shame doth harbour,196 even in Mowbray’s face.
Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,
200 At Coventry upon Saint Lambert’s day:200
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
The swelling202 difference of your settled hate.
Since we cannot atone203 you, we shall see
Justice design204 the victor’s chivalry.
205 Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms
Be ready to direct these home alarms.206
Doth more solicit2 me than your exclaims,
To stir3 against the butchers of his life.
But since correction lieth in those hands4
5 Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven,
Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders’ heads.
10 Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward’s11 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,
15 Some of those branches by the Destinies15 cut.
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,
One vial full of Edward’s sacred blood,
One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
Is cracked, and all the precious liquor19 spilt,
20 Is hacked down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By envy’s21 hand and murder’s bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb,
That metal,23 that self-mould that fashioned thee
Made him a man. And though thou liv’st and breath’st,
25 Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent25
In some large measure to thy father’s death,
In that thou see’st thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model28 of thy father’s life.
Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair.
30 In suff’ring30 thus thy brother to be slaughtered,
Thou show’st the naked31 pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.
That which in mean33 men we entitle patience
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
35 What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life,
The best way is to venge36 my Gloucester’s death.
His deputy anointed38 in his sight,
Hath caused his death, the which if wrongfully,
40 Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift
An angry arm against his minister.
45 Thou go’st to Coventry, there to behold
Our cousin46 Hereford and fell Mowbray fight.
O, sit my husband’s wrongs on Hereford’s spear,
That it may enter butcher Mowbray’s breast!
Or if misfortune miss the first career,49
50 Be Mowbray’s sins so heavy in his bosom,
That they may break his foaming courser’s51 back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,52
A caitiff53 recreant to my cousin Hereford!
Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes54 brother’s wife
55 With her companion grief must end her life.
As much good stay with thee as go with me!
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight.
60 I take my leave before I have begun,
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
Commend me to my brother,62 Edmund York.
Lo,63 this is all. Nay, yet depart not so:
Though this be all, do not so quickly go.
65 I shall remember more. Bid him — O, what? —
With all good speed at Plashy66 visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see
But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls,
Unpeopled offices,69 untrodden stones?
70 And what hear there for welcome but my groans?
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.
Stays4 but the summons of the appellant’s trumpet.
For nothing but his majesty’s approach.
The cause of his arrival here in arms.
Ask him his name and orderly9 proceed
10 To swear him in the justice of his cause.
And why thou com’st thus knightly clad in arms,
Against what man thou com’st, and what’s thy quarrel.13
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thine oath,
15 As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!
Who hither comes engagèd by my oath —
Which heaven defend18 a knight should violate! —
Both to defend my loyalty and truth
20 To God, my king and his succeeding20 issue,
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me,
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me.
25 And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
Both who he is and why he cometh hither
Thus plated28 in habiliments of war,
And formally, according to our law,
30 Depose him30 in the justice of his cause.
Before King Richard in his royal lists?
Against whom com’st thou? And what’s thy quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!
Am I, who ready here do stand in arms
To prove, by heaven’s grace and my body’s valour,
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
That he’s a traitor, foul and dangerous,
40 To God of heaven, King Richard and to me.
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
Or daring-hardy43 as to touch the lists,
Except the marshal and such officers
45 Appointed to direct these fair45 designs.
And bow my knee before his majesty.
For Mowbray and myself are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage,
50 Then let us take a ceremonious leave
And loving farewell of our several51 friends.
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.
55 Cousin of Hereford, as55 thy cause is just,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight!56
Farewell, my blood,57 which if today thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
60 For me, if I be gored with Mowbray’s spear.
As confident as is the falcon’s flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.—
My loving lord, I take my leave of you.— To Richard
Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle,
65 Not sick, although I have to do with death,
But lusty,66 young, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet67
The daintiest68 last, to make the end most sweet.—
O thou, the earthy author of my blood, To Gaunt
70 Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,70
Doth with a twofold71 rigour lift me up
To reach at victory above my head,
Add proof73 unto mine armour with thy prayers,
And with thy blessings steel my lance’s point,
75 That it may enter Mowbray’s waxen75 coat,
And furbish76 new the name of John a Gaunt,
Even in the lusty ’haviour77 of his son.
Be swift like lightning in the execution,
80 And let thy blows, doubly redoublèd,
Fall like amazing81 thunder on the casque
Of thy amazed pernicious82 enemy,
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.
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
90 His golden uncontrolled enfranchisement90
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.
95 As gentle95 and as jocund as to jest
Go I to fight. Truth hath a quiet breast.
Virtue with valour couchèd98 in thine eye.
Order99 the trial, marshal, and begin.
Receive thy lance. And heaven defend thy right! Attendant gives a lance to Bullingbrook
105 Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant,106
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, his king and him,108
And dares him to set forwards to the fight.
On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend himself and to approve112
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,
To God, his sovereign and to him114 disloyal,
115 Courageously and with a free desire
Attending116 but the signal to begin.
Stay,118 the king hath thrown his warder down.
120 And both return back to their chairs again.
Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound
While we return122 these dukes what we decree.
Draw near, and list123 what with our council we have done.
For that124 our kingdom’s earth should not be soiled
125 With that dear125 blood which it hath fosterèd,
And for126 our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civil wounds ploughed up with neighbours’ swords,
Which so roused up with boist’rous128 untuned drums,
With harsh resounding trumpets’ dreadful bray,
130 And grating shock130 of wrathful iron arms,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace
And make us wade even in our kindred’s blood:
Therefore, we banish you our territories.
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death,
135 Till twice five summers have enriched our fields
Shall not regreet136 our fair dominions,
But tread the stranger137 paths of banishment.
That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,
140 And those his golden beams to you here lent
Shall point on me and gild my banishment.
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:
The sly144 slow hours shall not determinate
145 The dateless limit145 of thy dear exile.
The hopeless word of ‘never to return’
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.147
And all unlooked for149 from your highness’ mouth.
150 A dearer merit,150 not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common151 air,
Have I deservèd at your highness’ hands.
The language I have learned these forty years,
My native English, now I must forgo,
155 And now my tongue’s use is to me no more
Than an unstringèd viol or a harp,
Or like a cunning157 instrument cased up,
Or, being open,158 put into his hands
That knows no touch159 to tune the harmony.
160 Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue,
Doubly portcullised161 with my teeth and lips,
And dull unfeeling barren ignorance
Is made my jailer to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
165 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?
After our sentence, plaining169 comes too late.
To dwell in solemn171 shades of endless night. Starts to go
Lay on our royal sword your banished hands;
Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven —
175 Our part therein175 we banish with yourselves —
To keep the oath that we administer:
You never shall, so help you truth and heaven,
Embrace each other’s love in banishment,
Nor ever look upon each other’s face,
180 Nor ever write, regreet,180 or reconcile
This louring181 tempest of your home-bred hate,
Nor ever by advisèd182 purpose meet
To plot, contrive, or complot183 any ill
Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
By this time, had the king permitted us,
One of our souls had wandered in the air,
190 Banished this frail sepulchre190 of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banished from this land.
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly192 this realm:
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging194 burden of a guilty soul.
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banished as from hence!
But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know,
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.199
200 Farewell, my liege, now no way can I stray:200
Save201 back to England, all the world’s my way.
I see thy grievèd heart. Thy sad aspect203
Hath from the number of his banished years
205 Plucked four away.— Six frozen winters spent, To Bullingbrook
Return with welcome home from banishment.
Four lagging winters and four wanton208 springs
End in a word: such is the breath of kings.
He shortens four years of my son’s exile.
But little vantage212 shall I reap thereby,
For ere the six years that he hath to spend
Can change their moons and bring their times214 about
215 My oil-dried215 lamp and time-bewasted light
Shall be extinct216 with age and endless night.
My inch of taper217 will be burnt and done,
And blindfold218 death not let me see my son.
Shorten my days thou canst with sudden 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.224
225 Thy word is current225 with him for my death,
But dead,226 thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict228 gave.
Why at our justice seem’st thou then to lour?229
You urged me as a judge, but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
Alas, I looked when233 some of you should say
I was too strict to make234 mine own away.
235 But you gave leave235 to my unwilling tongue,
Against my will to do myself this wrong.
Six years we banish him, and he shall go. Flourish.
240 From where you do remain let paper240 show.
As far as land will let me, by your side.
That thou return’st no greeting to thy friends?
When the tongue’s office246 should be prodigal
To breathe247 th’abundant dolour of the heart.
Which finds it an enforcèd pilgrimage.
Esteem as foil256 wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home return.
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?259
260 Or cloy260 the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic263 summer’s heat?
O, no, the apprehension264 of the good
265 Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
Fell266 sorrow’s tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth267 not the sore.
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.
My mother, and my nurse, which bears me yet!
Where’er I wander, boast of this I can,
Though banished, yet a trueborn Englishman.
How far brought you high2 Hereford on his way?
But to the next4 highway, and there I left him.
Which then blew bitterly against our face,
Awaked the sleepy rheum,8 and so by chance
Did grace our hollow9 parting with a tear.
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft12
To counterfeit13 oppression of such grief
That word seemed buried in my sorrow’s grave.
15 Marry,15 would the word ‘farewell’ have lengthened 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.
20 When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.21
Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green
Observed his courtship to the common people.
How he did seem to dive into their hearts
25 With humble and familiar courtesy,
What reverence26 he did throw away on slaves,
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles
And patient underbearing28 of his fortune,
As ’twere to banish29 their affects with him.
30 Off goes his bonnet30 to an oyster-wench.
A brace of draymen31 bid God speed him well
And had the tribute of his supple32 knee,
With ‘Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends’,
As were our England in reversion34 his,
35 And he our35 subjects’ next degree in hope.
Now for the rebels which stand out37 in Ireland.
Expedient manage38 must be made, my liege,
Ere further leisure39 yield them further means
40 For their advantage and your highness’ loss.
And, for our coffers with too great a court
And liberal largesse43 are grown somewhat light,
We are enforced to farm44 our royal realm,
45 The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand. If that come short,46
Our substitutes47 at home shall have blank charters,
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They shall subscribe them49 for large sums of gold
50 And send them50 after to supply our wants,
For we will make for Ireland presently.51
Bushy, what news?
Suddenly taken, and hath sent post haste
55 To entreat your majesty to visit him.
To help him to his grave immediately!
60 The lining60 of his coffers shall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.
Come, gentlemen, let’s all go visit him.
Pray heaven we may make haste, and come too late!
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid2 youth?
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
Enforce attention like deep harmony.
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain,
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
He that no more must say is listened9 more
10 Than they whom youth and ease have taught to gloze.10
More are men’s ends marked11 than their lives before.
The setting sun and music is the close,12
As the last13 taste of sweets is sweetest last,
Writ in remembrance more than things long past.
15 Though Richard my life’s counsel would not hear,
My death’s sad16 tale may yet undeaf his ear.
As praises, of his state:18 then there are found
Lascivious metres,19 to whose venom sound
20 The open ear of youth doth always listen,
Report of fashions in proud21 Italy,
Whose manners still our tardy apish22 nation
Limps after in base imitation.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity24 —
25 So25 it be new, there’s no respect how vile —
That is not quickly buzzed26 into his ears?
That27 all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where will28 doth mutiny with wit’s regard.
Direct not him whose way himself will choose.
30 ’Tis breath thou lack’st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
And thus expiring32 do foretell of him.
His rash fierce blaze of riot33 cannot last,
For violent fires soon burn out themselves.
35 Small35 showers last long, but sudden storms are short.
He tires betimes36 that spurs too fast betimes.
With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder.
Light vanity,38 insatiate cormorant,
Consuming means39 soon preys upon itself.
40 This royal throne of kings, this sceptred40 isle,
This earth of majesty,41 this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
45 This happy breed45 of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office47 of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
50 This blessèd plot,50 this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming51 womb of royal kings,
Feared by their breed52 and famous for their birth,
Renownèd for their deeds as far from home,
For Christian service and true chivalry,
55 As is the sepulchre55 in stubborn Jewry
Of the world’s56 ransom, blessèd Mary’s son:
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out — I die pronouncing it —
60 Like to a tenement60 or pelting farm.
England, bound in61 with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious62 siege
Of watery Neptune,63 is now bound in with shame,
With inky64 blots and rotten parchment bonds.
65 That England, that was wont65 to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!
70 For young hot colts being raged do rage the more.
Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old.
75 Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast,
And who abstains from meat76 that is not gaunt?
For sleeping England long time have I watched.77
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt.
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon,
80 Is my strict fast — I mean, my children’s looks,
And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt.
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,
Whose hollow womb inherits83 nought but bones.
Since thou dost seek to kill86 my name in me,
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
95 Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick.
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Commit’st thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee.
100 A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
Whose compass101 is no bigger than thy head.
And yet, encagèd in so small a verge,102
The waste103 is no whit lesser than thy land.
O, had thy grandsire104 with a prophet’s eye
105 Seen how his son’s son should destroy his sons,105
From forth106 thy reach he would have laid thy shame,
Deposing107 thee before thou wert possessed,
Which art possessed now to depose thyself.
Why, cousin,109 were thou regent of the world,
110 It were a shame to let his land by lease.
But for111 thy world enjoying but this land,
Is it not more than shame to shame it so?
Landlord of England art thou and not king.
Thy state114 of law is bondslave to the law, and—
Presuming on116 an ague’s privilege,
Dar’st with thy frozen117 admonition
Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood
With fury from his native residence?
120 Now, by my seat’s120 right royal majesty,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward’s son,
This tongue that runs so roundly122 in thy head
Should run thy head from thy unreverent123 shoulders.
125 For that125 I was his father Edward’s son.
That blood already, like the pelican,126
Thou hast tapped out127 and drunkenly caroused.
My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul —
Whom fair129 befall in heaven ’mongst happy souls! —
130 May be a precedent and witness good
That thou respect’st not spilling Edward’s blood.
Join with the present sickness that I have,
And thy unkindness133 be like crookèd age,
To crop at once a too long withered flower.
135 Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee:
These words hereafter thy tormentors be!
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
Love they to live that love and honour have. Carried off by Attendants
140 For both hast thou, and both become140 the grave.
To wayward sickliness and age in him.
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry143 Duke of Hereford, were he here.
As theirs, so mine, and all be as it is.
150 His tongue is now a stringless instrument.
Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent.151
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
155 His time is spent, our pilgrimage155 must be.
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars:
We must supplant157 those rough rug-headed kerns,
Which live like venom where no venom else
But only they have privilege to live.
160 And for these great affairs do ask some charge,160
Towards our assistance we do seize161 to us
The plate,162 coin, revenues and movables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possessed.
165 Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
Not Gloucester’s death, nor Hereford’s banishment,
Nor Gaunt’s rebukes,167 nor England’s private wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poor Bullingbrook168
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace
170 Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle171 on my sovereign’s face.
I am the last of noble Edward’s sons,
Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.
In war was never lion raged more fierce,
175 In peace was never gentle Iamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely gentleman.
His face thou hast, for even so looked he,
Accomplished178 with the number of thy hours.
But when he frowned, it was against the French
180 And not against his friends. His noble hand
Did win what he did spend and spent not that
Which his triumphant father’s hand had won.
His hands were guilty of no kindred’s blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
185 O Richard, York is too far gone with grief,
Or else he never would compare between.
Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased
190 Not to be pardoned, am content withal.190
Seek you to seize191 and grip into your hands
The royalties192 and rights of banished Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead? And doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt just? And is not Harry true?194
195 Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
Take Hereford’s rights away, and take from time
His198 charters and his customary rights:
Let not tomorrow then ensue199 today.
200 Be not thyself. For how art thou a king
But by fair sequence and succession?
Now, afore God — God forbid I say true! —
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford’s right,
Call204 in his letters patents that he hath
205 By205 his attorneys-general to sue
His livery, and deny his offered homage,206
You pluck207 a thousand dangers on your head,
You lose a thousand well-disposèd hearts
And prick209 my tender patience to those thoughts
210 Which honour and allegiance cannot think.
His plate, his goods, his money and his lands.
What will ensue hereof, there’s none can tell.
215 But by bad courses215 may be understood
That their events216 can never fall out good.
Bid him repair218 to us to Ely House
To see219 this business.— Tomorrow next
220 We will for Ireland, and ’tis time, I trow.220
And we create, in absence of ourself,
Our uncle York Lord Governor of England,
For he is just and always loved us well.—
Come on, our queen. Tomorrow must we part.
225 Be merry, for our time of stay is short.
Ere’t be disburdened with a liberal231 tongue.
That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!
235 If it be so, out with it boldly, man.
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.
Unless you call it good to pity him,
Bereft239 and gelded of his patrimony.
In him, a royal prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land.
The king is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers. And what they will inform,
245 Merely in hate, gainst any of us all,
That will the king severely prosecute246
Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
And quite lost their hearts. The nobles hath he fined
250 For ancient250 quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
As blanks,252 benevolences, and I wot not what.
But what, o’God’s name, doth become of this?253
255 But basely255 yielded upon compromise
That which his ancestors achieved with blows.
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banished duke.
265 But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm.
We see the wind sit sore267 upon our sails,
And yet we strike268 not, but securely perish.
270 And unavoided is the danger now,
For suffering271 so the causes of our wreck.
I spy life peering, but I dare not say
How near the tidings274 of our comfort is.
We three are but thyself, and speaking so,
Thy words are but as thoughts: therefore be bold.
280 In Brittany, received intelligence
That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold281 Lord Cobham,
That late broke282 from the Duke of Exeter,
His283 brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Rainston,
285 Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint,
All these well furnished286 by the Duke of Brittany
With eight tall287 ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience288
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.
290 Perhaps they had ere this,290 but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
Imp out293 our drooping country’s broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn294 the blemished crown,
295 Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre’s gilt295
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away with me in post297 to Ravenspurgh.
But if you faint,298 as fearing to do so,
Stay and be secret, and myself will go.
You promised, when you parted with the king,
To lay aside life-harming heaviness3
And entertain4 a cheerful disposition.
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,
10 Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune’s womb,
Is coming towards me, and my inward soul
With nothing trembles. At something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.
15 Which shows like grief itself, but is not so.
For sorrow’s eye, glazèd16 with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to17 many objects,
Like perspectives,18 which rightly gazed upon
Show nothing but confusion: eyed awry19
20 Distinguish form.20 So your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord’s departure,
Find shapes of grief, more than himself22 to wail,
Which, looked on as it is, is naught but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
25 More25 than your lord’s departure weep not. More’s not seen;
Or if it be, ’tis with false sorrow’s eye,
Which for27 things true weeps things imaginary.
Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe’er it be,
30 I cannot but be sad, so heavy30 sad
As though on31 thinking on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
35 From some forefather grief. Mine is not so,
For nothing hath begot36 my something grief,
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve.37
’Tis in reversion38 that I do possess —
But what it is, that is not yet known — what
40 I cannot name. ’Tis nameless woe, I wot.40
I hope the king is not yet shipped for Ireland.
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.
45 Then wherefore45 dost thou hope he is not shipped?
And driven into despair an enemy’s hope,
Who strongly48 hath set footing in this land.
The banished Bullingbrook repeals himself,49
50 And with uplifted arms50 is safe arrived
At Ravenspurgh.
The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,
55 The Lords of Ross, Beaumond and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
And the rest of the revolted faction, traitors?
60 Hath broke his staff,60 resigned his stewardship,
And all the household61 servants fled with him
To Bullingbrook.
And Bullingbrook my sorrow’s dismal heir.64
65 Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,65
And I, a gasping new-delivered mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined.
70 I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening71 hope; he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
Who gently would dissolve the bands73 of life,
Which false hope lingers74 in extremity.
O, full of careful77 business are his looks!
Uncle, for heaven’s sake, speak comfortable78 words.
80 Where nothing lives but crosses,80 care and grief.
Your husband, he is gone to save81 far off,
Whilst others come to make him lose at home.
Here am I left to underprop83 his land,
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.
85 Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit85 made,
Now shall he try86 his friends that flattered him.
The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold,89
90 And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford’s side.
Sirrah,91 get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester:
Bid her send me presently92 a thousand pound.
Hold, take my ring.93
95 Today as I came by, I callèd there —
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
100 Come rushing on this woeful land at once!
I know not what to do. I would101 to heaven —
So102 my untruth had not provoked him to it —
The king had cut off my head with my brother’s.103
What, are there posts104 dispatched for Ireland?
105 How shall we do105 for money for these wars?
Come, sister — cousin, I would say — pray, pardon me.— To Queen
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts To Servant
And bring away the armour that is there.—
Gentlemen, will you muster109 men?
110 If I know how or which way to order these affairs
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.
Th’one is my sovereign, whom both my oath113
And duty bids defend: th’other again
115 Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wronged,
Whom conscience and my kindred116 bids to right.
Well, somewhat117 we must do.— Come, cousin, I’ll
Dispose of118 you.—
Gentlemen, go muster up your men,
120 And meet me presently at Berkeley120 Castle.
I should to Plashy too,
But time will not permit. All is uneven,
And everything is left at123 six and seven.
125 But none returns. For us to levy power125
Proportionable to th’enemy
Is all impossible.
Is near the hate of those129 love not the king.
Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them,
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
135 Because we have been ever near the king.
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
Will the hateful139 commons perform for us,
140 Except like curs140 to tear us all in pieces.
Will you go along with us? To Bagot
Farewell. If heart’s presages143 be not vain,
We three here part that ne’er shall meet again.
Is numb’ring sands and drinking oceans dry.
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
150 Well, we may meet again.
I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.
These high wild hills and rough uneven ways
5 Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome.
And yet our fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
But I bethink me what a weary way
From Ravenspurgh to Cottshold9 will be found
10 In10 Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,
Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled11
The tediousness and process12 of my travel.
But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have
The present benefit that I possess;
15 And hope to joy is little less in joy
Than hope enjoyed. By this16 the weary lords
Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done
By sight of what I have, your noble company.
20 Than your good words. But who comes here?
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.22—
Harry, how fares your uncle?
Broken his staff of office and dispersed
The household of the king.
30 He was not so resolved when we last spake together.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh
To offer service to the Duke of Hereford,
And sent me over by Berkeley to discover
35 What power the Duke of York had levied35 there,
Then with direction to repair36 to Ravenspurgh.
Which ne’er I did remember: to my knowledge,
40 I never in my life did look on him.
Such as it is, being tender, raw and young,
Which elder days shall ripen and confirm
45 To more approvèd45 service and desert.
I count myself in nothing else so happy
As in a soul rememb’ring my good friends.
And as my fortune49 ripens with thy love,
50 It shall be still50 thy true love’s recompense.
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. Gives Percy his hand
Keeps good old York there with his men of war?
55 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.57
Bloody with spurring,59 fiery-red with haste.
A banished traitor. All my treasury
Is yet but unfelt62 thanks, which more enriched
Shall be your love and labour’s recompense.
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,67
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?
And I am come to seek that name in England.
And I must find that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught74 you say.
To raze76 one title of your honour out.
To you, my lord, I come — what77 lord you will—
From the most glorious78 of this land,
The Duke of York, to know what pricks79 you on
80 To take advantage of the absent time80
And fright our native81 peace with self-born arms.
Here comes his grace in person.— My noble uncle! Kneels
85 Whose duty is deceivable85 and false.
I am no traitor’s uncle; and that word ‘grace’
In an ungracious89 mouth is but profane.
90 Why have these banished and forbidden legs
Dared once to touch a dust91 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
95 And ostentation of despisèd95 arms?
Com’st thou because th’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
100 As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself
Rescued the Black Prince,101 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,104 chastise thee
105 And minister correction to thy fault!
On107 what condition stands it and wherein?
In gross rebellion and detested treason.
110 Thou art a banished man, and here art come
Before th’expiration of thy time,
In braving112 arms against thy sovereign.
But as I come, I come for114 Lancaster.
115 And noble uncle, I beseech your grace
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent116 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
120 A wand’ring vagabond; my rights and royalties
Plucked from my arms perforce121 and given away
To upstart unthrifts?122 Wherefore was I born?
If that my cousin king be King of England,
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.
125 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 rouse128 his wrongs and chase them to the bay.
I am denied129 to sue my liv’ry here,
130 And yet my letters patents130 give me leave.
My father’s goods are all distrained131 and sold,
And these and all are all amiss132 employed.
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And challenge law.134 Attorneys are denied me;
135 And therefore personally I lay my claim
To my inheritance of free descent.136
I have had feeling of my cousin’s wrongs
And laboured all I could to do him right.
But in this kind143 to come, in braving arms,
Be144 his own carver and cut out his way,
145 To find out right with wrongs, it may not be,
And you that do abet him in this kind
Cherish rebellion and are rebels all.
But for his own; and for the right of that
150 We all have strongly sworn to give him aid.
And let him ne’er see joy that breaks that oath!
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
Because my power154 is weak and all ill left.
155 But if I could, by him that gave me life,
I would attach156 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.159 So, fare you well,
160 Unless you please to enter in the castle
And there repose you for this night.
But we must win163 your grace to go with us
To Bristol Castle, which they say is held
165 By Bushy, Bagot and their complices,
The caterpillars166 of the commonwealth,
Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
For I am loath to break our country’s laws.
170 Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are:
Things past redress are now with me past care.
And hardly2 kept our countrymen together,
And yet we hear no tidings from the king;
Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell.
The king reposeth all his confidence in thee.
The bay-trees8 in our country all are withered
And meteors9 fright the fixèd stars of heaven;
10 The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth
And lean-looked11 prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap,
The one13 in fear to lose what they enjoy,
The other to enjoy by rage and war.
15 These signs forerun the death of kings.
Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled,
As well assured Richard their king is dead.
I see thy glory like a shooting star
20 Fall to the base earth from the firmament.20
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
Witnessing22 storms to come, woe and unrest.
Thy friends are fled to wait upon23 thy foes,
And crossly24 to thy good all fortune goes.
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls —
Since presently3 your souls must part your bodies —
With too much urging4 your pernicious lives,
5 For ’twere no charity. Yet to wash your blood
From off my hands, here in the view of men
I will unfold some causes of7 your deaths.
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy9 gentleman in blood and lineaments,
10 By you unhappied10 and disfigured clean.
You have in manner11 with your sinful hours
Made a divorce12 betwixt his queen and him,
Broke13 the possession of a royal bed
And stained the beauty of a fair queen’s cheeks
15 With tears drawn from her eyes with 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,
20 And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds,20
Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
While you have fed upon my signories,22
Disparked my parks23 and felled my forest woods,
From mine own windows torn my household coat,24
25 Razed out my imprese,25 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.29— See them delivered over
30 To execution and the hand of death.
Than Bullingbrook to England.
And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
Uncle, you say the queen is at your house:
For heaven’s sake, fairly let her be entreated.37
Tell her I send to her my kind commends;38
Take special care my greetings be delivered.
With letters of your love to her at large.41
To fight with Glendower and his complices;
A while to work, and after holiday.
After your late tossing on the breaking seas?
5 To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horses’ hoofs.
As a long-parted mother with her child
Plays fondly9 with her tears and smiles in meeting,
10 So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense,13
But let thy spiders,14 that suck up thy venom,
15 And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,
Doing annoyance16 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,
20 Guard20 it, I prithee, with a lurking adder
Whose double21 tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign’s enemies.
Mock not my senseless conjuration,23 lords:
This earth shall have a feeling and these stones
25 Prove armèd soldiers, ere her native25 king
Shall falter under foul rebellion’s arms.
Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
30 Whilst Bullingbrook, through our security,30
Grows strong and great in substance and in friends.
That when the searching eye33 of heaven is hid,
Behind the globe that lights the lower world,
35 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 lightning through ev’ry guilty hole,
40 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, Bullingbrook,
Who all this while hath revelled in the night,
45 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 rude49 sea
50 Can wash the balm50 from an anointed king;
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord.
For every man that Bullingbrook hath pressed53
To lift shrewd54 steel against our golden crown,
55 Heaven for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel.56 Then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.
Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?
60 Than this weak arm. Discomfort60 guides my tongue
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy63 days on earth.
O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
65 And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
Today, today, unhappy day too late,
O’erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy state;67
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bullingbrook, dispersed and fled.
Did triumph72 in my face, and they are fled.
And till so much blood thither come again,
Have I not reason to look pale and dead?
75 All souls that will be safe fly from my side,
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.
Awake, thou sluggard majesty, thou sleepest.
80 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?83
High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York
85 Hath power85 enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?
Than can my care-tuned87 tongue deliver him!
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
90 Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, ’twas my care,90
And what loss is it to be rid of care?
Strives Bullingbrook to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be. If he serve God,
We’ll serve him too and be his fellow94 so.
95 Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend.95
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.
100 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 his104 limits swells the rage
105 Of Bullingbrook,105 covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.
Whitebeards107 have armed their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy majesty, and boys with women’s voices
Strive to speak big109 and clap their female joints
110 In stiff unwieldy arms110 against thy crown.
Thy very beadsmen111 learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal112 yew against thy state.
Yea, distaff-women113 manage rusty bills
Against thy seat.114 Both young and old rebel,
115 And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?
What is become of Bushy, where is Green,
That they have let the dangerous enemy
120 Measure our confines120 with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
I warrant122 they have made peace with Bullingbrook.
125 Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
Snakes, in my heart-blood warmed, that sting my heart!
Three Judases,127 each one thrice worse than Judas!
Would they make peace? Terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted129 souls for this offence!
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.
Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made
With heads, and not with hands:133 those whom you curse
Have felt the worst of death’s destroying hand
135 And lie full low, graved135 in the hollow ground.
140 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
145 Save our deposed bodiès to the ground?
Our lands, our lives and all are Bullingbrook’s,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model148 of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover149 to our bones.
150 For heaven’s sake let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad151 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,
155 All murdered. For within the hollow crown
That rounds156 the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court and there the antic157 sits,
Scoffing his state158 and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
160 To monarchize,160 be feared and kill with looks,
Infusing him with self161 and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable. And humoured thus,163
Comes at the last and with a little pin
165 Bores through his castle walls, 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:
170 I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends. Subjected171 thus,
How can you say to me, I am a king?
But presently174 prevent the ways to wail.
175 To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,
Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe,
And177 so your follies fight against yourself.
Fear and be slain. No178 worse can come to fight.
And fight and die is death destroying death,179
180 Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
And learn to make a182 body of a limb.
To change184 blows with thee for our day of doom:
185 This ague185 fit of fear is over-blown,
An easy task it is to win our own.
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.
190 The state and inclination of the day;
So may you by my dull and heavy191 eye,
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
I play the torturer, by193 small and small
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken.
195 Your uncle York is joined with Bullingbrook,
And all your northern castles yielded up,
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
Upon his faction.
200 Beshrew200 thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth To Aumerie
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.
205 Go to Flint Castle:205 there I’ll pine away.
A king, woe’s slave, shall kingly woe obey.
That power207 I have, discharge, and let ’em go
To ear208 the land that hath some hope to grow,
For I have none. Let no man speak again
210 To alter this, for counsel is but vain.
That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers. Let them hence away,
215 From Richard’s night to Bullingbrook’s fair day.
The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed
With some few private friends upon this coast.
Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.
To say ‘King Richard’. Alack the heavy day
When such a sacred king should hide his head.
Left I his title out.
Would you have been so brief with him, he would
Have been so brief with you to14 shorten you,
15 For taking15 so the head, your whole head’s length.
Lest you mistake18 the heavens are o’er your head.
20 Against their will. But who comes here?
Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?
Against thy entrance.
It doth contain a king: King Richard lies26
Within the limits of yond lime and stone,
And with him the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman
30 Of holy reverence, who,30 I cannot learn.
Go to the rude33 ribs of that ancient castle.
Through brazen34 trumpet send the breath of parle
35 Into his35 ruined ears, and thus deliver:
Henry Bullingbrook
Upon his knees doth kiss King Richard’s hand
And sends allegiance and true faith of heart
To his most royal person, hither come
40 Even at his feet to lay my arms and power
Provided that my41 banishment repealed
And lands restored again be freely granted.
If not, I’ll use th’advantage43 of my power
And lay44 the summer’s dust with showers of blood
45 Rained from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen;
The which, how far off from the mind of Bullingbrook
It is, such47 crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair King Richard’s land,
My stooping duty tenderly49 shall show.
50 Go signify as much, while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain.
Let’s march without the noise of threat’ning drum,
That from this castle’s tattered53 battlements
Our fair appointments54 may be well perused.
55 Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water,57 when their thund’ring smoke
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
Be he the fire, I’ll be the yielding water;
60 The rage be his, while on the earth I rain60
My waters on the earth, and not on him.
March on, and mark62 King Richard how he looks.
See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,
As doth the blushing64 discontented sun
65 From out the fiery portal of the east,
When he perceives the envious66 clouds are bent
To dim his glory and to stain67 the tract
Of his bright passage to the occident.68
70 As bright as is the eagle’s, lightens forth70
Controlling majesty. Alack, alack, for woe,
That any harm should stain so fair a show!
To watch74 the fearful bending of thy knee
75 Because we thought ourself thy lawful king.
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful77 duty to our presence?
If we be not, show us the hand78 of God
That hath dismissed us from our stewardship,
80 For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can grip the sacred handle of our sceptre,
Unless he do profane,82 steal, or usurp.
And though you think that all, as you have done,
Have torn84 their souls by turning them from us,
85 And we are barren and bereft of friends,
Yet know, my master, God omnipotent,
Is must’ring in his clouds on our behalf
Armies of pestilence, and they shall strike88
Your children yet unborn and unbegot,89
90 That90 lift your vassal hands against my head
And threat the glory of my precious crown.
Tell Bullingbrook — for yond methinks he is —
That every stride he makes upon my land
Is dangerous treason. He is come to ope94
95 The purple testament95 of bleeding war;
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,
Ten thousand bloody crowns97 of mothers’ sons
Shall ill become the flower of England’s face,
Change the complexion of her maid-pale99 peace
100 To scarlet indignation and bedew
Her pastor’s101 grass with faithful English blood.
Should so with civil103 and uncivil arms
Be rushed upon! Thy thrice-noble cousin,
105 Harry Bullingbrook, doth humbly kiss thy hand.
And by the honourable tomb he swears,
That stands upon your royal grandsire’s bones,
And by the royalties of both your bloods —
Currents that spring from one most gracious head109 —
110 And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Comprising all that may be sworn or said,
His coming hither hath no further scope113
Than for his lineal royalties114 and to beg
115 Enfranchisement115 immediate on his knees,
Which on thy royal party116 granted once,
His glittering arms he will commend117 to rust,
His barbèd118 steeds to stables, and his heart
To faithful service of your majesty.
120 This120 swears he, as he is a prince, is just:
And, as I am a gentleman, I credit121 him.
His noble cousin is right welcome hither,
And all the number of his fair demands
125 Shall be accomplished125 without contradiction.
With all the gracious126 utterance thou hast,
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.127—
We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, To Aumerie
To look so poorly129 and to speak so fair?
130 Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
Defiance to the traitor, and so die?
Till time lend friends and friends their helpful swords.
135 That laid the sentence of dread banishment
On yond136 proud man, should take it off again
With words of sooth!137 O, that I were as great
As is my grief, or lesser than my name!
Or that I could forget what I have been,
140 Or not remember what I must be now!
Swell’st thou, proud heart? I’ll give thee scope141 to beat,
Since foes have scope to beat142 both thee and me.
145 The king shall do it. Must he be deposed?
The king shall be contented.146 Must he lose
The name of king? O’God’s name, let it go.
I’ll give my jewels for a set of beads,148
My gorgeous palace for a hermitage,
150 My gay apparel for an almsman’s150 gown,
My figured151 goblets for a dish of wood,
My sceptre for a palmer’s152 walking staff,
My subjects for a pair of carvèd saints,
And my large kingdom for a little grave,
155 A little little grave, an obscure grave.
Or I’ll be buried in the king’s highway,
Some way of common trade,157 where subjects’ feet
May hourly trample on their sovereign’s head,
For on my heart they tread now whilst I live,
160 And buried once,160 why not upon my head?—
Aumerle, thou weep’st, my tender-hearted cousin!
We’ll make foul weather with despisèd162 tears,
Our sighs and they shall lodge163 the summer corn,
And make a dearth164 in this revolting land.
165 Or shall we play the wantons165 with our woes,
And make166 some pretty match with shedding tears?
As thus, to drop them still167 upon one place,
Till they have fretted us168 a pair of graves
Within the earth, and, therein laid — there lies
170 Two kinsmen digged their graves with weeping eyes.
Would not this ill171 do well?— Well, well, I see
I talk but idly, and you mock at me.—
Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland,
What says King Bullingbrook? Will his majesty
175 Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?
You make a leg,176 and Bullingbrook says ‘Ay’.
To speak with you. May it please you to come down?
180 Wanting the manage180 of unruly jades.
In the base court? Base court where kings grow base,
To come at traitors’ calls and do them grace.182
In the base court, come down: down court, down king,
For night-owls shriek184 where mounting larks should sing.
Makes him speak fondly,187 like a frantic man
Yet he is come.
190 And show fair duty to his majesty.
My gracious lord— Kneels
To make the base earth proud with kissing it.
Me rather had194 my heart might feel your love
195 Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy.195
Up,196 cousin, up! Your heart is up, I know,
Thus high at least, although your knee be low.
As my true service shall deserve your love.
That know the strong’st and surest way to get.— Bullingbrook rises
Uncle, give me your hand: nay, dry your eyes. To York
205 Tears show their love, but want their remedies.205—
Cousin, I am too young to be your father, To Bullingbrook
Though you are old enough to be my heir.
What you will have, I’ll give, and willing208 too,
For do we must what force will have us do.
210 Set on towards London, cousin, is it so?
To drive away the heavy2 thought of care?
5 And that my fortune runs against the bias.5
When my poor heart no measure8 keeps in grief:
Therefore, no dancing, girl, some other sport.
For if of joy, being altogether wanting,14
15 It doth remember15 me the more of sorrow.
Or if of grief, being altogether had,16
It adds more sorrow to my want17 of joy.
For what I have I need not to repeat,
And what I want it boots not19 to complain.
But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep.
25 And never borrow any tear of thee.
But stay, here come the gardeners.
Let’s step into the shadow of these trees.
My28 wretchedness unto a row of pins,
They’ll talk of state,29 for everyone doth so
30 Against30 a change; woe is forerun with woe. Queen and Ladies stand aside
Which, like unruly children, make their sire32
Stoop with oppression33 of their prodigal weight.
Give some supportance34 to the bending twigs.
35 Go thou, and like an executioner,
Cut off the heads of too fast-growing sprays,36
That look too lofty37 in our commonwealth:
All must be even38 in our government.
You thus employed, I will go root away
40 The noisome40 weeds, that without profit suck
The soil’s fertility from wholesome41 flowers.
Keep law and form and due proportion,
Showing, as in a model,44 our firm estate,
45 When our sea-wallèd garden, the whole land,
Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,
Her fruit-trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined,
Her knots48 disordered and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars?
He that hath suffered51 this disordered spring
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf.52
The weeds that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
That seemed in eating him to hold him up,
55 Are pulled up root and all by Bullingbrook —
I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.
Hath seized59 the wasteful king. O, what pity is it
60 That he had not so trimmed60 and dressed his land
As we this garden: we at time of year61
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees,
Lest, being over-proud63 with sap and blood,
With too much riches it confound64 itself.
65 Had he done so to great and growing men,
They might have lived to bear and he to taste
Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing68 boughs may live.
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,69
70 Which waste and idle hours hath quite thrown down.
’Tis doubted73 he will be. Letters came last night
To a dear friend of the Duke of York’s,
75 That tell black tidings.
Thou, old Adam’s77 likeness, set to dress this garden,
How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?
What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested79 thee
80 To make a second fall of cursèd man?
Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?
Dar’st thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Divine83 his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,
Cam’st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch.
To breathe these news; yet what I say is true.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold87
Of Bullingbrook. Their fortunes both are weighed:
In your lord’s scale is nothing but himself,
90 And some few vanities90 that make him light.
But in the balance of great Bullingbrook,
Besides himself, are all the English peers,
And with that odds93 he weighs King Richard down.
Post94 you to London, and you’ll find it so,
95 I speak no more than everyone doth know.
Doth not thy embassage97 belong to me,
And am I last that knows it? O, thou think’st
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
100 Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go
To meet at London London’s king in woe.
What, was I born to this, that my sad look
Should grace the triumph103 of great Bullingbrook?
Gard’ner, for telling me this news of woe,
105 I would the plants thou graft’st may never grow.
I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
Here did she drop a tear. Here in this place
I’ll set a bank of rue,109 sour herb of grace.
110 Rue, e’en for ruth,110 here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen.
Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind,
What thou dost know of noble Gloucester’s death,
Who wrought4 it with the king, and who performed
5 The bloody office5 of his timeless end.
Scorns to unsay9 what it hath once delivered.
10 In that dead10 time when Gloucester’s death was plotted,
I heard you say, ‘Is not my arm of length,11
That reacheth from the restful English court
As far as Calais, to my uncle’s head?’
Amongst much other talk, that very time,
15 I heard you say that you had rather refuse
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns16
Than17 Bullingbrook’s return to England;
Adding withal18 how blest this land would be
In this your cousin’s death.
What answer shall I make to this base21 man?
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,22
On23 equal terms to give him chastisement?
Either I must, or have mine honour soiled
25 With th’attainder25 of his sland’rous lips.— Throws down his gage
There is my gage, the manual26 seal of death
That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest,
And will maintain what thou hast said is false
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base
30 To stain the temper30 of my knightly sword.
In all this presence that hath moved33 me so.
35 There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage35 to thine. Throws down his gage
By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand’st,
I heard thee say, and vauntingly37 thou spak’st it,
That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester’s death.
If thou deniest39 it twenty times, thou liest,
40 And I will turn40 thy falsehood to thy heart,
Where it was forgèd, with my rapier’s point.
In this appeal46 as thou art all unjust.
And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,
To prove it on thee to th’extremest48 point Throws down his gage
Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar’st.
And never brandish more51 revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe!
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
And you can witness with me this is true.
60 That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword
That it shall render61 vengeance and revenge
Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie
In earth as quiet as thy father’s skull,
In proof whereof, there is mine honour’s pawn. Throws down his gage
65 Engage65 it to the trial, if thou dar’st.
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,68
And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies,
70 And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith, Throws down his gage
To tie71 thee to my strong correction.
As I intend to thrive in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.
Besides, I heard the banished Norfolk say
75 That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
To execute the noble duke at Calais.
That78 Norfolk lies, here do I throw down this,
If he may be repealed,79 to try his honour.
Till Norfolk be repealed. Repealed he shall be,
And, though mine enemy, restored again
To all his lands and signories.83 When he’s returned,
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.84
Many a time hath banished Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,87
Streaming the ensign88 of the Christian cross
Against black pagans, Turks and Saracens,
90 And toiled90 with works of war, retired himself
To Italy, and there at Venice gave
His body to that pleasant country’s earth,
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under whose colours94 he had fought so long.
Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants,98
Your differences shall all rest under gage
100 Till we assign you to your days of trial.
From plume-plucked102 Richard, who with willing soul
Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields
To the possession of thy royal hand.
105 Ascend his throne, descending105 now from him,
And long live Henry, of that name the fourth!
Worst109 in this royal presence may I speak,
110 Yet best beseeming110 me to speak the truth.
Would God that any in this noble presence
Were enough noble to be upright judge
Of noble Richard! Then true noblesse113 would
Learn114 him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
115 What subject can give sentence on his king?
And who sits here that is not Richard’s subject?
Thieves are not judged but they are by117 to hear,
Although apparent118 guilt be seen in them.
And shall the figure119 of God’s majesty,
120 His captain, steward, deputy-elect,
Anointed, crownèd, planted many years,
Be judged by subject122 and inferior breath,
And he himself not present? O, forbid it, God,
That in a Christian climate souls refined
125 Should show so heinous,125 black, obscene a deed.
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
Stirred up by heaven, thus boldly for his king.
My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford’s king.
130 And if you crown him, let me prophesy
The blood of English shall manure131 the ground,
And future ages groan for his foul act.
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,
And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars
135 Shall kin with kin and kind135 with kind confound.
Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny
Shall here inhabit, and this land be called
The field138 of Golgotha and dead men’s skulls.
O, if you rear this house139 against this house,
140 It will the woefullest division prove
That ever fell upon this cursed earth.
Prevent it, resist it, and let it not be so,
Lest child, child’s children, cry against you ‘Woe!’
145 Of capital treason we arrest you here.
My lord of Westminster, be it your charge
To keep him safely till his day of trial.
May it please you, lords, to grant the commons’ suit?148
150 He may surrender,150 so we shall proceed
Without suspicion.
Procure your sureties154 for your days of answer.
155 Little are we beholding155 to your love,
And little looked for156 at your helping hands.
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
Wherewith I reigned? I hardly yet have learned
160 To insinuate,160 flatter, bow, and bend my knee.
Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me
To this submission. Yet I well remember
The favours163 of these men: were they not mine?
Did they not sometime164 cry, ‘All hail!’ to me?
165 So Judas did to Christ, but he in twelve165
Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none.
God save the king! Will no man say ‘Amen’?
Am I both priest and clerk?168 Well then, amen.
God save the king, although I be not he.
170 And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.
To do what service171 am I sent for hither?
Which tired majesty173 did make thee offer:
The resignation of thy state and crown
175 To Henry Bullingbrook.
Here cousin, on this side my hand, on that side thine.
Now is this golden crown like a deep well
That owes179 two buckets, filling one another,
180 The emptier ever dancing in the air,
The other down, unseen and full of water:
That bucket down and full of tears am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.
You may my glories and my state depose,
But not my griefs; still am I king of those.
190 My care is loss of care, by190 old care done:
Your care is gain of care, by new care won.
The cares I give I have, though given away,
They tend193 the crown, yet still with me they stay.
Therefore no ‘no’, for I resign to thee.
Now mark me197 how I will undo myself:
I give this heavy weight from off my head, Bullingbrook accepts crown
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, Bullingbrook accepts scepter
200 The pride of kingly sway200 from out my heart.
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release204 all duteous oaths.
205 All pomp and majesty I do forswear:205
My manors, rents, revenues I forgo:
My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny.
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me,
God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee.
210 Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved,210
And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved.
Long mayst thou live in Richard’s seat to sit,
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit!
‘God save King Henry’, unkinged Richard says,
215 ‘And send him many years of sunshine days!’ —
What more remains?
These accusations and these grievous crimes
Committed by your person and your followers
220 Against the state and profit of this land,
That, by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily deposed.
My weaved-up follies? Gentle224 Northumberland,
225 If thy offences were upon record,
Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop226
To read a lecture227 of them? If thou wouldst,
There shouldst thou find one heinous article,228
Containing the deposing of a king
230 And cracking the strong warrant230 of an oath,
Marked with a blot, damned in the book of heaven.
Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me,
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait233 myself,
Though some of you with Pilate234 wash your hands
235 Showing an outward pity, yet you Pilates
Have here delivered me to my sour236 cross,
And water cannot wash away your sin.
240 And yet salt water blinds them not so much
But they can see a sort241 of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor with the rest,
For I have given here my soul’s consent
245 T’undeck245 the pompous body of a king;
Made glory base and sovereignty a slave,
Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.
250 No, nor no man’s lord.— I have no name, no title;
No, not that name was given me at the font,251
But ’tis usurped. Alack the heavy day,
That I have worn so many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself.
255 O, that I were a mockery255 king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bullingbrook,
To melt myself away in water-drops!
Good king, great king — and yet not greatly good —
An if259 my word be sterling yet in England,
260 Let it command a mirror hither straight,
That it may show me what261 a face I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his262 majesty.
When I do see the very book indeed
270 Where all my sins are writ, and that’s myself.
Give me that glass, and therein will I read. Takes the mirror
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine,
And made no deeper wounds? O flatt’ring glass,
275 Like to my followers in prosperity,
Thou dost beguile276 me! Was this face the face
That every day under his household roof
Did keep278 ten thousand men? Was this the face
That like the sun did make beholders wink?279
280 Is this the face which faced280 so many follies,
That was at last out-faced281 by Bullingbrook?
A brittle glory shineth in this face,
As brittle as the glory is the face. Throws the mirror down against the ground
For there it is, cracked in an hundred shivers.284
285 Mark, silent king, the moral285 of this sport,
How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face.
The shadow of your face.
290 The shadow of my sorrow? Ha? Let’s see,
’Tis very true, my grief lies all within,
And these external manner292 of laments
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortured soul.
295 There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv’st
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I’ll beg one boon,298
And then be gone and trouble you no more.
300 Shall I obtain it?
For when I was a king, my flatterers
Were then but subjects; being now a subject,
305 I have a king here to305 my flatterer.
Being so great, I have no need to beg.
315 That rise thus nimbly by a true king’s fall.
Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.
320 Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
To rid the realm of this pernicious322 blot?
You shall not only take the sacrament324
325 To bury325 mine intents, but also to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devise.
I see your brows are full of discontent,
Your heart of sorrow and your eyes of tears.
Come home with me to supper. I’ll lay
330 A plot shall show us all a merry day.
To Julius Caesar’s2 ill-erected tower,
To whose flint3 bosom my condemnèd lord
Is doomed4 a prisoner by proud Bullingbrook.
5 Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king’s queen.
But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold,
That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
10 And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
Ah, thou, the model11 where old Troy did stand,
Thou map12 of honour, thou King Richard’s tomb,
And not King Richard. Thou most beauteous inn,13
Why should hard-favoured14 grief be lodged in thee,
15 When triumph is become an ale-house15 guest?
To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul,
To think our former state18 a happy dream;
From which awaked, the truth of what we are
20 Shows us but this. I am sworn brother,20 sweet,
To grim Necessity, and he and I
Will keep a league22 till death. Hie thee to France
And cloister23 thee in some religious house.
Our holy lives must win a new world’s24 crown,
25 Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
Transformed and weakened? Hath Bullingbrook deposed
Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart?
The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw,
30 And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be31 o’erpowered. And wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod,32
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion and a king of beasts?
I had been still36 a happy king of men.
Good sometime37 queen, prepare thee hence for France:
Think I am dead and that even here thou tak’st,
As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.
40 In winter’s tedious nights sit by the fire
With good old folks and let them tell thee tales
Of woeful ages long ago betid.42
And ere thou bid good night, to quit43 their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me
45 And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why46 the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent47 of thy moving tongue
And in compassion weep48 the fire out,
And some49 will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
50 For the deposing of a rightful king.
You must to Pomfret,52 not unto the Tower.—
And, madam, there is order ta’en53 for you: To the Queen
With all swift speed you must away to France.
The mounting Bullingbrook ascends my throne,
The time shall not be many57 hours of age
More than it is ere foul sin, gathering head,58
Shall break into corruption.59 Thou shalt think,
60 Though he60 divide the realm and give thee half,
It is too little, helping61 him to all.
He shall think that thou, which62 know’st the way
To plant unrightful63 kings, wilt know again,
Being ne’er so little urged, another way
65 To pluck him headlong from th’usurpèd throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both67
To worthy68 danger and deservèd death.
70 Take leave and part,70 for you must part forthwith.
A twofold marriage, ’twixt72 my crown and me
And then betwixt me and my married wife.—
Let me unkiss74 the oath ’twixt thee and me; To Queen
75 And yet not so, for with a kiss ’twas made.—
Part us, Northumberland. I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines77 the clime.
My queen to France, from whence,78 set forth in pomp,
She came adornèd hither like sweet May,
80 Sent back like Hallowmas80 or short’st of day.
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here.
Better far off than, near, be88 ne’er the near.
Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.
And piece92 the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let’s be brief,
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.
95 One kiss shall stop95 our mouths, and dumbly part; They kiss
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.
To take on me to keep and kill98 thy heart. They kiss
So, now I have mine own again, be gone,
100 That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
Once more, adieu;102 the rest let sorrow say
When weeping made you break the story off,
Of our two cousins3 coming into London.
Where rude6 misgoverned hands from windows’ tops
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard’s head.
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed
10 Which10 his aspiring rider seemed to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
While all tongues cried ‘God save thee, Bullingbrook!’
You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
15 Through casements15 darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage, and that all the walls
With painted imagery17 had said at once ‘
‘Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bullingbrook!’
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
20 Bareheaded,20 lower than his proud steed’s neck,
Bespake21 them thus: ‘I thank you, countrymen’,
And thus still22 doing, thus he passed along.
25 After a well-graced25 actor leaves the stage,
Are idly26 bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious,
Even so, or with much more contempt, men’s eyes
Did scowl on Richard. No man cried ‘God save him’,
30 No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home,
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head,
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
His face still combating with33 tears and smiles,
The badges34 of his grief and patience,
35 That had not God, for some strong purpose, steeled
The hearts of men, they must perforce36 have melted
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events,
To whose high will we bound39 our calm contents.
40 To Bullingbrook are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state41 and honour I for aye allow.
But that is lost for being Richard’s friend.
45 And, madam, you must call him Rutland45 now.
I am in parliament pledge46 for his truth
And lasting fealty47 to the new-made king.
That strew the green lap of the new come spring?49
God knows I had as lief51 be none as one.
Lest you be cropped53 before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford? Hold54 those jousts and triumphs?
Yea, look’st thou pale? Let me see the writing.
I will be satisfied. Let me see the writing.
It is a matter of small consequence,
65 Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
I fear, I fear—
’Tis nothing but some bond69 that he is entered into
70 For gay apparel against70 the triumph.
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.
Boy, let me see the writing.
Treason, foul treason! Villain, traitor, slave!
Saddle my horse.
80 Heaven for his mercy, what treachery is here!
Now, by my honour, my life, my troth,
I will appeach84 the villain.
Than my poor life must answer.89
Hence, villain!93 Never more come in my sight. To Servant
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?96
Have we more sons? Or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming date98 drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
100 And rob me of a happy mother’s name?
Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own?
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta’en the sacrament,
105 And interchangeably105 set down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.
We’ll keep him here. Then what is that108 to him?
110 I would appeach him.
As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.
But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
115 And that he is a bastard, not thy son.
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
He is as like thee as a man may be,
Not like to me, nor any of my kin,
And yet I love him.
Spur post,122 and get before him to the king,
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I’ll not be long behind. Though I be old,
125 I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
And never will I rise up from the ground126
Till Bullingbrook have pardoned thee. Away, begone!
’Tis full three months since I did see him last.
If any plague hang over us, ’tis he.
I would to heaven, my lords, he might be found.
5 Enquire at London, ’mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrainèd loose7 companions,
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And rob our watch,9 and beat our passengers,
10 Which he, young wanton and effeminate10 boy,
Takes on the11 point of honour to support
So dissolute a crew.
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.
And from the common’st17 creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour,18 and with that
He would unhorse19 the lustiest challenger.
I see some sparks of better hope, which elder days
May happily22 bring forth. But who comes here?
25 so wildly?
To have some conference with your grace alone.
What is the matter with our cousin now?
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth
Unless a pardon32 ere I rise or speak.
If on the first, how heinous e’er it be,
35 To win thy after-love35 I pardon thee.
That no man enter till my tale be done.
40 Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Shall I for love speak treason44 to thy face?
45 Open the door, or I will break it open. Bullingbrook unlocks door
Recover breath, tell us how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.
50 The reason that my haste50 forbids me show. Presents paper
I do repent me: read not my name there
My heart is not confederate with my hand.53
55 I tore it from the traitor’s bosom, king.
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence;
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
60 O loyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer,61 immaculate and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy passages
Hath held his current63 and defiled himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
65 And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot66 in thy digressing son.
And he shall spend68 mine honour with his shame,
As thriftless sons their scraping69 fathers’ gold.
70 Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies.
Thou kill’st me in his life: giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true73 man’s put to death.
75 let me in.
Speak with me, pity me, open the door:
A beggar begs that never begged before.
And now changed to ‘The Beggar and the King’.—
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in.
I know she’s come to pray for your foul sin.
85 More sins for85 this forgiveness prosper may.
This festered86 joint cut off, the rest rests sound:
This let alone87 will all the rest confound.
Love loving not itself89 none other can.
Shall thy old dugs91 once more a traitor rear?
95 Forever will I kneel upon my knees,
And never see day that the happy96 sees,
Till thou give joy, until thou bid me joy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest:102
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast.
He prays but faintly and would104 be denied:
105 We pray with heart and soul and all beside.
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know:
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow.
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy,
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
110 Our prayers do out-pray his: then let them have
That mercy which true prayers ought to have.
But, ‘pardon’ first, and afterwards ‘stand up’.
115 And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
‘Pardon’ should be the first word of thy speech.
I never longed to hear a word till now:
Say ‘pardon’, king, let pity teach thee how.
The word is short, but not so short as sweet:
120 No word like ‘pardon’ for kings’ mouths so meet.120
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That sets the word itself against the word!—
125 Speak ‘pardon’ as ’tis current in our land: To Bullingbrook
The chopping126 French we do not understand.
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there,
Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,
That hearing how our plaints129 and prayers do pierce,
130 Pity may move thee ‘pardon’ to rehearse.130
Pardon is all the suit133 I have in hand.
Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again,
Twice saying ‘pardon’ doth not pardon twain,137
But makes one pardon strong.
With all the rest of that consorted142 crew,
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
Good uncle, help to order several144 powers
145 To Oxford, or where’er these traitors are:
They shall not live within this world, I swear,
But I will have them, if I once know where.
Uncle, farewell, and, cousin, adieu:
Your mother well hath prayed, and prove149 you true.
‘Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?’
Was it not so?
And urged it twice together, did he not?
As9 who should say, ‘I would thou wert the man
10 That would divorce this terror from my heart’,
Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let’s go:
I am the king’s friend, and will rid his foe.
This prison where I live unto the world.
And for because3 the world is populous
And here is not a creature but myself,
5 I cannot do it. Yet I’ll hammer’t out.
My brain I’ll prove the female to my soul,
My soul the father, and these two beget7
A generation of still-breeding8 thoughts;
And these same thoughts people this little world,
10 In humours10 like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better sort,
As12 thoughts of things divine, are intermixed
With scruples13 and do set the faith itself
Against the faith: as thus, ‘Come, little ones’,14
15 And then again:
‘It16 is as hard to come as for a camel
To thread the postern17 of a needle’s eye.’
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails
20 May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged21 prison walls,
And, for22 they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content23 flatter themselves
That they are not the first of fortune’s slaves,
25 Nor shall not be the last, like silly25 beggars
Who sitting in the stocks26 refuge their shame,
That27 many have and others must sit there;
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
30 Of such as have before endured the like.
Thus play I in one prison31 many people,
And none contented. Sometimes am I king;
Then treason33 makes me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am. Then crushing penury34
35 Persuades me I was better when a king.
Then am I kinged again, and by and by36
Think that I am unkinged by Bullingbrook,
And straight38 am nothing. But whate’er I am,
Nor I nor any man that but man is39
40 With nothing40 shall be pleased, till he be eased
With being nothing.41 Music do I hear?
Ha, ha! Keep time. How sour sweet music is
When time is broke and no proportion43 kept!
So is it in the music of men’s lives.
45 And here have I the daintiness45 of ear
To hear time broke in a disordered string,46
But for the concord47 of my state and time
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste49 me,
50 For now hath time made me his numb’ring clock.50
My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar51
Their watches52 on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,
Whereto my finger, like a dial’s point,53
Is pointing still,54 in cleansing them from tears.
55 Now sir, the sound that tells55 what hour it is
Are clamorous groans, that strike56 upon my heart,
Which is the bell. So sighs and tears and groans
Show minutes, hours and times.58 But my time
Runs posting59 on in Bullingbrook’s proud joy,
60 While I stand fooling here, his Jack o’th’clock.60
This music mads61 me. Let it sound no more, Music stops
For though it have holp62 madmen to their wits,
In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me,
65 For ’tis a sign of love, and love to65 Richard
Is a strange brooch66 in this all-hating world.
The69 cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
70 What art thou? And how com’st thou hither
Where no man ever comes but that sad71 dog
That brings me food to make misfortune72 live?
When thou wert king, who, travelling towards York,
75 With much ado,75 at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes76 royal master’s face.
O, how it yearned77 my heart when I beheld
In London streets, that coronation-day,
When Bullingbrook rode on roan79 Barbary,
80 That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,80
That horse that I so carefully have dressed!
How went he under him?
That jade86 hath eat bread from my royal hand,
This hand hath made him proud with clapping87 him.
Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down,
Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck
90 Of that proud man that did usurp his back?
Forgiveness, horse. Why do I rail on91 thee,
Since thou, created to be awed92 by man,
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse,
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
95 Spurred, galled95 and tired by jauncing Bullingbrook.
Lately came from th’king, commands the contrary.
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. Beats him
Villain, thine own hand yields thy death’s instrument.—
Go thou, and fill another room108 in hell.— Kills another man
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire
110 That staggers110 thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand
Hath with the king’s blood stained the king’s own land.
Mount, mount, my soul! Thy seat112 is up on high,
Whilst my gross113 flesh sinks downward, here to die. Dies
Both have I spilled. O, would the deed were good!
115 For now the devil that told me I did well
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead king to the living king I’ll bear.—
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.
Is that the rebels have consumed with fire
Our town of Cicester3 in Gloucestershire,
But whether they be ta’en4 or slain we hear not.
5 Welcome, my lord. What is the news?
The next7 news is, I have to London sent
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt and Kent.
The manner of their taking9 may appear
10 At large discoursèd10 in this paper here. Gives a paper
And to thy worth will add right worthy12 gains.
The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely,
15 Two of the dangerous consorted traitors
That sought at Oxford thy dire16 overthrow.
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.18
20 With clog20 of conscience and sour melancholy
Hath yielded up his body to the grave,
But here is Carlisle living, to abide22
Thy kingly doom23 and sentence of his pride.
25 Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,25
More26 than thou hast, and with it joy thy life.
So as thou liv’st in peace, die free from strife:
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High29 sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bordeaux,33 by me hither brought.
35 A deed of slaughter with thy fatal hand
Upon my head and all this famous land.
Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead,
40 I hate the murd’rer, love40 him murderèd.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word nor princely favour.
With Cain43 go wander through the shade of night,
And never show thy head by day nor light.
45 Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.
Come, mourn with me for that I do lament,
And put on sullen48 black incontinent.
I’ll make a voyage to the Holy Land,49
50 To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.
March sadly51 after: grace my mourning here,
In weeping after52 this untimely bier.
And for we think the eagle-wingèd pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
With rival-hating envy, set on you
To wake our peace, which in our country’s cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
O, had it been a stranger, not my child,
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild:
A partial slander sought I to avoid,
And in the sentence my own life destroyed.
Will but remember me what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages, and in the end,
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
But that I was a journeyman to grief?
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
Teach thy necessity to reason thus;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not the king did banish thee,
But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour
And not the king exiled thee; or suppose
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air
And thou art flying to a fresher clime:
Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou go’st, not whence thou comest:
Suppose the singing birds musicians,
The grass whereon thou tread’st the presence strewed,
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance;
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
The means that heaven yields must be embraced,
And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven’s offer we refuse,
The proffered means of succour and redress.
And spur thee on with full as many lies
As may be holloaed in thy treacherous ear
From sun to sun: there is my honour’s pawn;
Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.
I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.
Q = First Quarto text of 1597
F = First Folio text of 1623
F2 = a correction introduced in the Second Folio text of 1632
Ed = a correction introduced by a later editor
List of parts = Ed
1.1.127 duly = Q. Not in F 163 Obedience bids = Ed. F erroneously prints the words twice 203 we shall = Q. F = you shall
1.2.20 faded spelled vaded in F 43 to = F. Q = and 62 my = F. Q = thy
1.3.28 plated = Q. F = placed 29 formally = Q. F = formerly 76 furbish = Q. F = furnish 86 King = Q. F = Kings 256 as foil = Q. F = a soyle 266 never = Q. F = euer
1.4.7 blew = Q. F = grew 22 Bagot here = Q. F = heere Bagot 27 smiles = Q. F = soules
2.1.18 found = Q. F = sound 118 chasing = Q. F = chafing 191 grip spelled gripe in F 234 thou wouldst = Q. F = thou’dst 286 Brittany = Ed. F = Britaine
2.2.3 life-harming = Q. F = selfe-harming 27 weeps = Q. F = weepe 54 son young = Q. F = yong sonne 74 hope lingers = Q. F = hopes linger 95 as…callèd = Q. F = I came by, and call’d
2.3.87 nor uncle me no uncle = Ed. F = nor Unckle me 92 then more = Q. F = more then
3.2.26 rebellion’s = Q. F = Rebellious 102 makes = Q. F = make 107 Whitebeards = Q. F = White Beares 177 And…yourself = Q. Not in F
3.3.39 most royal = Q. F = Royall (F‘s lineation is also aberrant in these lines)
3.4.11 joy = Ed. F = Griefe 26 come = Q. F = comes 61 we at = Ed. F = at 62 Do = Q. F = And 70 and = F. Q = of
4.1.27 I say thou = Q. F = Thou 34 sympathy = Q. F = sympathize 113 noblesse = Q. F = noblenesse 132 his = F. Q = this 139 rear = F. Q = raise
5.1.39 thy = Q. F = my
5.3.37 be = Q. F = me 50 reason = F. Q = treason 63 held = Q. F = had 95 kneel = F. Q = walke
5.5 [Scene 5] = Ed. F = Scoena Quarta (i.e., numbered 5.4, since previous scene break is not noted) 31 prison = F. Q = person 95 Spurred, galled = Q. F = Spur-gall’d
5.6 [Scene 6] = Ed. F = Scoena Quinta