n;

Now mark me how I will undo myself:
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy fceptre from my hand,
The pride of kingly fway from out my heart;
With mine own tears I wash away my balm
With mine own hands I give away my crown;
With mine own tongue deny my facred state;
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths.
All pomp and majefty I do forfwear :
My manors, rents, revenues, I forego;
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!

Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd, And thou with all pleas'd, that haft all atchiev'd! * What more remains?

North. No more; but that you read

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

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

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

And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of Heav'n.
Nay, all of you that ftand and look upon me,
Whilft that my wretchedness doth bait myself,

Boling. Are you contented to refign the crown?

K. Rich. Ay, no-no, ay; for I must nothing be: Therefore no no: for I refign to thee.

Now, mark me, &c.

that haft all atchiev'd!

Long may'ft thou live in Richard's feat to fit,
And foon lie Richard in an earthly pit!
God fave King Henry, unking'd Richard fays,
And fend him many years of fun- thine days !
What more, &c,

H 2

Though

Though fome of you with Flate wash your hands,
Shewing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
Have here deliver'd me to my four cross,
And water cannot, wash away your fin.

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

K. Rich. No Lord of thine, thou haught-insulting Nor no man's lord. I have no name, no titlegs T No, not that name was given me at the font,!*RĀ But 'tis ufurp'd. Alack, the heavy day, 2018 DIA That I have worn so many winters out, chat nud And know not now what name to call myself! Oh, that I were a mockery king of fnow, Standing before the fun of Bolingbroke, To melt myself away in water-drops! +

"

I

M

And if my word be Sterling yet in England, [To Bolin
Let it command a mirror hither straight,
That it may flew me what a face I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his Majesty.

H

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

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

Good King, great King,-(and yet not greatly good),
And if my word, &c.

Enter one with a glass, smotriguedT Je gniwed? Give me that glafs, and therein will I read, ed a SH No deeper wrinkles yet hath Sorrow struck a bu So many blows upon this face of mine, dte jeg And made no deeper wounds? Oh, flatt'ring glafs ! Like to my followers in profperity,

Thou doft beguile me. Was this face the face,
Thet every day, under his houfhold roof

Did keep ten thousand men ! was this the face,
That, like the fun, did make beholders wink?
How foon my forrow hath destroy'd my face.
Boling. The fhadow of your forrow hath deftroy'd
The fhadow of your face.

K Rich. Say that again.

The fhadow of my forrow! ha, let's fee;
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
And these external manners of laments
Are merely fhadows to the unfeen grief,
That fwells with filence in the tortur'd foul.
There hes the fubftance and I thank thee, King,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv❜st
Me caufe to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the caufe. I'll beg one boon;
And then be gone, and trouble you no more,
Shall I obtain it?

Boling. Name it, fair coufin.

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

Were then but fubjects; being now a fubject,

I have a King here to my flatterer.

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

K. Rich. And fhall I have?

Boling. You fhall.

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Boling. Whither?

K. Rich. Whither you will, fo I were from your fight. Boling. Go fome of you, convey him to the Tower. * On Wednesday next we folemnly fet down

Our coronation: Lords, prepare yourselves.

Ex. all but Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle and Aumerle.

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
Carl. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn
Shall feel this day as fharp to them as thorn.
Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot,
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?

Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein,
You fhall not only take the facrament,
To bury mine intents, but to affect
Whatever I fhall happen to devise.

I fee your brows are full of difcontent,
Your hearts of forrow, and your eyes of tears.
Come home with me to fupper, and I'll lay
A plot fhall fhew us all a merry day.

[Exeunt.

TH

Enter Queen and Ladies.

HIS way the King will come: this is the way
To Julius Cæfar's ill erected tow'r;

To whofe flint bofom my condemned Lord
Is doom'd a prifoner, by proud Bolingbroke.
Here let us reft, if this rebellious earth

Have any refting for her true King's Queen.

*

convey him to the tower.

K. Rich. Oh, good! convey:

Tha rife thus nimbly by a true King's fall,
Beling. On Wednesday, &c.

conveyers are you all,

Enter

Enter King Richard and guards.

But foft, but fee, or rather do not fee,
My fair rofe wither; yet look up; behold,
That you in pity may diffolve to dew,

And wath him fresh again with true love tears.
O thou, the model where old Troy did ftand,

[To K. Rich. Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb, And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn, Why fhould hard-favour'd Grief be lodg'd in thee, When triumph is become an ale-house guest?

K. Rich. Join not with Grief, fair woman, do not fo. To make my end too fudden: learn, good foul, To think our former ftate a happy dream, From which awak'd, the truth of what we are, Shews us but this. I am fworn brother, fweet, To grim Neceffity; and he and I

Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloister thee in fome religious house.

Our holy lives muft win a new world's crown
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transform'd and weak? hath Bolingbroke depos'd
Thine intellect! hath he been in thy heart?
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o'erpower'd: and wilt thou pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly, kiís the rod,
And fawn on rage with bafe humility,
Which art a lion, and a King of beafts?

K. Rich. A King of beafts indeed; ifaught but beafts, I had been ftill a happy King of men.

Good fometime * Queen, prepare thee hence for France; Think I am dead; and that ev'n here thou tak'st, As from my death-bed, my laft living leave "In winter's tedious nights fit by the fire "With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales "Of woeful ages, long ago betid:

"And ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief,

*fometime, for formerly,

" Tell