K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's-myself. Re-enter Attendant, with a glass. Give me that glass, and therein will I read.- So And made no deeper wounds?-O, flattering glass, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face, As brittle as the glory is the face; [Dashes the glass against the ground. For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,— How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow of your face. K. Rich. Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see: 'Tis very true, my grief lies all within; And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul; There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st Boling. Name it, fair cousin. K. Rich. Fair cousin? Why, I am greater than a king: For, when I was a king, my flatterers Were then but subjects; being now a subject, I have a king here to my flatterer. Being so great, I have no need to beg. Boling. Yet ask. K. Rich. And shall I have? Boling. You shall. K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from sights. your Boling. Go some of you, convey him to the Tower. K. Rich. O, good! Convey?-Conveyers are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. [Exeunt K. Richard, some Lords, and a guard. Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. [Exeunt all but the Abbot, bishop of Carlisle, and Aumerle. Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Car. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp 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, I see, your brows are full of discontent, [Exeunt. ACT V SCENE I LONDON. A STREET LEADING TO THE TOWER. Queen. This Enter Queen, and Ladies. way the king will come; this is the way To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower, To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Enter King Richard, and guards. But soft, but see, or rather do not see, And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.→ K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not So, To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul, Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, And cloister thee in some religious house: mind Transform'd, and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France: With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, And send the hearers weeping to their beds. And, in compassion, weep the fire out: |