The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend, and go on board the barge


Enter, from thence, LYSIMACHUS and Lords; with the Gentlemen and the two Sailors


This is the man that can, in aught you would,


Hail, reverend sir! the gods preserve you!


Being on shore, honouring of Neptunes triumphs,


Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us,


I made to it, to know of whence you are.


I am the governor of this place you lie before.


A man who for this three months hath not spoken


But the main grief springs from the loss


But bootless is your sight: he will not speak To any.


Till the disaster that, one mortal night,


Sir king, all hail! the gods preserve you!


It is in vain; he will not speak to you.


We have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager,


And other chosen attractions, would allure,


And make a battery through his deafend parts,


Whispers a Lord, who goes off in the barge of LYSIMACHUS


Sure, alls effectless; yet nothing well omit


That bears recoverys name. But, since your kindness


We have stretchd thus far, let us beseech you


That for our gold we may provision have,


Which if we should deny, the most just gods


For every graff would send a caterpillar,


And so afflict our province. Yet once more


Let me entreat to know at large the cause


Re-enter, from the barge, Lord, with MARINA, and a young Lady


The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one!


Shes such a one, that, were I well assured


Ild wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed.


Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty


Expect even here, where is a kingly patient:


If that thy prosperous and artificial feat


Can draw him but to answer thee in aught,


Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay


My utmost skill in his recovery, Provided


But have been gazed on like a comet: she speaks,


My lord, that, may be, hath endured a grief


Might equal yours, if both were justly weighd.


Though wayward fortune did malign my state,


But there is something glows upon my cheek,


And whispers in mine ear, Go not till he speak.


To equal mine!--was it not thus? what say you?


I said, my lord, if you did know my parentage,


I do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon me.


You are like something that--What country-woman?


Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am


I am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping.


My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one


My daughter might have been: my queens square brows;


Her stature to an inch; as wand-like straight;


As silver-voiced; her eyes as jewel-like


And cased as richly; in pace another Juno;


Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry,


The more she gives them speech. Where do you live?


Where I am but a stranger: from the deck


And how achieved you these endowments, which


If I should tell my history, it would seem


Falseness cannot come from thee; for thou lookst


Modest as Justice, and thou seemst a palace


For the crownd Truth to dwell in: I will


To points that seem impossible; for thou lookst


Like one I loved indeed. What were thy friends?


Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back--


Which was when I perceived thee--that thou camest


Report thy parentage. I think thou saidst


Thou hadst been tossd from wrong to injury,


And that thou thoughtst thy griefs might equal mine,


I said, and said no more but what my thoughts


If thine considerd prove the thousandth part


Have sufferd like a girl: yet thou dost look


Like Patience gazing on kings graves, and smiling


Extremity out of act. What were thy friends?


How lost thou them? Thy name, my most kind virgin?


Recount, I do beseech thee: come, sit by me.


And thou by some incensed god sent hither


Thou little knowst how thou dost startle me,


Was given me by one that had some power,


But, not to be a troubler of your peace,


Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy?


Motion! Well; speak on. Where were you born?


This is the rarest dream that eer dull sleep


Did mock sad fools withal: this cannot be:


My daughters buried. Well: where were you bred?


Ill hear you more, to the bottom of your story,


You scorn: believe me, twere best I did give oer.


Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave:


How came you in these parts? where were you bred?


The king my father did in Tarsus leave me;


A villain to attempt it, who having drawn to dot,


Whither will you have me? Why do you weep?


You think me an impostor: no, good faith;


Most wise in general: tell me, if thou canst,


What this maid is, or what is like to be,


Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me


And drown me with their sweetness. O, come hither,


Thou that begetst him that did thee beget;


Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tarsus,


Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud


As thunder threatens us: this is Marina.


What was thy mothers name? tell me but that,


My drownd queens name, as in the rest you said


Now, blessing on thee! rise; thou art my child.


Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus;


She is not dead at Tarsus, as she should have been,


By savage Cleon: she shall tell thee all;


When thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge


Give me my robes. I am wild in my beholding.


O heavens bless my girl! But, hark, what music?


Oer, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt,


How sure you are my daughter. But, what music?


The music of the spheres! List, my Marina.


It is not good to cross him; give him way.


It nips me unto listening, and thick slumber


So, leave him all. Well, my companion friends,


DIANA appears to PERICLES as in a vision


My temple stands in Ephesus: hie thee thither,


There, when my maiden priests are met together,


Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife:


To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughters, call


Or perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe;


Re-enter HELICANUS, LYSIMACHUS, and MARINA


My purpose was for Tarsus, there to strike


Turn our blown sails; eftsoons Ill tell thee why.


Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore,


With all my heart; and, when you come ashore,


Were it to woo my daughter; for it seems


Enter GOWER, before the temple of DIANA at Ephesus


SCENE III. The temple of Diana at Ephesus; THAISA standing


near the altar, as high priestess; a number of


Virgins on each side; CERIMON and other Inhabitants


Enter PERICLES, with his train; LYSIMACHUS, HELICANUS, MARINA, and a Lady


Hail, Dian! to perform thy just command,


At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth


A maid-child calld Marina; who, O goddess,


Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus


Was nursed with Cleon; who at fourteen years


He sought to murder: but her better stars


Brought her to Mytilene; gainst whose shore


Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us,


Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she


What means the nun? she dies! help, gentlemen!


I threw her overboard with these very arms.


Thrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin,


Found there rich jewels; recoverd her, and placed her


Great sir, they shall be brought you to my house,


Whither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is recovered.


Will to my sense bend no licentious ear,


But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord,


Are you not Pericles? Like him you spake,


Like him you are: did you not name a tempest,


The king my father gave you such a ring.


This, this: no more, you gods! your present kindness


Makes my past miseries sports: you shall do well,


Melt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried


Look, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa;


You have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre,


Now do I long to hear how you were found;


How possibly preserved; and who to thank,


Besides the gods, for this great miracle.


Through whom the gods have shown their power; that can


More like a god than you. Will you deliver


Beseech you, first go with me to my house,


Where shall be shown you all was found with her;


Will offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa,


This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter,


Makes me look dismal will I clip to form;


And what this fourteen years no razor touchd,


To grace thy marriage-day, Ill beautify.


Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, sir,


Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen,


Well celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves


Will in that kingdom spend our following days:


Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign.


To hear the rest untold: sir, leads the way.


In Antiochus and his daughter you have heard


Of monstrous lust the due and just reward:


In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen,


Although assaild with fortune fierce and keen,


Virtue preserved from fell destructions blast,


Led on by heaven, and crownd with joy at last:


A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty:


The worth that learned charity aye wears:


For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame


Had spread their cursed deed, and honourd name


That him and his they in his palace burn;


To punish them; although not done, but meant.


So, on your patience evermore attending,


New joy wait on you! Here our play has ending.


SCENE I. London. KING RICHARD IIs palace.


Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other Nobles and Attendants


Old John of Gaunt, time-honourd Lancaster,


Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,


Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son,


Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,


Which then our leisure would not let us hear,


Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?


Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,


If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;


On some known ground of treachery in him?


As near as I could sift him on that argument,


Aimd at your highness, no inveterate malice.


Then call them to our presence; face to face,


And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear


The accuser and the accused freely speak:


High-stomachd are they both, and full of ire,


Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY


My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!


Until the heavens, envying earths good hap,


We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,


As well appeareth by the cause you come;


Namely to appeal each other of high treason.


Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object


Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?


First, heaven be the record to my speech!


Tendering the precious safety of my prince,


Come I appellant to this princely presence.


And mark my greeting well; for what I speak


My body shall make good upon this earth,


Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,


The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.


Once more, the more to aggravate the note,


With a foul traitors name stuff I thy throat;


And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,


What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove.


Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:


The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,


Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;


The blood is hot that must be coold for this:


Yet can I not of such tame patience boast


As to be hushd and nought at all to say:


First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me


From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;


Which else would post until it had returnd


These terms of treason doubled down his throat.


Call him a slanderous coward and a villain:


Which to maintain I would allow him odds,


Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.


By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.


Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,


Disclaiming here the kindred of the king,


Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.


If guilty dread have left thee so much strength


As to take up mine honours pawn, then stoop:


By that and all the rites of knighthood else,


Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,


What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.


Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,


And when I mount, alive may I not light,


What doth our cousin lay to Mowbrays charge?


Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true;


That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles


In name of lendings for your highness soldiers,


The which he hath detaind for lewd employments,


Like a false traitor and injurious villain.


Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge


That all the treasons for these eighteen years


Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.


Upon his bad life to make all this good,


That he did plot the Duke of Gloucesters death,


And consequently, like a traitor coward,


Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood:


Which blood, like sacrificing Abels, cries,


Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,


To me for justice and rough chastisement;


And, by the glorious worth of my descent,


This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.


Thomas of Norfolk, what sayst thou to this?


And bid his ears a little while be deaf,


Till I have told this slander of his blood,


How God and good men hate so foul a liar.


Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:


Were he my brother, nay, my kingdoms heir,


Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood


Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize


The unstooping firmness of my upright soul:


He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:


Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.


Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,


Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.


Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais


Disbursed I duly to his highness soldiers;


For that my sovereign liege was in my debt


Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:


Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucesters death,


A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul


Your graces pardon, and I hope I had it.


This is my fault: as for the rest appealld,


It issues from the rancour of a villain,


Even in the best blood chamberd in his bosom.


Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me;


Lets purge this choler without letting blood:


Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed;


Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.


Good uncle, let this end where it begun;


Well calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.


Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolks gage.


Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.


Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.


My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:


Despite of death that lives upon my grave,


To dark dishonours use thou shalt not have.


I am disgraced, impeachd and baffled here,


Pierced to the soul with slanders venomd spear,


The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood


Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.


Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame.


And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,


Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.


Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:


Take honour from me, and my life is done:


Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;


Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.


O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!


Shall I seem crest-falln in my fathers sight?


Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height


Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue


Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong,


Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear


And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,


Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbrays face.


We were not born to sue, but to command;


Which since we cannot do to make you friends,


Be ready, as your lives shall answer it,


There shall your swords and lances arbitrate


The swelling difference of your settled hate:


Since we can not atone you, we shall see


Lord marshal, command our officers at arms


SCENE II. The DUKE OF LANCASTERS palace.


Alas, the part I had in Woodstocks blood


Doth more solicit me than your exclaims,


To stir against the butchers of his life!


But since correction lieth in those hands


Which made the fault that we cannot correct,


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.


Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?


Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?


Edwards 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 natures course,


Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;


But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,


One flourishing branch of his most royal root,


Is crackd, and all the precious liquor spilt,


Is hackd down, and his summer leaves all faded,


Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb,


That metal, that self-mould, that fashiond thee


Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest,


Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent


In some large measure to thy fathers death,


In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,


Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair:


In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughterd,


Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,


Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:


That which in mean men we intitle patience


Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.


What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,


The best way is to venge my Gloucesters death.


Gods is the quarrel; for Gods substitute,


Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully,


Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift


Where then, alas, may I complain myself?


To God, the widows champion and defence.


Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:


O, sit my husbands wrongs on Herefords spear,


That it may enter butcher Mowbrays breast!


Or, if misfortune miss the first career,


They may break his foaming coursers back,


And throw the rider headlong in the lists,


A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!


Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brothers wife


With her companion grief must end her life.


As much good stay with thee as go with me!


Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls,


Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:


For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.


Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so;


Though this be all, do not so quickly go;


I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?--


Alack, and what shall good old York there see


But empty lodgings and unfurnishd walls,


And what hear there for welcome but my groans?


Therefore commend me; let him not come there,


To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.


Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die:


The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.


Enter the Lord Marshal and the DUKE OF AUMERLE


My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armd?


Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in.


The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,


Stays but the summons of the appellants trumpet.


Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay


The trumpets sound, and KING RICHARD enters with  his nobles, JOHN OF GAUNT, BUSHY, BAGOT, GREEN, and  others. When they are set, enter THOMAS MOWBRAY in arms, defendant, with a Herald


To swear him in the justice of his cause.


In Gods name and the kings, say who thou art


And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,


Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel:


Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath;


As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!


My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk;


Which God defend a knight should violate!--


To God, my king and my succeeding issue,


Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me


And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,


The trumpets sound. Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, appellant, in armour, with a Herald


What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither,


Against whom comest thou? and whats thy quarrel?


Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!


To prove, by Gods grace and my bodys valour,


In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,


That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,


To God of heaven, King Richard and to me;


Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereigns hand,


And loving farewell of our several friends.


The appellant in all duty greets your highness,


And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.


We will descend and fold him in our arms.


Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,


Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,


Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.


For me, if I be gored with Mowbrays spear:


Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.


Not sick, although I have to do with death,


But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.


The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet:


Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,


Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers;


And with thy blessings steel my lances point,


And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt,


God in thy good cause make thee prosperous!


Be swift like lightning in the execution;


Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.


Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive!


There lives or dies, true to King Richards throne,


Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace


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:


Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast.


Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.


Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!


Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.


Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself,


To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,


And dares him to set forward to the fight.


Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,


Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,


To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal;


Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants.


Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down.


Let them lay by their helmets and their spears,


And both return back to their chairs again:


Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound


While we return these dukes what we decree.


And list what with our council we have done.


For that our kingdoms earth should not be soild


With that dear blood which it hath fostered;


And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect


Of civil wounds ploughd up with neighbours sword;


To wake our peace, which in our countrys cradle


Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;


Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums,


With harsh resounding trumpets dreadful bray,


And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,


Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace


And make us wade even in our kindreds blood,


Therefore, we banish you our territories:


You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life,


Till twice five summers have enrichd our fields


But tread the stranger paths of banishment.


Your will be done: this must my comfort be,


Sun that warms you here shall shine on me;


And those his golden beams to you here lent


Shall point on me and gild my banishment.


Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,


Which I with some unwillingness pronounce:


The sly slow hours shall not determinate


Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.


A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,


And all unlookd for from your highness mouth:


The language I have learnd these forty years,


That knows no touch to tune the harmony:


Within my mouth you have engaold my tongue,


Doubly portcullisd with my teeth and lips;


What is thy sentence then but speechless death,


Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?


After our sentence plaining comes too late.


Then thus I turn me from my countrys light,


To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.


Return again, and take an oath with thee.


Lay on our royal sword your banishd hands;


Our part therein we banish with yourselves--


You never shall, so help you truth and God!


This louring tempest of your home-bred hate;


Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.


By this time, had the king permitted us,


One of our souls had wanderd in the air.


Banishd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,


As now our flesh is banishd from this land:


Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm;


Since thou hast far to go, bear not along


No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor,


My name be blotted from the book of life,


And I from heaven banishd as from hence!


But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know;


And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.


Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;


Save back to England, all the worlds my way.


Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes


Hath from the number of his banishd years


Return with welcome home from banishment.


How long a time lies in one little word!


Four lagging winters and four wanton springs


End in a word: such is the breath of kings.


He shortens four years of my sons exile:


But little vantage shall I reap thereby;


For, ere the six years that he hath to spend


Can change their moons and bring their times about


My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light


Shall be extinct with age and endless night;


My inch of taper will be burnt and done,


And blindfold death not let me see my son.


Why uncle, thou hast many years to live.


But not a minute, king, that thou canst give:


Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,


And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow;


Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,


Thy word is current with him for my death,


But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.


Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave:


Why at our justice seemst thou then to lour?


Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.


You urged me as a judge; but I had rather


You would have bid me argue like a father.


O, had it been a stranger, not my child,


To smooth his fault I should have been more mild:


And in the sentence my own life destroyd.


Alas, I lookd when some of you should say,


But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue


Against my will to do myself this wrong.


Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so:


Six years we banish him, and he shall go.


Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II and train


Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know,


From where you do remain let paper show.


My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride,


As far as land will let me, by your side.


O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,


That thou returnst no greeting to thy friends?


When the tongues office should be prodigal


To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.


Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.


Joy absent, grief is present for that time.


What is six winters? they are quickly gone.


To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.


Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure.


My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,


Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make


Will but remember me what a deal of world


Having my freedom, boast of nothing else


All places that the eye of heaven visits


Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.


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


Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it


To lie that way thou gost, not whence thou comest:


The grass whereon thou treadst the presence strewd,


The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more


For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite


The man that mocks at it and sets it light.


Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:


Fell sorrows tooth doth never rankle more


Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.


Come, come, my son, Ill bring thee on thy way:


Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.


Then, Englands ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;


My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!


Though banishd, yet a trueborn Englishman.


Enter KING RICHARD II, with BAGOT and GREEN at one door; and the DUKE OF AUMERLE at another


How far brought you high Hereford on his way?


I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,


But to the next highway, and there I left him.


And say, what store of parting tears were shed?


Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind,


Which then blew bitterly against our faces,


Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance


Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.


What said our cousin when you parted with him?


And, for my heart disdained that my tongue


Should so profane the word, that taught me craft


That words seemd buried in my sorrows grave.


Marry, would the word farewell have lengthend 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.


He is our cousin, cousin; but tis doubt,


When time shall call him home from banishment,


Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.


Observed his courtship to the common people;


How he did seem to dive into their hearts


What reverence he did throw away on slaves,


Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles


And patient underbearing of his fortune,


As twere to banish their affects with him.


A brace of draymen bid God speed him well


With Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;


And he our subjects next degree in hope.


Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts.


Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,


Expedient manage must be made, my liege,


Ere further leisure yield them further means


For their advantage and your highness loss.


And, for our coffers, with too great a court


And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,


We are inforced to farm our royal realm;


For our affairs in hand: if that come short,


Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters;


Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,


They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold


And send them after to supply our wants;


Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,


Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste


The lining of his coffers shall make coats


To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.


Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!


Enter JOHN OF GAUNT sick, with the DUKE OF YORK, and c


Will the king come, that I may breathe my last


In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?


Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;


For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.


O, but they say the tongues of dying men


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 listend more


Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;


More are mens ends markd than their lives before:


The setting sun, and music at the close,


As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,


Writ in remembrance more than things long past:


Though Richard my lifes counsel would not hear,


My deaths sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.


No; it is stoppd with other flattering sounds,


As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond,


The open ear of youth doth always listen;


Whose manners still our tardy apish nation


Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity--


So it be new, theres no respect how vile--


That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?


Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,


Where will doth mutiny with wits regard.


Direct not him whose way himself will choose:


Tis breath thou lackst, and that breath wilt thou lose.


His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,


For violent fires soon burn out themselves;


Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;


He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;


With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:


Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.


This royal throne of kings, this scepterd isle,


This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,


This fortress built by Nature for herself


This happy breed of men, this little world,


This precious stone set in the silver sea,


Which serves it in the office of a wall,


This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,


This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,


Feard by their breed and famous by their birth,


Renowned for their deeds as far from home,


For Christian service and true chivalry,


Of the worlds ransom, blessed Marys 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,


England, bound in with the triumphant sea


Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege


Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,


With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:


That England, that was wont to conquer others,


Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.


Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,


Enter KING RICHARD II and QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE,  BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, LORD ROSS, and LORD WILLOUGHBY


The king is come: deal mildly with his youth;


For young hot colts being raged do rage the more.


What comfort, man? how ist with aged Gaunt?


Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old:


Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;


And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt?


For sleeping England long time have I watchd;


Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt:


The pleasure that some fathers feed upon,


Is my strict fast; I mean, my childrens looks;


And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt:


Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,


Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.


Can sick men play so nicely with their names?


Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,


I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.


Should dying men flatter with those that live?


No, no, men living flatter those that die.


Thou, now a-dying, sayst thou flatterest me.


O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be.


I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.


Now He that made me knows I see thee ill;


Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.


Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land


And thou, too careless patient as thou art,


Of those physicians that first wounded thee:


A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,


Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;


The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.


O, had thy grandsire with a prophets eye


Seen how his sons son should destroy his sons,


From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,


Deposing thee before thou wert possessd,


Which art possessd now to depose thyself.


Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,


It were a shame to let this land by lease;


But for thy world enjoying but this land,


Is it not more than shame to shame it so?


Landlord of England art thou now, not king:


Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou--


Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood


Wert thou not brother to great Edwards son,


This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head


Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.


O, spare me not, my brother Edwards son,


Hast thou tappd out and drunkenly caroused:


My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul,


Whom fair befal in heaven mongst happy souls!


That thou respectst not spilling Edwards blood:


Join with the present sickness that I have;


To crop at once a too long witherd flower.


Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!


These words hereafter thy tormentors be!


Love they to live that love and honour have.


And let them die that age and sullens have;


For both hast thou, and both become the grave.


I do beseech your majesty, impute his words


He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear


As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.


Right, you say true: as Herefords love, so his;


As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.


My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.


His tongue is now a stringless instrument;


Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent.


Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!


Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.


The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;


His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.


So much for that. Now for our Irish wars:


We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,


Which live like venom where no venom else


And for these great affairs do ask some charge,


Towards our assistance we do seize to us


The plate, corn, revenues and moveables,


Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possessd.


How long shall I be patient? ah, how long


Not Gloucesters death, nor Herefords banishment


Not Gaunts rebukes, nor Englands private wrongs,


About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,


Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,


Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereigns face.


Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first:


In war was never lion raged more fierce,


In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,


Than was that young and princely gentleman.


His face thou hast, for even so lookd he,


Accomplishd with the number of thy hours;


But when he frownd, it was against the French


And not against his friends; his noble hand


Did will what he did spend and spent not that


Which his triumphant fathers hand had won;


His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,


O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,


Pardon me, if you please; if n ot, I, pleased


Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands


The royalties and rights of banishd Hereford?


Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live?


Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true?


Did not the one deserve to have an heir?


Take Herefords rights away, and take from Time


Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!--


If you do wrongfully seize Herefords rights,


You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,


You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts


And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts


Which honour and allegiance cannot think.


Think what you will, we seize into our hands


His plate, his goods, his money and his lands.


Ill not be by the while: my liege, farewell:


What will ensue hereof, theres none can tell;


That their events can never fall out good.


Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight:


We will for Ireland; and tis time, I trow:


Our uncle York lord governor of England;


For he is just and always loved us well.


Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;


Flourish. Exeunt KING RICHARD II, QUEEN, DUKE OF AUMERLE, BUSHY, GREEN, and BAGOT


Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.


And living too; for now his son is duke.


Richly in both, if justice had her right.


My heart is great; but it must break with silence,


Eret be disburdend with a liberal tongue.


Nay, speak thy mind; and let him neer speak more


That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!


Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford?


Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.


Now, afore God, tis shame such wrongs are borne


By flatterers; and what they will inform,


Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.


The commons hath he pilld with grievous taxes,


And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined


For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.


As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what:


But what, o Gods name, doth become of this?


Wars have not wasted it, for warrd he hath not,


That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows:


More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.


The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.


The kings grown bankrupt, like a broken man.


Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.


His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,


His noble kinsman: most degenerate king!


But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,


We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,


And yet we strike not, but securely perish.


We see the very wreck that we must suffer;


For suffering so the causes of our wreck.


Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death


Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.


We three are but thyself; and, speaking so,


Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.


Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay


That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,


That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,


His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,


Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint,


All these well furnishd by the Duke of Bretagne


With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,


Are making hither with all due expedience


And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:


Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay


The first departing of the king for Ireland.


If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,


Imp out our drooping countrys broken wing,


Redeem from broking pawn the blemishd crown,


Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptres gilt


To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.


Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.


You promised, when you parted with the king,


To please the king I did; to please myself


Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,


Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest


As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks,


Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortunes womb,


Is coming towards me, and my inward soul


With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves,


More than with parting from my lord the king.


Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,


Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;


For sorrows eye, glazed with blinding tears,


Divides one thing entire to many objects;


Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon


Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,


Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;


Which, lookd on as it is, is nought but shadows


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


More than your lords departure weep not: mores not seen;


Or if it be, tis with false sorrows eye,


Which for things true weeps things imaginary.


Persuades me it is otherwise: howeer it be,


As, though on thinking on no thought I think,


Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.


Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.


Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived


From some forefather grief; mine is not so,


For nothing had begot my something grief;


Or something hath the nothing that I grieve:


But what it is, that is not yet known; what


God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen:


I hope the king is not yet shippd for Ireland.


Why hopest thou so? tis better hope he is;


For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope:


Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shippd?


That he, our hope, might have retired his power,


Who strongly hath set footing in this land:


The banishd Bolingbroke repeals himself,


Ah, madam, tis too true: and that is worse,


The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy,


The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,


With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.


Why have you not proclaimd Northumberland


And all the rest revolted faction traitors?


We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester


Hath broke his staff, resignd his stewardship,


And all the household servants fled with him


So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,


Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,


Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joind.


Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,


O, full of careful business are his looks!


Uncle, for Gods sake, speak comfortable words.


Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts:


Comforts in heaven; and we are on the earth,


Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief.


Your husband, he is gone to save far off,


Whilst others come to make him lose at home:


Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:


Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;


Now shall he try his friends that flatterd him.


My lord, your son was gone before I came.


He was? Why, so! go all which way it will!


The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold,


And will, I fear, revolt on Herefords side.


Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;


Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:


My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship,


But I shall grieve you to report the rest.


An hour before I came, the duchess died.


Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!


So my untruth had not provoked him to it,


The king had cut off my head with my brothers.


What, are there no posts dispatchd for Ireland?


How shall we do for money for these wars?


Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me.


Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts


And bring away the armour that is there.


If I know how or which way to order these affairs


The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath


Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrongd,


Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.


Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, Ill


But time will not permit: all is uneven,


And every thing is left at six and seven.


The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,


Besides, our nearness to the king in love


Is near the hate of those love not the king.


And thats the wavering commons: for their love


Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them


By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.


Wherein the king stands generally condemnd.


If judgement lie in them, then so do we,


Because we ever have been near the king.


Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle:


Thither will I with you; for little office


The hateful commons will perform for us,


Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.


Farewell: if hearts presages be not vain,


We three here art that neer shall meet again.


Thats as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.


Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry:


Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.


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


Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces


How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?


I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire:


These high wild hills and rough uneven ways


Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome,


And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,


Making the hard way sweet and delectable.


From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found


In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,


Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled


The tediousness and process of my travel:


But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have


Than hope enjoyd: by this the weary lords


Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done


By sight of what I have, your noble company.


Than your good words. But who comes here?


Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.


I had thought, my lord, to have learnd his health of you.


No, my good Lord; he hath forsook the court,


Broken his staff of office and dispersed


He was not so resolved when last we spake together.


Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.


But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh,


To offer service to the Duke of Hereford,


And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover


What power the Duke of York had levied there;


Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.


Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?


No, my good lord, for that is not forgot


Which neer I did remember: to my knowledge,


Then learn to know him now; this is the duke.


My gracious lord, I tender you my service,


Such as it is, being tender, raw and young:


Which elder days shall ripen and confirm


As in a soul remembering my good friends;


And, as my fortune ripens with thy love,


It shall be still thy true loves recompense:


My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.


How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir


Keeps good old York there with his men of war?


There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,


Mannd with three hundred men, as I have heard;


And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour;


Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,


Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.


Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues


Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrichd


Shall be your love and labours recompense.


Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.


And far surmounts our labour to attain it.


Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor;


Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,


Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?


My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you.


And I am come to seek that name in England;


And I must find that title in your tongue,


Mistake me not, my lord; tis not my meaning


To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,


From the most gracious regent of this land,


The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on


And fright our native peace with self-born arms.


I shall not need transport my words by you;


Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle!


Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,


Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle:


I am no traitors uncle; and that word grace.


Why have those banishd and forbidden legs


Dared once to touch a dust of Englands ground?


But then more why? why have they dared to march


Frighting her pale-faced villages with war


Comest thou because the anointed king is hence?


Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,


Were I but now the lord of such hot youth


As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself


Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,


From forth the ranks of many thousand French,


O, then how quickly should this arm of mine.


Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee


My gracious uncle, let me know my fault:


On what condition stands it and wherein?


In gross rebellion and detested treason:


Thou art a banishd man, and here art come


As I was banishd, I was banishd Hereford;


Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:


I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father,


Will you permit that I shall stand condemnd


A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties


Pluckd from my arms perforce and given away


To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?


If that my cousin king be King of England,


It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.


You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin;


Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,


He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,


To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.


And yet my letters-patents give me leave:


My fathers goods are all distraind and sold,


And these and all are all amiss employd.


What would you have me do? I am a subject,


And I challenge law: attorneys are denied me;


And therefore, personally I lay my claim


The noble duke hath been too much abused.


It stands your grace upon to do him right.


Base men by his endowments are made great.


My lords of England, let me tell you this:


And laboured all I could to do him right;


But in this kind to come, in braving arms,


To find out right with wrong, it may not be;


But for his own; and for the right of that


We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;


And let him neer see joy that breaks that oath!


Well, well, I see the issue of these arms:


Because my power is weak and all ill left:


But if I could, by Him that gave me life,


I would attach you all and make you stoop


I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;


Unless you please to enter in the castle


But we must win your grace to go with us


To Bristol castle, which they say is held


Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.


It may be I will go with you: but yet Ill pause;


For I am loath to break our countrys laws.


Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are:


Things past redress are now with me past care.


Enter EARL OF SALISBURY and a Welsh Captain


My lord of Salisbury, we have stayd ten days,


And hardly kept our countrymen together,


And yet we hear no tidings from the king;


Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell.


Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman:


The king reposeth all his confidence in thee.


Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay.


The bay-trees in our country are all witherd


And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;


The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth


And lean-lookd prophets whisper fearful change;


Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap,


The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,


These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.


Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled,


As well assured Richard their king is dead.


Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind


Fall to the base earth from the firmament.


Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest:


Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,


And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.


Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, DUKE OF YORK,  NORTHUMBERLAND, LORD ROSS, HENRY PERCY, LORD WILLOUGHBY, with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners


Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls--


Since presently your souls must part your bodies--


With too much urging your pernicious lives,


For twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood


From off my hands, here in the view of men


I will unfold some causes of your deaths.


A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,


You have in manner with your sinful hours


Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him,


And staind the beauty of a fair queens cheeks


With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.


Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,


Near to the king in blood, and near in love


Have stoopd my neck under your injuries,


And sighd my English breath in foreign clouds,


Disparkd my parks and felld my forest woods,


From my own windows torn my household coat,


Razed out my imprese, leaving me no sign,


This and much more, much more than twice all this,


Condemns you to the death. See them deliverd over


More welcome is the stroke of death to me


Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell.


My comfort is that heaven will take our souls


And plague injustice with the pains of hell.


My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatchd.


Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and others, with the prisoners


Uncle, you say the queen is at your house;


For Gods sake, fairly let her be entreated:


Tell her I send to her my kind commends;


Take special care my greetings be deliverd.


With letters of your love to her at large.


To fight with Glendower and his complices:


SCENE II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view.


Drums; flourish and colours. Enter KING RICHARD II, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, DUKE OF AUMERLE, and Soldiers


Barkloughly castle call they this at hand?


Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air,


After your late tossing on the breaking seas?


Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy


Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,


Though rebels wound thee with their horses hoofs:


Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,


So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,


And do thee favours with my royal hands.


Feed not thy sovereigns foe, my gentle earth,


Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;


But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,


And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,


Which with usurping steps do trample thee:


And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,


Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder


Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch


Throw death upon thy sovereigns enemies.


Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords:


This earth shall have a feeling and these stones


Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king


Shall falter under foul rebellions arms.


Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you king


Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.


The means that heaven yields must be embraced,


And not neglected; else, if heaven would,


And we will not, heavens offer we refuse,


The profferd means of succor and redress.


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


Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,


Grows strong and great in substance and in power.


That when the searching eye of heaven is hid,


Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,


Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen


But when from under this terrestrial ball


He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines


And darts his light through every guilty hole,


Then murders, treasons and detested sins,


The cloak of night being pluckd from off their backs,


Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?


So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,


Who all this while hath revelld in the night


Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes,


Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,


His treasons will sit blushing in his face,


Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;


For every man that Bolingbroke hath pressd


To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,


God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay


A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,


Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.


Welcome, my lordhow far off lies your power?


Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,


Than this weak arm: discomfort guides my tongue


And bids me speak of nothing but despair.


One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,


Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth:


O, call back yesterday, bid time return,


And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!


Oerthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy state:


For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead.


Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled.


Comfort, my liege; why looks your grace so pale?


But now the blood of twenty thousand men


Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;


And, till so much blood thither come again,


Have I not reason to look pale and dead?


All souls that will be safe fly from my side,


Comfort, my liege; remember who you are.


Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.


Is not the kings name twenty thousand names?


Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes


At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,


Ye favourites of a king: are we not high?


High be our thoughts: I know my uncle York


Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?


More health and happiness betide my liege


Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him!


The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.


Say, is my kingdom lost? why, twas my care


Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?


Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,


Well serve Him too and be his fellow so:


Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;


They break their faith to God as well as us:


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


Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,


As if the world were all dissolved to tears,


So high above his limits swells the rage


Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land


With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel.


White-beards have armd their thin and hairless scalps


Against thy majesty; boys, with womens voices,


Strive to speak big and clap their female joints


In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:


The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows


Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,


And all goes worse than I have power to tell.


Too well, too well thou tellst a tale so ill.


Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?


What is become of Bushy? where is Green?


Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?


If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it:


I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke.


Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.


O villains, vipers, damnd without redemption!


Snakes, in my heart-blood warmd, that sting my heart!


Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!


Would they make peace? terrible hell make war


Upon their spotted souls for this offence!


Sweet love, I see, changing his property,


Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate:


Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made


With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse


Have felt the worst of deaths destroying wound


And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground.


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


Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.


Where is the duke my father with his power?


No matter where; of comfort no man speak:


Lets talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;


Lets choose executors and talk of wills:


And yet not so, for what can we bequeath


Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbrokes,


And nothing can we call our own but death


And that small model of the barren earth


Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.


For Gods sake, let us sit upon the ground


And tell sad stories of the death of kings;


How some have been deposed; some slain in war,


Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;


Some poisond by their wives: some sleeping killd;


All murderd: for within the hollow crown


That rounds the mortal temples of a king


Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits,


Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,


To monarchize, be feard and kill with looks,


Infusing him with self and vain conceit,


As if this flesh which walls about our life,


Were brass impregnable, and humourd thus


Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!


Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood


With solemn reverence: throw away respect,


For you have but mistook me all this while:


Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,


My lord, wise men neer sit and wail their woes,


To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,


Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe,


And so your follies fight against yourself.


Fear and be slain; no worse can come to fight:


And fight and die is death destroying death;


Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.


Thou chidest me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come


To change blows with thee for our day of doom.


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


Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.


My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.


To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:


Your uncle York is joind with Bolingbroke,


And all your northern castles yielded up,


Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth


What say you now? what comfort have we now?


Go to Flint castle: there Ill pine away;


A king, woes slave, shall kingly woe obey.


That power I have, discharge; and let them go


To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,


That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.


Discharge my followers: let them hence away,


From Richards night to Bolingbrokes fair day.


Enter, with drum and colours, HENRY BOLINGBROKE, DUKE OF YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, Attendants, and forces


The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury


Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed


With some few private friends upon this coast.


The news is very fair and good, my lord:


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.


Would you have been so brief with him, he would


Have been so brief with you, to shorten you,


For taking so the head, your whole heads length.


Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.


Take not, good cousin, further than you should.


Lest you mistake the heavens are oer our heads.


Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle yield?


It doth contain a king; King Richard lies


Within the limits of yon lime and stone:


And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,


Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle;


Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley


On both his knees doth kiss King Richards hand


And sends allegiance and true faith of heart


Even at his feet to lay my arms and power,


And lands restored again be freely granted:


If not, Ill use the advantage of my power


And lay the summers dust with showers of blood


Raind from the wounds of slaughterd Englishmen:


The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke


It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench


The fresh green lap of fair King Richards land,


Go, signify as much, while here we march


Lets march without the noise of threatening drum,


That from this castles tatterd battlements


Our fair appointments may be well perused.


Methinks King Richard and myself should meet


Of fire and water, when their thundering shock


At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.


Be he the fire, Ill be the yielding water:


The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain


My waters; on the earth, and not on him.


March on, and mark King Richard how he looks.


Parle without, and answer within. Then a flourish.  Enter on the walls, KING RICHARD II, the BISHOP OF  CARLISLE, DUKE OF AUMERLE, SIR STEPHEN SCROOP, and EARL OF SALISBURY


See, see, King Richard doth himself appear,


When he perceives the envious clouds are bent


Yet looks he like a king: behold, his eye,


As bright as is the eagles, lightens forth


Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe,


That any harm should stain so fair a show!


We are amazed; and thus long have we stood


To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,


Because we thought ourself thy lawful king:


And if we be, how dare thy joints forget


To pay their awful duty to our presence?


That hath dismissed us from our stewardship;


For well we know, no hand of blood and bone


Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre,


And though you think that all, as you have done,


Have torn their souls by turning them from us,


And we are barren and bereft of friends;


Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf


Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike


That lift your vassal hands against my head


And threat the glory of my precious crown.


Tell Bolingbroke--for yond methinks he stands--


Is dangerous treason: he is come to open


But ere the crown he looks for live in peace,


Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers sons


Shall ill become the flower of Englands face,


Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace


Her pastures grass with faithful English blood.


The king of heaven forbid our lord the king


Harry Bolingbroke doth humbly kiss thy hand;


That stands upon your royal grandsires bones,


And by the royalties of both your bloods,


Currents that spring from one most gracious head,


And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt,


Comprising all that may be sworn or said,


Than for his lineal royalties and to beg


Enfranchisement immediate on his kn ees:


His glittering arms he will commend to rust,


His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart


This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;


Northumberland, say thus the king returns:


His noble cousin is right welcome hither;


Shall be accomplishd without contradiction:


With all the gracious utterance thou hast


Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends.


We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not,


Shall we call back Northumberland, and send


No, good my lord; lets fight with gentle words


Till time lend friends and friends their helpful swords.


O God, O God! that eer this tongue of mine,


That laid the sentence of dread banishment


On yon proud man, should take it off again


With words of sooth! O that I were as great


Or that I could forget what I have been,


Swellst thou, proud heart? Ill give thee scope to beat,


Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.


Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.


What must the king do now? must he submit?


The king shall do it: must he be deposed?


The king shall be contented: must he lose


The name of king? o Gods name, let it go:


And my large kingdom for a little grave,


A little little grave, an obscure grave;


Some way of common trade, where subjects feet


May hourly trample on their sovereigns head;


For on my heart they tread now whilst I live;


Aumerle, thou weepst, my tender-hearted cousin!


Well make foul weather with despised tears;


Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn,


And make a dearth in this revolting land.


Or shall we play the wantons with our woes,


And make some pretty match with shedding tears?


As thus, to drop them still upon one place,


Till they have fretted us a pair of graves


Within the earth; and, therein laid,--there lies


Two kinsmen diggd their graves with weeping eyes.


Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see


Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,


What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty


Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?


You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay.


My lord, in the base court he doth attend


To speak with you; may it please you to come down.


Down, down I come; like glistering Phaethon,


In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base,


To come at traitors calls and do them grace.


In the base court? Come down? Down, court!


For night-owls shriek where mounting larks


Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man


Enter KING RICHARD and his attendants below


Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee


To make the base earth proud with kissing it:


Me rather had my heart might feel your love


Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy.


Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know,


Thus high at least, although your knee be low.


My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.


Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.


As my true service shall deserve your love.


Well you deserve: they well deserve to have,


That know the strongst and surest way to get.


Uncle, give me your hands: nay, dry your eyes;


Tears show their love, but want their remedies.


Cousin, I am too young to be your father,


Though you are old enough to be my heir.


What you will have, Ill give, and willing too;


For do we must what force will have us do.


Set on towards London, cousin, is it so?


SCENE IV. LANGLEY. The DUKE OF YORKs garden.


What sport shall we devise here in this garden,


To drive away the heavy thought of care?


Twill make me think the world is full of rubs,


And that my fortune rubs against the bias.


When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:


Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport.


And what I want it boots not to complain.


But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep.


I could weep, madam, would it do you good.


And I could sing, would weeping do me good,


Lets step into the shadow of these trees.


Theyll talk of state; for every one doth so


Against a change; woe is forerun with woe.


Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,


Which, like unruly children, make their sire


Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight:


Give some supportance to the bending twigs.


Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays,


That look too lofty in our commonwealth:


The noisome weeds, which without profit suck


The soils fertility from wholesome flowers.


Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,


When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,


Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,


Her fruit-trees all upturned, her hedges ruind,


Her knots disorderd and her wholesome herbs


He that hath sufferd this disorderd spring


Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:


The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,


That seemd in eating him to hold him up,


Are pluckd up root and all by Bolingbroke,


I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.


Hath seized the wasteful king. O, what pity is it


That he had not so trimmd and dressd his land


Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees,


Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,


With too much riches it confound itself:


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 bearing boughs may live:


Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,


Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.


What, think you then the king shall be deposed?


Tis doubt he will be: letters came last night


To a dear friend of the good Duke of Yorks,


O, I am pressd to death through want of speaking!


Thou, old Adams likeness, set to dress this garden,


How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?


What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee


Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?


Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth,


Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,


Camest thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.


To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.


Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are weighd:


In your lords scale is nothing but himself,


And some few vanities that make him light;


But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,


Besides himself, are all the English peers,


And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.


Post you to London, and you will find it so;


I speak no more than every one doth know.


Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,


And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkst


To serve me last, that I may longest keep


Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go,


What, was I born to this, that my sad look


Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?


Gardener, for telling me these news of woe,


Pray God the plants thou graftst may never grow.


Poor queen! so that thy state might be no worse,


I would my skill were subject to thy curse.


Here did she fall a tear; here in this place


Ill set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:


Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,


Enter, as to the Parliament, HENRY BOLINGBROKE,  DUKE OF AUMERLE, NORTHUMBERLAND, HENRY PERCY, LORD  FITZWATER, DUKE OF SURREY, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE,  the Abbot Of Westminster, and another Lord, Herald, Officers, and BAGOT


What thou dost know of noble Gloucesters death,


Who wrought it with the king, and who performd


Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.


Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.


My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue


Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliverd.


In that dead time when Gloucesters death was plotted,


I heard you say, Is not my arm of length,


That reacheth from the restful English court


Amongst much other talk, that very time,


I heard you say that you had rather refuse


Adding withal how blest this land would be


What answer shall I make to this base man?


Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,


On equal terms to give him chastisement?


Either I must, or have mine honour soild


With the attainder of his slanderous lips.


There is my gage, the manual 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


To stain the temper of my knightly sword.


Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.


In all this presence that hath moved me so.


There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine:


By that fair sun which shows me where thou standst,


I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest it


That thou wert cause of noble Gloucesters death.


If thou denyst it twenty times, thou liest;


And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart,


Where it was forged, with my rapiers point.


Thou darest not, coward, live to see that day.


Now by my soul, I would it were this hour.


Fitzwater, thou art damnd to hell for this.


Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true


And that thou art so, there I throw my gage,


To prove it on thee to the extremest point


Of mortal breathing: seize it, if thou darest.


And never brandish more revengeful steel


I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle;


As may be holload in thy treacherous ear


From sun to sun: there is my honours pawn;


Who sets me else? by heaven, Ill throw at all:


I have a thousand spirits in one breast,


Tis very true: you were in presence then;


And you can witness with me this is true.


As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.


That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword,


That it shall render vengeance and revenge


Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie


In proof whereof, there is my honours pawn;


How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse!


If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,


And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies,


And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,


As I intend to thrive in this new world,


Besides, I heard the banishd Norfolk say


That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men


Some honest Christian trust me with a gage


That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this,


If he may be repeald, to try his honour.


These differences shall all rest under gage


Till Norfolk be repeald: repeald he shall be,


To all his lands and signories: when hes returnd,


Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.


For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,


Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross


Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens:


And toild with works of war, retired himself


His body to that pleasant countrys earth,


And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,


Under whose colours he had fought so long.


Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom


Your differences shall all rest under gage


Till we assign you to your days of trial.


From plume-pluckd Richard; who with willing soul


Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields


Ascend his throne, descending now from him;


And long live Henry, fourth of that name!


In Gods name, Ill ascend the regal throne.


Worst in this royal presence may I speak,


Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.


Would God that any in this noble presence


Of noble Richard! then true noblesse would


Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.


What subject can give sentence on his king?


And who sits here that is not Richards subject?


Thieves are not judged but they are by to hear,


Although apparent guilt be seen in them;


Be judged by subject and inferior breath,


And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God,


That in a Christian climate souls refined


Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed!


I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,


Stirrd up by God, thus boldly for his king:


My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,


Is a foul traitor to proud Herefords king:


The blood of English shall manure the ground,


And future ages groan for this foul act;


Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels,


And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars


Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound;


Shall here inhabit, and this land be calld


The field of Golgotha and dead mens skulls.


O, if you raise this house against this house,


Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so,


Lest child, childs children, cry against you woe!


Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains,


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.


Fetch hither Richard, that in common view


Lords, you that here are under our arrest,


Procure your sureties for your days of answer.


And little lookd for at your helping hands.


Re-enter DUKE OF YORK, with KING RICHARD II, and Officers bearing the regalia


Before I have shook off the regal thoughts


Wherewith I reignd? I hardly yet have learnd


To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs:


The favours of these men: were they not mine?


Did they not sometime cry, all hail! to me?


So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve,


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? well then, amen.


God save the king! although I be not he;


And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.


To do what service am I sent for hither?


To do that office of thine own good will


Which tired majesty did make thee offer,


Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown;


On this side my hand, and on that side yours.


Now is this golden crown like a deep well


That owes two buckets, filling one another,


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.


I thought you had been willing to resign.


My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine:


But not my griefs; still am I king of those.


Part of your cares you give me with your crown.


Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down.


My care is loss of care, by old care done;


Your care is gain of care, by new care won:


The cares I give I have, though given away;


They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.


I give this heavy weight from off my head


The pride of kingly sway 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 release all dutys rites:


God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!


God keep all vows unbroke that swear to thee!


Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved,


And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved!


Long mayst thou live in Richards seat to sit,


God save King Harry, unkingd Richard says,


And send him many years of sunshine days!


These accusations and these grievous crimes


Committed by your person and your followers


Against the state and profit of this land;


That, by confessing them, the souls of men


My weaved-up folly? Gentle Northumberland,


Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop


To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst,


There shouldst thou find one heinous article,


And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,


Markd with a blot, damnd in the book of heaven:


Nay, all of you that stand and look upon,


Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,


Though some of you with Pilate wash your hands


Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates


My lord, dispatch; read oer these articles.


Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see:


And yet salt water blinds them not so much


But they can see a sort of traitors here.


Made glory base and sovereignty a slave,


Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.


No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man,


Nor no mans lord; I have no name, no title,


No, not that name was given me at the font,


And know not now what name to call myself!


Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good,


An if my word be sterling yet in England,


Let it command a mirror hither straight,


Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.


Read oer this paper while the glass doth come.


Fiend, thou tormentst me ere I come to hell!


Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.


They shall be satisfied: Ill read enough,


Where all my sins are writ, and thats myself.


Give me the glass, and therein will I read.


No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck


And made no deeper wounds? O flattering glass,


Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face


Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face


That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?


Was this the face that faced so many follies,


And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke?


For there it is, crackd in a hundred shivers.


Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,


How soon my sorrow hath destroyd my face.


Tis very true, my grief lies all within;


That swells with silence in the tortured soul;


There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,


For thy great bounty, that not only givest


Me cause to wail but teachest me the way


How to lament the cause. Ill beg one boon,


And then be gone and trouble you no more.


Were then but subjects; being now a subject,


Whither you will, so I were from your sights.


Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.


That rise thus nimbly by a true kings fall.


Exeunt KING RICHARD II, some Lords, and a Guard


Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.


Exeunt all except the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the Abbot of Westminster, and DUKE OF AUMERLE


The woes to come; the children yet unborn.


Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.


To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?


To bury mine intents, but also to effect


I see your brows are full of discontent,


Your hearts of sorrow and your eyes of tears:


Come home with me to supper; and Ill lay


SCENE I. London. A street leading to the Tower.


This way the king will come; this is the way


Is doomd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:


Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth


Have any resting for her true kings queen.


But soft, but see, or rather do not see,


My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold,


And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.


Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand,


Thou map of honour, thou King Richards tomb,


And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,


Why should hard-favourd grief be lodged in thee,


When triumph is become an alehouse guest?


Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,


To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,


To think our former state a happy dream;


From which awaked, the truth of what we are


Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,


Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France


And cloister thee in some religious house:


Our holy lives must win a new worlds crown,


Which our profane hours here have stricken down.


What, is my Richard both in shape and mind


Transformd and weakend? hath Bolingbroke deposed


Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?


And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage


To be oerpowerd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,


Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod,


A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts,


Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France:


Think I am dead and that even here thou takest,


As from my death-bed, thy last living leave.


In winters tedious nights sit by the fire


With good old folks and let them tell thee tales


And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs,


And send the hearers weeping to their beds:


For why, the senseless brands will sympathize


And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,


My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed:


You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.


And, madam, there is order taen for you;


With all swift speed you must away to France.


The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,


More than it is ere foul sin gathering head


Shalt break into corruption: thou shalt think,


Though he divide the realm and give thee half,


And he shall think that thou, which knowst the way


To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,


To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.


The love of wicked men converts to fear;


That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both


My guilt be on my head, and there an end.


Take leave and part; for you must part forthwith.


A twofold marriage, twixt my crown and me,


And then betwixt me and my married wife.


Let me unkiss the oath twixt thee and me;


And yet not so, for with a kiss twas made.


Part us, Northumberland; I toward the north,


Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime;


My wife to France: from whence, set forth in pomp,


Sent back like Hallowmas or shortst of day.


Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.


Banish us both and send the king with me.


Then whither he goes, thither let me go.


Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;


Better far off than near, be neer the near.


Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.


So longest way shall have the longest moans.


Twice for one step Ill groan, the way being short,


And piece the way out with a heavy heart.


Come, come, in wooing sorrow lets be brief,


Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief;


One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;


Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.


Give me mine own again; twere no good part


To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.


That I might strive to kill it with a groan.


We make woe wanton with this fond delay:


Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say.


My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,


When weeping made you break the story off,


Where rude misgovernd hands from windows tops


Threw dust and rubbish on King Richards head.


Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,


With slow but stately pace kept on his course,


You would have thought the very windows spake,


Through casements darted their desiring eyes


Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!


Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,


Bareheaded, lower than his proud steeds neck,


Bespake them thus: I thank you, countrymen:


And thus still doing, thus he passd along.


Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?


After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,


Even so, or with much more contempt, mens eyes


Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried God save him!


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 with tears and smiles,


That had not God, for some strong purpose, steeld


The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted


To whose high will we bound our calm contents.


To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,


But that is lost for being Richards friend,


And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:


And lasting fealty to the new-made king.


Welcome, my son: who are the violets now


That strew the green lap of the new come spring?


Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not:


Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,


Lest you be croppd before you come to prime.


What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs?


What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom?


Yea, lookst thou pale? let me see the writing.


I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.


Which for some reasons I would not have seen.


Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.


Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enterd into


Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond


That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.


I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.


I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.


He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it


Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!


God for his mercy, what treachery is here!


Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.


Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth,


I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle.


Bring me my boots: I will unto the king.


Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed.


Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.


Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?


Have we more sons? or are we like to have?


Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?


And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,


Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?


A dozen of them here have taen the sacrament,


And interchangeably set down their hands,


Well keep him here: then what is that to him?


Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son,


As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.


But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect


Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:


After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse;


Spur post, and get before him to the king,


And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.


Ill not be long behind; though I be old,


I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:


And never will I rise up from the ground


Till Bolingbroke have pardond thee. Away, be gone!


Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE, HENRY PERCY, and other Lords


Tis full three months since I did see him last;


I would to God, my lords, he might be found:


Inquire at London, mongst the taverns there,


For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,


Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,


And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;


Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,


My lord, some two days since I saw the prince,


And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.


His answer was, he would unto the stews,


And from the commonst creature pluck a glove,


He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.


As dissolute as desperate; yet through both


I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years


May happily bring forth. But who comes here?


What means our cousin, that he stares and looks


God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty,


To have some conference with your grace alone.


Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.


For ever may my knees grow to the earth,


My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth


Then give me leave that I may turn the key,


[Within]  My liege, beware; look to thyself;


Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.


Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.


[Within]  Open the door, secure, foolhardy king:


Shall I for love speak treason to thy face?


Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,


Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know


The treason that my haste forbids me show.


Remember, as thou readst, thy promise passd:


My heart is not confederate with my hand.


It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.


I tore it from the traitors bosom, king;


Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:


A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.


Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain,


From when this stream through muddy passages


Hath held his current and defiled himself!


And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,


As thriftless sons their scraping fathers gold.


Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,


Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies:


Thou killst me in his life; giving him breath,


The traitor lives, the true mans put to death.


[Within]  What ho, my liege! for Gods sake,


What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?


A woman, and thy aunt, great king; tis I.


Our scene is alterd from a serious thing,


And now changed to The Beggar and the King.


My dangerous cousin, let your mother in:


I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.


More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.


This festerd joint cut off, the rest rest sound;


This let alone will all the rest confound.


O king, believe not this hard-hearted man!


Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?


Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?


Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.


Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy,


By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.


Against them both my true joints bended be.


Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!


Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face;


His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;


His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast:


He prays but faintly and would be denied;


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;


Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have


That mercy which true prayer ought to have.


Say, pardon first, and afterwards stand up.


And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,


Pardon should be the first word of thy speech.


Say pardon, king; let pity teach thee how:


The word is short, but not so short as sweet;


No word like pardon for kings mouths so meet.


Speak it in French, king; say, pardonne moi.


Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?


Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,


That setst the word itself against the word!


Speak pardon as tis current in our land;


The chopping 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 plaints and prayers do pierce,


Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain,


But for our trusty brother-in-law and the abbot,


With all the rest of that consorted crew,


Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.


Good uncle, help to order several powers


To Oxford, or whereer 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 too, adieu:


Your mother well hath prayd, and prove you true.


Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new.


Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake,


Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?


Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake it twice,


And urged it twice together, did he not?


And who should say, I would thou wert the man


That would divorce this terror from my heart;


Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, lets go:


I am the kings friend, and will rid his foe.


This prison where I live unto the world:


My brain Ill prove the female to my soul,


A generation of still-breeding thoughts,


And these same thoughts people this little world,


In humours like the people of this world,


For no thought is contented. The better sort,


As thoughts of things divine, are intermixd


With scruples and do set the word itself


As thus, Come, little ones, and then again,


To thread the postern of a small needles eye.


Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot


Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails


May tear a passage through the flinty ribs


Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls,


And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.


Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves


That they are not the first of fortunes slaves,


Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars


Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame,


That many have and others must sit there;


And in this thought they find a kind of ease,


Bearing their own misfortunes on the back


Of such as have before endured the like.


And none contented: sometimes am I king;


Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,


And straight am nothing: but whateer I be,


With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased


Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,


When time is broke and no proportion kept!


To cheque time broke in a disorderd string;


But for the concord of my state and time


Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.


I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;


For now hath time made me his numbering clock:


My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar


Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,


Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.


Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is


Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart,


Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans


Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time


Runs posting on in Bolingbrokes proud joy,


While I stand fooling here, his Jack o the clock.


This music mads me; let it sound no more;


For though it have holp madmen to their wits,


In me it seems it will make wise men mad.


Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!


For tis a sign of love; and love to Richard


Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.


The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.


What art thou? and how comest thou hither,


Where no man never comes but that sad dog


That brings me food to make misfortune live?


When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York,


With much ado at length have gotten leave


To look upon my sometimes royal masters face.


That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,


That horse that I so carefully have dressd!


Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,


So proudly as if he disdaind the ground.


So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!


That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;


This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.


Would he not stumble? would he not fall down,


Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck


Of that proud man that did usurp his back?


Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee,


Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse;


Spurrd, galld and tired by jouncing Bolingbroke.


Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.


If thou love me, tis time thou wert away.


What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.


Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.


My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, who


lately came from the king, commands the contrary.


The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee!


Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.


How now! what means death in this rude assault?


Villain, thy own hand yields thy deaths instrument.


Snatching an axe from a Servant and killing him


He kills another. Then Exton strikes him down


That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire


That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand


Hath with the kings blood staind the kings own land.


Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;


Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die.


Both have I spilld; O would the deed were good!


For now the devil, that told me I did well,