That I have worn so many winters out, And know not now what name to call myself! Good king, great king,—(and yet not greatly good,) BOLING. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-glass. K. RICH. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, Where all my sins are writ, and that 's myself. Re-enter Attendant, with a glass. Give me that glass, and therein will I read. And made no deeper wounds?-0, flattering glass, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face As brittle as the glory is the face; [Dashes the glass against the ground For there it is, crack'd in an hundred shivers. Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,- BOLING. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow of your face. Say that again. K. RICH. Ha! let's see: "T is very true, my grief lies all within; K. RICH. Fair cousin? I am greater than a king: Were then but subjects; being now a subject, Being so great, I have no need to beg. BOLING. Yet ask. K. RICH. And shall I have? BOLING. You shall. K. RICH. Then give me leave to go. K. RICH. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. BOLING. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower. K. RICH. O, good! Convey?-Conveyers are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. [Exeunt K. RICHARD, some Lords, and a Guard, BOLING. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. [Exeunt all but the ABBOT, BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERIE. ABBOT. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. BISHOP. The woe 's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. AUм. You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears; A plot shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-London. A Street leading to the Tower. QUEEN. This way the king will come; this is the way To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Enter KING RICHARD and Guards. But soft, but see, or rather do not see, K. RICH. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To think our former state a happy dream; Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, Depos'd thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart? And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage K. RICH. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France: As from my death-bed, my last living leave. In winter's 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 grief, And send the hearers weeping to their beds. And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended. NORTH. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd; You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. And, madam, there is order ta'en for you; With all swift speed you must away to France. K. RICH. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal And he shall think that thou, which know'st the way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. NORTH. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. K. RICH. Doubly divorc'd!—Bad men, ye violate Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day. QUEEN. And must we be divided? must we part? K. RICH. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the king with me. NORTH. That were some love, but little policy. QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let me go. K. RICH. So two, together weeping, make one woe. Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans. QUEEN. So longest way shall have the longest moans. K. RICH. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short, And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. [They kiss. QUEEN. Give me mine own again; 't were no good part, To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. [Kiss again. |