Imatges de pÓgina
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That, by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.

K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out
My weav’d-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,
Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? If thou would'st,
There should'st thou find one heinous article,
Containing the deposing of a king,
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,-
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of

heaven:
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me,
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, -
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash

with Pilate, wash your hands,
Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross,
And water cannot wash away your sin.
North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these ar-

ticles.
K. Rich. 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.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor with the rest:
For I have given here my soul's consent,
To undeck the pompous body of a king;
Make glory base; and sovereignty, a slave;
Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant.

North. My lord,
K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insult-

ing man,
Nor no man's lord; I have no nanie, no title,-
No, not that name was given me at the font,-
But 'tis usurp'd:-Alack the heavy day,
i a sort - ) A pack, a company. WARBURTON.

haught,] i. e. haughty.

That I have worn so many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself!
O, that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops! -
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; That it may show me what a face I have, Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a lookingglass.

[Exit an Attendant. North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth

come. K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come

to hell. Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumber

land. North. The commons will not then be satisfied.

K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's—-myself.

Re-enter Attendant, with a Glass. Give me that glass, and therein will I read.No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine, And made no deeper wounds ?-O, flattering glass, Like to my followers in prosperity, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face, That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face, That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies, And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? A brittle glory shineth in this face:

your face.

As brittle as the glory is the face;

[Dashes the Glass against the ground. For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers.Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath de

stroy'd The shadow of K. Rich.

Say that again.
The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see:-
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief,
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul;
There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,
And then be gone, and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?

Boling Name it, fair cousin.
K. Rich. Fair cousin? Why, I am greater than

a king:
For, when I was a king, my flatterers
Were then but subjects; being now a subject,
I have a king here to my

flatterer. Being so great, I have no need to beg.

Boling. Yet ask.
K. Rich. And shall I have?
Boling. You shall.
K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Boling. Whither?
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 AUMERLE. Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.

Car. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.

Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?

Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, You shall not only take the sacrament To bury: mine intents, but to effect Whatever I shall happen to devise :I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears; Come home with me to supper; I will lay A plot, shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt.

ACT V.
SCENE I. London. A Street leading to the Tower.

Enter Queen, and Ladies.
Queen. This

way the king will come; this is the way

Conveyers are you all,] To convey is a term often used in an ill sense, and so Richard understands it here. Pistol says of stealing, convey the wise it call; and to convey is the word for sleight of hand, which seems to be alluded to here. Ye are all, says the deposed prince, jugglers, who rise with this nimble dexterity by the fall of a good king. Johnson.

* To bury-) To conceal, to keep secret.

To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.

Enter King RICHARD, and Guards.
But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold;
That

you in pity may dissolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.-
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand;
Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb,
And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?
K. Rich. 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 awak'd, the truth of what we are Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, To grim necessity; and he and I Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, And cloister thee in some religious house: Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, Which our profane hours here have stricken down. Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and

mind Transform'd, and weaken’d? Hath Bolingbroke

4 To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,] The Tower of London is traditionally said to have been the work of Julius Cæsar. Byill-erected, perhaps, is meant-erected for bad purposes.

* Join not with grief,] Do not thou unite with grief against me; do not, by thy additional sorrows, enable grief to strike me down at once. My own part of sorrow I can bear, but thy affliction will immediately destroy me. JOHNSON.

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