It is hard to imagine a world without Shakespeare. Since their composition four hundred years ago, Shakespeare’s plays and poems have traveled the globe, inviting those who see and read his works to make them their own.
Readers of the New Folger Editions are part of this ongoing process of “taking up Shakespeare,” finding our own thoughts and feelings in language that strikes us as old or unusual and, for that very reason, new. We still struggle to keep up with a writer who could think a mile a minute, whose words paint pictures that shift like clouds. These expertly edited texts are presented to the public as a resource for study, artistic adaptation, and enjoyment. By making the classic texts of the New Folger Editions available in electronic form as The Folger Shakespeare (formerly Folger Digital Texts), we place a trusted resource in the hands of anyone who wants them.
The New Folger Editions of Shakespeare’s plays, which are the basis for the texts realized here in digital form, are special because of their origin. The Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC, is the single greatest documentary source of Shakespeare’s works. An unparalleled collection of early modern books, manuscripts, and artwork connected to Shakespeare, the Folger’s holdings have been consulted extensively in the preparation of these texts. The Editions also reflect the expertise gained through the regular performance of Shakespeare’s works in the Folger’s Elizabethan Theatre.
I want to express my deep thanks to editors Barbara Mowat and Paul Werstine for creating these indispensable editions of Shakespeare’s works, which incorporate the best of textual scholarship with a richness of commentary that is both inspired and engaging. Readers who want to know more about Shakespeare and his plays can follow the paths these distinguished scholars have tread by visiting the Folger either in-person or online, where a range of physical and digital resources exists to supplement the material in these texts. I commend to you these words, and hope that they inspire.
Michael Witmore
Director, Folger Shakespeare Library
Until now, with the release of The Folger Shakespeare (formerly Folger Digital Texts), readers in search of a free online text of Shakespeare’s plays had to be content primarily with using the Moby™ Text, which reproduces a late-nineteenth century version of the plays. What is the difference? Many ordinary readers assume that there is a single text for the plays: what Shakespeare wrote. But Shakespeare’s plays were not published the way modern novels or plays are published today: as a single, authoritative text. In some cases, the plays have come down to us in multiple published versions, represented by various Quartos (Qq) and by the great collection put together by his colleagues in 1623, called the First Folio (F). There are, for example, three very different versions of
Hamlet
, two of
King Lear
,
Henry V
,
Romeo and Juliet
, and others. Editors choose which version to use as their base text, and then amend that text with words, lines or speech prefixes from the other versions that, in their judgment, make for a better or more accurate text.
Other editorial decisions involve choices about whether an unfamiliar word could be understood in light of other writings of the period or whether it should be changed; decisions about words that made it into Shakespeare’s text by accident through four hundred years of printings and misprinting; and even decisions based on cultural preference and taste. When the Moby™ Text was created, for example, it was deemed “improper” and “indecent” for Miranda to chastise Caliban for having attempted to rape her. (See
The Tempest
, 1.2: “Abhorred slave,/Which any print of goodness wilt not take,/Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee…”). All Shakespeare editors at the time took the speech away from her and gave it to her father, Prospero.
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Othello
: “
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If she in chains of magic were not bound,
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”), half-square brackets (for example, from
Henry V
: “With
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blood
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and sword and fire to win your right,”), or angle brackets (for example, from
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In
Richard II
, anger at a king’s arbitrary rule leads to his downfall—and sets in motion a decades-long struggle for the crown that continues in several more history plays.
Richard II begins as Richard’s cousin, Henry Bolingbroke, charges Thomas Mowbray with serious crimes, including the murder of the Duke of Gloucester. Bolingbroke’s father, John of Gaunt, privately blames the king for Gloucester’s death. At Richard’s command, Bolingbroke and Mowbray prepare for a trial by combat. The king halts the fight at the last minute, banishing both men from England.
When John of Gaunt dies, Richard seizes his possessions to help finance a war in Ireland, thus dispossessing Bolingbroke. Bolingbroke returns to England, quickly gathering support. By the time Richard returns from Ireland, many of his former allies have joined Bolingbroke. Richard abdicates, yielding the crown to Bolingbroke.
Richard is held at Pomfret Castle and Bolingbroke becomes King Henry IV. A murder plot against him is uncovered and stopped. Richard is murdered by a follower of Henry.
ACT
1
Scene
1
Enter
King
Richard
,
John
of
Gaunt
,
with
other
Nobles
and
Attendants
.
Old
John
of
Gaunt
,
time-honored
Lancaster
,
Hast
thou
,
according
to
thy
oath
and
band
,
Brought
hither
Henry
Hereford
,
thy
bold
son
,
Here
to
make
good
the
boist’rous
late
appeal
,
Which
then
our
leisure
would
not
let
us
hear
,
Against
the
Duke
of
Norfolk
,
Thomas
Mowbray
?
I
have
,
my
liege
.
Tell
me
,
moreover
,
hast
thou
sounded
him
If
he
appeal
the
Duke
on
ancient
malice
,
Or
worthily
,
as
a
good
subject
should
,
On
some
known
ground
of
treachery
in
him
?
As
near
as
I
could
sift
him
on
that
argument
,
On
some
apparent
danger
seen
in
him
Aimed
at
your
Highness
,
no
inveterate
malice
.
Then
call
them
to
our
presence
.
An
Attendant
exits
.
Face
to
face
,
And
frowning
brow
to
brow
,
ourselves
will
hear
ACT 1. SC. 1
The
accuser
and
the
accusèd
freely
speak
.
High
stomached
are
they
both
and
full
of
ire
,
In
rage
deaf
as
the
sea
,
hasty
as
fire
.
Enter
Bolingbroke
and
Mowbray
.
Many
years
of
happy
days
befall
My
gracious
sovereign
,
my
most
loving
liege
.
Each
day
still
better
other’s
happiness
,
Until
the
heavens
,
envying
earth’s
good
hap
,
Add
an
immortal
title
to
your
crown
.
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
!
—
In
the
devotion
of
a
subject’s
love
,
Tend’ring
the
precious
safety
of
my
prince
,
And
free
from
other
misbegotten
hate
,
Come
I
appellant
to
this
princely
presence
.
—
Now
,
Thomas
Mowbray
,
do
I
turn
to
thee
;
And
mark
my
greeting
well
,
for
what
I
speak
My
body
shall
make
good
upon
this
earth
Or
my
divine
soul
answer
it
in
heaven
.
Thou
art
a
traitor
and
a
miscreant
,
Too
good
to
be
so
,
and
too
bad
to
live
,
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
traitor’s
name
stuff
I
thy
throat
,
And
wish
,
so
please
my
sovereign
,
ere
I
move
,
ACT 1. SC. 1
What
my
tongue
speaks
,
my
right-drawn
sword
may
prove
.
Let
not
my
cold
words
here
accuse
my
zeal
.
’Tis
not
the
trial
of
a
woman’s
war
,
The
bitter
clamor
of
two
eager
tongues
,
Can
arbitrate
this
cause
betwixt
us
twain
.
The
blood
is
hot
that
must
be
cooled
for
this
.
Yet
can
I
not
of
such
tame
patience
boast
As
to
be
hushed
and
naught
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
returned
These
terms
of
treason
doubled
down
his
throat
.
Setting
aside
his
high
blood’s
royalty
,
And
let
him
be
no
kinsman
to
my
liege
,
I
do
defy
him
,
and
I
spit
at
him
,
Call
him
a
slanderous
coward
and
a
villain
,
Which
to
maintain
I
would
allow
him
odds
And
meet
him
,
were
I
tied
to
run
afoot
Even
to
the
frozen
ridges
of
the
Alps
Or
any
other
ground
inhabitable
Wherever
Englishman
durst
set
his
foot
.
Meantime
,
let
this
defend
my
loyalty
:
By
all
my
hopes
,
most
falsely
doth
he
lie
.
,
throwing
down
a
gage
Pale
trembling
coward
,
there
I
throw
my
gage
,
Disclaiming
here
the
kindred
of
the
King
,
And
lay
aside
my
high
blood’s
royalty
,
Which
fear
,
not
reverence
,
makes
thee
to
except
.
If
guilty
dread
have
left
thee
so
much
strength
As
to
take
up
mine
honor’s
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
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
,
picking
up
the
gage
I
take
it
up
,
and
by
that
sword
I
swear
Which
gently
laid
my
knighthood
on
my
shoulder
,
I’ll
answer
thee
in
any
fair
degree
Or
chivalrous
design
of
knightly
trial
;
And
when
I
mount
,
alive
may
I
not
light
If
I
be
traitor
or
unjustly
fight
.
What
doth
our
cousin
lay
to
Mowbray’s
charge
?
It
must
be
great
that
can
inherit
us
So
much
as
of
a
thought
of
ill
in
him
.
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
detained
for
lewd
employments
,
Like
a
false
traitor
and
injurious
villain
.
Besides
I
say
,
and
will
in
battle
prove
,
Or
here
or
elsewhere
to
the
furthest
verge
That
ever
was
surveyed
by
English
eye
,
That
all
the
treasons
for
these
eighteen
years
Complotted
and
contrivèd
in
this
land
Fetch
from
false
Mowbray
their
first
head
and
spring
.
Further
I
say
,
and
further
will
maintain
Upon
his
bad
life
to
make
all
this
good
,
That
he
did
plot
the
Duke
of
Gloucester’s
death
,
Suggest
his
soon-believing
adversaries
,
And
consequently
,
like
a
traitor
coward
,
Sluiced
out
his
innocent
soul
through
streams
of
blood
,
Which
blood
,
like
sacrificing
Abel’s
,
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
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
How
high
a
pitch
his
resolution
soars
!
—
Thomas
of
Norfolk
,
what
sayst
thou
to
this
?
O
,
let
my
sovereign
turn
away
his
face
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
kingdom’s
heir
,
As
he
is
but
my
father’s
brother’s
son
,
Now
by
my
scepter’s
awe
I
make
a
vow
:
Such
neighbor
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
;
The
other
part
reserved
I
by
consent
,
For
that
my
sovereign
liege
was
in
my
debt
Upon
remainder
of
a
dear
account
Since
last
I
went
to
France
to
fetch
his
queen
.
Now
swallow
down
that
lie
.
For
Gloucester’s
death
,
I
slew
him
not
,
but
to
my
own
disgrace
Neglected
my
sworn
duty
in
that
case
.
—
For
you
,
my
noble
Lord
of
Lancaster
,
The
honorable
father
to
my
foe
,
Once
did
I
lay
an
ambush
for
your
life
,
A
trespass
that
doth
vex
my
grievèd
soul
.
But
ere
I
last
received
the
sacrament
,
I
did
confess
it
,
and
exactly
begged
ACT 1. SC. 1
Your
Grace’s
pardon
,
and
I
hope
I
had
it
.
—
This
is
my
fault
.
As
for
the
rest
appealed
,
It
issues
from
the
rancor
of
a
villain
,
A
recreant
,
and
most
degenerate
traitor
,
Which
in
myself
I
boldly
will
defend
,
And
interchangeably
hurl
down
my
gage
Upon
this
overweening
traitor’s
foot
,
He
throws
down
a
gage
.
To
prove
myself
a
loyal
gentleman
,
Even
in
the
best
blood
chambered
in
his
bosom
;
In
haste
whereof
most
heartily
I
pray
Your
Highness
to
assign
our
trial
day
.
Bolingbroke
picks
up
the
gage
.
Wrath-kindled
gentlemen
,
be
ruled
by
me
.
Let’s
purge
this
choler
without
letting
blood
.
This
we
prescribe
,
though
no
physician
.
Deep
malice
makes
too
deep
incision
.
Forget
,
forgive
;
conclude
and
be
agreed
.
Our
doctors
say
this
is
no
month
to
bleed
.
—
Good
uncle
,
let
this
end
where
it
begun
;
We’ll
calm
the
Duke
of
Norfolk
,
you
your
son
.
To
be
a
make-peace
shall
become
my
age
.
—
Throw
down
,
my
son
,
the
Duke
of
Norfolk’s
gage
.
And
,
Norfolk
,
throw
down
his
.
When
,
Harry
,
when
?
Obedience
bids
I
should
not
bid
again
.
Norfolk
,
throw
down
,
we
bid
;
there
is
no
boot
.
Myself
I
throw
,
dread
sovereign
,
at
thy
foot
.
Mowbray
kneels
.
My
life
thou
shalt
command
,
but
not
my
shame
.
The
one
my
duty
owes
,
but
my
fair
name
,
ACT 1. SC. 1
Despite
of
death
that
lives
upon
my
grave
,
To
dark
dishonor’s
use
thou
shalt
not
have
.
I
am
disgraced
,
impeached
,
and
baffled
here
,
Pierced
to
the
soul
with
slander’s
venomed
spear
,
The
which
no
balm
can
cure
but
his
heart-blood
Which
breathed
this
poison
.
Rage
must
be
withstood
.
Give
me
his
gage
.
Lions
make
leopards
tame
.
,
standing
Yea
,
but
not
change
his
spots
.
Take
but
my
shame
And
I
resign
my
gage
.
My
dear
dear
lord
,
The
purest
treasure
mortal
times
afford
Is
spotless
reputation
;
that
away
,
Men
are
but
gilded
loam
or
painted
clay
.
A
jewel
in
a
ten-times-barred-up
chest
Is
a
bold
spirit
in
a
loyal
breast
.
Mine
honor
is
my
life
;
both
grow
in
one
.
Take
honor
from
me
,
and
my
life
is
done
.
Then
,
dear
my
liege
,
mine
honor
let
me
try
.
In
that
I
live
,
and
for
that
will
I
die
.
,
to
Bolingbroke
Cousin
,
throw
up
your
gage
.
Do
you
begin
.
O
,
God
defend
my
soul
from
such
deep
sin
!
Shall
I
seem
crestfallen
in
my
father’s
sight
?
Or
with
pale
beggar-fear
impeach
my
height
Before
this
out-dared
dastard
?
Ere
my
tongue
Shall
wound
my
honor
with
such
feeble
wrong
,
Or
sound
so
base
a
parle
,
my
teeth
shall
tear
The
slavish
motive
of
recanting
fear
And
spit
it
bleeding
in
his
high
disgrace
,
Where
shame
doth
harbor
,
even
in
Mowbray’s
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
,
ACT 1. SC. 2
At
Coventry
upon
Saint
Lambert’s
day
.
There
shall
your
swords
and
lances
arbitrate
The
swelling
difference
of
your
settled
hate
.
Since
we
cannot
atone
you
,
we
shall
see
Justice
design
the
victor’s
chivalry
.
—
Lord
Marshal
,
command
our
officers-at-arms
Be
ready
to
direct
these
home
alarms
.
They
exit
.
Scene
2
Enter
John
of
Gaunt
with
the
Duchess
of
Gloucester
.
Alas
,
the
part
I
had
in
Woodstock’s
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
earth
,
Will
rain
hot
vengeance
on
offenders’
heads
.
Finds
brotherhood
in
thee
no
sharper
spur
?
Hath
love
in
thy
old
blood
no
living
fire
?
Edward’s
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
nature’s
course
,
Some
of
those
branches
by
the
Destinies
cut
.
But
Thomas
,
my
dear
lord
,
my
life
,
my
Gloucester
,
One
vial
full
of
Edward’s
sacred
blood
,
One
flourishing
branch
of
his
most
royal
root
,
Is
cracked
,
and
all
the
precious
liquor
spilt
,
Is
hacked
down
,
and
his
summer
leaves
all
faded
,
By
envy’s
hand
and
murder’s
bloody
ax
.
ACT 1. SC. 2
Ah
,
Gaunt
,
his
blood
was
thine
!
That
bed
,
that
womb
,
That
metal
,
that
self
mold
that
fashioned
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
father’s
death
In
that
thou
seest
thy
wretched
brother
die
,
Who
was
the
model
of
thy
father’s
life
.
Call
it
not
patience
,
Gaunt
.
It
is
despair
.
In
suff’ring
thus
thy
brother
to
be
slaughtered
,
Thou
showest
the
naked
pathway
to
thy
life
,
Teaching
stern
murder
how
to
butcher
thee
.
That
which
in
mean
men
we
entitle
patience
Is
pale
,
cold
cowardice
in
noble
breasts
.
What
shall
I
say
?
To
safeguard
thine
own
life
,
The
best
way
is
to
venge
my
Gloucester’s
death
.
God’s
is
the
quarrel
;
for
God’s
substitute
,
His
deputy
anointed
in
His
sight
,
Hath
caused
his
death
,
the
which
if
wrongfully
Let
heaven
revenge
,
for
I
may
never
lift
An
angry
arm
against
His
minister
.
Where
,
then
,
alas
,
may
I
complain
myself
?
To
God
,
the
widow’s
champion
and
defense
.
Why
then
I
will
.
Farewell
,
old
Gaunt
.
Thou
goest
to
Coventry
,
there
to
behold
Our
cousin
Hereford
and
fell
Mowbray
fight
.
O
,
sit
my
husband’s
wrongs
on
Hereford’s
spear
,
That
it
may
enter
butcher
Mowbray’s
breast
!
Or
if
misfortune
miss
the
first
career
,
Be
Mowbray’s
sins
so
heavy
in
his
bosom
ACT 1. SC. 3
That
they
may
break
his
foaming
courser’s
back
And
throw
the
rider
headlong
in
the
lists
,
A
caitiff
recreant
to
my
cousin
Hereford
!
Farewell
,
old
Gaunt
.
Thy
sometime
brother’s
wife
With
her
companion
,
grief
,
must
end
her
life
.
Sister
,
farewell
.
I
must
to
Coventry
.
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
.
I
take
my
leave
before
I
have
begun
,
For
sorrow
ends
not
when
it
seemeth
done
.
Commend
me
to
thy
brother
,
Edmund
York
.
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
?
—
With
all
good
speed
at
Plashy
visit
me
.
Alack
,
and
what
shall
good
old
York
there
see
But
empty
lodgings
and
unfurnished
walls
,
Unpeopled
offices
,
untrodden
stones
?
And
what
hear
there
for
welcome
but
my
groans
?
Therefore
commend
me
;
let
him
not
come
there
To
seek
out
sorrow
that
dwells
everywhere
.
Desolate
,
desolate
,
will
I
hence
and
die
.
The
last
leave
of
thee
takes
my
weeping
eye
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
Lord
Marshal
and
the
Duke
of
Aumerle
.
My
Lord
Aumerle
,
is
Harry
Hereford
armed
?
Yea
,
at
all
points
,
and
longs
to
enter
in
.
ACT 1. SC. 3
The
Duke
of
Norfolk
,
sprightfully
and
bold
,
Stays
but
the
summons
of
the
appellant’s
trumpet
.
Why
then
,
the
champions
are
prepared
,
and
stay
For
nothing
but
his
Majesty’s
approach
.
The
trumpets
sound
and
the
King
enters
with
his
Nobles
and
Officers
;
when
they
are
set
,
enter
Mowbray
,
the
Duke
of
Norfolk
in
arms
,
defendant
,
with
a
Herald
.
Marshal
,
demand
of
yonder
champion
The
cause
of
his
arrival
here
in
arms
,
Ask
him
his
name
,
and
orderly
proceed
To
swear
him
in
the
justice
of
his
cause
.
,
to
Mowbray
In
God’s
name
and
the
King’s
,
say
who
thou
art
And
why
thou
comest
thus
knightly
clad
in
arms
,
Against
what
man
thou
com’st
,
and
what
thy
quarrel
.
Speak
truly
on
thy
knighthood
and
thy
oath
,
As
so
defend
thee
heaven
and
thy
valor
.
My
name
is
Thomas
Mowbray
,
Duke
of
Norfolk
,
Who
hither
come
engagèd
by
my
oath
—
Which
God
defend
a
knight
should
violate
!
—
Both
to
defend
my
loyalty
and
truth
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
To
prove
him
,
in
defending
of
myself
,
A
traitor
to
my
God
,
my
king
,
and
me
;
And
as
I
truly
fight
,
defend
me
heaven
.
The
trumpets
sound
.
Enter
Bolingbroke
,
Duke
of
Hereford
,
appellant
,
in
armor
,
with
a
Herald
.
Marshal
,
ask
yonder
knight
in
arms
ACT 1. SC. 3
Both
who
he
is
and
why
he
cometh
hither
Thus
plated
in
habiliments
of
war
,
And
formally
,
according
to
our
law
,
Depose
him
in
the
justice
of
his
cause
.
,
to
Bolingbroke
What
is
thy
name
?
And
wherefore
com’st
thou
hither
,
Before
King
Richard
in
his
royal
lists
?
Against
whom
comest
thou
?
And
what’s
thy
quarrel
?
Speak
like
a
true
knight
,
so
defend
thee
heaven
.
Harry
of
Hereford
,
Lancaster
,
and
Derby
Am
I
,
who
ready
here
do
stand
in
arms
To
prove
,
by
God’s
grace
and
my
body’s
valor
,
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
.
And
as
I
truly
fight
,
defend
me
heaven
.
On
pain
of
death
,
no
person
be
so
bold
Or
daring-hardy
as
to
touch
the
lists
,
Except
the
Marshal
and
such
officers
Appointed
to
direct
these
fair
designs
.
Lord
Marshal
,
let
me
kiss
my
sovereign’s
hand
And
bow
my
knee
before
his
Majesty
;
For
Mowbray
and
myself
are
like
two
men
That
vow
a
long
and
weary
pilgrimage
.
Then
let
us
take
a
ceremonious
leave
And
loving
farewell
of
our
several
friends
.
,
to
King
Richard
The
appellant
in
all
duty
greets
your
Highness
And
craves
to
kiss
your
hand
and
take
his
leave
.
,
coming
down
We
will
descend
and
fold
him
in
our
arms
.
He
embraces
Bolingbroke
.
Cousin
of
Hereford
,
as
thy
cause
is
right
,
ACT 1. SC. 3
So
be
thy
fortune
in
this
royal
fight
.
Farewell
,
my
blood
—
which
,
if
today
thou
shed
,
Lament
we
may
,
but
not
revenge
thee
dead
.
O
,
let
no
noble
eye
profane
a
tear
For
me
if
I
be
gored
with
Mowbray’s
spear
.
As
confident
as
is
the
falcon’s
flight
Against
a
bird
do
I
with
Mowbray
fight
.
My
loving
lord
,
I
take
my
leave
of
you
.
—
Of
you
,
my
noble
cousin
,
Lord
Aumerle
;
Not
sick
,
although
I
have
to
do
with
death
,
But
lusty
,
young
,
and
cheerly
drawing
breath
.
—
Lo
,
as
at
English
feasts
,
so
I
regreet
The
daintiest
last
,
to
make
the
end
most
sweet
.
O
,
thou
the
earthly
author
of
my
blood
,
Whose
youthful
spirit
in
me
regenerate
Doth
with
a
twofold
vigor
lift
me
up
To
reach
at
victory
above
my
head
,
Add
proof
unto
mine
armor
with
thy
prayers
,
And
with
thy
blessings
steel
my
lance’s
point
That
it
may
enter
Mowbray’s
waxen
coat
And
furbish
new
the
name
of
John
o’
Gaunt
,
Even
in
the
lusty
havior
of
his
son
.
God
in
thy
good
cause
make
thee
prosperous
.
Be
swift
like
lightning
in
the
execution
,
And
let
thy
blows
,
doubly
redoubled
,
Fall
like
amazing
thunder
on
the
casque
Of
thy
adverse
pernicious
enemy
.
Rouse
up
thy
youthful
blood
,
be
valiant
,
and
live
.
Mine
innocence
and
Saint
George
to
thrive
!
However
God
or
fortune
cast
my
lot
,
There
lives
or
dies
,
true
to
King
Richard’s
throne
,
A
loyal
,
just
,
and
upright
gentleman
.
ACT 1. SC. 3
Never
did
captive
with
a
freer
heart
Cast
off
his
chains
of
bondage
and
embrace
His
golden
uncontrolled
enfranchisement
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
.
As
gentle
and
as
jocund
as
to
jest
Go
I
to
fight
.
Truth
hath
a
quiet
breast
.
Farewell
,
my
lord
.
Securely
I
espy
Virtue
with
valor
couchèd
in
thine
eye
.
—
Order
the
trial
,
marshal
,
and
begin
.
Harry
of
Hereford
,
Lancaster
,
and
Derby
,
Receive
thy
lance
;
and
God
defend
the
right
.
He
presents
a
lance
to
Bolingbroke
.
Strong
as
a
tower
in
hope
,
I
cry
Amen
!
,
to
an
Officer
Go
bear
this
lance
to
Thomas
,
Duke
of
Norfolk
.
An
Officer
presents
a
lance
to
Mowbray
.
Harry
of
Hereford
,
Lancaster
,
and
Derby
Stands
here
for
God
,
his
sovereign
,
and
himself
,
On
pain
to
be
found
false
and
recreant
,
To
prove
the
Duke
of
Norfolk
,
Thomas
Mowbray
,
A
traitor
to
his
God
,
his
king
,
and
him
,
And
dares
him
to
set
forward
to
the
fight
.
Here
standeth
Thomas
Mowbray
,
Duke
of
Norfolk
,
On
pain
to
be
found
false
and
recreant
,
Both
to
defend
himself
and
to
approve
Henry
of
Hereford
,
Lancaster
,
and
Derby
To
God
,
his
sovereign
,
and
to
him
disloyal
,
ACT 1. SC. 3
Courageously
and
with
a
free
desire
Attending
but
the
signal
to
begin
.
Sound
,
trumpets
,
and
set
forward
,
combatants
.
Trumpets
sound
.
Richard
throws
down
his
warder
.
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
.
To
his
council
.
Withdraw
with
us
,
and
let
the
trumpets
sound
While
we
return
these
dukes
what
we
decree
.
Trumpets
sound
while
Richard
consults
with
Gaunt
and
other
Nobles
.
To
Bolingbroke
and
Mowbray
.
Draw
near
,
And
list
what
with
our
council
we
have
done
.
For
that
our
kingdom’s
earth
should
not
be
soiled
With
that
dear
blood
which
it
hath
fosterèd
;
And
for
our
eyes
do
hate
the
dire
aspect
Of
civil
wounds
plowed
up
with
neighbor’s
sword
;
And
for
we
think
the
eagle-wingèd
pride
Of
sky-aspiring
and
ambitious
thoughts
,
With
rival-hating
envy
,
set
on
you
To
wake
our
peace
,
which
in
our
country’s
cradle
Draws
the
sweet
infant
breath
of
gentle
sleep
,
Which
,
so
roused
up
with
boist’rous
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
kindred’s
blood
:
Therefore
we
banish
you
our
territories
.
You
,
cousin
Hereford
,
upon
pain
of
life
,
Till
twice
five
summers
have
enriched
our
fields
,
Shall
not
regreet
our
fair
dominions
,
But
tread
the
stranger
paths
of
banishment
.
ACT 1. SC. 3
Your
will
be
done
.
This
must
my
comfort
be
:
That
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
The
dateless
limit
of
thy
dear
exile
.
The
hopeless
word
of
never
to
return
Breathe
I
against
thee
,
upon
pain
of
life
.
A
heavy
sentence
,
my
most
sovereign
liege
,
And
all
unlooked-for
from
your
Highness’
mouth
.
A
dearer
merit
,
not
so
deep
a
maim
As
to
be
cast
forth
in
the
common
air
,
Have
I
deservèd
at
your
Highness’
hands
.
The
language
I
have
learnt
these
forty
years
,
My
native
English
,
now
I
must
forgo
;
And
now
my
tongue’s
use
is
to
me
no
more
Than
an
unstringèd
viol
or
a
harp
,
Or
like
a
cunning
instrument
cased
up
,
Or
,
being
open
,
put
into
his
hands
That
knows
no
touch
to
tune
the
harmony
.
Within
my
mouth
you
have
enjailed
my
tongue
,
Doubly
portcullised
with
my
teeth
and
lips
,
And
dull
unfeeling
barren
ignorance
Is
made
my
jailor
to
attend
on
me
.
I
am
too
old
to
fawn
upon
a
nurse
,
Too
far
in
years
to
be
a
pupil
now
.
What
is
thy
sentence
then
but
speechless
death
,
Which
robs
my
tongue
from
breathing
native
breath
?
It
boots
thee
not
to
be
compassionate
.
After
our
sentence
plaining
comes
too
late
.
ACT 1. SC. 3
Then
thus
I
turn
me
from
my
country’s
light
,
To
dwell
in
solemn
shades
of
endless
night
.
He
begins
to
exit
.
Return
again
,
and
take
an
oath
with
thee
.
To
Mowbray
and
Bolingbroke
.
Lay
on
our
royal
sword
your
banished
hands
.
They
place
their
right
hands
on
the
hilts
of
Richard’s
sword
.
Swear
by
the
duty
that
you
owe
to
God
—
Our
part
therein
we
banish
with
yourselves
—
To
keep
the
oath
that
we
administer
:
You
never
shall
,
so
help
you
truth
and
God
,
Embrace
each
other’s
love
in
banishment
,
Nor
never
look
upon
each
other’s
face
,
Nor
never
write
,
regreet
,
nor
reconcile
This
louring
tempest
of
your
homebred
hate
,
Nor
never
by
advisèd
purpose
meet
To
plot
,
contrive
,
or
complot
any
ill
’Gainst
us
,
our
state
,
our
subjects
,
or
our
land
.
I
swear
.
And
I
,
to
keep
all
this
.
They
step
back
.
Norfolk
,
so
far
as
to
mine
enemy
:
By
this
time
,
had
the
King
permitted
us
,
One
of
our
souls
had
wandered
in
the
air
,
Banished
this
frail
sepulcher
of
our
flesh
,
As
now
our
flesh
is
banished
from
this
land
.
Confess
thy
treasons
ere
thou
fly
the
realm
.
Since
thou
hast
far
to
go
,
bear
not
along
The
clogging
burden
of
a
guilty
soul
.
No
,
Bolingbroke
;
if
ever
I
were
traitor
,
My
name
be
blotted
from
the
book
of
life
,
ACT 1. SC. 3
And
I
from
heaven
banished
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
world’s
my
way
.
He
exits
.
,
to
Gaunt
Uncle
,
even
in
the
glasses
of
thine
eyes
I
see
thy
grievèd
heart
.
Thy
sad
aspect
Hath
from
the
number
of
his
banished
years
Plucked
four
away
.
To
Bolingbroke
.
Six
frozen
winters
spent
,
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
.
I
thank
my
liege
that
in
regard
of
me
He
shortens
four
years
of
my
son’s
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
,
But
stop
no
wrinkle
in
his
pilgrimage
.
ACT 1. SC. 3
Thy
word
is
current
with
him
for
my
death
,
But
dead
,
thy
kingdom
cannot
buy
my
breath
.
Thy
son
is
banished
upon
good
advice
,
Whereto
thy
tongue
a
party
verdict
gave
.
Why
at
our
justice
seem’st
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
.
A
partial
slander
sought
I
to
avoid
,
And
in
the
sentence
my
own
life
destroyed
.
Alas
,
I
looked
when
some
of
you
should
say
I
was
too
strict
,
to
make
mine
own
away
.
But
you
gave
leave
to
my
unwilling
tongue
Against
my
will
to
do
myself
this
wrong
.
,
to
Bolingbroke
Cousin
,
farewell
.
—
And
,
uncle
,
bid
him
so
.
Six
years
we
banish
him
,
and
he
shall
go
.
Flourish
.
King
Richard
exits
with
his
Attendants
.
,
to
Bolingbroke
Cousin
,
farewell
.
What
presence
must
not
know
,
From
where
you
do
remain
let
paper
show
.
,
to
Bolingbroke
My
lord
,
no
leave
take
I
,
for
I
will
ride
,
As
far
as
land
will
let
me
,
by
your
side
.
,
to
Bolingbroke
O
,
to
what
purpose
dost
thou
hoard
thy
words
,
That
thou
returnest
no
greeting
to
thy
friends
?
I
have
too
few
to
take
my
leave
of
you
,
When
the
tongue’s
office
should
be
prodigal
To
breathe
the
abundant
dolor
of
the
heart
.
ACT 1. SC. 3
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
tak’st
for
pleasure
.
My
heart
will
sigh
when
I
miscall
it
so
,
Which
finds
it
an
enforcèd
pilgrimage
.
The
sullen
passage
of
thy
weary
steps
Esteem
as
foil
wherein
thou
art
to
set
The
precious
jewel
of
thy
home
return
.
Nay
,
rather
every
tedious
stride
I
make
Will
but
remember
me
what
a
deal
of
world
I
wander
from
the
jewels
that
I
love
.
Must
I
not
serve
a
long
apprenticehood
To
foreign
passages
,
and
in
the
end
,
Having
my
freedom
,
boast
of
nothing
else
But
that
I
was
a
journeyman
to
grief
?
All
places
that
the
eye
of
heaven
visits
Are
to
a
wise
man
ports
and
happy
havens
.
Teach
thy
necessity
to
reason
thus
:
There
is
no
virtue
like
necessity
.
Think
not
the
King
did
banish
thee
,
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
honor
,
And
not
the
King
exiled
thee
;
or
suppose
Devouring
pestilence
hangs
in
our
air
And
thou
art
flying
to
a
fresher
clime
.
ACT 1. SC. 4
Look
what
thy
soul
holds
dear
,
imagine
it
To
lie
that
way
thou
goest
,
not
whence
thou
com’st
.
Suppose
the
singing
birds
musicians
,
The
grass
whereon
thou
tread’st
the
presence
strewed
,
The
flowers
fair
ladies
,
and
thy
steps
no
more
Than
a
delightful
measure
or
a
dance
;
For
gnarling
sorrow
hath
less
power
to
bite
The
man
that
mocks
at
it
and
sets
it
light
.
O
,
who
can
hold
a
fire
in
his
hand
By
thinking
on
the
frosty
Caucasus
?
Or
cloy
the
hungry
edge
of
appetite
By
bare
imagination
of
a
feast
?
Or
wallow
naked
in
December
snow
By
thinking
on
fantastic
summer’s
heat
?
O
no
,
the
apprehension
of
the
good
Gives
but
the
greater
feeling
to
the
worse
.
Fell
sorrow’s
tooth
doth
never
rankle
more
Than
when
he
bites
but
lanceth
not
the
sore
.
Come
,
come
,
my
son
,
I’ll
bring
thee
on
thy
way
.
Had
I
thy
youth
and
cause
,
I
would
not
stay
.
Then
,
England’s
ground
,
farewell
;
sweet
soil
,
adieu
,
My
mother
and
my
nurse
that
bears
me
yet
.
Where’er
I
wander
,
boast
of
this
I
can
,
Though
banished
,
yet
a
trueborn
Englishman
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Enter
the
King
with
Green
and
Bagot
,
at
one
door
,
and
the
Lord
Aumerle
at
another
.
We
did
observe
.
—
Cousin
Aumerle
,
How
far
brought
you
high
Hereford
on
his
way
?
ACT 1. SC. 4
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
northeast
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
?
Farewell
.
And
,
for
my
heart
disdainèd
that
my
tongue
Should
so
profane
the
word
,
that
taught
me
craft
To
counterfeit
oppression
of
such
grief
That
words
seemed
buried
in
my
sorrow’s
grave
.
Marry
,
would
the
word
farewell
have
lengthened
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
.
Ourself
and
Bushy
,
Bagot
here
,
and
Green
,
Observed
his
courtship
to
the
common
people
,
How
he
did
seem
to
dive
into
their
hearts
With
humble
and
familiar
courtesy
,
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
.
Off
goes
his
bonnet
to
an
oysterwench
;
A
brace
of
draymen
bid
God
speed
him
well
ACT 1. SC. 4
And
had
the
tribute
of
his
supple
knee
,
With
Thanks
,
my
countrymen
,
my
loving
friends
,
As
were
our
England
in
reversion
his
,
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
.
We
will
ourself
in
person
to
this
war
.
And
,
for
our
coffers
,
with
too
great
a
court
And
liberal
largess
,
are
grown
somewhat
light
,
We
are
enforced
to
farm
our
royal
realm
,
The
revenue
whereof
shall
furnish
us
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
,
For
we
will
make
for
Ireland
presently
.
Enter
Bushy
.
Bushy
,
what
news
?
Old
John
of
Gaunt
is
grievous
sick
,
my
lord
,
Suddenly
taken
,
and
hath
sent
posthaste
To
entreat
your
Majesty
to
visit
him
.
Where
lies
he
?
At
Ely
House
.
Now
put
it
,
God
,
in
the
physician’s
mind
To
help
him
to
his
grave
immediately
!
The
lining
of
his
coffers
shall
make
coats
ACT 1. SC. 4
To
deck
our
soldiers
for
these
Irish
wars
.
Come
,
gentlemen
,
let’s
all
go
visit
him
.
Pray
God
we
may
make
haste
and
come
too
late
.
Amen
!
They
exit
.
ACT
2
Scene
1
Enter
John
of
Gaunt
sick
,
with
the
Duke
of
York
,
and
Attendants
.
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
Enforce
attention
like
deep
harmony
.
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
listened
more
Than
they
whom
youth
and
ease
have
taught
to
gloze
.
More
are
men’s
ends
marked
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
life’s
counsel
would
not
hear
,
My
death’s
sad
tale
may
yet
undeaf
his
ear
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
No
,
it
is
stopped
with
other
flattering
sounds
,
As
praises
,
of
whose
taste
the
wise
are
fond
;
Lascivious
meters
,
to
whose
venom
sound
The
open
ear
of
youth
doth
always
listen
;
Report
of
fashions
in
proud
Italy
,
Whose
manners
still
our
tardy-apish
nation
Limps
after
in
base
imitation
.
Where
doth
the
world
thrust
forth
a
vanity
—
So
it
be
new
,
there’s
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
wit’s
regard
.
Direct
not
him
whose
way
himself
will
choose
.
’Tis
breath
thou
lack’st
,
and
that
breath
wilt
thou
lose
.
Methinks
I
am
a
prophet
new
inspired
,
And
thus
expiring
do
foretell
of
him
:
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
;
Light
vanity
,
insatiate
cormorant
,
Consuming
means
,
soon
preys
upon
itself
.
This
royal
throne
of
kings
,
this
sceptered
isle
,
This
earth
of
majesty
,
this
seat
of
Mars
,
This
other
Eden
,
demi-paradise
,
This
fortress
built
by
Nature
for
herself
Against
infection
and
the
hand
of
war
,
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
,
Or
as
a
moat
defensive
to
a
house
,
ACT 2. SC. 1
Against
the
envy
of
less
happier
lands
,
This
blessèd
plot
,
this
earth
,
this
realm
,
this
England
,
This
nurse
,
this
teeming
womb
of
royal
kings
,
Feared
by
their
breed
and
famous
by
their
birth
,
Renownèd
for
their
deeds
as
far
from
home
For
Christian
service
and
true
chivalry
As
is
the
sepulcher
in
stubborn
Jewry
Of
the
world’s
ransom
,
blessèd
Mary’s
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
—
Like
to
a
tenement
or
pelting
farm
.
England
,
bound
in
with
the
triumphant
sea
,
Whose
rocky
shore
beats
back
the
envious
siege
Of
wat’ry
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
,
How
happy
then
were
my
ensuing
death
!
Enter
King
and
Queen
,
Aumerle
,
Bushy
,
Green
,
Bagot
,
Ross
,
Willoughby
,
etc.
The
King
is
come
.
Deal
mildly
with
his
youth
,
For
young
hot
colts
being
reined
do
rage
the
more
.
,
to
Gaunt
How
fares
our
noble
uncle
Lancaster
?
,
to
Gaunt
What
comfort
,
man
?
How
is
’t
with
agèd
Gaunt
?
O
,
how
that
name
befits
my
composition
!
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
?
ACT 2. SC. 1
For
sleeping
England
long
time
have
I
watched
;
Watching
breeds
leanness
,
leanness
is
all
gaunt
.
The
pleasure
that
some
fathers
feed
upon
Is
my
strict
fast
—
I
mean
my
children’s
looks
—
And
,
therein
fasting
,
hast
thou
made
me
gaunt
.
Gaunt
am
I
for
the
grave
,
gaunt
as
a
grave
,
Whose
hollow
womb
inherits
naught
but
bones
.
Can
sick
men
play
so
nicely
with
their
names
?
No
,
misery
makes
sport
to
mock
itself
.
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
,
sayest
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
deathbed
is
no
lesser
than
thy
land
,
Wherein
thou
liest
in
reputation
sick
;
And
thou
,
too
careless-patient
as
thou
art
,
Commit’st
thy
anointed
body
to
the
cure
Of
those
physicians
that
first
wounded
thee
.
A
thousand
flatterers
sit
within
thy
crown
,
Whose
compass
is
no
bigger
than
thy
head
,
And
yet
encagèd
in
so
small
a
verge
,
The
waste
is
no
whit
lesser
than
thy
land
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
O
,
had
thy
grandsire
with
a
prophet’s
eye
Seen
how
his
son’s
son
should
destroy
his
sons
,
From
forth
thy
reach
he
would
have
laid
thy
shame
,
Deposing
thee
before
thou
wert
possessed
,
Which
art
possessed
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
—
A
lunatic
lean-witted
fool
,
Presuming
on
an
ague’s
privilege
,
Darest
with
thy
frozen
admonition
Make
pale
our
cheek
,
chasing
the
royal
blood
With
fury
from
his
native
residence
.
Now
,
by
my
seat’s
right
royal
majesty
,
Wert
thou
not
brother
to
great
Edward’s
son
,
This
tongue
that
runs
so
roundly
in
thy
head
Should
run
thy
head
from
thy
unreverent
shoulders
.
O
,
spare
me
not
,
my
brother
Edward’s
son
,
For
that
I
was
his
father
Edward’s
son
!
That
blood
already
,
like
the
pelican
,
Hast
thou
tapped
out
and
drunkenly
caroused
.
My
brother
Gloucester
—
plain
,
well-meaning
soul
,
Whom
fair
befall
in
heaven
’mongst
happy
souls
—
May
be
a
precedent
and
witness
good
That
thou
respect’st
not
spilling
Edward’s
blood
.
Join
with
the
present
sickness
that
I
have
,
And
thy
unkindness
be
like
crooked
age
To
crop
at
once
a
too-long
withered
flower
.
Live
in
thy
shame
,
but
die
not
shame
with
thee
!
These
words
hereafter
thy
tormentors
be
!
—
ACT 2. SC. 1
Convey
me
to
my
bed
,
then
to
my
grave
.
Love
they
to
live
that
love
and
honor
have
.
He
exits
,
carried
off
by
Attendants
.
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
To
wayward
sickliness
and
age
in
him
.
He
loves
you
,
on
my
life
,
and
holds
you
dear
As
Harry
,
Duke
of
Hereford
,
were
he
here
.
Right
,
you
say
true
:
as
Hereford’s
love
,
so
his
;
As
theirs
,
so
mine
;
and
all
be
as
it
is
.
Enter
Northumberland
.
My
liege
,
old
Gaunt
commends
him
to
your
Majesty
.
What
says
he
?
Nay
,
nothing
;
all
is
said
.
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
rugheaded
kern
,
Which
live
like
venom
where
no
venom
else
But
only
they
have
privilege
to
live
.
And
,
for
these
great
affairs
do
ask
some
charge
,
Towards
our
assistance
we
do
seize
to
us
ACT 2. SC. 1
The
plate
,
coin
,
revenues
,
and
movables
Whereof
our
uncle
Gaunt
did
stand
possessed
.
How
long
shall
I
be
patient
?
Ah
,
how
long
Shall
tender
duty
make
me
suffer
wrong
?
Not
Gloucester’s
death
,
nor
Hereford’s
banishment
,
Nor
Gaunt’s
rebukes
,
nor
England’s
private
wrongs
,
Nor
the
prevention
of
poor
Bolingbroke
About
his
marriage
,
nor
my
own
disgrace
,
Have
ever
made
me
sour
my
patient
cheek
Or
bend
one
wrinkle
on
my
sovereign’s
face
.
I
am
the
last
of
noble
Edward’s
sons
,
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
looked
he
,
Accomplished
with
the
number
of
thy
hours
;
But
when
he
frowned
,
it
was
against
the
French
And
not
against
his
friends
.
His
noble
hand
Did
win
what
he
did
spend
,
and
spent
not
that
Which
his
triumphant
father’s
hand
had
won
.
His
hands
were
guilty
of
no
kindred
blood
,
But
bloody
with
the
enemies
of
his
kin
.
O
,
Richard
!
York
is
too
far
gone
with
grief
,
Or
else
he
never
would
compare
between
.
Why
,
uncle
,
what’s
the
matter
?
O
,
my
liege
,
Pardon
me
if
you
please
.
If
not
,
I
,
pleased
Not
to
be
pardoned
,
am
content
withal
.
Seek
you
to
seize
and
gripe
into
your
hands
The
royalties
and
rights
of
banished
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
?
ACT 2. SC. 1
Is
not
his
heir
a
well-deserving
son
?
Take
Hereford’s
rights
away
,
and
take
from
time
His
charters
and
his
customary
rights
;
Let
not
tomorrow
then
ensue
today
;
Be
not
thyself
;
for
how
art
thou
a
king
But
by
fair
sequence
and
succession
?
Now
afore
God
—
God
forbid
I
say
true
!
—
If
you
do
wrongfully
seize
Hereford’s
rights
,
Call
in
the
letters
patents
that
he
hath
By
his
attorneys
general
to
sue
His
livery
,
and
deny
his
offered
homage
,
You
pluck
a
thousand
dangers
on
your
head
,
You
lose
a
thousand
well-disposèd
hearts
,
And
prick
my
tender
patience
to
those
thoughts
Which
honor
and
allegiance
cannot
think
.
Think
what
you
will
,
we
seize
into
our
hands
His
plate
,
his
goods
,
his
money
,
and
his
lands
.
I’ll
not
be
by
the
while
.
My
liege
,
farewell
.
What
will
ensue
hereof
there’s
none
can
tell
;
But
by
bad
courses
may
be
understood
That
their
events
can
never
fall
out
good
.
He
exits
.
Go
,
Bushy
,
to
the
Earl
of
Wiltshire
straight
.
Bid
him
repair
to
us
to
Ely
House
To
see
this
business
.
Tomorrow
next
We
will
for
Ireland
,
and
’tis
time
,
I
trow
.
And
we
create
,
in
absence
of
ourself
,
Our
uncle
York
Lord
Governor
of
England
,
For
he
is
just
and
always
loved
us
well
.
—
Come
on
,
our
queen
.
Tomorrow
must
we
part
.
Be
merry
,
for
our
time
of
stay
is
short
.
King
and
Queen
exit
with
others
;
Northumberland
,
Willoughby
,
and
Ross
remain
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
Well
,
lords
,
the
Duke
of
Lancaster
is
dead
.
And
living
too
,
for
now
his
son
is
duke
.
Barely
in
title
,
not
in
revenues
.
Richly
in
both
,
if
justice
had
her
right
.
My
heart
is
great
,
but
it
must
break
with
silence
Ere
’t
be
disburdened
with
a
liberal
tongue
.
Nay
,
speak
thy
mind
,
and
let
him
ne’er
speak
more
That
speaks
thy
words
again
to
do
thee
harm
!
,
to
Ross
Tends
that
thou
wouldst
speak
to
the
Duke
of
Hereford
?
If
it
be
so
,
out
with
it
boldly
,
man
.
Quick
is
mine
ear
to
hear
of
good
towards
him
.
No
good
at
all
that
I
can
do
for
him
,
Unless
you
call
it
good
to
pity
him
,
Bereft
and
gelded
of
his
patrimony
.
Now
,
afore
God
,
’tis
shame
such
wrongs
are
borne
In
him
,
a
royal
prince
,
and
many
more
Of
noble
blood
in
this
declining
land
.
The
King
is
not
himself
,
but
basely
led
By
flatterers
;
and
what
they
will
inform
Merely
in
hate
’gainst
any
of
us
all
,
That
will
the
King
severely
prosecute
’Gainst
us
,
our
lives
,
our
children
,
and
our
heirs
.
The
commons
hath
he
pilled
with
grievous
taxes
,
And
quite
lost
their
hearts
.
The
nobles
hath
he
fined
For
ancient
quarrels
,
and
quite
lost
their
hearts
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
And
daily
new
exactions
are
devised
,
As
blanks
,
benevolences
,
and
I
wot
not
what
.
But
what
i’
God’s
name
doth
become
of
this
?
Wars
hath
not
wasted
it
,
for
warred
he
hath
not
,
But
basely
yielded
upon
compromise
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
King
grown
bankrupt
like
a
broken
man
.
Reproach
and
dissolution
hangeth
over
him
.
He
hath
not
money
for
these
Irish
wars
,
His
burdenous
taxations
notwithstanding
,
But
by
the
robbing
of
the
banished
duke
.
His
noble
kinsman
.
Most
degenerate
king
!
But
,
lords
,
we
hear
this
fearful
tempest
sing
,
Yet
seek
no
shelter
to
avoid
the
storm
;
We
see
the
wind
sit
sore
upon
our
sails
,
And
yet
we
strike
not
,
but
securely
perish
.
We
see
the
very
wrack
that
we
must
suffer
,
And
unavoided
is
the
danger
now
For
suffering
so
the
causes
of
our
wrack
.
Not
so
.
Even
through
the
hollow
eyes
of
death
I
spy
life
peering
;
but
I
dare
not
say
How
near
the
tidings
of
our
comfort
is
.
Nay
,
let
us
share
thy
thoughts
,
as
thou
dost
ours
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
Be
confident
to
speak
,
Northumberland
.
We
three
are
but
thyself
,
and
speaking
so
Thy
words
are
but
as
thoughts
.
Therefore
be
bold
.
Then
thus
:
I
have
from
Le
Port
Blanc
,
A
bay
in
Brittany
,
received
intelligence
That
Harry
Duke
of
Hereford
,
Rainold
Lord
Cobham
,
That
late
broke
from
the
Duke
of
Exeter
,
His
brother
,
archbishop
late
of
Canterbury
,
Sir
Thomas
Erpingham
,
Sir
John
Ramston
,
Sir
John
Norbery
,
Sir
Robert
Waterton
,
and
Francis
Coint
—
All
these
well
furnished
by
the
Duke
of
Brittany
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
country’s
broken
wing
,
Redeem
from
broking
pawn
the
blemished
crown
,
Wipe
off
the
dust
that
hides
our
scepter’s
gilt
,
And
make
high
majesty
look
like
itself
,
Away
with
me
in
post
to
Ravenspurgh
.
But
if
you
faint
,
as
fearing
to
do
so
,
Stay
and
be
secret
,
and
myself
will
go
.
To
horse
,
to
horse
!
Urge
doubts
to
them
that
fear
.
Hold
out
my
horse
,
and
I
will
first
be
there
.
They
exit
.
ACT 2. SC. 2
Scene
2
Enter
the
Queen
,
Bushy
,
and
Bagot
.
Madam
,
your
Majesty
is
too
much
sad
.
You
promised
,
when
you
parted
with
the
King
,
To
lay
aside
life-harming
heaviness
And
entertain
a
cheerful
disposition
.
To
please
the
King
I
did
;
to
please
myself
I
cannot
do
it
.
Yet
I
know
no
cause
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
Fortune’s
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
sorrow’s
eyes
,
glazed
with
blinding
tears
,
Divides
one
thing
entire
to
many
objects
,
Like
perspectives
,
which
rightly
gazed
upon
Show
nothing
but
confusion
,
eyed
awry
Distinguish
form
.
So
your
sweet
Majesty
,
Looking
awry
upon
your
lord’s
departure
,
Find
shapes
of
grief
more
than
himself
to
wail
,
Which
,
looked
on
as
it
is
,
is
naught
but
shadows
Of
what
it
is
not
.
Then
,
thrice-gracious
queen
,
More
than
your
lord’s
departure
weep
not
.
More
is
not
seen
,
Or
if
it
be
,
’tis
with
false
sorrow’s
eye
,
Which
for
things
true
weeps
things
imaginary
.
It
may
be
so
,
but
yet
my
inward
soul
Persuades
me
it
is
otherwise
.
Howe’er
it
be
,
ACT 2. SC. 2
I
cannot
but
be
sad
—
so
heavy
sad
As
thought
,
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
hath
begot
my
something
grief
—
Or
something
hath
the
nothing
that
I
grieve
.
’Tis
in
reversion
that
I
do
possess
,
But
what
it
is
that
is
not
yet
known
what
,
I
cannot
name
.
’Tis
nameless
woe
,
I
wot
.
Enter
Green
.
God
save
your
Majesty
!
—
And
well
met
,
gentlemen
.
I
hope
the
King
is
not
yet
shipped
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
shipped
?
That
he
,
our
hope
,
might
have
retired
his
power
And
driven
into
despair
an
enemy’s
hope
,
Who
strongly
hath
set
footing
in
this
land
.
The
banished
Bolingbroke
repeals
himself
And
with
uplifted
arms
is
safe
arrived
At
Ravenspurgh
.
Now
God
in
heaven
forbid
!
Ah
,
madam
,
’tis
too
true
.
And
that
is
worse
,
The
Lord
Northumberland
,
his
son
young
Harry
Percy
,
The
Lords
of
Ross
,
Beaumont
,
and
Willoughby
,
With
all
their
powerful
friends
,
are
fled
to
him
.
ACT 2. SC. 2
Why
have
you
not
proclaimed
Northumberland
And
all
the
rest
revolted
faction
traitors
?
We
have
;
whereupon
the
Earl
of
Worcester
Hath
broken
his
staff
,
resigned
his
stewardship
,
And
all
the
Household
servants
fled
with
him
To
Bolingbroke
.
So
,
Green
,
thou
art
the
midwife
to
my
woe
,
And
Bolingbroke
my
sorrow’s
dismal
heir
.
Now
hath
my
soul
brought
forth
her
prodigy
,
And
I
,
a
gasping
new-delivered
mother
,
Have
woe
to
woe
,
sorrow
to
sorrow
joined
.
Despair
not
,
madam
.
Who
shall
hinder
me
?
I
will
despair
,
and
be
at
enmity
With
cozening
hope
.
He
is
a
flatterer
,
A
parasite
,
a
keeper-back
of
death
,
Who
gently
would
dissolve
the
bands
of
life
Which
false
hope
lingers
in
extremity
.
Enter
York
.
Here
comes
the
Duke
of
York
.
With
signs
of
war
about
his
agèd
neck
.
O
,
full
of
careful
business
are
his
looks
!
—
Uncle
,
for
God’s
sake
speak
comfortable
words
.
Should
I
do
so
,
I
should
belie
my
thoughts
.
Comfort’s
in
heaven
,
and
we
are
on
the
Earth
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
.
Here
am
I
left
to
underprop
his
land
,
ACT 2. SC. 2
Who
,
weak
with
age
,
cannot
support
myself
.
Now
comes
the
sick
hour
that
his
surfeit
made
;
Now
shall
he
try
his
friends
that
flattered
him
.
Enter
a
Servingman
.
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
Hereford’s
side
.
Sirrah
,
get
thee
to
Plashy
,
to
my
sister
Gloucester
;
Bid
her
send
me
presently
a
thousand
pound
.
Hold
,
take
my
ring
.
My
lord
,
I
had
forgot
to
tell
your
Lordship
:
Today
as
I
came
by
I
callèd
there
—
But
I
shall
grieve
you
to
report
the
rest
.
What
is
’t
,
knave
?
An
hour
before
I
came
,
the
Duchess
died
.
God
for
His
mercy
,
what
a
tide
of
woes
Comes
rushing
on
this
woeful
land
at
once
!
I
know
not
what
to
do
.
I
would
to
God
,
So
my
untruth
had
not
provoked
him
to
it
,
The
King
had
cut
off
my
head
with
my
brother’s
!
What
,
are
there
no
posts
dispatched
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
armor
that
is
there
.
Servingman
exits
.
Gentlemen
,
will
you
go
muster
men
?
ACT 2. SC. 2
If
I
know
how
or
which
way
to
order
these
affairs
Thus
disorderly
thrust
into
my
hands
,
Never
believe
me
.
Both
are
my
kinsmen
.
T’
one
is
my
sovereign
,
whom
both
my
oath
And
duty
bids
defend
;
t’
other
again
Is
my
kinsman
,
whom
the
King
hath
wronged
,
Whom
conscience
and
my
kindred
bids
to
right
.
Well
,
somewhat
we
must
do
.
To
Queen
.
Come
,
cousin
,
I’ll
dispose
of
you
.
—
Gentlemen
,
go
muster
up
your
men
And
meet
me
presently
at
Berkeley
.
I
should
to
Plashy
too
,
But
time
will
not
permit
.
All
is
uneven
,
And
everything
is
left
at
six
and
seven
.
Duke
of
York
and
Queen
exit
.
Bushy
,
Green
,
and
Bagot
remain
.
The
wind
sits
fair
for
news
to
go
for
Ireland
,
But
none
returns
.
For
us
to
levy
power
Proportionable
to
the
enemy
Is
all
unpossible
.
Besides
,
our
nearness
to
the
King
in
love
Is
near
the
hate
of
those
love
not
the
King
.
And
that
is
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
condemned
.
If
judgment
lie
in
them
,
then
so
do
we
,
Because
we
ever
have
been
near
the
King
.
Well
,
I
will
for
refuge
straight
to
Bristow
Castle
.
The
Earl
of
Wiltshire
is
already
there
.
ACT 2. SC. 3
Thither
will
I
with
you
,
for
little
office
Will
the
hateful
commons
perform
for
us
,
Except
like
curs
to
tear
us
all
to
pieces
.
—
Will
you
go
along
with
us
?
No
,
I
will
to
Ireland
to
his
Majesty
.
Farewell
.
If
heart’s
presages
be
not
vain
,
We
three
here
part
that
ne’er
shall
meet
again
.
That’s
as
York
thrives
to
beat
back
Bolingbroke
.
Alas
,
poor
duke
,
the
task
he
undertakes
Is
numb’ring
sands
and
drinking
oceans
dry
.
Where
one
on
his
side
fights
,
thousands
will
fly
.
Farewell
at
once
,
for
once
,
for
all
,
and
ever
.
Well
,
we
may
meet
again
.
I
fear
me
,
never
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
Bolingbroke
,
Duke
of
Hereford
,
and
Northumberland
.
How
far
is
it
,
my
lord
,
to
Berkeley
now
?
Believe
me
,
noble
lord
,
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
.
But
I
bethink
me
what
a
weary
way
From
Ravenspurgh
to
Cotshall
will
be
found
ACT 2. SC. 3
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
The
present
benefit
which
I
possess
,
And
hope
to
joy
is
little
less
in
joy
Than
hope
enjoyed
.
By
this
the
weary
lords
Shall
make
their
way
seem
short
as
mine
hath
done
By
sight
of
what
I
have
,
your
noble
company
.
Of
much
less
value
is
my
company
Than
your
good
words
.
But
who
comes
here
?
Enter
Harry
Percy
.
It
is
my
son
,
young
Harry
Percy
,
Sent
from
my
brother
Worcester
whencesoever
.
—
Harry
,
how
fares
your
uncle
?
I
had
thought
,
my
lord
,
to
have
learned
his
health
of
you
.
Why
,
is
he
not
with
the
Queen
?
No
,
my
good
lord
,
he
hath
forsook
the
court
,
Broken
his
staff
of
office
,
and
dispersed
The
Household
of
the
King
.
What
was
his
reason
?
He
was
not
so
resolved
When
last
we
spake
together
.
Because
your
Lordship
was
proclaimèd
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
.
ACT 2. SC. 3
Have
you
forgot
the
Duke
of
Hereford
,
boy
?
No
,
my
good
lord
,
for
that
is
not
forgot
Which
ne’er
I
did
remember
.
To
my
knowledge
I
never
in
my
life
did
look
on
him
.
Then
learn
to
know
him
now
.
This
is
the
Duke
.
,
to
Bolingbroke
My
gracious
lord
,
I
tender
you
my
service
,
Such
as
it
is
,
being
tender
,
raw
,
and
young
,
Which
elder
days
shall
ripen
and
confirm
To
more
approvèd
service
and
desert
.
I
thank
thee
,
gentle
Percy
,
and
be
sure
I
count
myself
in
nothing
else
so
happy
As
in
a
soul
rememb’ring
my
good
friends
;
And
as
my
fortune
ripens
with
thy
love
,
It
shall
be
still
thy
true
love’s
recompense
.
My
heart
this
covenant
makes
,
my
hand
thus
seals
it
.
Gives
Percy
his
hand
.
,
to
Percy
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
,
Manned
with
three
hundred
men
,
as
I
have
heard
,
And
in
it
are
the
Lords
of
York
,
Berkeley
,
and
Seymour
,
None
else
of
name
and
noble
estimate
.
Enter
Ross
and
Willoughby
.
Here
come
the
Lords
of
Ross
and
Willoughby
,
Bloody
with
spurring
,
fiery
red
with
haste
.
ACT 2. SC. 3
Welcome
,
my
lords
.
I
wot
your
love
pursues
A
banished
traitor
.
All
my
treasury
Is
yet
but
unfelt
thanks
,
which
,
more
enriched
,
Shall
be
your
love
and
labor’s
recompense
.
Your
presence
makes
us
rich
,
most
noble
lord
.
And
far
surmounts
our
labor
to
attain
it
.
Evermore
thank’s
the
exchequer
of
the
poor
,
Which
,
till
my
infant
fortune
comes
to
years
,
Stands
for
my
bounty
.
But
who
comes
here
?
Enter
Berkeley
.
It
is
my
Lord
of
Berkeley
,
as
I
guess
.
,
to
Bolingbroke
My
Lord
of
Hereford
,
my
message
is
to
you
.
My
lord
,
my
answer
is
—
to
Lancaster
;
And
I
am
come
to
seek
that
name
in
England
.
And
I
must
find
that
title
in
your
tongue
Before
I
make
reply
to
aught
you
say
.
Mistake
me
not
,
my
lord
,
’tis
not
my
meaning
To
rase
one
title
of
your
honor
out
.
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
To
take
advantage
of
the
absent
time
,
And
fright
our
native
peace
with
self-borne
arms
.
Enter
York
.
I
shall
not
need
transport
my
words
by
you
.
ACT 2. SC. 3
Here
comes
his
Grace
in
person
.
He
kneels
.
My
noble
uncle
.
Show
me
thy
humble
heart
,
and
not
thy
knee
,
Whose
duty
is
deceivable
and
false
.
,
standing
My
gracious
uncle
—
Tut
,
tut
!
Grace
me
no
grace
,
nor
uncle
me
no
uncle
.
I
am
no
traitor’s
uncle
,
and
that
word
grace
In
an
ungracious
mouth
is
but
profane
.
Why
have
those
banished
and
forbidden
legs
Dared
once
to
touch
a
dust
of
England’s
ground
?
But
then
,
more
why
:
why
have
they
dared
to
march
So
many
miles
upon
her
peaceful
bosom
,
Frighting
her
pale-faced
villages
with
war
And
ostentation
of
despisèd
arms
?
Com’st
thou
because
the
anointed
king
is
hence
?
Why
,
foolish
boy
,
the
King
is
left
behind
And
in
my
loyal
bosom
lies
his
power
.
Were
I
but
now
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
And
minister
correction
to
thy
fault
!
My
gracious
uncle
,
let
me
know
my
fault
.
On
what
condition
stands
it
and
wherein
?
Even
in
condition
of
the
worst
degree
,
In
gross
rebellion
and
detested
treason
.
Thou
art
a
banished
man
,
and
here
art
come
,
Before
the
expiration
of
thy
time
,
In
braving
arms
against
thy
sovereign
.
ACT 2. SC. 3
As
I
was
banished
,
I
was
banished
Hereford
,
But
as
I
come
,
I
come
for
Lancaster
.
And
,
noble
uncle
,
I
beseech
your
Grace
Look
on
my
wrongs
with
an
indifferent
eye
.
You
are
my
father
,
for
methinks
in
you
I
see
old
Gaunt
alive
.
O
,
then
,
my
father
,
Will
you
permit
that
I
shall
stand
condemned
A
wandering
vagabond
,
my
rights
and
royalties
Plucked
from
my
arms
perforce
and
given
away
To
upstart
unthrifts
?
Wherefore
was
I
born
?
If
that
my
cousin
king
be
king
in
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
.
I
am
denied
to
sue
my
livery
here
,
And
yet
my
letters
patents
give
me
leave
.
My
father’s
goods
are
all
distrained
and
sold
,
And
these
,
and
all
,
are
all
amiss
employed
.
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
To
my
inheritance
of
free
descent
.
,
to
York
The
noble
duke
hath
been
too
much
abused
.
,
to
York
It
stands
your
Grace
upon
to
do
him
right
.
,
to
York
Base
men
by
his
endowments
are
made
great
.
My
lords
of
England
,
let
me
tell
you
this
:
I
have
had
feeling
of
my
cousin’s
wrongs
And
labored
all
I
could
to
do
him
right
.
But
in
this
kind
to
come
,
in
braving
arms
,
ACT 2. SC. 3
Be
his
own
carver
,
and
cut
out
his
way
To
find
out
right
with
wrong
,
it
may
not
be
.
And
you
that
do
abet
him
in
this
kind
Cherish
rebellion
and
are
rebels
all
.
The
noble
duke
hath
sworn
his
coming
is
But
for
his
own
,
and
for
the
right
of
that
We
all
have
strongly
sworn
to
give
him
aid
.
And
let
him
never
see
joy
that
breaks
that
oath
.
Well
,
well
.
I
see
the
issue
of
these
arms
.
I
cannot
mend
it
,
I
must
needs
confess
,
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
Unto
the
sovereign
mercy
of
the
King
.
But
since
I
cannot
,
be
it
known
unto
you
I
do
remain
as
neuter
.
So
fare
you
well
—
Unless
you
please
to
enter
in
the
castle
And
there
repose
you
for
this
night
.
An
offer
,
uncle
,
that
we
will
accept
.
But
we
must
win
your
Grace
to
go
with
us
To
Bristow
Castle
,
which
they
say
is
held
By
Bushy
,
Bagot
,
and
their
complices
,
The
caterpillars
of
the
commonwealth
,
Which
I
have
sworn
to
weed
and
pluck
away
.
It
may
be
I
will
go
with
you
;
but
yet
I’ll
pause
,
For
I
am
loath
to
break
our
country’s
laws
.
Nor
friends
nor
foes
,
to
me
welcome
you
are
.
Things
past
redress
are
now
with
me
past
care
.
They
exit
.
ACT 2. SC. 4
Scene
4
Enter
Earl
of
Salisbury
and
a
Welsh
Captain
.
My
Lord
of
Salisbury
,
we
have
stayed
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
withered
,
And
meteors
fright
the
fixèd
stars
of
heaven
;
The
pale-faced
moon
looks
bloody
on
the
Earth
earth
,
And
lean-looked
prophets
whisper
fearful
change
;
Rich
men
look
sad
,
and
ruffians
dance
and
leap
,
The
one
in
fear
to
lose
what
they
enjoy
,
The
other
to
enjoy
by
rage
and
war
.
These
signs
forerun
the
death
or
fall
of
kings
.
Farewell
.
Our
countrymen
are
gone
and
fled
,
As
well
assured
Richard
their
king
is
dead
.
He
exits
.
Ah
,
Richard
!
With
the
eyes
of
heavy
mind
I
see
thy
glory
like
a
shooting
star
Fall
to
the
base
earth
from
the
firmament
.
Thy
sun
sets
weeping
in
the
lowly
west
,
Witnessing
storms
to
come
,
woe
,
and
unrest
.
Thy
friends
are
fled
to
wait
upon
thy
foes
,
And
crossly
to
thy
good
all
fortune
goes
.
He
exits
.
ACT
3
Scene
1
Enter
Bolingbroke
,
Duke
of
Hereford
,
York
,
Northumberland
,
with
other
Lords
,
and
Bushy
and
Green
prisoners
.
Bring
forth
these
men
.
—
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
:
You
have
misled
a
prince
,
a
royal
king
,
A
happy
gentleman
in
blood
and
lineaments
By
you
unhappied
and
disfigured
clean
.
You
have
in
manner
with
your
sinful
hours
Made
a
divorce
betwixt
his
queen
and
him
,
Broke
the
possession
of
a
royal
bed
,
And
stained
the
beauty
of
a
fair
queen’s
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
Till
you
did
make
him
misinterpret
me
,
Have
stooped
my
neck
under
your
injuries
And
sighed
my
English
breath
in
foreign
clouds
,
Eating
the
bitter
bread
of
banishment
,
ACT 3. SC. 1
Whilst
you
have
fed
upon
my
seigniories
,
Disparked
my
parks
and
felled
my
forest
woods
,
From
my
own
windows
torn
my
household
coat
,
Rased
out
my
imprese
,
leaving
me
no
sign
,
Save
men’s
opinions
and
my
living
blood
,
To
show
the
world
I
am
a
gentleman
.
This
and
much
more
,
much
more
than
twice
all
this
,
Condemns
you
to
the
death
.
—
See
them
delivered
over
To
execution
and
the
hand
of
death
.
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
dispatched
.
Northumberland
exits
with
Bushy
and
Green
.
To
York
.
Uncle
,
you
say
the
Queen
is
at
your
house
.
For
God’s
sake
,
fairly
let
her
be
entreated
.
Tell
her
I
send
to
her
my
kind
commends
.
Take
special
care
my
greetings
be
delivered
.
A
gentleman
of
mine
I
have
dispatched
With
letters
of
your
love
to
her
at
large
.
Thanks
,
gentle
uncle
.
—
Come
,
lords
,
away
,
To
fight
with
Glendower
and
his
complices
.
A
while
to
work
,
and
after
holiday
.
They
exit
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
Scene
2
Drums
.
Flourish
and
colors
.
Enter
the
King
,
Aumerle
,
Carlisle
,
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
To
stand
upon
my
kingdom
once
again
.
He
kneels
.
Dear
earth
,
I
do
salute
thee
with
my
hand
,
Though
rebels
wound
thee
with
their
horses’
hoofs
.
As
a
long-parted
mother
with
her
child
Plays
fondly
with
her
tears
and
smiles
in
meeting
,
So
,
weeping
,
smiling
,
greet
I
thee
,
my
earth
,
And
do
thee
favors
with
my
royal
hands
.
Feed
not
thy
sovereign’s
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
,
Doing
annoyance
to
the
treacherous
feet
Which
with
usurping
steps
do
trample
thee
.
Yield
stinging
nettles
to
mine
enemies
,
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
sovereign’s
enemies
.
Mock
not
my
senseless
conjuration
,
lords
.
This
earth
shall
have
a
feeling
,
and
these
stones
Prove
armèd
soldiers
,
ere
her
native
king
Shall
falter
under
foul
rebellion’s
arms
.
Fear
not
,
my
lord
.
That
power
that
made
you
king
Hath
power
to
keep
you
king
in
spite
of
all
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
The
means
that
heavens
yield
must
be
embraced
And
not
neglected
.
Else
heaven
would
,
And
we
will
not
—
heaven’s
offer
we
refuse
,
The
proffered
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
.
Discomfortable
cousin
,
know’st
thou
not
That
when
the
searching
eye
of
heaven
is
hid
Behind
the
globe
that
lights
the
lower
world
,
Then
thieves
and
robbers
range
abroad
unseen
In
murders
and
in
outrage
boldly
here
?
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
plucked
from
off
their
backs
,
Stand
bare
and
naked
,
trembling
at
themselves
.
So
when
this
thief
,
this
traitor
Bolingbroke
,
Who
all
this
while
hath
reveled
in
the
night
Whilst
we
were
wand’ring
with
the
Antipodes
,
Shall
see
us
rising
in
our
throne
,
the
east
,
His
treasons
will
sit
blushing
in
his
face
,
Not
able
to
endure
the
sight
of
day
,
But
self-affrighted
,
tremble
at
his
sin
.
Not
all
the
water
in
the
rough
rude
sea
Can
wash
the
balm
off
from
an
anointed
king
.
The
breath
of
worldly
men
cannot
depose
The
deputy
elected
by
the
Lord
.
For
every
man
that
Bolingbroke
hath
pressed
To
lift
shrewd
steel
against
our
golden
crown
,
God
for
His
Richard
hath
in
heavenly
pay
ACT 3. SC. 2
A
glorious
angel
.
Then
,
if
angels
fight
,
Weak
men
must
fall
,
for
heaven
still
guards
the
right
.
Enter
Salisbury
.
Welcome
,
my
lord
.
How
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
.
Today
,
today
,
unhappy
day
too
late
,
Overthrows
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
,
For
time
hath
set
a
blot
upon
my
pride
.
Comfort
,
my
liege
.
Remember
who
you
are
.
I
had
forgot
myself
.
Am
I
not
king
?
Awake
,
thou
coward
majesty
,
thou
sleepest
!
Is
not
the
King’s
name
twenty
thousand
names
?
Arm
,
arm
,
my
name
!
A
puny
subject
strikes
At
thy
great
glory
.
Look
not
to
the
ground
,
You
favorites
of
a
king
.
Are
we
not
high
?
High
be
our
thoughts
.
I
know
my
Uncle
York
ACT 3. SC. 2
Hath
power
enough
to
serve
our
turn
.
—
But
who
comes
here
?
Enter
Scroop
.
More
health
and
happiness
betide
my
liege
Than
can
my
care-tuned
tongue
deliver
him
.
Mine
ear
is
open
,
and
my
heart
prepared
.
The
worst
is
worldly
loss
thou
canst
unfold
.
Say
,
is
my
kingdom
lost
?
Why
,
’twas
my
care
,
And
what
loss
is
it
to
be
rid
of
care
?
Strives
Bolingbroke
to
be
as
great
as
we
?
Greater
he
shall
not
be
.
If
he
serve
God
,
We’ll
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
.
Cry
woe
,
destruction
,
ruin
,
and
decay
.
The
worst
is
death
,
and
death
will
have
his
day
.
Glad
am
I
that
your
Highness
is
so
armed
To
bear
the
tidings
of
calamity
.
Like
an
unseasonable
stormy
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
.
Whitebeards
have
armed
their
thin
and
hairless
scalps
Against
thy
Majesty
;
boys
with
women’s
voices
Strive
to
speak
big
,
and
clap
their
female
joints
In
stiff
unwieldy
arms
against
thy
crown
;
Thy
very
beadsmen
learn
to
bend
their
bows
Of
double-fatal
yew
against
thy
state
.
Yea
,
distaff
women
manage
rusty
bills
ACT 3. SC. 2
Against
thy
seat
.
Both
young
and
old
rebel
,
And
all
goes
worse
than
I
have
power
to
tell
.
Too
well
,
too
well
thou
tell’st
a
tale
so
ill
.
Where
is
the
Earl
of
Wiltshire
?
Where
is
Bagot
?
What
is
become
of
Bushy
?
Where
is
Green
,
That
they
have
let
the
dangerous
enemy
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
,
damned
without
redemption
!
Dogs
easily
won
to
fawn
on
any
man
!
Snakes
in
my
heart
blood
warmed
,
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
!
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
death’s
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
Bristow
lost
their
heads
.
Where
is
the
Duke
my
father
with
his
power
?
No
matter
where
.
Of
comfort
no
man
speak
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
Let’s
talk
of
graves
,
of
worms
,
and
epitaphs
,
Make
dust
our
paper
,
and
with
rainy
eyes
Write
sorrow
on
the
bosom
of
the
earth
.
Let’s
choose
executors
and
talk
of
wills
.
And
yet
not
so
,
for
what
can
we
bequeath
Save
our
deposèd
bodies
to
the
ground
?
Our
lands
,
our
lives
,
and
all
are
Bolingbroke’s
,
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
God’s
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
poisoned
by
their
wives
,
some
sleeping
killed
,
All
murdered
.
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
,
Allowing
him
a
breath
,
a
little
scene
,
To
monarchize
,
be
feared
,
and
kill
with
looks
,
Infusing
him
with
self
and
vain
conceit
,
As
if
this
flesh
which
walls
about
our
life
Were
brass
impregnable
;
and
humored
thus
,
Comes
at
the
last
and
with
a
little
pin
Bores
through
his
castle
wall
,
and
farewell
,
king
!
Cover
your
heads
,
and
mock
not
flesh
and
blood
With
solemn
reverence
.
Throw
away
respect
,
Tradition
,
form
,
and
ceremonious
duty
,
For
you
have
but
mistook
me
all
this
while
.
I
live
with
bread
like
you
,
feel
want
,
Taste
grief
,
need
friends
.
Subjected
thus
,
How
can
you
say
to
me
I
am
a
king
?
My
lord
,
wise
men
ne’er
sit
and
wail
their
woes
,
But
presently
prevent
the
ways
to
wail
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
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
.
My
father
hath
a
power
.
Inquire
of
him
,
And
learn
to
make
a
body
of
a
limb
.
Thou
chid’st
me
well
.
—
Proud
Bolingbroke
,
I
come
To
change
blows
with
thee
for
our
day
of
doom
.
—
This
ague
fit
of
fear
is
overblown
.
An
easy
task
it
is
to
win
our
own
.
—
Say
,
Scroop
,
where
lies
our
uncle
with
his
power
?
Speak
sweetly
,
man
,
although
thy
looks
be
sour
.
Men
judge
by
the
complexion
of
the
sky
The
state
and
inclination
of
the
day
;
So
may
you
by
my
dull
and
heavy
eye
.
My
tongue
hath
but
a
heavier
tale
to
say
.
I
play
the
torturer
by
small
and
small
To
lengthen
out
the
worst
that
must
be
spoken
.
Your
uncle
York
is
joined
with
Bolingbroke
,
And
all
your
northern
castles
yielded
up
,
And
all
your
southern
gentlemen
in
arms
Upon
his
party
.
Thou
hast
said
enough
.
To
Aumerle
.
Beshrew
thee
,
cousin
,
which
didst
lead
me
forth
Of
that
sweet
way
I
was
in
to
despair
.
What
say
you
now
?
What
comfort
have
we
now
?
By
heaven
,
I’ll
hate
him
everlastingly
That
bids
me
be
of
comfort
anymore
.
Go
to
Flint
Castle
.
There
I’ll
pine
away
;
A
king
,
woe’s
slave
,
shall
kingly
woe
obey
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
That
power
I
have
,
discharge
,
and
let
them
go
To
ear
the
land
that
hath
some
hope
to
grow
,
For
I
have
none
.
Let
no
man
speak
again
To
alter
this
,
for
counsel
is
but
vain
.
My
liege
,
one
word
.
He
does
me
double
wrong
That
wounds
me
with
the
flatteries
of
his
tongue
.
Discharge
my
followers
.
Let
them
hence
away
,
From
Richard’s
night
to
Bolingbroke’s
fair
day
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
with
Drum
and
Colors
Bolingbroke
,
York
,
Northumberland
,
with
Soldiers
and
Attendants
.
So
that
by
this
intelligence
we
learn
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
.
It
would
beseem
the
Lord
Northumberland
To
say
King
Richard
.
Alack
the
heavy
day
When
such
a
sacred
king
should
hide
his
head
!
Your
Grace
mistakes
;
only
to
be
brief
Left
I
his
title
out
.
The
time
hath
been
,
would
you
have
been
so
brief
with
him
,
He
would
have
been
so
brief
to
shorten
you
,
ACT 3. SC. 3
For
taking
so
the
head
,
your
whole
head’s
length
.
Mistake
not
,
uncle
,
further
than
you
should
.
Take
not
,
good
cousin
,
further
than
you
should
,
Lest
you
mistake
.
The
heavens
are
over
our
heads
.
I
know
it
,
uncle
,
and
oppose
not
myself
Against
their
will
.
But
who
comes
here
?
Enter
Percy
.
Welcome
,
Harry
.
What
,
will
not
this
castle
yield
?
The
castle
royally
is
manned
,
my
lord
,
Against
thy
entrance
.
Royally
?
Why
,
it
contains
no
king
.
Yes
,
my
good
lord
,
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
,
Sir
Stephen
Scroop
,
besides
a
clergyman
Of
holy
reverence
—
who
,
I
cannot
learn
.
O
,
belike
it
is
the
Bishop
of
Carlisle
.
,
to
Northumberland
Noble
lord
,
Go
to
the
rude
ribs
of
that
ancient
castle
,
Through
brazen
trumpet
send
the
breath
of
parley
Into
his
ruined
ears
,
and
thus
deliver
:
Henry
Bolingbroke
On
both
his
knees
doth
kiss
King
Richard’s
hand
,
And
sends
allegiance
and
true
faith
of
heart
To
his
most
royal
person
,
hither
come
Even
at
his
feet
to
lay
my
arms
and
power
,
Provided
that
my
banishment
repealed
And
lands
restored
again
be
freely
granted
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
If
not
,
I’ll
use
the
advantage
of
my
power
And
lay
the
summer’s
dust
with
showers
of
blood
Rained
from
the
wounds
of
slaughtered
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
Richard’s
land
,
My
stooping
duty
tenderly
shall
show
.
Go
signify
as
much
while
here
we
march
Upon
the
grassy
carpet
of
this
plain
.
Northumberland
and
Trumpets
approach
the
battlements
.
Let’s
march
without
the
noise
of
threat’ning
drum
,
That
from
this
castle’s
tottered
battlements
Our
fair
appointments
may
be
well
perused
.
Methinks
King
Richard
and
myself
should
meet
With
no
less
terror
than
the
elements
Of
fire
and
water
when
their
thund’ring
shock
At
meeting
tears
the
cloudy
cheeks
of
heaven
.
Be
he
the
fire
,
I’ll
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
.
Bolingbroke’s
Soldiers
march
,
the
trumpets
sound
.
Richard
appeareth
on
the
walls
with
Aumerle
.
See
,
see
,
King
Richard
doth
himself
appear
As
doth
the
blushing
discontented
sun
From
out
the
fiery
portal
of
the
east
When
he
perceives
the
envious
clouds
are
bent
To
dim
his
glory
and
to
stain
the
track
Of
his
bright
passage
to
the
occident
.
Yet
looks
he
like
a
king
.
Behold
,
his
eye
,
As
bright
as
is
the
eagle’s
,
lightens
forth
Controlling
majesty
.
Alack
,
alack
for
woe
That
any
harm
should
stain
so
fair
a
show
!
ACT 3. SC. 3
,
to
Northumberland
,
below
We
are
amazed
,
and
thus
long
have
we
stood
To
watch
the
fearful
bending
of
thy
knee
,
Because
we
thought
ourself
thy
lawful
king
.
An
if
we
be
,
how
dare
thy
joints
forget
To
pay
their
awful
duty
to
our
presence
?
If
we
be
not
,
show
us
the
hand
of
God
That
hath
dismissed
us
from
our
stewardship
,
For
well
we
know
no
hand
of
blood
and
bone
Can
gripe
the
sacred
handle
of
our
scepter
,
Unless
he
do
profane
,
steal
,
or
usurp
.
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
,
Yet
know
,
my
master
,
God
omnipotent
,
Is
mustering
in
his
clouds
on
our
behalf
Armies
of
pestilence
,
and
they
shall
strike
Your
children
yet
unborn
and
unbegot
,
That
lift
your
vassal
hands
against
my
head
And
threat
the
glory
of
my
precious
crown
.
Tell
Bolingbroke
—
for
yon
methinks
he
stands
—
That
every
stride
he
makes
upon
my
land
Is
dangerous
treason
.
He
is
come
to
open
The
purple
testament
of
bleeding
war
;
But
ere
the
crown
he
looks
for
live
in
peace
,
Ten
thousand
bloody
crowns
of
mothers’
sons
Shall
ill
become
the
flower
of
England’s
face
,
Change
the
complexion
of
her
maid-pale
peace
To
scarlet
indignation
,
and
bedew
Her
pastures’
grass
with
faithful
English
blood
.
The
King
of
heaven
forbid
our
lord
the
King
Should
so
with
civil
and
uncivil
arms
Be
rushed
upon
!
Thy
thrice-noble
cousin
,
Harry
Bolingbroke
,
doth
humbly
kiss
thy
hand
,
And
by
the
honorable
tomb
he
swears
ACT 3. SC. 3
That
stands
upon
your
royal
grandsire’s
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
,
And
by
the
worth
and
honor
of
himself
,
Comprising
all
that
may
be
sworn
or
said
,
His
coming
hither
hath
no
further
scope
Than
for
his
lineal
royalties
,
and
to
beg
Enfranchisement
immediate
on
his
knees
;
Which
on
thy
royal
party
granted
once
,
His
glittering
arms
he
will
commend
to
rust
,
His
barbèd
steeds
to
stables
,
and
his
heart
To
faithful
service
of
your
Majesty
.
This
swears
he
,
as
he
is
a
prince
and
just
,
And
as
I
am
a
gentleman
I
credit
him
.
Northumberland
,
say
thus
the
King
returns
:
His
noble
cousin
is
right
welcome
hither
,
And
all
the
number
of
his
fair
demands
Shall
be
accomplished
without
contradiction
.
With
all
the
gracious
utterance
thou
hast
,
Speak
to
his
gentle
hearing
kind
commends
.
Northumberland
returns
to
Bolingbroke
.
To
Aumerle
.
We
do
debase
ourselves
,
cousin
,
do
we
not
,
To
look
so
poorly
and
to
speak
so
fair
?
Shall
we
call
back
Northumberland
and
send
Defiance
to
the
traitor
and
so
die
?
No
,
good
my
lord
,
let’s
fight
with
gentle
words
,
Till
time
lend
friends
,
and
friends
their
helpful
swords
.
O
God
,
O
God
,
that
e’er
this
tongue
of
mine
That
laid
the
sentence
of
dread
banishment
On
yon
proud
man
should
take
it
off
again
ACT 3. SC. 3
With
words
of
sooth
!
O
,
that
I
were
as
great
As
is
my
grief
,
or
lesser
than
my
name
!
Or
that
I
could
forget
what
I
have
been
,
Or
not
remember
what
I
must
be
now
.
Swell’st
thou
,
proud
heart
?
I’ll
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
?
I’
God’s
name
,
let
it
go
.
I’ll
give
my
jewels
for
a
set
of
beads
,
My
gorgeous
palace
for
a
hermitage
,
My
gay
apparel
for
an
almsman’s
gown
,
My
figured
goblets
for
a
dish
of
wood
,
My
scepter
for
a
palmer’s
walking-staff
,
My
subjects
for
a
pair
of
carvèd
saints
,
And
my
large
kingdom
for
a
little
grave
,
A
little
,
little
grave
,
an
obscure
grave
;
Or
I’ll
be
buried
in
the
King’s
highway
,
Some
way
of
common
trade
,
where
subjects’
feet
May
hourly
trample
on
their
sovereign’s
head
;
For
on
my
heart
they
tread
now
whilst
I
live
,
And
,
buried
once
,
why
not
upon
my
head
?
Aumerle
,
thou
weep’st
,
my
tender-hearted
cousin
.
We’ll
make
foul
weather
with
despisèd
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
ACT 3. SC. 3
Two
kinsmen
digged
their
graves
with
weeping
eyes
.
Would
not
this
ill
do
well
?
Well
,
well
,
I
see
I
talk
but
idly
,
and
you
laugh
at
me
.
Northumberland
approaches
the
battlements
.
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
glist’ring
Phaëton
,
Wanting
the
manage
of
unruly
jades
.
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
,
down
king
,
For
nightowls
shriek
where
mounting
larks
should
sing
.
Richard
exits
above
and
Northumberland
returns
to
Bolingbroke
.
What
says
his
Majesty
?
Sorrow
and
grief
of
heart
Makes
him
speak
fondly
like
a
frantic
man
,
Yet
he
is
come
.
Richard
enters
below
.
Stand
all
apart
,
And
show
fair
duty
to
his
Majesty
.
He
kneels
down
.
My
gracious
lord
.
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
ACT 3. SC. 4
Than
my
unpleased
eye
see
your
courtesy
.
Up
,
cousin
,
up
.
Your
heart
is
up
,
I
know
,
Thus
high
at
least
indicating
his
crown
,
although
your
knee
be
low
.
,
standing
My
gracious
lord
,
I
come
but
for
mine
own
.
Your
own
is
yours
,
and
I
am
yours
,
and
all
.
So
far
be
mine
,
my
most
redoubted
lord
,
As
my
true
service
shall
deserve
your
love
.
Well
you
deserve
.
They
well
deserve
to
have
That
know
the
strong’st
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
I’ll
give
,
and
willing
,
too
,
For
do
we
must
what
force
will
have
us
do
.
Set
on
towards
London
,
cousin
,
is
it
so
?
Yea
,
my
good
lord
.
Then
I
must
not
say
no
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Enter
the
Queen
with
her
Ladies-in-waiting
.
What
sport
shall
we
devise
here
in
this
garden
To
drive
away
the
heavy
thought
of
care
?
Madam
,
we’ll
play
at
bowls
.
’Twill
make
me
think
the
world
is
full
of
rubs
And
that
my
fortune
runs
against
the
bias
.
ACT 3. SC. 4
Madam
,
we’ll
dance
.
My
legs
can
keep
no
measure
in
delight
When
my
poor
heart
no
measure
keeps
in
grief
.
Therefore
no
dancing
,
girl
.
Some
other
sport
.
Madam
,
we’ll
tell
tales
.
Of
sorrow
or
of
joy
?
Of
either
,
madam
.
Of
neither
,
girl
,
For
if
of
joy
,
being
altogether
wanting
,
It
doth
remember
me
the
more
of
sorrow
;
Or
if
of
grief
,
being
altogether
had
,
It
adds
more
sorrow
to
my
want
of
joy
.
For
what
I
have
I
need
not
to
repeat
,
And
what
I
want
it
boots
not
to
complain
.
Madam
,
I’ll
sing
.
’Tis
well
that
thou
hast
cause
,
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
,
And
never
borrow
any
tear
of
thee
.
Enter
a
Gardener
and
two
Servingmen
.
But
stay
,
here
come
the
gardeners
.
Let’s
step
into
the
shadow
of
these
trees
.
My
wretchedness
unto
a
row
of
pins
,
They
will
talk
of
state
,
for
everyone
doth
so
Against
a
change
.
Woe
is
forerun
with
woe
.
Queen
and
Ladies
step
aside
.
,
to
one
Servingman
Go
,
bind
thou
up
young
dangling
apricokes
ACT 3. SC. 4
Which
,
like
unruly
children
,
make
their
sire
Stoop
with
oppression
of
their
prodigal
weight
.
Give
some
supportance
to
the
bending
twigs
.
—
Go
thou
,
and
like
an
executioner
Cut
off
the
heads
of
too
-fast-growing
sprays
That
look
too
lofty
in
our
commonwealth
.
All
must
be
even
in
our
government
.
You
thus
employed
,
I
will
go
root
away
The
noisome
weeds
which
without
profit
suck
The
soil’s
fertility
from
wholesome
flowers
.
Why
should
we
,
in
the
compass
of
a
pale
,
Keep
law
and
form
and
due
proportion
,
Showing
as
in
a
model
our
firm
estate
,
When
our
sea-wallèd
garden
,
the
whole
land
,
Is
full
of
weeds
,
her
fairest
flowers
choked
up
,
Her
fruit
trees
all
unpruned
,
her
hedges
ruined
,
Her
knots
disordered
,
and
her
wholesome
herbs
Swarming
with
caterpillars
?
Hold
thy
peace
.
He
that
hath
suffered
this
disordered
spring
Hath
now
himself
met
with
the
fall
of
leaf
.
The
weeds
which
his
broad-spreading
leaves
did
shelter
,
That
seemed
in
eating
him
to
hold
him
up
,
Are
plucked
up
,
root
and
all
,
by
Bolingbroke
—
I
mean
the
Earl
of
Wiltshire
,
Bushy
,
Green
.
What
,
are
they
dead
?
They
are
.
And
Bolingbroke
Hath
seized
the
wasteful
king
.
O
,
what
pity
is
it
That
he
had
not
so
trimmed
and
dressed
his
land
As
we
this
garden
!
We
at
time
of
year
Do
wound
the
bark
,
the
skin
of
our
fruit
trees
,
Lest
,
being
overproud
in
sap
and
blood
,
With
too
much
riches
it
confound
itself
.
Had
he
done
so
to
great
and
growing
men
,
ACT 3. SC. 4
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
the
King
shall
be
deposed
?
Depressed
he
is
already
,
and
deposed
’Tis
doubt
he
will
be
.
Letters
came
last
night
To
a
dear
friend
of
the
good
Duke
of
York’s
That
tell
black
tidings
.
O
,
I
am
pressed
to
death
through
want
of
speaking
!
Stepping
forward
.
Thou
old
Adam’s
likeness
,
set
to
dress
this
garden
,
How
dares
thy
harsh
rude
tongue
sound
this
unpleasing
news
?
What
Eve
,
what
serpent
,
hath
suggested
thee
To
make
a
second
fall
of
cursèd
man
?
Why
dost
thou
say
King
Richard
is
deposed
?
Dar’st
thou
,
thou
little
better
thing
than
earth
,
Divine
his
downfall
?
Say
where
,
when
,
and
how
Cam’st
thou
by
this
ill
tidings
?
Speak
,
thou
wretch
!
Pardon
me
,
madam
.
Little
joy
have
I
To
breathe
this
news
,
yet
what
I
say
is
true
.
King
Richard
,
he
is
in
the
mighty
hold
Of
Bolingbroke
.
Their
fortunes
both
are
weighed
.
In
your
lord’s
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
everyone
doth
know
.
ACT 3. SC. 4
Nimble
mischance
,
that
art
so
light
of
foot
,
Doth
not
thy
embassage
belong
to
me
,
And
am
I
last
that
knows
it
?
O
,
thou
thinkest
To
serve
me
last
that
I
may
longest
keep
Thy
sorrow
in
my
breast
.
Come
,
ladies
,
go
To
meet
at
London
London’s
king
in
woe
.
What
,
was
I
born
to
this
,
that
my
sad
look
Should
grace
the
triumph
of
great
Bolingbroke
?
—
Gard’ner
,
for
telling
me
these
news
of
woe
,
Pray
God
the
plants
thou
graft’st
may
never
grow
.
She
exits
with
Ladies
.
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
I’ll
set
a
bank
of
rue
,
sour
herb
of
grace
.
Rue
even
for
ruth
here
shortly
shall
be
seen
In
the
remembrance
of
a
weeping
queen
.
They
exit
.
ACT
4
Scene
1
Enter
Bolingbroke
with
the
Lords
Aumerle
,
Northumberland
,
Harry
Percy
,
Fitzwater
,
Surrey
,
the
Bishop
of
Carlisle
,
the
Abbot
of
Westminster
,
and
another
Lord
,
Herald
,
Officers
to
parliament
.
Call
forth
Bagot
.
Enter
Officers
with
Bagot
.
Now
,
Bagot
,
freely
speak
thy
mind
What
thou
dost
know
of
noble
Gloucester’s
death
,
Who
wrought
it
with
the
King
,
and
who
performed
The
bloody
office
of
his
timeless
end
.
Then
set
before
my
face
the
Lord
Aumerle
.
Cousin
,
stand
forth
,
and
look
upon
that
man
.
Aumerle
steps
forward
.
My
Lord
Aumerle
,
I
know
your
daring
tongue
Scorns
to
unsay
what
once
it
hath
delivered
.
In
that
dead
time
when
Gloucester’s
death
was
plotted
,
I
heard
you
say
Is
not
my
arm
of
length
,
That
reacheth
from
the
restful
English
court
As
far
as
Calais
,
to
mine
uncle’s
head
?
Amongst
much
other
talk
that
very
time
ACT 4. SC. 1
I
heard
you
say
that
you
had
rather
refuse
The
offer
of
an
hundred
thousand
crowns
Than
Bolingbroke’s
return
to
England
,
Adding
withal
how
blest
this
land
would
be
In
this
your
cousin’s
death
.
Princes
and
noble
lords
,
What
answer
shall
I
make
to
this
base
man
?
Shall
I
so
much
dishonor
my
fair
stars
On
equal
terms
to
give
him
chastisement
?
Either
I
must
,
or
have
mine
honor
soiled
With
the
attainder
of
his
slanderous
lips
.
He
throws
down
a
gage
.
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
.
Excepting
one
,
I
would
he
were
the
best
In
all
this
presence
that
hath
moved
me
so
.
,
throwing
down
a
gage
If
that
thy
valor
stand
on
sympathy
,
There
is
my
gage
,
Aumerle
,
in
gage
to
thine
.
By
that
fair
sun
which
shows
me
where
thou
stand’st
,
I
heard
thee
say
,
and
vauntingly
thou
spak’st
it
,
That
thou
wert
cause
of
noble
Gloucester’s
death
.
If
thou
deniest
it
twenty
times
,
thou
liest
,
And
I
will
turn
thy
falsehood
to
thy
heart
,
Where
it
was
forgèd
,
with
my
rapier’s
point
.
,
taking
up
the
gage
Thou
dar’st
not
,
coward
,
live
to
see
that
day
.
Now
,
by
my
soul
,
I
would
it
were
this
hour
.
ACT 4. SC. 1
Fitzwater
,
thou
art
damned
to
hell
for
this
.
Aumerle
,
thou
liest
!
His
honor
is
as
true
In
this
appeal
as
thou
art
all
unjust
;
And
that
thou
art
so
,
there
I
throw
my
gage
,
He
throws
down
a
gage
.
To
prove
it
on
thee
to
the
extremest
point
Of
mortal
breathing
.
Seize
it
if
thou
dar’st
.
,
taking
up
the
gage
An
if
I
do
not
,
may
my
hands
rot
off
And
never
brandish
more
revengeful
steel
Over
the
glittering
helmet
of
my
foe
!
,
throwing
down
a
gage
I
task
the
earth
to
the
like
,
forsworn
Aumerle
,
And
spur
thee
on
with
full
as
many
lies
As
may
be
holloed
in
thy
treacherous
ear
From
sun
to
sun
.
There
is
my
honor’s
pawn
.
Engage
it
to
the
trial
if
thou
darest
.
,
taking
up
the
gage
Who
sets
me
else
?
By
heaven
,
I’ll
throw
at
all
!
I
have
a
thousand
spirits
in
one
breast
To
answer
twenty
thousand
such
as
you
.
My
Lord
Fitzwater
,
I
do
remember
well
The
very
time
Aumerle
and
you
did
talk
.
’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
.
Surrey
,
thou
liest
.
Dishonorable
boy
,
That
lie
shall
lie
so
heavy
on
my
sword
That
it
shall
render
vengeance
and
revenge
ACT 4. SC. 1
Till
thou
the
lie-giver
and
that
lie
do
lie
In
earth
as
quiet
as
thy
father’s
skull
.
He
throws
down
a
gage
.
In
proof
whereof
,
there
is
my
honor’s
pawn
.
Engage
it
to
the
trial
if
thou
dar’st
.
,
taking
up
the
gage
How
fondly
dost
thou
spur
a
forward
horse
!
If
I
dare
eat
or
drink
or
breathe
or
live
,
I
dare
meet
Surrey
in
a
wilderness
And
spit
upon
him
whilst
I
say
he
lies
,
And
lies
,
and
lies
.
There
is
my
bond
of
faith
To
tie
thee
to
my
strong
correction
.
He
throws
down
a
gage
.
As
I
intend
to
thrive
in
this
new
world
,
Aumerle
is
guilty
of
my
true
appeal
.
—
Besides
,
I
heard
the
banished
Norfolk
say
That
thou
,
Aumerle
,
didst
send
two
of
thy
men
To
execute
the
noble
duke
at
Calais
.
Some
honest
Christian
trust
me
with
a
gage
.
A
Lord
hands
him
a
gage
.
Aumerle
throws
it
down
.
That
Norfolk
lies
,
here
do
I
throw
down
this
,
If
he
may
be
repealed
to
try
his
honor
.
These
differences
shall
all
rest
under
gage
Till
Norfolk
be
repealed
.
Repealed
he
shall
be
,
And
though
mine
enemy
,
restored
again
To
all
his
lands
and
seigniories
.
When
he
is
returned
,
Against
Aumerle
we
will
enforce
his
trial
.
That
honorable
day
shall
never
be
seen
.
Many
a
time
hath
banished
Norfolk
fought
For
Jesu
Christ
in
glorious
Christian
field
,
Streaming
the
ensign
of
the
Christian
cross
ACT 4. SC. 1
Against
black
pagans
,
Turks
,
and
Saracens
;
And
,
toiled
with
works
of
war
,
retired
himself
To
Italy
,
and
there
at
Venice
gave
His
body
to
that
pleasant
country’s
earth
And
his
pure
soul
unto
his
captain
,
Christ
,
Under
whose
colors
he
had
fought
so
long
.
Why
,
bishop
,
is
Norfolk
dead
?
As
surely
as
I
live
,
my
lord
.
Sweet
peace
conduct
his
sweet
soul
to
the
bosom
Of
good
old
Abraham
!
Lords
appellants
,
Your
differences
shall
all
rest
under
gage
Till
we
assign
you
to
your
days
of
trial
.
Enter
York
.
Great
Duke
of
Lancaster
,
I
come
to
thee
From
plume-plucked
Richard
,
who
with
willing
soul
Adopts
thee
heir
,
and
his
high
scepter
yields
To
the
possession
of
thy
royal
hand
.
Ascend
his
throne
,
descending
now
from
him
,
And
long
live
Henry
,
fourth
of
that
name
!
In
God’s
name
,
I’ll
ascend
the
regal
throne
.
Marry
,
God
forbid
!
Worst
in
this
royal
presence
may
I
speak
,
Yet
best
beseeming
me
to
speak
the
truth
.
Would
God
that
any
in
this
noble
presence
Were
enough
noble
to
be
upright
judge
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
Richard’s
subject
?
Thieves
are
not
judged
but
they
are
by
to
hear
,
Although
apparent
guilt
be
seen
in
them
;
And
shall
the
figure
of
God’s
majesty
,
ACT 4. SC. 1
His
captain
,
steward
,
deputy
elect
,
Anointed
,
crowned
,
planted
many
years
,
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
,
Stirred
up
by
God
thus
boldly
for
his
king
.
My
Lord
of
Hereford
here
,
whom
you
call
king
,
Is
a
foul
traitor
to
proud
Hereford’s
king
,
And
if
you
crown
him
,
let
me
prophesy
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
.
Disorder
,
horror
,
fear
,
and
mutiny
Shall
here
inhabit
,
and
this
land
be
called
The
field
of
Golgotha
and
dead
men’s
skulls
.
O
,
if
you
raise
this
house
against
this
house
,
It
will
the
woefullest
division
prove
That
ever
fell
upon
this
cursèd
earth
!
Prevent
it
,
resist
it
,
let
it
not
be
so
,
Lest
child
,
child’s
children
,
cry
against
you
woe
!
Well
have
you
argued
,
sir
,
and
,
for
your
pains
,
Of
capital
treason
we
arrest
you
here
.
—
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
He
may
surrender
.
So
we
shall
proceed
Without
suspicion
.
I
will
be
his
conduct
.
He
exits
.
ACT 4. SC. 1
Lords
,
you
that
here
are
under
our
arrest
,
Procure
your
sureties
for
your
days
of
answer
.
Little
are
we
beholding
to
your
love
And
little
looked
for
at
your
helping
hands
.
Enter
Richard
and
York
.
Alack
,
why
am
I
sent
for
to
a
king
Before
I
have
shook
off
the
regal
thoughts
Wherewith
I
reigned
?
I
hardly
yet
have
learned
To
insinuate
,
flatter
,
bow
,
and
bend
my
knee
.
Give
sorrow
leave
awhile
to
tutor
me
To
this
submission
.
Yet
I
well
remember
The
favors
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
goodwill
Which
tired
majesty
did
make
thee
offer
:
The
resignation
of
thy
state
and
crown
To
Henry
Bolingbroke
.
Give
me
the
crown
.
—
Here
,
cousin
,
seize
the
crown
.
Here
,
cousin
.
On
this
side
my
hand
,
on
that
side
thine
.
Now
is
this
golden
crown
like
a
deep
well
That
owes
two
buckets
,
filling
one
another
,
The
emptier
ever
dancing
in
the
air
,
ACT 4. SC. 1
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
.
You
may
my
glories
and
my
state
depose
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
.
Are
you
contented
to
resign
the
crown
?
Ay
,
no
;
no
,
ay
;
for
I
must
nothing
be
.
Therefore
no
no
,
for
I
resign
to
thee
.
Now
,
mark
me
how
I
will
undo
myself
.
I
give
this
heavy
weight
from
off
my
head
And
this
unwieldy
scepter
from
my
hand
,
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
duteous
oaths
.
All
pomp
and
majesty
I
do
forswear
.
My
manors
,
rents
,
revenues
I
forgo
;
My
acts
,
decrees
,
and
statutes
I
deny
.
God
pardon
all
oaths
that
are
broke
to
me
.
God
keep
all
vows
unbroke
are
made
to
thee
.
Make
me
,
that
nothing
have
,
with
nothing
grieved
,
ACT 4. SC. 1
And
thou
with
all
pleased
that
hast
all
achieved
.
Long
mayst
thou
live
in
Richard’s
seat
to
sit
,
And
soon
lie
Richard
in
an
earthy
pit
.
God
save
King
Henry
,
unkinged
Richard
says
,
And
send
him
many
years
of
sunshine
days
.
What
more
remains
?
,
offering
Richard
a
paper
No
more
,
but
that
you
read
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
May
deem
that
you
are
worthily
deposed
.
Must
I
do
so
?
And
must
I
ravel
out
My
weaved-up
follies
?
Gentle
Northumberland
,
If
thy
offenses
were
upon
record
,
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
Containing
the
deposing
of
a
king
And
cracking
the
strong
warrant
of
an
oath
,
Marked
with
a
blot
,
damned
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
your
hands
,
Showing
an
outward
pity
,
yet
you
Pilates
Have
here
delivered
me
to
my
sour
cross
,
And
water
cannot
wash
away
your
sin
.
My
lord
,
dispatch
.
Read
o’er
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
.
ACT 4. SC. 1
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
T’
undeck
the
pompous
body
of
a
king
,
Made
glory
base
and
sovereignty
a
slave
,
Proud
majesty
a
subject
,
state
a
peasant
.
My
lord
—
No
lord
of
thine
,
thou
haught
insulting
man
,
Nor
no
man’s
lord
.
I
have
no
name
,
no
title
,
No
,
not
that
name
was
given
me
at
the
font
,
But
’tis
usurped
.
Alack
the
heavy
day
,
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
.
Go
,
some
of
you
,
and
fetch
a
looking-glass
.
An
Attendant
exits
.
Read
o’er
this
paper
while
the
glass
doth
come
.
Fiend
,
thou
torments
me
ere
I
come
to
hell
!
Urge
it
no
more
,
my
Lord
Northumberland
.
The
commons
will
not
then
be
satisfied
.
They
shall
be
satisfied
.
I’ll
read
enough
ACT 4. SC. 1
When
I
do
see
the
very
book
indeed
Where
all
my
sins
are
writ
,
and
that’s
myself
.
Enter
one
with
a
glass
.
Give
me
that
glass
,
and
therein
will
I
read
.
He
takes
the
mirror
.
No
deeper
wrinkles
yet
?
Hath
sorrow
struck
So
many
blows
upon
this
face
of
mine
And
made
no
deeper
wounds
?
O
flatt’ring
glass
,
Like
to
my
followers
in
prosperity
,
Thou
dost
beguile
me
.
Was
this
face
the
face
That
every
day
under
his
household
Household
roof
Did
keep
ten
thousand
men
?
Was
this
the
face
That
like
the
sun
did
make
beholders
wink
?
Is
this
the
face
which
faced
so
many
follies
,
That
was
at
last
outfaced
by
Bolingbroke
?
A
brittle
glory
shineth
in
this
face
.
As
brittle
as
the
glory
is
the
face
,
He
breaks
the
mirror
.
For
there
it
is
,
cracked
in
an
hundred
shivers
.
—
Mark
,
silent
king
,
the
moral
of
this
sport
:
How
soon
my
sorrow
hath
destroyed
my
face
.
The
shadow
of
your
sorrow
hath
destroyed
The
shadow
of
your
face
.
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
laments
Are
merely
shadows
to
the
unseen
grief
That
swells
with
silence
in
the
tortured
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
,
ACT 4. SC. 1
And
then
be
gone
and
trouble
you
no
more
.
Shall
I
obtain
it
?
Name
it
,
fair
cousin
.
Fair
cousin
?
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
.
Yet
ask
.
And
shall
I
have
?
You
shall
.
Then
give
me
leave
to
go
.
Whither
?
Whither
you
will
,
so
I
were
from
your
sights
.
Go
,
some
of
you
,
convey
him
to
the
Tower
.
O
,
good
!
Convey
?
Conveyers
are
you
all
,
That
rise
thus
nimbly
by
a
true
king’s
fall
.
Richard
exits
with
Guards
.
On
Wednesday
next
,
we
solemnly
set
down
Our
coronation
.
Lords
,
prepare
yourselves
.
They
exit
.
The
Abbot
of
Westminster
,
the
Bishop
of
Carlisle
,
Aumerle
remain
.
A
woeful
pageant
have
we
here
beheld
.
The
woe’s
to
come
.
The
children
yet
unborn
Shall
feel
this
day
as
sharp
to
them
as
thorn
.
You
holy
clergymen
,
is
there
no
plot
To
rid
the
realm
of
this
pernicious
blot
?
ACT 4. SC. 1
My
lord
,
Before
I
freely
speak
my
mind
herein
,
You
shall
not
only
take
the
sacrament
To
bury
mine
intents
,
but
also
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’ll
lay
A
plot
shall
show
us
all
a
merry
day
.
They
exit
.
ACT
5
Scene
1
Enter
the
Queen
with
her
Attendants
.
This
way
the
King
will
come
.
This
is
the
way
To
Julius
Caesar’s
ill-erected
tower
,
To
whose
flint
bosom
my
condemnèd
lord
Is
doomed
a
prisoner
by
proud
Bolingbroke
.
Here
let
us
rest
,
if
this
rebellious
earth
Have
any
resting
for
her
true
king’s
queen
.
Enter
Richard
and
Guard
.
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
honor
,
thou
King
Richard’s
tomb
,
And
not
King
Richard
!
Thou
most
beauteous
inn
,
Why
should
hard-favored
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
ACT 5. SC. 1
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
thrown
down
.
What
,
is
my
Richard
both
in
shape
and
mind
Transformed
and
weakened
?
Hath
Bolingbroke
Deposed
thine
intellect
?
Hath
he
been
in
thy
heart
?
The
lion
dying
thrusteth
forth
his
paw
And
wounds
the
earth
,
if
nothing
else
,
with
rage
To
be
o’er-powered
;
and
wilt
thou
,
pupil-like
,
Take
the
correction
,
mildly
kiss
the
rod
,
And
fawn
on
rage
with
base
humility
,
Which
art
a
lion
and
the
king
of
beasts
?
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
.
Think
I
am
dead
,
and
that
even
here
thou
takest
,
As
from
my
deathbed
,
thy
last
living
leave
.
In
winter’s
tedious
nights
sit
by
the
fire
With
good
old
folks
,
and
let
them
tell
thee
tales
Of
woeful
ages
long
ago
betid
;
And
,
ere
thou
bid
good
night
,
to
quite
their
griefs
,
Tell
thou
the
lamentable
tale
of
me
,
And
send
the
hearers
weeping
to
their
beds
.
Forwhy
the
senseless
brands
will
sympathize
The
heavy
accent
of
thy
moving
tongue
,
And
in
compassion
weep
the
fire
out
,
And
some
will
mourn
in
ashes
,
some
coal-black
coal
black
,
For
the
deposing
of
a
rightful
king
.
Enter
Northumberland
.
ACT 5. SC. 1
My
lord
,
the
mind
of
Bolingbroke
is
changed
.
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
.
Northumberland
,
thou
ladder
wherewithal
The
mounting
Bolingbroke
ascends
my
throne
,
The
time
shall
not
be
many
hours
of
age
More
than
it
is
ere
foul
sin
,
gathering
head
,
Shall
break
into
corruption
.
Thou
shalt
think
,
Though
he
divide
the
realm
and
give
thee
half
,
It
is
too
little
,
helping
him
to
all
.
He
shall
think
that
thou
,
which
knowest
the
way
To
plant
unrightful
kings
,
wilt
know
again
,
Being
ne’er
so
little
urged
another
way
,
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
To
worthy
danger
and
deservèd
death
.
My
guilt
be
on
my
head
,
and
there
an
end
.
Take
leave
and
part
,
for
you
must
part
forthwith
.
Doubly
divorced
!
Bad
men
,
you
violate
A
twofold
marriage
—
twixt
my
crown
and
me
,
And
then
betwixt
me
and
my
married
wife
.
To
Queen
.
Let
me
unkiss
the
oath
twixt
thee
and
me
;
And
yet
not
so
,
for
with
a
kiss
’twas
made
.
—
Part
us
,
Northumberland
,
I
towards
the
north
,
Where
shivering
cold
and
sickness
pines
the
clime
;
My
wife
to
France
,
from
whence
set
forth
in
pomp
She
came
adornèd
hither
like
sweet
May
,
Sent
back
like
Hallowmas
or
short’st
of
day
.
ACT 5. SC. 1
And
must
we
be
divided
?
Must
we
part
?
Ay
,
hand
from
hand
,
my
love
,
and
heart
from
heart
.
,
to
Northumberland
Banish
us
both
,
and
send
the
King
with
me
.
That
were
some
love
,
but
little
policy
.
Then
whither
he
goes
,
thither
let
me
go
.
So
two
together
weeping
make
one
woe
.
Weep
thou
for
me
in
France
,
I
for
thee
here
;
Better
far
off
than
,
near
,
be
ne’er
the
near
.
Go
,
count
thy
way
with
sighs
,
I
mine
with
groans
.
So
longest
way
shall
have
the
longest
moans
.
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
.
Give
me
mine
own
again
.
’Twere
no
good
part
To
take
on
me
to
keep
and
kill
thy
heart
.
They
kiss
.
So
,
now
I
have
mine
own
again
,
begone
,
That
I
may
strive
to
kill
it
with
a
groan
.
We
make
woe
wanton
with
this
fond
delay
.
Once
more
,
adieu
!
The
rest
let
sorrow
say
.
They
exit
.
ACT 5. SC. 2
Scene
2
Enter
Duke
of
York
and
the
Duchess
.
My
lord
,
you
told
me
you
would
tell
the
rest
,
When
weeping
made
you
break
the
story
off
Of
our
two
cousins
coming
into
London
.
Where
did
I
leave
?
At
that
sad
stop
,
my
lord
,
Where
rude
misgoverned
hands
from
windows’
tops
Threw
dust
and
rubbish
on
King
Richard’s
head
.
Then
,
as
I
said
,
the
Duke
,
great
Bolingbroke
,
Mounted
upon
a
hot
and
fiery
steed
,
Which
his
aspiring
rider
seemed
to
know
,
With
slow
but
stately
pace
kept
on
his
course
,
Whilst
all
tongues
cried
God
save
thee
,
Bolingbroke
!
You
would
have
thought
the
very
windows
spake
,
So
many
greedy
looks
of
young
and
old
Through
casements
darted
their
desiring
eyes
Upon
his
visage
,
and
that
all
the
walls
With
painted
imagery
had
said
at
once
Jesu
preserve
thee
!
Welcome
,
Bolingbroke
!
Whilst
he
,
from
the
one
side
to
the
other
turning
,
Bareheaded
,
lower
than
his
proud
steed’s
neck
,
Bespake
them
thus
:
I
thank
you
,
countrymen
.
And
thus
still
doing
,
thus
he
passed
along
.
Alack
,
poor
Richard
!
Where
rode
he
the
whilst
?
As
in
a
theater
the
eyes
of
men
,
After
a
well-graced
actor
leaves
the
stage
,
Are
idly
bent
on
him
that
enters
next
,
Thinking
his
prattle
to
be
tedious
,
ACT 5. SC. 2
Even
so
,
or
with
much
more
contempt
,
men’s
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
,
The
badges
of
his
grief
and
patience
,
That
had
not
God
for
some
strong
purpose
steeled
The
hearts
of
men
,
they
must
perforce
have
melted
,
And
barbarism
itself
have
pitied
him
.
But
heaven
hath
a
hand
in
these
events
,
To
whose
high
will
we
bound
our
calm
contents
.
To
Bolingbroke
are
we
sworn
subjects
now
,
Whose
state
and
honor
I
for
aye
allow
.
Enter
Aumerle
.
Here
comes
my
son
Aumerle
.
Aumerle
that
was
;
But
that
is
lost
for
being
Richard’s
friend
,
And
,
madam
,
you
must
call
him
Rutland
now
.
I
am
in
parliament
pledge
for
his
truth
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
.
God
knows
I
had
as
lief
be
none
as
one
.
Well
,
bear
you
well
in
this
new
spring
of
time
,
Lest
you
be
cropped
before
you
come
to
prime
.
What
news
from
Oxford
?
Do
these
jousts
and
triumphs
hold
?
For
aught
I
know
,
my
lord
,
they
do
.
ACT 5. SC. 2
You
will
be
there
,
I
know
.
If
God
prevent
not
,
I
purpose
so
.
What
seal
is
that
that
hangs
without
thy
bosom
?
Yea
,
lookst
thou
pale
?
Let
me
see
the
writing
.
My
lord
,
’tis
nothing
.
No
matter
,
then
,
who
see
it
.
I
will
be
satisfied
.
Let
me
see
the
writing
.
I
do
beseech
your
Grace
to
pardon
me
.
It
is
a
matter
of
small
consequence
,
Which
for
some
reasons
I
would
not
have
seen
.
Which
for
some
reasons
,
sir
,
I
mean
to
see
.
I
fear
,
I
fear
—
What
should
you
fear
?
’Tis
nothing
but
some
bond
that
he
is
entered
into
For
gay
apparel
’gainst
the
triumph
day
.
Bound
to
himself
?
What
doth
he
with
a
bond
That
he
is
bound
to
?
Wife
,
thou
art
a
fool
.
—
Boy
,
let
me
see
the
writing
.
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
!
What
is
the
matter
,
my
lord
?
,
calling
offstage
Ho
,
who
is
within
there
?
Saddle
my
horse
!
—
God
for
his
mercy
,
what
treachery
is
here
!
Why
,
what
is
it
,
my
lord
?
ACT 5. SC. 2
,
calling
offstage
Give
me
my
boots
,
I
say
!
Saddle
my
horse
!
—
Now
by
mine
honor
,
by
my
life
,
by
my
troth
,
I
will
appeach
the
villain
.
What
is
the
matter
?
Peace
,
foolish
woman
.
I
will
not
peace
!
—
What
is
the
matter
,
Aumerle
?
Good
mother
,
be
content
.
It
is
no
more
Than
my
poor
life
must
answer
.
Thy
life
answer
?
,
calling
offstage
Bring
me
my
boots
!
—
I
will
unto
the
King
.
His
man
enters
with
his
boots
.
Strike
him
,
Aumerle
!
Poor
boy
,
thou
art
amazed
.
—
Hence
,
villain
,
never
more
come
in
my
sight
.
Give
me
my
boots
,
I
say
.
His
man
helps
him
on
with
his
boots
,
then
exits
.
Why
,
York
,
what
wilt
thou
do
?
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
And
rob
me
of
a
happy
mother’s
name
?
Is
he
not
like
thee
?
Is
he
not
thine
own
?
Thou
fond
mad
woman
,
Wilt
thou
conceal
this
dark
conspiracy
?
A
dozen
of
them
here
have
ta’en
the
sacrament
And
interchangeably
set
down
their
hands
To
kill
the
King
at
Oxford
.
He
shall
be
none
.
We’ll
keep
him
here
.
Then
what
is
that
to
him
?
ACT 5. SC. 3
Away
,
fond
woman
!
Were
he
twenty
times
my
son
,
I
would
appeach
him
.
Hadst
thou
groaned
for
him
as
I
have
done
,
Thou
wouldst
be
more
pitiful
.
But
now
I
know
thy
mind
:
thou
dost
suspect
That
I
have
been
disloyal
to
thy
bed
,
And
that
he
is
a
bastard
,
not
thy
son
.
Sweet
York
,
sweet
husband
,
be
not
of
that
mind
!
He
is
as
like
thee
as
a
man
may
be
,
Not
like
to
me
or
any
of
my
kin
,
And
yet
I
love
him
.
Make
way
,
unruly
woman
!
He
exits
.
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
.
I’ll
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
pardoned
thee
.
Away
,
begone
!
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
the
King
with
his
Nobles
.
Can
no
man
tell
me
of
my
unthrifty
son
?
’Tis
full
three
months
since
I
did
see
him
last
.
If
any
plague
hang
over
us
,
’tis
he
.
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
ACT 5. SC. 3
With
unrestrainèd
loose
companions
,
Even
such
,
they
say
,
as
stand
in
narrow
lanes
And
beat
our
watch
and
rob
our
passengers
,
While
he
,
young
wanton
and
effeminate
boy
,
Takes
on
the
point
of
honor
to
support
So
dissolute
a
crew
.
My
lord
,
some
two
days
since
I
saw
the
Prince
,
And
told
him
of
those
triumphs
held
at
Oxford
.
And
what
said
the
gallant
?
His
answer
was
,
he
would
unto
the
stews
,
And
from
the
common’st
creature
pluck
a
glove
And
wear
it
as
a
favor
,
and
with
that
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
?
Enter
Aumerle
amazed
.
Where
is
the
King
?
What
means
our
cousin
,
that
he
stares
and
looks
so
wildly
?
God
save
your
Grace
.
I
do
beseech
your
Majesty
To
have
some
conference
with
your
Grace
alone
.
,
to
his
Nobles
Withdraw
yourselves
,
and
leave
us
here
alone
.
The
Nobles
exit
.
What
is
the
matter
with
our
cousin
now
?
,
kneeling
Forever
may
my
knees
grow
to
the
earth
,
My
tongue
cleave
to
my
roof
within
my
mouth
,
Unless
a
pardon
ere
I
rise
or
speak
.
ACT 5. SC. 3
Intended
or
committed
was
this
fault
?
If
on
the
first
,
how
heinous
e’er
it
be
,
To
win
thy
after-love
I
pardon
thee
.
,
standing
Then
give
me
leave
that
I
may
turn
the
key
That
no
man
enter
till
my
tale
be
done
.
Have
thy
desire
.
Aumerle
locks
the
door
.
The
Duke
of
York
knocks
at
the
door
and
crieth
.
,
within
My
liege
,
beware
!
Look
to
thyself
!
Thou
hast
a
traitor
in
thy
presence
there
.
,
to
Aumerle
Villain
,
I’ll
make
thee
safe
.
He
draws
his
sword
.
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
?
Open
the
door
,
or
I
will
break
it
open
.
King
Henry
unlocks
the
door
.
Enter
York
.
What
is
the
matter
,
uncle
?
Speak
.
Recover
breath
.
Tell
us
how
near
is
danger
That
we
may
arm
us
to
encounter
it
.
,
giving
King
Henry
a
paper
Peruse
this
writing
here
,
and
thou
shalt
know
The
treason
that
my
haste
forbids
me
show
.
,
to
King
Henry
Remember
,
as
thou
read’st
,
thy
promise
passed
.
I
do
repent
me
.
Read
not
my
name
there
.
My
heart
is
not
confederate
with
my
hand
.
It
was
,
villain
,
ere
thy
hand
did
set
it
down
.
—
I
tore
it
from
the
traitor’s
bosom
,
king
.
ACT 5. SC. 3
Fear
,
and
not
love
,
begets
his
penitence
.
Forget
to
pity
him
,
lest
thy
pity
prove
A
serpent
that
will
sting
thee
to
the
heart
.
O
heinous
,
strong
,
and
bold
conspiracy
!
O
loyal
father
of
a
treacherous
son
,
Thou
sheer
,
immaculate
,
and
silver
fountain
From
whence
this
stream
,
through
muddy
passages
,
Hath
held
his
current
and
defiled
himself
,
Thy
overflow
of
good
converts
to
bad
,
And
thy
abundant
goodness
shall
excuse
This
deadly
blot
in
thy
digressing
son
.
So
shall
my
virtue
be
his
vice’s
bawd
,
And
he
shall
spend
mine
honor
with
his
shame
,
As
thriftless
sons
their
scraping
fathers’
gold
.
Mine
honor
lives
when
his
dishonor
dies
,
Or
my
shamed
life
in
his
dishonor
lies
.
Thou
kill’st
me
in
his
life
:
giving
him
breath
,
The
traitor
lives
,
the
true
man’s
put
to
death
.
,
within
What
ho
,
my
liege
!
For
God’s
sake
,
let
me
in
!
What
shrill-voiced
suppliant
makes
this
eager
cry
?
,
within
A
woman
,
and
thy
aunt
,
great
king
.
’Tis
I
.
Speak
with
me
,
pity
me
.
Open
the
door
!
A
beggar
begs
that
never
begged
before
.
Our
scene
is
altered
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
.
Aumerle
opens
the
door
.
Duchess
of
York
enters
and
kneels
.
ACT 5. SC. 3
If
thou
do
pardon
whosoever
pray
,
More
sins
for
this
forgiveness
prosper
may
.
This
festered
joint
cut
off
,
the
rest
rest
sound
.
This
let
alone
will
all
the
rest
confound
.
O
king
,
believe
not
this
hard-hearted
man
.
Love
loving
not
itself
,
none
other
can
.
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
.
Rise
up
,
good
aunt
.
Not
yet
,
I
thee
beseech
.
Forever
will
I
walk
upon
my
knees
And
never
see
day
that
the
happy
sees
,
Till
thou
give
joy
,
until
thou
bid
me
joy
By
pardoning
Rutland
,
my
transgressing
boy
.
,
kneeling
Unto
my
mother’s
prayers
I
bend
my
knee
.
,
kneeling
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
still
kneel
till
to
the
ground
they
grow
.
His
prayers
are
full
of
false
hypocrisy
,
Ours
of
true
zeal
and
deep
integrity
.
ACT 5. SC. 3
Our
prayers
do
outpray
his
.
Then
let
them
have
That
mercy
which
true
prayer
ought
to
have
.
Good
aunt
,
stand
up
.
Nay
,
do
not
say
stand
up
.
Say
pardon
first
,
and
afterwards
stand
up
.
An
if
I
were
thy
nurse
,
thy
tongue
to
teach
,
Pardon
should
be
the
first
word
of
thy
speech
.
I
never
longed
to
hear
a
word
till
now
.
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
moy
.
Dost
thou
teach
pardon
pardon
to
destroy
?
Ah
,
my
sour
husband
,
my
hard-hearted
lord
,
That
sets
the
word
itself
against
the
word
!
To
King
Henry
.
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
,
Pity
may
move
thee
pardon
to
rehearse
.
Good
aunt
,
stand
up
.
I
do
not
sue
to
stand
.
Pardon
is
all
the
suit
I
have
in
hand
.
I
pardon
him
,
as
God
shall
pardon
me
.
O
,
happy
vantage
of
a
kneeling
knee
!
Yet
am
I
sick
for
fear
.
Speak
it
again
.
Twice
saying
pardon
doth
not
pardon
twain
,
But
makes
one
pardon
strong
.
ACT 5. SC. 4
I
pardon
him
with
all
my
heart
.
A
god
on
Earth
earth
thou
art
.
They
all
stand
.
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
where’er
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
,
adieu
.
Your
mother
well
hath
prayed
;
and
prove
you
true
.
,
to
Aumerle
Come
,
my
old
son
.
I
pray
God
make
thee
new
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Enter
Sir
Pierce
Exton
and
Servants
.
Didst
thou
not
mark
the
King
,
what
words
he
spake
,
Have
I
no
friend
will
rid
me
of
this
living
fear
?
Was
it
not
so
?
These
were
his
very
words
.
Have
I
no
friend
?
quoth
he
.
He
spake
it
twice
And
urged
it
twice
together
,
did
he
not
?
He
did
.
And
speaking
it
,
he
wishtly
looked
on
me
,
As
who
should
say
I
would
thou
wert
the
man
That
would
divorce
this
terror
from
my
heart
—
Meaning
the
king
at
Pomfret
.
Come
,
let’s
go
.
I
am
the
King’s
friend
,
and
will
rid
his
foe
.
They
exit
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
Scene
5
Enter
Richard
alone
.
I
have
been
studying
how
I
may
compare
This
prison
where
I
live
unto
the
world
,
And
for
because
the
world
is
populous
And
here
is
not
a
creature
but
myself
,
I
cannot
do
it
.
Yet
I’ll
hammer
it
out
.
My
brain
I’ll
prove
the
female
to
my
soul
,
My
soul
the
father
,
and
these
two
beget
A
generation
of
still-breeding
thoughts
,
And
these
same
thoughts
people
this
little
world
,
In
humors
like
the
people
of
this
world
,
For
no
thought
is
contented
.
The
better
sort
,
As
thoughts
of
things
divine
,
are
intermixed
With
scruples
,
and
do
set
the
word
itself
Against
the
word
,
as
thus
:
Come
,
little
ones
,
And
then
again
,
It
is
as
hard
to
come
as
for
a
camel
To
thread
the
postern
of
a
small
needle’s
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
fortune’s
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
.
Thus
play
I
in
one
person
many
people
,
And
none
contented
.
Sometimes
am
I
king
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
Then
treasons
make
me
wish
myself
a
beggar
,
And
so
I
am
;
then
crushing
penury
Persuades
me
I
was
better
when
a
king
.
Then
am
I
kinged
again
,
and
by
and
by
Think
that
I
am
unkinged
by
Bolingbroke
,
And
straight
am
nothing
.
But
whate’er
I
be
,
Nor
I
nor
any
man
that
but
man
is
With
nothing
shall
be
pleased
till
he
be
eased
With
being
nothing
.
(
The
music
plays
.
)
Music
do
I
hear
?
Ha
,
ha
,
keep
time
!
How
sour
sweet
music
is
When
time
is
broke
and
no
proportion
kept
.
So
is
it
in
the
music
of
men’s
lives
.
And
here
have
I
the
daintiness
of
ear
To
check
time
broke
in
a
disordered
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
numb’ring
clock
.
My
thoughts
are
minutes
,
and
with
sighs
they
jar
Their
watches
on
unto
mine
eyes
,
the
outward
watch
,
Whereto
my
finger
,
like
a
dial’s
point
,
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
Bolingbroke’s
proud
joy
,
While
I
stand
fooling
here
,
his
jack
of
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
.
Enter
a
Groom
of
the
stable
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
Hail
,
royal
prince
!
Thanks
,
noble
peer
.
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
?
I
was
a
poor
groom
of
thy
stable
,
king
,
When
thou
wert
king
;
who
,
traveling
towards
York
,
With
much
ado
at
length
have
gotten
leave
To
look
upon
my
sometime
royal
master’s
face
.
O
,
how
it
earned
my
heart
when
I
beheld
In
London
streets
,
that
coronation
day
,
When
Bolingbroke
rode
on
roan
Barbary
,
That
horse
that
thou
so
often
hast
bestrid
,
That
horse
that
I
so
carefully
have
dressed
.
Rode
he
on
Barbary
?
Tell
me
,
gentle
friend
,
How
went
he
under
him
?
So
proudly
as
if
he
disdained
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
,
Since
thou
,
created
to
be
awed
by
man
,
Wast
born
to
bear
?
I
was
not
made
a
horse
,
And
yet
I
bear
a
burden
like
an
ass
,
Spurred
,
galled
,
and
tired
by
jauncing
Bolingbroke
.
Enter
one
,
the
Keeper
,
to
Richard
with
meat
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
,
to
Groom
Fellow
,
give
place
.
Here
is
no
longer
stay
.
,
to
Groom
If
thou
love
me
,
’tis
time
thou
wert
away
.
What
my
tongue
dares
not
,
that
my
heart
shall
say
.
Groom
exits
.
My
lord
,
will
’t
please
you
to
fall
to
?
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
.
,
attacking
the
Keeper
The
devil
take
Henry
of
Lancaster
,
and
thee
!
Patience
is
stale
,
and
I
am
weary
of
it
.
Help
,
help
,
help
!
The
Murderers
Exton
and
his
men
rush
in
.
How
now
,
what
means
death
in
this
rude
assault
?
Villain
,
thy
own
hand
yields
thy
death’s
instrument
.
Richard
seizes
a
weapon
from
a
Murderer
and
kills
him
with
it
.
Go
thou
and
fill
another
room
in
hell
.
He
kills
another
Murderer
.
Here
Exton
strikes
him
down
.
That
hand
shall
burn
in
never-quenching
fire
That
staggers
thus
my
person
.
Exton
,
thy
fierce
hand
Hath
with
the
King’s
blood
stained
the
King’s
own
land
.
Mount
,
mount
,
my
soul
.
Thy
seat
is
up
on
high
,
Whilst
my
gross
flesh
sinks
downward
,
here
to
die
.
He
dies
.
ACT 5. SC. 6
As
full
of
valor
as
of
royal
blood
.
Both
have
I
spilled
.
O
,
would
the
deed
were
good
!
For
now
the
devil
that
told
me
I
did
well
Says
that
this
deed
is
chronicled
in
hell
.
This
dead
king
to
the
living
king
I’ll
bear
.
Take
hence
the
rest
and
give
them
burial
here
.
They
exit
with
the
bodies
.
Scene
6
Enter
King
Henry
,
with
the
Duke
of
York
.
Kind
uncle
York
,
the
latest
news
we
hear
Is
that
the
rebels
have
consumed
with
fire
Our
town
of
Ciceter
in
Gloucestershire
,
But
whether
they
be
ta’en
or
slain
we
hear
not
.
Enter
Northumberland
.
Welcome
,
my
lord
.
What
is
the
news
?
First
,
to
thy
sacred
state
wish
I
all
happiness
.
The
next
news
is
:
I
have
to
London
sent
The
heads
of
Oxford
,
Salisbury
,
Blunt
,
and
Kent
.
The
manner
of
their
taking
may
appear
At
large
discoursèd
in
this
paper
here
.
He
gives
King
Henry
a
paper
.
We
thank
thee
,
gentle
Percy
,
for
thy
pains
,
And
to
thy
worth
will
add
right
worthy
gains
.
Enter
Lord
Fitzwater
.
My
lord
,
I
have
from
Oxford
sent
to
London
The
heads
of
Brocas
and
Sir
Bennet
Seely
,
ACT 5. SC. 6
Two
of
the
dangerous
consorted
traitors
That
sought
at
Oxford
thy
dire
overthrow
.
Thy
pains
,
Fitzwater
,
shall
not
be
forgot
.
Right
noble
is
thy
merit
,
well
I
wot
.
Enter
Harry
Percy
with
the
Bishop
of
Carlisle
.
The
grand
conspirator
,
Abbot
of
Westminster
,
With
clog
of
conscience
and
sour
melancholy
Hath
yielded
up
his
body
to
the
grave
.
But
here
is
Carlisle
living
,
to
abide
Thy
kingly
doom
and
sentence
of
his
pride
.
Carlisle
,
this
is
your
doom
:
Choose
out
some
secret
place
,
some
reverend
room
,
More
than
thou
hast
,
and
with
it
joy
thy
life
.
So
,
as
thou
liv’st
in
peace
,
die
free
from
strife
;
For
,
though
mine
enemy
thou
hast
ever
been
,
High
sparks
of
honor
in
thee
have
I
seen
.
Enter
Exton
and
Servingmen
with
the
coffin
.
Great
king
,
within
this
coffin
I
present
Thy
buried
fear
.
Herein
all
breathless
lies
The
mightiest
of
thy
greatest
enemies
,
Richard
of
Bourdeaux
,
by
me
hither
brought
.
Exton
,
I
thank
thee
not
,
for
thou
hast
wrought
A
deed
of
slander
with
thy
fatal
hand
Upon
my
head
and
all
this
famous
land
.
From
your
own
mouth
,
my
lord
,
did
I
this
deed
.
They
love
not
poison
that
do
poison
need
,
Nor
do
I
thee
.
Though
I
did
wish
him
dead
,
I
hate
the
murderer
,
love
him
murderèd
.
ACT 5. SC. 6
The
guilt
of
conscience
take
thou
for
thy
labor
,
But
neither
my
good
word
nor
princely
favor
.
With
Cain
go
wander
through
shades
of
night
,
And
never
show
thy
head
by
day
nor
light
.
Exton
exits
.
Lords
,
I
protest
my
soul
is
full
of
woe
That
blood
should
sprinkle
me
to
make
me
grow
.
Come
mourn
with
me
for
what
I
do
lament
,
And
put
on
sullen
black
incontinent
.
I’ll
make
a
voyage
to
the
Holy
Land
To
wash
this
blood
off
from
my
guilty
hand
.
Servingmen
lift
the
coffin
to
carry
it
out
.
March
sadly
after
.
Grace
my
mournings
here
In
weeping
after
this
untimely
bier
.
They
exit
,
following
the
coffin
.
all or part of a full metrical line
all or part of a prose speech
a short line which cannot be joined with other lines to form a full metrical line, or which may not be definitively identified asverse or prose
editorial emendation
editorial emendations to the text from the Folio