William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (173 page)
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Authors: William Shakespeare
Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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BOLINGBROKE
Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.
Exit one or more
NORTHUMBERLAND
Read o’er this paper while the glass doth come.
RICHARD
Fiend, thou torment’st me ere I come to hell.
BOLINGBROKE
Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland.
NORTHUMBERLAND
The Commons will not then be satisfied.
RICHARD
They shall be satisfied. I’ll read enough
When I do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that’s myself.
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.
Richard takes the glass and looks in it
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 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,
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 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 shatters the glass
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.
Mark, silent King, the moral of this sport:
How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face.
BOLINGBROKE
The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyed
The shadow of your face.
The shadow of your face.
RICHARD
Say that again:
‘The shadow of my sorrow’—ha, let’s see.
‘Tis very true: my grief lies all within,
And these external manner 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,
And then be gone and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?
‘Tis very true: my grief lies all within,
And these external manner 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,
And then be gone and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it?
BOLINGBROKE
Name it, fair cousin.
RICHARD
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.
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.
BOLINGBROKE Yet ask.
RICHARD And shall I have?
BOLINGBROKE You shall.
RICHARD Then give me leave to go.
BOLINGBROKE Whither?
RICHARD
Whither you will, so I were from your sights.
BOLINGBROKE
Go some of you, convey him to the Tower.
RICHARD
O good, ‘convey’! Conveyors are you all,
That rise thus nimbly by a true king’s fall.
That rise thus nimbly by a true king’s fall.
⌈
Exit
,
guarded
⌉
Exit
,
guarded
⌉
BOLINGBROKE
On Wednesday next we solemnly set down
Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.
Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.
Exeunt all but the Abbot of Westminster, the Bishop of Carlisle, and Aumerle
ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER
A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE
The woe’s to come, the children yet unborn
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
AUMERLE
You holy clergymen, is there no plot
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?
ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER
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 will lay
A plot shall show us all a merry day.
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 will lay
A plot shall show us all a merry day.
Exeunt
5.1Enter the Queen, with her Ladies
QUEEN
This way the King will come. This is the way
To Julius Caesar’s ill-erected Tower,
To whose flint bosom my condemned 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.
To Julius Caesar’s ill-erected Tower,
To whose flint bosom my condemned 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 honour, thou King Richard’s tomb,
And not King Richard! Thou most beauteous inn:
Why should hard-favoured grief be lodged in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?
My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold,
That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.—
Ah, thou the model where old Troy did stand!
Thou map of honour, thou King Richard’s tomb,
And not King Richard! Thou most beauteous inn:
Why should hard-favoured grief be lodged in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?
RICHARD
Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream,
From which awaked, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this. I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity, and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloister thee in some religious house.
Our holy lives must win a new world’s crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream,
From which awaked, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this. I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity, and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloister thee in some religious house.
Our holy lives must win a new world’s crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
QUEEN
What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transformed and weakenèd? 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’erpowered; 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 ?
Transformed and weakenèd? 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’erpowered; 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 ?
RICHARD
A king of beasts indeed! If aught but beasts,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometimes Queen, prepare thee hence for France.
Think I am dead, and that even here thou tak’st,
As from my death-bed, 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 goodnight, to quit their griefs
Tell thou the lamentable fall 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,
For the deposing of a rightful king.
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometimes Queen, prepare thee hence for France.
Think I am dead, and that even here thou tak’st,
As from my death-bed, 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 goodnight, to quit their griefs
Tell thou the lamentable fall 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,
For the deposing of a rightful king.
Enter the Earl of Northumberland
NORTHUMBERLAND
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.
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.
RICHARD
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 know‘st 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 friends converts to fear,
That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both
To worthy danger and deserved death.
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 know‘st 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 friends converts to fear,
That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both
To worthy danger and deserved death.
NORTHUMBERLAND
My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave and part, for you must part forthwith.
Take leave and part, for you must part forthwith.
RICHARD
Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate
A twofold marriage:‘twixt my crown and me,
And then betwixt me and my married wife.
(
To the 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 queen to France, from whence set forth in pomp
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas or short’st of day.
A twofold marriage:‘twixt my crown and me,
And then betwixt me and my married wife.
(
To the 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 queen to France, from whence set forth in pomp
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas or short’st of day.
QUEEN
And must we be divided? Must we part?
RICHARD
Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.
QUEEN
Banish us both, and send the King with me.
⌈NORTHUMBERLAND⌉
That were some love, but little policy.
QUEEN
Then whither he goes, thither let me go.
RICHARD
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 nea’er.
Go count thy way with sighs, I mine with groans.
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here.
Better far off than, near, be ne’er the nea’er.
Go count thy way with sighs, I mine with groans.
QUEEN
So longest way shall have the longest moans.
RICHARD
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.
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let’s be brief,
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part.
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.
They kiss
QUEEN
Give me mine own again. ’Twere no good part
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
They kiss
So now I have mine own again, be gone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
RICHARD
We make woe wanton with this fond delay.
Once more, adieu. The rest let sorrow say.
Once more, adieu. The rest let sorrow say.
Exeunt FRichard, guarded, and Northumberland at one door, the Queen and her Ladies at another door
⌉
5.2⌉
Enter the Duke and Duchess of York
DUCHESS OF YORK
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.
When weeping made you break the story off,
Of our two cousins’ coming into London.
YORK
Where did I leave?
DUCHESS OF YORK At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgoverned hands from windows’ tops
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard’s head.
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard’s head.
YORK
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,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed’s neck,
Bespake them thus: ‘I thank you, countrymen’,
And thus still doing, thus he passed along.
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,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed’s neck,
Bespake them thus: ‘I thank you, countrymen’,
And thus still doing, thus he passed along.
DUCHESS OF YORK
Alack, poor Richard! Where rode he the whilst?
YORK
As in a theatre 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,
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 honour I for aye allow.
After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious,
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 honour I for aye allow.
Enter the Duke of Aumerle
DUCHESS OF YORK
Here comes my son Aumerle.
Here comes my son Aumerle.
YORK
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.
And, madam, you must call him ’Rutland’ now.
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to the new-made King.
DUCHESS OF YORK
Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?
AUMERLE
Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.
God knows I had as lief be none as one.
God knows I had as lief be none as one.
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