Queen.
This way the king will come; this is the way
To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected Tower,
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke:
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.
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. Enter King Richard, guarded.
Ah! thou, the model where old Troy did stand:
Thou map of honour, thou king Richard's tomb,
And not king Richard: thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee?

K. Rich.
Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream,
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are,
Shews us but this—I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity; and he and I
Will keep a league till death.

Queen.
What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transform'd and weaken'd? Hath proud Bolingbroke
Depos'd 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'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod,
And fawn on rage with base humility;
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?

K. Rich.
A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France,
And cloister thee in some religious house—
Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st,
As from my death-bed, my last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire
With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales
Of woful ages long ago betid;
And, ere thou bid'st good night, to quit their grief,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why? 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 Northumberland, &c.

North.
My lord there's an order come from Bolingbroke,
For your close confinement.
And, madam,
With all swift speed you must away to France.

K. Rich.
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,
Tho' he divide the realm, and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to all;
And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,
Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way,
To pluck him headlong from th' usurped throne.

North.
My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.

Queen.
And must we be divided? Must we part?
Banish us both, and send the king with me.

K. Rich.
Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, ye violate
A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me,
And then betwixt me and my marry'd wife.
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made.
Part us, Northumberland, for ever part us—
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here.

Queen.
O let me entreat thee, cease—Give me thy hand,
That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
To wash away my woful monuments.
If I depart from thee, I cannot live;
And in thy sight to die, what were it else
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle babe;
When from thy sight, I shall be raging mad:
From thee to die, were torture more than death.

K. Rich.
O, now farewell, and farewell life with thee!

Queen.
And take my heart with thee along.

K. Rich.
A jewel lock'd into the wosull'st cask
That ever did contain a gem of worth:
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we—
This way fall I for death—

Queen.
This way for me. [Exeunt severally, guarded.

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