Bolingbroke.
Call Bagot forth: now freely speak thy mind;
What thou dost know of noble Glo'ster's death;
Who wrought it with the King, and who perform'd
The bloody office of his timeless end.^{7 note}

Bagot.
Then set before my face the lord Aumerle.

Boling.
Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.

Bagot.
My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue
Scorns to unsay, what it hath once deliver'd.
In that dead time when Glo'ster'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 my uncle's head?”
Amongst much other talk that very time,
I heard you say, “You rather had refuse,
“The offer of an hundred thousand crowns,
“Than Bolingbroke return to England; adding,
“How blest this Land would be in this your Cousin's death.”

Aum.
Princes, and noble Lords,
What answer shall I make to this base man?
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,^{8 note}

Boling.
Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.

Aum.
Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this presence that hath mov'd me so.

Fitzw.
If that thy valour stand on sympathies,^{9 note}

There is my Gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine.
By that fair Sun, that shews me where thou stand'st,
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it,
That thou wert cause of noble Glo'ster's death.
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest;
And I will turn thy falshood to thy heart,
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.^{1 note}

Aum.
Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see the day.

Fitzw.
Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.

Aum.
Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this.

Percy.
Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true,
In this appeal, as thou art all unjust;
And that thou art so, there I throw my Gage
To prove it on thee, to th' extreamest point
Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar'st.

Aum.
And if I do not, may my hands rot off,
And never brandish more revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe.

* ^noteAnother Lord.
I take the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle,
And spur thee on with full as many lies
As may be hollow'd in thy treach'rous ear
From sin to sin. Here is my honour's pawn,
Engage it to the trial if thou dar'st.

Aum.
Who sets me else? by heav'n, I'll throw at all.
I have a thousand spirits in my breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.

Surrey.
My Lord Fitzwater, I remember well
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.

Fitzw.
My Lord, 'tis true; you were in presence then;

And you can witness with me, this is true.

Surry.
As false, by heav'n, as heav'n itself is true.

Fitz.
Surry, thou liest.

Surry.
Dishonourable boy,
That Lie shall lye so heavy on my sword,
That it shall render vengeance and revenge,
Till thou the lie-giver, and that Lie, rest
In earth as quiet, as thy father's scull.
In proof whereof, there is mine honour's pawn;
Engage it to the tryal, if thou dar'st.

Fitz.
How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse?
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
^{2 note}

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.
As I intend to thrive ^{3 note}in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.
Besides I heard the banish'd Norfolk say,
That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
To execute the noble Duke at Calais.

Aum.
Some honest christian trust me with a gage,
That Norfolk lies. Here do I throw down this,
If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour.

Boling.
These Diff'rences shall all rest under gage,
Till Norfolk be repeal'd; repeal'd he shall be,
And, though mine enemy, restor'd again
To all his Signiories; when he's return'd,
Against Aumerle we will enforce his tryal.

Carl.
That honourable day shall ne'er be seen.
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ, in glorious christian field

Streaming the Ensign of the christian Cross,
Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens:
Then, toil'd with works of war, retir'd 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 Colours he had fought so long.

Boling.
Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?

Carl.
Sure as I live, my lord.

Boling.
Sweet peace conduct his soul
To th' bosom of good Abraham!—Lords appealants,
Your diff'rences shall all rest under gage,
Till we assign you to your days of tryal. SCENE II. Enter York.

York.
Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee
From plume-pluckt 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, of that name the Fourth!

Boling.
In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne.

Carl.
Marry, heav'n forbid!
Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
^{4 note}

^{5 note}And shall the Figure of God's Majesty,
His Captain, Steward, Deputy elect,
Anointed, crown'd, and planted many years,
Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath,
And he himself not present? oh, forbid it!
That, in a christian climate, souls refin'd
Should shew so heinous, black, obscene a deed.
I speak to Subjects, and a Subject speaks,
Stirr'd up by heav'n, 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 prophesie,
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 feat 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 call'd
The field of Golgotha, and dead men's sculls.
Oh, if you rear this house against this house,
It will the wofullest division prove,
That ever fell upon this cursed earth.
Prevent, resist it, let it not be so,
Lest children's children cry against you, woe.

North.
Well have you argu'd, 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 tryal.^{6 note}

May't please you, lords, to grant the Common's suit?

Boling.
Fetch hither Richard, that in common view
He may surrender. So we shall proceed
Without suspicion.

York.
I will be his conduct. [Exit.

Boling.
Lords, you that here are under our Arrest,
Procure your sureties for your days of answer.
Little are we beholden to your love,
And little look'd for at your helping hands. SCENE III. Enter King Richard, and York.

K. Rich.
Alack, why am I sent for to a King.
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd
T' insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee.
Give sorrow leave a-while, to tutor me
To this submission. Yet I well remember
^{7 note}The favours 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 heav'n do think him me.
To do what service, am I sent for hither?

York.
To do that office of thine own good will,
Which tired Majesty did make thee offer,
The Resignation of thy State and Crown.

K. Rich.
Give me the Crown.—Here, cousin, seize the Crown,
Here, 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 ^note in the air,
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.

Boling.
I thought you had been willing to resign.

K. Rich.
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.

Boling.
Part of your Cares you give me with your Crown.

K. Rich.
Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares down.
My care, is loss of care, by old care done; ^note
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.

Boling.
Are you contented to resign the Crown?

K. Rich.
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 ^{1 note}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 forego;
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 griev'd,
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all atchiev'd!
Long may'st thou live in Richard's Seat to sit,
And soon lye Richard in an earthy pit!
God save King Henry, unking'd Richard says,
And send him many years of sun-shine days!
What more remains?

North.
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 depos'd.

K. Rich.
Must I do so? and must I ravel out
My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,
Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? ^{2 note}if thou would'st,
There should'st thou find one heinous article,
Containing the deposing of a King;
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heav'n.
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me,
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait my self,
Though some of you with Pilate wash your hands,
Shewing an outward pity; yet you Pilates

Have here deliver'd me to my sow'r Cross,
And water cannot wash away your sin.

North.
My lord, dispatch; read o'er these articles.

K. Rich.
Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see;
And yet salt-water blinds them not so much,
But they can see ^{3 note}

North.
My lord—

K. Rich.
No lord of thine, thou haught-insulting man;
Nor no man's lord; I have no Name, no Title;
No, not that Name was giv'n me at the Font,
But 'tis usurp'd. Alack, the heavy day,
That I have worn so many winters out,
And know not now, what name to call myself!
Oh, 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, [To Boling.
Let it command a mirror hither straight,
That it may shew me what a face I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his Majesty.

Boling.
Go some of you, and fetch a looking-glass.

North.
Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth come.

K. Rich.
Fiend, thou torment'st me, ere I come to hell.

Boling.
Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland.

North.
The Commons will not then be satisfy'd.

K. Rich.
They shall be satisfy'd; I'll read enough,
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.
—No deeper wrinkles yet? hath Sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine,
And made no deeper wounds? oh, flatt'ring Glass,
Like to my Followers in prosperity,
Thou dost beguile me. Was this face, the face
That every day under his houshold roof
Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face,
That, like the Sun, did make beholders wink?
Is this the face, which fac'd so many follies,
That was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle Glory shineth in this face; [Dashes the Glass against the Ground.
As brittle, as the glory, is the face;
For there it is, crackt in an hundred shivers.
Mark, silent King, the Moral of this sport;
How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.

Boling.
The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd
The shadow of your face.

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

Boling.
Name it, fair Cousin.

K. Rich.
Fair Cousin! I am greater than a King:
For when I was a King, my flatterers
Were then but Subjects; being now a Subject,
I have a King here to my flatterer:
Being so great, I have no need to beg.

Boling.
Yet ask.

K. Rich.
And shall I have?

Boling.
You shall.

K. Rich.
Then give me leave to go.

Boling.
Whither?

K. Rich.
Whither you will, so I were from your sight.

Boling.
Go some of you, convey him to the Tower.

K. Rich.
Oh, good! convey:—^{4 note}Conveyers are you all.
That rise thus nimbly by a true King's fall. [Exit.

Boling.
On Wednesday next we solemnly set down
Our Coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.
Let it be so, and lo be ready all. [Ex. all but Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle and Aumerle. SCENE IV.

Abbot.
A woeful pageant have we here beheld.

Carl.
The woe's to come; the children yet unborn
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.^{5 note}

Aum.
You holy Clergy-men, is there no Plot,
To rid the Realm of this pernicious blot.

Abbot.
Before I freely speak my mind herein,
You shall not only take the Sacrament,

* ^noteTo bury mine intents, but to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devise.
I see, your brows are full of discontent,
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears.
Come home with me to supper, and I'll lay
A Plot, shall shew us all a merry day.^{6 note} [Exeunt.

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