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.

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