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. Enter Richard and Guard. ^note
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. ^note
Ah, thou ^note, the model ^note 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 lodged in thee,
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

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 awaked, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet ^note,
To grim Necessity, and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Hie ^note 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 ^note down.

Queen.
What ^note, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transform'd and weaken'd ^note? hath Bolingbroke ^note 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'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like,

Take thy ^note correction mildly, ^note kiss the rod,
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion and a king ^note of beasts ^note?

K. Rich.
A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts ^note,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, ^note prepare thee hence for France:
Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest,
As from my death-bed, thy ^note last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire
With good old folks and let them tell thee ^note tales
Of woeful ages long ago betid ^note;
And ere thou bid good night ^note, to quit ^note their griefs ^note,
Tell thou the lamentable tale ^note of me
And send the hearers weeping to their beds:
For why, ^note the senseless brands will sympathize ^note
The heavy ^note accent of thy ^note 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 ^note. Enter Northumberland and others ^note. ^note

North.
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.

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 ^note: thou shalt think,
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half,
It is too little, helping him to all;
And he ^note shall think that thou, which know'st ^note the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt ^note know again,
Being ne'er so little urged, ^note another way
To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked men ^note converts to fear;
That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both
To worthy danger and deserved death.

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

K. Rich.
Doubly divorced! Bad men, you ^note violate
A twofold marriage; 'twixt ^note my crown and me,
And then betwixt me and my married wife. ^note
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt ^note 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 ^note to France: from whence, set ^note forth in pomp,
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas ^note or short'st of day ^note.

Queen.
And must we be divided? must we part?

K. Rich.
Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart ^note from heart.

Queen.
Banish us both and send the king with me.

North. ^note
That were some love but little policy.

Queen.
Then whither he goes, thither let me go.

K. Rich.
So two, together weeping, make one woe.
Weep thou ^note for me in France, I for ^note thee here;
Better far off than near ^note, be ne'er the near.
Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.

Queen.
So longest way shall have the longest moans.

K. Rich.
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 ^note part ^note; ^note
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.

Queen.
Give me mine ^note own again; 'twere no good part ^note
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
So, now I have mine own again, be gone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

K. Rich.
We make woe wanton with this fond delay:
Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt.

^note

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