Bulling.
Call forth Bagot.
Now Bagot, 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.

Bagot.
Then set before my Face the Lord Aumerle.

Bulling.
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 that you had rather refuse
The offer of an hundred thousand Crowns,
Than Bullingbroke return to England; adding withal,
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,

On equal terms to give him chastisement?
Either I must, or have mine Honour spoil'd
With the Attainder of his sland'rous Lips.
There is my Gage, the manual Seal of Death,
That marks thee out for Hell. Thou liest,
And I'll maintain what thou hast said, is false,
In thy Heart Blood, though being all too base,
To stain the temper of my Knighty Sword.

Bulling.
Bagot forbear, thou shalt not take it up.

Aum.
Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this Presence that hath moved me so.

Fitzw.
If that thy Valour stand on Sympathies:
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.

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.

Surrey.
My Lord Fitzwater
I do remember well the very time
Aumerle and you did talk.

Fitzw.
My Lord,
'Tis very true: You were in Presence then;
And you can witness with me, this is true.

Surrey.
As false, by Heav'n,
As Heav'n it self is true.

Fitzw.
Surrey, thou liest.

Surrey.
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, do lye
In Earth as quiet, as thy Father's Scull.
In proof whereof, there is mine Honour's Pawn,
Engage it to the Trial, if thou dar'st.

Fitzw.
How fondly do'st thou spur a forward Horse?
If I dare eat, or drink, or breath, or live,
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 in this new World,
Aumerle is guilty of my true Appeal.
Besides, I heard the banisht 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.

Bulling.
These Differences 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 Lands and Seigniories; when he's return'd,
Against Aumerle we will enforce his Trial.

Carl.
That honourable Day shall ne'er be seen.
Many a time hath banisht Norfolk fought
For Jesus Christ, in glorious Christian Field
Streaming the Ensign of the Christian Cross
Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens:
And toil'd with works of War, retir'd himself
To Italy, and there at Venice gave
His Body to that pleasant Countries Earth,
And his pure Soul unto his Captain Christ,
Under whose Colours he had fought so long.

Bulling.
Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?

Carl.
As sure as I live, my Lord.

Bulling.
Sweet peace conduct his sweet Soul
To the Bosom of good old Abraham.
Lords Appealants, your Differences shall all rest under gage
'Till we assign you to your Days of Trial.

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.

Bulling.
In God's Name, I'll ascend the Regal Throne.

Carl.
Marry, Heav'n forbid.
Worst in this Royal Presence may I speak,
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
Would God, that any in this noble Presence
Were enough noble to be upright Judge
Of noble Richard, then true Nobleness would
Learn him forbearance from so foul a Wrong.
What Subject can give Sentence on his King?
And who sits here that is not Richard's Subject?
Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear,
Although apparent Guilt be seen in them:
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, God,
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 his foul Act.
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and Infidels,
And in this Seat 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 it, resist it, let it not be so,
Lest Child, Childs Children cry against you, wo.

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 Trial.
May it please you, Lords, to grant the Commons Suit?

Bulling.
Fetch hither Richard, that in common View
He may surrender: So we shall proceed
Without Suspicion.

York.
I will be his Conduct. [Exit.

Bulling.
Lords, you that are here under our Arrest,
Procure your Sureties for your Days of Answer:
Little are we beholding to your Love,
And little look'd for at your helping Hands. 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
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my Knee.
Give Sorrow leave a while, to return me
To this Submission. Yet I will remember
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 Clark? 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
To Henry Bullingbroke.

K. Rich.
Give me the Crown. Here Cousin, seize the Crown;
Here Cousin, 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 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.

Bulling.
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.

Bulling.
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,
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.

Bulling.
Are you contented to resign the Crown?

K. Rich.
I no; no I, for I must nothing be:
Therefore no, no, for I resign to thee.
Now, mark me how I will undo my self;
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 my blame,
With mine own Hands I give away my Crown,
With mine own Tongue deny my sacred State,
With mine own Breath release all dutious Oaths:
All Pomp and Majesty I do forswear:
My Manors, Rents, Revenues, I forgo;
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 mayst thou long live in Richard's Seat to sit,
And soon lye Richard in an Earthy Pit.
God save King Henry, un-king'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? 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 delivered me to my sower 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 a sort of Traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine Eyes upon my self,
I find my self a Traitor with the rest:
For I have given here my Soul's consent,
T'undeck the pompous Body of a King;
Made Glory base; a Soveraign, a Slave;
Proud Majesty, a Subject; State, a Peasant.

North.
My Lord.

K. Rich.
No Lord of thine, thou haught-insulting Man;
No, nor no Man's Lord: I have no Name, no Title;
No, not that Name was given me at the Font,
But 'tis usurpt. Alack the heavy Day,
That I have worn so many Winters out,
And know not now, what Name to call my self.
Oh, that I were a Mockery, King of Snow,
Standing before the Sun of Bullingbroke,
To melt my self away in Water-drops.
Good King, great King, and yet not greatly good, [To Bulling.
And if my word be Sterling yet in England
Let it command a Mirror hither streight,
That it may shew me what a Face I have,

Since it is Bankrupt of his Majesty.

Bulling.
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, e'er I come to Hell.

Bulling.
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 my self. 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 Bullingbroke?
A brittle Glory shineth in this Face,
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.

Bulling.
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 lyes all within,
And these external Manners of Laments
Are meerly Shadows to the unseen Grief,
That swells with silence in the tortur'd Soul.
There lyes 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?

Bulling.
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.

Bulling.
Yet ask.

K. Rich.
And shall I have?

Bulling.
You shall.

K. Rich.
Then give me leave to go.

Bulling.
Whither?

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

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

K. Rich.
Oh good; convey: Conveyers are you all,
That rise thus nimbly by a true King's fall.

Bulling.
On Wednesday next we solemnly set down
Our Coronation: Lords, prepare your selves. [Ex. all but Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle and Aumerle.

Abbot.
A woful Pageant have we here beheld.

Bishop.
The wo's to come, the Children yet unborn,
Shall feel this Day as sharp to them as Thorn.

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,
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'll lay a Plot
Shall shew us all a merry Day. [Exeunt.

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