London. A Street leading to the Tower. |
|
Enter the QUEEN and LADIES. |
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 KING RICHARD and Guard. |
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. |
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, |
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 awak'd, the truth of what we are |
Shows us but this. I am sworn brother, sweet, |
To grim Necessity, and he and I |
Will keep a league till death. Hie 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 down. |
Queen. What! is my Richard both in shape and mind |
Transform'd and weaken'd! Hath 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, |
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 woeful ages, long ago betid; |
And ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, |
Tell thou the lamentable tale 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, attended. |
North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd; |
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 where-withal |
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, |
Though 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 the usurped throne. |
The love of wicked friends converts to fear; |
That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both |
To worthy danger and deserved death. |
North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. |
Take leave and part; for you must part forthwith. |
K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, ye violate |
A two-fold marriage; 'twixt my crown and me, |
And then, betwixt me and my married wife. |
Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt 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 to France: from whence, set forth in pomp, |
She came adorned hither like sweet May, |
Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day. |
Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? |
K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. |
Queen. Banish us both and send the king with me. |
North. 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 for me in France, I for thee here; |
Better far off, than near, 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 part; |
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. [They kiss. |
Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part |
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. [They kiss again. |
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. |
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