The Tragedy of King Richard the Second Read Online

RICH.

And let them die that age and sullens have,

For both hast thou, and both become the grave.

YORK.

I do beseech your Majesty, impute his words

To wayward sickliness and age in him.

He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear

As Harry Duke of Herford, were he here.

K. RICH.

Right, you say true: as Herford's love, so his,

As theirs, so mine, and all be as it is.

[Enter Northumberland.]

NORTH.

My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty.

K. RICH.

What says he?

NORTH.

Nay, nothing, all is said.

His tongue is now a stringless instrument,

Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.

YORK.

Be York the next that must be bankrout so!

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.

K. RICH.

The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;

His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.

So much for that. Now for our Irish wars:

We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,

Which live like venom where no venom else

But only they have privilege to live.

And, for these great affairs do ask some charge,

Towards our assistance we do seize to us

The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables

Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.

YORK.

How long shall I be patient? ah, how long

Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?

Not Gloucester's death, nor Herford's banishment,

Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,

Nor the prevention of poor Bullingbrook

About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,

Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,

Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.

I am the last of noble Edward's sons,

Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first.

In war was never lion rag'd more fierce,

In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,

Than was that young and princely gentleman.

His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,

Accomplish'd with [the] number of thy hours;

But when he frowned it was against the French,

And not against his friends. His noble hand

Did win what he did spend, and spent not that

Which his triumphant father's hand had won.

His hands were guilty of no kinred blood,

But bloody with the enemies of his kin.

O Richard! York is too far gone with grief,

Or else he never would compare between.

K. RICH.

Why, uncle, what's the matter?

YORK.

O my liege,

Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd

Not to be pardoned, am content withal.

Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands

The royalties and rights of banish'd Herford?

Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Herford live?

Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?

Did not the one deserve to have an heir?

Is not his heir a well-deserving son?

Take Herford's rights away, and take from Time

His charters and his customary rights;

Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;

Be not thyself; for how art thou a king

But by fair sequence and succession?

Now afore God – God forbid I say true! –

If you do wrongfully seize Herford's rights,

Call in the letters-patents that he hath

By his attorneys-general to sue

His livery, and deny his off'red homage,

You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,

You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,

And prick my tender patience to those thoughts

Which honor and allegiance cannot think.

K. RICH.

Think what you will, we seize into our hands

His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.

YORK.

I'll not be by the while. My liege, farewell!

What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell;

But by bad courses may be understood

That their events can never fall out good.

Exit.

K. RICH.

Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight,

Bid him repair to us to Ely House

To see this business. To-morrow next

We will for Ireland, and 'tis time, I trow.

And we create, in absence of ourself,

Our uncle York lord governor of England;

For he is just and always loved us well.

Come on, our queen, to-morrow must we part.

Be merry, for our time of stay is short.

[Flourish.] Exeunt King and Queen [with others]. Manet Northumberland [with Willoughby and Ross].

NORTH.

Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.

ROSS.

And living too, for now his son is Duke.

WILLO.

Barely in title, not in revenues.

NORTH.

Richly in both, if justice had her right.

ROSS.

My heart is great, but it must break with silence,

Ere't be disburdened with a liberal tongue.

NORTH.

Nay, speak thy mind, and let him ne'er speak more

That speaks thy words again to do thee harm!

WILLO.

Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Herford?

If it be so, out with it boldly, man,

Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.

ROSS.

No good at all that I can do for him,

Unless you call it good to pity him,

Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

NORTH.

Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne

In him, a royal prince, and many moe

Of noble blood in this declining land.

The King is not himself, but basely led

By flatterers, and what they will inform,

Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,

That will the King severely prosecute

'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

ROSS.

The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes,

And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fin'd

For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

WILLO.

And daily new exactions are devis'd,

As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what.

But what a' God's name doth become of this?

NORTH.

Wars hath not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not,

But basely yielded upon compromise

That which his noble ancestors achiev'd with blows.

More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.

ROSS.

The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

WILLO.

The [King's] grown bankrout, like a broken man.

NORTH.

Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.

ROSS.

He hath not money for these Irish wars,

His burthenous taxations notwithstanding,

But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke.

NORTH.

His noble kinsman – most degenerate king!

But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,

Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm;

We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,

And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

ROSS.

We see the very wrack that we must suffer,

And unavoided is the danger now,

For suffering so the causes of our wrack.

NORTH.

Not so, even through the hollow eyes of death

I spy life peering, but I dare not say

How near the tidings of our comfort is.

WILLO.

Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.

ROSS.

Be confident to speak, Northumberland:

We three are but thyself, and, speaking so,

Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold.

NORTH.

Then thus: I have from Le Port Blanc,

A bay in Britain, receiv'd intelligence

That Harry Duke of Herford, Rainold Lord Cobham,

[Thomas, son and heir to th' Earl of Arundel,]

That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,

His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,

Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,

Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis [Coint] –

All these, well furnished by the Duke of Britain

With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,

Are making hither with all due expedience,

And shortly mean to touch our northern shore.

Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay

The first departing of the King for Ireland.

If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,

Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,

Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,

Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt,

And make high majesty look like itself,

Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh;

But if you faint, as fearing to do so,

Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.

ROSS.

To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.

WILLO.

Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.

Exeunt.

[Scene II]

Enter the Queen, Bushy, Bagot.

BUSHY.

Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.

You promis'd, when you parted with the King,

To lay aside life-harming heaviness

And entertain a cheerful disposition.

QUEEN.

To please the King I did, to please myself

I cannot do it; yet I know no cause

Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,

Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest

As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks

Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,

Is coming towards me, and my inward soul

With nothing trembles; at some thing it grieves,

More than with parting from my lord the King.

BUSHY.

Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,

Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;

For sorrow's eyes, glazed with blinding tears,

Divides one thing entire to many objects,

Like perspectives, which rightly gaz'd upon

Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry

Distinguish form; so your sweet Majesty,

Looking awry upon your lord's departure,

Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail,

Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows

Of what it is not; then, thrice-gracious Queen,

More than your lord's departure weep not – more is not seen,

Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,

Which for things true weeps things imaginary.

QUEEN.

It may be so; but yet my inward soul

Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe'er it be,

I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad,

As, [though] on thinking on no thought I think,

Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.

BUSHY.

'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

QUEEN.

'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd

From some forefather grief; mine is not so,

For nothing hath begot my something grief,

Or something hath the nothing that I grieve –

'Tis in reversion that I do possess –

But what it is that is not yet known what,

I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

[Enter Green.]

GREEN.

God save your Majesty! and well met, gentlemen.

I hope the King is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.

QUEEN.

Why hopest thou so? 'Tis better hope he is,

For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.

Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd?

GREEN.

That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power,

And driven into despair an enemy's hope,

Who strongly hath set footing in this land:

The banish'd Bullingbrook repeals himself,

And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd

At Ravenspurgh.

QUEEN.

Now God in heaven forbid!

GREEN.

Ah, madam! 'tis too true, and that is worse,

The Lord Northumberland, his son young Harry Percy,

The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,

With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

BUSHY.

Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland

And all the rest revolted faction traitors?

GREEN.

We have, whereupon the Earl of Worcester

Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship,

And all the household servants fled with him

To Bullingbrook.

QUEEN.

So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,

And Bullingbrook my sorrow's dismal heir.

Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,

And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,

Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.

BUSHY.

Despair not, madam.

QUEEN.

Who shall hinder me?

I will despair, and be at enmity

With cozening hope. He is a flatterer,

A parasite, a keeper-back of death,

Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,

Which false hope lingers in extremity.

[Enter York.]

GREEN.

Here comes the Duke of York.

QUEEN.

With signs of war about his aged neck.

O, full of careful business are his looks!

Uncle, for God's sake speak comfortable words.

YORK.

Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.

Comfort's in heaven, and we are on the earth,

Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.

Your husband, he is gone to save far off,

Whilst others come to make him lose at home.

Here am I left to underprop his land,

Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.

Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made,

Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.

[Enter a Servingman.]

SERV.

My lord, your son was gone before I came.

YORK.

He was – why, so go all which way it will!

The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold,

And will, I fear, revolt on Herford's side.

Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester,

Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.

Hold, take my ring.

SERV.

My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship:

To-day, as I came by, I called there –

But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

YORK.

What is't, knave?

SERV.

An hour before I came, the Duchess died.

YORK.

God for his mercy, what a tide of woes

Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!

I know not what to do. I would to God

(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it)

The King had cut off my head with my brother's.

What, are there no posts disparch'd for Ireland?

How shall we do for money for these wars?

Come, sister – cousin, I would say – pray pardon me.

Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts,

And bring away the armor that is there.

[Exit Servingman.]

Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I

Know how or which way to order these affairs

Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,

Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen:

T' one is my sovereign, whom both my oath

And duty bids defend; t' other again

Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd,

Whom conscience and my kinred bids to right.

Well, somewhat we must do.

Come, cousin, I'll dispose of you.

Gentlemen, go muster up your men,

And meet me presently at Berkeley.

I should to Plashy too,

But time will not permit. All is uneven,

And every thing is left at six and seven.

Exeunt Duke [of York], Queen. Manent Bushy, Green, [Bagot].

BUSHY.

The wind sits fair for news to go for Ireland,

But none returns. For us to levy power

Proportionable to the enemy

Is all unpossible.

GREEN.

Besides, our nearness to the King in love

Is near the hate of those love not the King.

BAGOT.

And that is the wavering commons, for their love

Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them

By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

BUSHY.

Wherein the King stands generally condemn'd.

BAGOT.

If judgment lie in them, then so do we,

Because we ever have been near the King.

GREEN.

Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristow castle:

The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

BUSHY.

Thither will I with you, for little office

Will the hateful commons perform for us,

Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.

Will you go along with us?

BAGOT.

No, I will to Ireland to his Majesty.

Farewell! If heart's presages be not vain,

We three here part that ne'er shall meet again.

BUSHY.

That's as York thrives to beat back Bullingbrook.

GREEN.

Alas, poor duke, the task he undertakes

Is numb'ring sands and drinking oceans dry;

Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.

Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.

BUSHY.

Well, we may meet again.

BAGOT.

I fear me, never.

[Exeunt.]

[Scene III]

Enter [Bullingbrook, Duke of] Herford, Northumberland, [and forces].

BULL.

How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

NORTH.

Believe me, noble lord,

I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire.

These high wild hills and rough uneven ways

Draws out our miles and makes them wearisome,

And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,

Making the hard way sweet and delectable.

But I bethink me what a weary way

From Ravenspurgh to Cotshall will be found

In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,

Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd

The tediousness and process of my travel.

But theirs is sweet'ned with the hope to have

The present benefit which I possess,

And hope to joy is little less in joy

Than hope enjoyed. By this the weary lords

Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done

By sight of what I have, your noble company.

BULL.

Of much less value is my company

Than your good words. But who comes here?

Enter Harry Percy.

NORTH.

It is my son, young Harry Percy,

Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.

Harry, how fares your uncle?

PERCY.

I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.

NORTH.

Why, is he not with the Queen?

PERCY.

No, my good lord, he hath forsook the court,

Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd

The household of the King.

NORTH.

What was his reason?

He was not so resolv'd when last we spake together.

PERCY.

Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.

But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh

To offer service to the Duke of Herford,

And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover

What power the Duke of York had levied there,

Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.

NORTH.

Have you forgot the Duke of [Herford], boy?

PERCY.

No, my good lord, for that is not forgot

Which ne'er I did remember. To my knowledge,

I never in my life did look on him.

NORTH.

Then learn to know him now, this is the Duke.

PERCY.

My gracious lord, I tender you my service,

Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,

Which elder days shall ripen and confirm

To more approved service and desert.

BULL.

I thank thee, gentle Percy, and be sure

I count myself in nothing else so happy

As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends,

And as my fortune ripens with thy love,

It shall be still thy true love's recompense.

My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.

NORTH.

How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir

Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

PERCY.

There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,

Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard,

And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour,

None else of name and noble estimate.

[Enter Ross and Willoughby.]

NORTH.

Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,

Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

BULL.

Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues

A banish'd traitor. All my treasury

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd

Shall be your love and labor's recompense.

ROSS.

Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

WILLO.

And far surmounts our labor to attain it.

BULL.

Evermore thank's the exchequer of the poor,

Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,

Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

NORTH.

It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess.

[Enter Berkeley.]

BERK.

My Lord of Herford, my message is to you.

BULL.

My lord, my answer is to Lancaster,

And I am come to seek that name in England,

And I must find that title in your tongue,

Before I make reply to aught you say.

BERK.

Mistake me not, my lord, 'tis not my meaning

To rase one title of your honor out.

To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will,

From the most gracious regent of this land,

The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on

To take advantage of the absent time,

And fright our native peace with self-borne arms.

[Enter York attended.]

BULL.

I shall not need transport my words by you,

Here comes his Grace in person.