The Tragedy of King Richard the Second Read Online

My noble uncle!

[Kneels.]

YORK.

Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,

Whose duty is deceivable and false.

BULL.

My gracious uncle –

YORK.

Tut, tut!

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.

I am no traitor's uncle, and that word ›grace‹

In an ungracious mouth is but profane.

Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs

Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?

But then more »why?« – why have they dar'd to march

So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,

Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war

And ostentation of despised arms?

Com'st thou because the anointed King is hence?

Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind,

And in my loyal bosom lies his power.

Were I but now lord of such hot youth

As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself

Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,

From forth the ranks of many thousand French,

O then how quickly should this arm of mine,

Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee,

And minister correction to thy fault!

BULL.

My gracious uncle, let me know my fault,

On what condition stands it and wherein?

YORK.

Even in condition of the worst degree,

In gross rebellion and detested treason.

Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come,

Before the expiration of thy time,

In braving arms against thy sovereign.

BULL.

As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Herford,

But as I come, I come for Lancaster.

And, noble uncle, I beseech your Grace

Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.

You are my father, for methinks in you

I see old Gaunt alive. O then, my father,

Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd

A wandering vagabond, my rights and royalties

Pluck'd from my arms perforce – and given away

To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?

If that my cousin king be King in England,

It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.

You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin,

Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,

He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father

To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.

I am denied to sue my livery here,

And yet my letters-patents give me leave.

My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold,

And these, and all, are all amiss employed.

What would you have me do? I am a subject,

And I challenge law. Attorneys are denied me,

And therefore personally I lay my claim

To my inheritance of free descent.

NORTH.

The noble Duke hath been too much abused.

ROSS.

It stands your Grace upon to do him right.

WILLO.

Base men by his endowments are made great.

YORK.

My lords of England, let me tell you this:

I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs,

And labor'd all I could to do him right;

But in this kind to come, in braving arms,

Be his own carver and cut out his way,

To find out right with wrong – it may not be;

And you that do abet him in this kind

Cherish rebellion and are rebels all.

NORTH.

The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is

But for his own; and for the right of that

We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;

And let him never see joy that breaks that oath!

YORK.

Well, well, I see the issue of these arms.

I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,

Because my power is weak and all ill left;

But if I could, by Him that gave me life,

I would attach you all, and make you stoop

Unto the sovereign mercy of the King;

But since I cannot, be it known unto you

I do remain as neuter. So fare you well,

Unless you please to enter in the castle,

And there repose you for this night.

BULL.

An offer, uncle, that we will accept,

But we must win your Grace to go with us

To Bristow castle, which they say is held

By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,

The caterpillars of the commonwealth,

Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.

YORK.

It may be I will go with you, but yet I'll pause,

For I am loath to break our country's laws.

Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are:

Things past redress are now with me past care.

Exeunt.

[Scene IV]

Enter Earl of Salisbury and a Welsh Captain.

CAP.

My Lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days,

And hardly kept our countrymen together,

And yet we hear no tidings from the King,

Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell!

SAL.

Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman.

The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.

CAP.

'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay.

The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd,

And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven,

The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth,

And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change,

Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,

The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,

The other to enjoy by rage and war.

These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.

Farewell! Our countrymen are gone and fled,

As well assured Richard their king is dead.

[Exit.]

SAL.

Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind

I see thy glory like a shooting star

Fall to the base earth from the firmament.

Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,

Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest.

Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,

And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

[Exit.]

Act III,

[Scene I]

Enter [Bullingbrook,] Duke of Herford, York, Northumberland, [Ross, Percy, Willoughby, with] Bushy and Green prisoners.

BULL.

Bring forth these men.

Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls –

Since presently your souls must part your bodies –

With too much urging your pernicious lives,

For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood

From off my hands, here in the view of men

I will unfold some causes of your deaths:

You have misled a prince, a royal king,

A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,

By you unhappied and disfigured clean;

You have in manner with your sinful hours

Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him,

Broke the possession of a royal bed,

And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks

With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs;

Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth,

Near to the King in blood, and near in love

Till you did make him misinterpret me,

Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,

And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,

Eating the bitter bread of banishment,

Whilst you have fed upon my signories,

Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods,

From my own windows torn my household coat,

Ras'd out my imprese, leaving me no sign,

Save men's opinions and my living blood,

To show the world I am a gentleman.

This and much more, much more than twice all this,

Condemns you to the death. See them delivered over

To execution and the hand of death.

BUSHY.

More welcome is the stroke of death to me

Than Bullingbrook to England. Lords, farewell!

GREEN.

My comfort is, that heaven will take our souls,

And plague injustice with the pains of hell.

BULL.

My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd.

[Exeunt Northumberland and others with the prisoners.]

Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house,

For God's sake fairly let her be entreated.

Tell her I send to her my kind commends;

Take special care my greetings be delivered.

YORK.

A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd

With letters of your love to her at large.

BULL.

Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away,

To fight with Glendower and his complices.

A while to work, and after holiday.

Exeunt.

[Scene II]

[Drums: flourish and colors.] Enter the King, Aumerle, [the Bishop or] Carlisle, and [Soldiers].

K. RICH.

Barkloughly castle call they this at hand?

AUM.

Yea, my lord. How brooks your Grace the air

After your late tossing on the breaking seas?

K. RICH.

Needs must I like it well; I weep for joy

To stand upon my kingdom once again.

Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,

Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs.

As a long-parted mother with her child

Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,

So weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,

And do thee favors with my royal hands.

Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,

Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense,

But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,

And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,

Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,

Which with usurping steps do trample thee.

Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;

And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,

Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,

Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch

Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.

Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords,

This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones

Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king

Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.

CAR.

Fear not, my lord, that Power that made you king

Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.

The means that heavens yield must be embrac'd,

And not neglected; else heaven would,

And we will not. Heaven's offer we refuse,

The proffered means of succors and redress.

AUM.

He means, my lord, that we are too remiss,

Whilst Bullingbrook, through our security,

Grows strong and great in substance and in power.

K. RICH.

Discomfortable cousin, know'st thou not

That when the searching eye of heaven is hid

Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,

Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen

In murthers and in outrage [boldly] here,

But when from under this terrestrial ball

He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines

And darts his light through every guilty hole,

Then murthers, treasons, and detested sins,

The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,

Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?

So when this thief, this traitor Bullingbrook,

Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,

Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes,

Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,

His treasons will sit blushing in his face,

Not able to endure the sight of day,

But self-affrighted tremble at his sin.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea

Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;

The breath of worldly men cannot depose

The deputy elected by the Lord;

For every man that Bullingbrook hath press'd

To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,

God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay

A glorious angel; then if angels fight,

Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.

Enter Salisbury.

Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?

SAL.

Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord,

Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue

And bids me speak of nothing but despair.

One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,

Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.

O, call back yesterday, bid time return,

And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!

To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,

Overthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state,

For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,

Are gone to Bullingbrook, dispers'd and fled.

AUM.

Comfort, my liege, why looks your Grace so pale?

K. RICH.

But now the blood of twenty thousand men

Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;

And till so much blood thither come again,

Have I not reason to look pale and dead?

All souls that will be safe, fly from my side,

For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

AUM.

Comfort, my liege, remember who you are.

K. RICH.

I had forgot myself, am I not king?

Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest.

Is not the king's name twenty thousand names?

Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes

At thy great glory. Look not to the ground,

Ye favorites of a king, are we not high?

High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York

Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here?

Enter Scroop.

SCROOP.

More health and happiness betide my liege

Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him!

K. RICH.

Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd,

The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.

Say, is my kingdom lost? Why, 'twas my care,

And what loss is it to be rid of care?

Strives Bullingbrook to be as great as we?

Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,

We'll serve Him too, and be his fellow so.

Revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend,

They break their faith to God as well as us.

Cry woe, destruction, ruin, and decay:

The worst is death, and death will have his day.

SCROOP.

Glad am I that your Highness is so arm'd

To bear the tidings of calamity.

Like an unseasonable stormy day,

Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,

As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears,

So high above his limits swells the rage

Of Bullingbrook, covering your fearful land

With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel.

White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps

Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,

Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints

In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown;

Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows

Of double-fatal yew against thy state;

Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills

Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,

And all goes worse than I have power to tell.

K. RICH.

Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill.

Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?

What is become of Bushy? Where is Green?

That they have let the dangerous enemy

Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?

If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.

I warrant they have made peace with Bullingbrook.

SCROOP.

Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.

K. RICH.

O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!

Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!

Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!

Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas!

Would they make peace? Terrible hell

Make war upon their spotted souls for this!

SCROOP.

Sweet love, I see, changing his property,

Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.

Again uncurse their souls, their peace is made

With heads, and not with hands. Those whom you curse

Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound,

And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground.

AUM.

Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?

SCROOP.

Ay, all of them at Bristow lost their heads.

AUM.

Where is the Duke my father with his power?

K. RICH.

No matter where – of comfort no man speak:

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,

Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes

Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.

Let's choose executors and talk of wills;

And yet not so, for what can we bequeath

Save our deposed bodies to the ground?

Our lands, our lives, and all are Bullingbrook's,

And nothing can we call our own but death,

And that small model of the barren earth

Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.

For God's sake let us sit upon the ground

And tell sad stories of the death of kings:

How some have been depos'd, some slain in war,

Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,

Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping kill'd,

All murthered – for within the hollow crown

That rounds the mortal temples of a king

Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits,

Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,

Allowing him a breath, a little scene,

To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks,

Infusing him with self and vain conceit,

As if this flesh which walls about our life

Were brass impregnable; and humor'd thus,

Comes at the last and with a little pin

Bores thorough his castle wall, and farewell king!

Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood

With solemn reverence, throw away respect,

Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,

For you have but mistook me all this while.

I live with bread like you, feel want,

Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus,

How can you say to me I am a king?

CAR.

My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes,

But presently prevent the ways to wail;

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,

Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe,

And so your follies fight against yourself.

Fear, and be slain – no worse can come to fight,

And fight and die is death destroying death,

Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.

AUM.

My father hath a power, inquire of him,

And learn to make a body of a limb.

K. RICH.

Thou chid'st me well. Proud Bullingbrook, I come

To change blows with thee for our day of doom.

This ague fit of fear is overblown,

An easy task it is to win our own.

Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?

Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.

SCROOP.

Men judge by the complexion of the sky

The state and inclination of the day;

So may you by my dull and heavy eye:

My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.

I play the torturer by small and small

To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken:

Your uncle York is join'd with Bullingbrook,

And all your northern castles yielded up,

And all your southern gentlemen in arms

Upon his party.

K. RICH.

Thou hast said enough.

[To Aumerle.]

Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth

Of that sweet way I was in to despair!

What say you now? What comfort have we now?

By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly

That bids me be of comfort any more.

Go to Flint castle, there I'll pine away –

A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.

That power I have, discharge, and let them go

To ear the land that hath some hope to grow,

For I have none. Let no man speak again

To alter this, for counsel is but vain.

AUM.

My liege, one word.