The Tragedy of King Richard the Second Read Online

RICH.

Whither you will, so I were from your sights.

BULL.

Go some of you, convey him to the Tower.

K. RICH.

O, good! convey! Conveyers are you all,

That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.]

[Exeunt Richard, some Lords, and a Guard.]

BULL.

On Wednesday next we solemnly proclaim

Our coronation. Lords, be ready all.

Exeunt. Manent [Abbot of] Westminster, Carlisle, Aumerle.

ABBOT.

A woeful pageant have we here beheld.

CAR.

The woe's to come; the children yet unborn

Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.

AUM.

You holy clergymen, is there no plot

To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?

ABBOT.

My lord,

Before I freely speak my mind herein,

You shall not only take the sacrament

To bury mine intents, but also to effect

What ever 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 show us all a merry day.

Exeunt.

Act V,

[Scene I]

Enter the Queen with her Attendants.

QUEEN.

This way the King will come, this is the way

To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower,

To whose flint bosom my condemned lord

Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bullingbrook.

Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth

Have any resting for her true king's queen.

Enter 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 honor, thou King Richard's tomb,

And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn,

Why should hard-favor'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 thrown down.

QUEEN.

What, is my Richard both in shape and mind

Transform'd and weak'ned? Hath Bullingbrook 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'erpow'r'd, and wilt thou, pupil-like,

Take the correction, mildly kiss the rod,

And fawn on rage with base humility,

Which art a lion and the king of beasts?

K. RICH.

A king of beasts indeed – if aught but beasts,

I had been still a happy king of men.

Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for France.

Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest,

As from my death-bed, thy 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 quite their griefs,

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 [and others].

NORTH.

My lord, the mind of Bullingbrook 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 wherewithal

The mounting Bullingbrook 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;

He shall think that thou, which knowest 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 men 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, you violate

A twofold 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 Hollowmas 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.

QUEEN.

Give me mine own again, 'twere no good part

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.

[Scene II]

Enter Duke of York and the Duchess.

DUCH.

My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,

When weeping made you break the story [off,]

Of our two cousins coming into London.

YORK.

Where did I leave?

DUCH.

At that sad stop, my lord,

Where rude misgoverned hands from windows' tops

Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

YORK.

Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bullingbrook,

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,

Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,

With slow but stately pace kept on his course,

Whilst all tongues cried, »God save [thee], Bullingbrook!«

You would have thought the very windows spake,

So many greedy looks of young and old

Through casements darted their desiring eyes

Upon his visage, and that all the walls

With painted imagery had said at once,

»Jesu preserve [thee]! Welcome, Bullingbrook!«

Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,

Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,

Bespake them thus: »I thank you, countrymen.«

And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

DUCH.

Alack, poor Richard, where rode he the whilst?

YORK.

As in a theatre the eyes of men,

After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,

Are idly bent on him that enters next,

Thinking his prattle to be tedious,

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes

Did scowl on gentle Richard. No man cried »God save him!«

No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home,

But dust was thrown upon his sacred head,

Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,

His face still combating with tears and smiles,

The badges of his grief and patience,

That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd

The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,

And barbarism itself have pitied him.

But heaven hath a hand in these events,

To whose high will we bound our calm contents.

To Bullingbrook are we sworn subjects now,

Whose state and honor I for aye allow.

DUCH.

Here comes my son Aumerle.

[Enter Aumerle.]

YORK.

Aumerle that was,

But that is lost for being Richard's friend;

And, madam, you must call him Rutland now.

I am in parliament pledge for his truth

And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

DUCH.

Welcome, my son! Who are the violets now

That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?

AUM.

Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not,

God knows I had as lief be none as one.

YORK.

Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,

Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.

What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold?

AUM.

For aught I know, my lord, they do.

YORK.

You will be there, I know.

AUM.

If God prevent not, I purpose so.

YORK.

What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom?

Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.

AUM.

My lord, 'tis nothing.

YORK.

No matter then who see it.

I will be satisfied, let me see the writing.

AUM.

I do beseech your Grace to pardon me.

It is a matter of small consequence,

Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

YORK.

Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.

I fear, I fear –

DUCH.

What should you fear?

'Tis nothing but some band that he is ent'red into

For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.

YORK.

Bound to himself! What doth he with a bond

That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.

Boy, let me see the writing.

AUM.

I do beseech you pardon me, I may not show it.

YORK.

I will be satisfied, let me see it, I say.

He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it.

Treason, foul treason! Villain, traitor, slave!

DUCH.

What is the matter, my lord?

YORK.

Ho, who is within there?

[Enter a Servant.]

Saddle my horse.

God for his mercy! what treachery is here!

DUCH.

Why, what is it, my lord?

YORK.

Give me my boots, I say, saddle my horse.

[Exit Servant.]

Now by mine honor, by my life, by my troth,

I will appeach the villain.

DUCH.

What is the matter?

YORK.

Peace, foolish woman.

DUCH.

I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?

AUM.

Good mother, be content, it is no more

Than my poor life must answer.

DUCH.

Thy life answer?

YORK.

Bring me my boots, I will unto the King.

His Man enters with his boots.

DUCH.

Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz'd.

– Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.

YORK.

Give me my boots, I say.

[His Man helps him on with his boots and exit.]

DUCH.

Why, York, what wilt thou do?

Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?

Have we more sons? or are we like to have?

Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?

And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,

And rob me of a happy mother's name?

Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?

YORK.

Thou fond mad woman,

Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?

A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,

And interchangeably set down their hands,

To kill the King at Oxford.

DUCH.

He shall be none,

We'll keep him here, then what is that to him?

YORK.

Away, fond woman, were he twenty times my son,

I would appeach him.

DUCH.

Hadst thou groan'd for him

As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.

But now I know thy mind, thou dost suspect

That I have been disloyal to thy bed,

And that he is a bastard, not thy son.

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind,

He is as like thee as a man may be,

Not like to me, or any of my kin,

And yet I love him.

YORK.

Make way, unruly woman!

Exit.

DUCH.

After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse,

Spur post, and get before him to the King,

And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.

I'll not be long behind; though I be old,

I doubt not but to ride as fast as York.

An' never will I rise up from the ground

Till Bullingbrook have pardoned thee. Away, be gone!

[Exeunt.]

[Scene III]

Enter the King [Henry] with his nobles [Percy and other Lords].

K. HEN.

Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?

'Tis full three months since I did see him last.

If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.

I would to God, my lords, he might be found.

Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,

For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,

With unrestrained loose companions,

Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes

And beat our watch and rob our passengers,

Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,

Takes on the point of honor to support

So dissolute a crew.

PERCY.

My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince,

And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.

K. HEN.

And what said the gallant?

PERCY.

His answer was, he would unto the stews,

And from the common'st creature pluck a glove

And wear it as a favor, and with that

He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

K.