n; Now mark me how I will undo myself: God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd, And thou with all pleas'd, that haft all atchiev'd! * What more remains? North. No more; but that you read Thefe accufations, and thefe grievous crimes. K. Rich. Muft I do fo? and muft I ravel out Would it not fhame thee, in fo fair a troop, And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, Boling. Are you contented to refign the crown? K. Rich. Ay, no-no, ay; for I must nothing be: Therefore no no: for I refign to thee. Now, mark me, &c. that haft all atchiev'd! Long may'ft thou live in Richard's feat to fit, H 2 Though Though fome of you with Flate wash your hands, North. My Lord, difpatch; read o'er thefe articles. K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears: I cannot fee: And yet falt-water blinds them not fo much, But they can see a fort* of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, I find myself a traitor with the reft: For I have given here my foul's confent, T'undeck the pompous body of a King, Made glory bafe, a fovereign a flave, Proud majefty a fubject, ftate a peafant. T North. My LordAman; K. Rich. No Lord of thine, thou haught-insulting Nor no man's lord. I have no name, no titlegs T No, not that name was given me at the font,!*RĀ But 'tis ufurp'd. Alack, the heavy day, 2018 DIA That I have worn so many winters out, chat nud And know not now what name to call myself! Oh, that I were a mockery king of fnow, Standing before the fun of Bolingbroke, To melt myself away in water-drops! + " I M And if my word be Sterling yet in England, [To Bolin H Boling. Go fome of you, and fetch a looking-glafs. North. Read o'er this paper while the glafs doth come! K. Rich. Fiend, thou torment'ft me ere I come to hell. Boling. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland, North, The Commons will not then be fatisfy'd. K. Rich. They fhall be fatisfy'd: I'll read enough When I do fee the very book, indeed, Where all my fins are writ, and that's myself, Good King, great King,-(and yet not greatly good), Enter one with a glass, smotriguedT Je gniwed? Give me that glafs, and therein will I read, ed a SH No deeper wrinkles yet hath Sorrow struck a bu So many blows upon this face of mine, dte jeg And made no deeper wounds? Oh, flatt'ring glafs ! Like to my followers in profperity, Thou doft beguile me. Was this face the face, Did keep ten thousand men ! was this the face, K Rich. Say that again. The fhadow of my forrow! ha, let's fee; Boling. Name it, fair coufin. K. Rich. Fair coufin! I am greater than a King; For when I was a King, my flatterers Were then but fubjects; being now a fubject, I have a King here to my flatterer. Being fo great, I have no need to beg. K. Rich. And fhall I have? Boling. You fhall. K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. K. Rich. Whither you will, fo I were from your fight. Boling. Go fome of you, convey him to the Tower. * On Wednesday next we folemnly fet down Our coronation: Lords, prepare yourselves. Ex. all but Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle and Aumerle. Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, I fee your brows are full of difcontent, [Exeunt. TH Enter Queen and Ladies. HIS way the King will come: this is the way To whofe flint bofom my condemned Lord Have any refting for her true King's Queen. * convey him to the tower. K. Rich. Oh, good! convey: Tha rife thus nimbly by a true King's fall, conveyers are you all, Enter Enter King Richard and guards. But foft, but fee, or rather do not fee, And wath him fresh again with true love tears. [To K. Rich. Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb, And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn, Why fhould hard-favour'd Grief be lodg'd in thee, When triumph is become an ale-house guest? K. Rich. Join not with Grief, fair woman, do not fo. To make my end too fudden: learn, good foul, To think our former ftate a happy dream, From which awak'd, the truth of what we are, Shews us but this. I am fworn brother, fweet, To grim Neceffity; and he and I Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, Our holy lives muft win a new world's crown K. Rich. A King of beafts indeed; ifaught but beafts, I had been ftill a happy King of men. Good fometime * Queen, prepare thee hence for France; Think I am dead; and that ev'n here thou tak'st, As from my death-bed, my laft living leave "In winter's tedious nights fit 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, *fometime, for formerly, " Tell |