Richard II

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Original text
Act V, Scene I
Enter Queene, and Ladies.

Qu.
This way the King will come: this is the way
To Iulius Casars ill-erected Tower:
To whose flint Bosome, my condemned Lord
Is doom'd a Prisoner, by prowd Bullingbrooke.
Here let vs rest, if this rebellious Earth
Haue any resting for her true Kings Queene.
Enter Richard, and Guard.
But soft, but see, or rather doe not see,
My faire Rose wither: yet looke vp; behold,
That you in pittie may dissolue to dew,
And wash him fresh againe with true-loue Teares.
Ah thou, the Modell where old Troy did stand,
Thou Mappe of Honor, thou King Richards Tombe,
And not King Richard: thou most beauteous Inne,
Why should hard-fauor'd Griefe be lodg'd in thee,
When Triumph is become an Ale-house Guest.

Rich.
Ioyne not with griefe, faire Woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden: learne good Soule,
To thinke our former State a happie Dreame,
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are,
Shewes vs but this. I am sworne Brother (Sweet)
To grim Necessitie; and hee and I
Will keepe a League till Death. High thee to France,
And Cloyster thee in some Religious House:
Our holy liues must winne a new Worlds Crowne,
Which our prophane houres here haue stricken downe.

Qu.
What, is my Richard both in shape and minde
Transform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bullingbrooke
Depos'd thine Intellect? hath he beene in thy Heart?
The Lyon dying, thrusteth forth his Paw,
And wounds the Earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o're-powr'd: and wilt thou, Pupill-like,
Take thy Correction mildly, kisse the Rodde,
And fawne on Rage with base Humilitie,
Which art a Lyon, and a King of Beasts?

Rich.
A King of Beasts indeed: if aught but Beasts,
I had beene still a happy King of Men.
Good (sometime Queene) prepare thee hence for France:
Thinke I am dead, and that euen here thou tak'st,
As from my Death-bed, my last liuing leaue.
In Winters tedious Nights sit by the fire
With good old folkes, and let them tell thee Tales
Of wofull Ages, long agoe betide:
And ere thou bid good-night, to quit their griefe,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their Beds:
For why? the sencelesse Brands will sympathize
The heauie accent of thy mouing Tongue,
And in compassion, weepe the fire out:
And some will mourne in ashes, some coale-black,
For the deposing of a rightfulll King.
Enter Northumberland.

North.
My Lord, the mind of Bullingbrooke is chang'd.
You must to Pomfret, not vnto the Tower.
And Madame, there is order ta'ne for you:
With all swift speed, you must away to France.

Rich.
Northumberland, thou Ladder wherewithall
The mounting Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne,
The time shall not be many houres of age,
More then it is, ere foule sinne, gathering head,
Shall breake into corruption: thou shalt thinke,
Though he diuide the Realme, and giue thee halfe,
It is too little, helping him to all:
He shall thinke, that thou which know'st the way
To plant vnrightfull Kings, wilt know againe,
Being ne're so little vrg'd another way,
To pluck him headlong from the vsurped Throne.
The Loue of wicked friends conuerts to Feare;
That Feare, to Hate; and Hate turnes one, or both,
To worthie Danger, and deserued Death.

North.
My guilt be on my Head, and there an end:
Take leaue, and part, for you must part forthwith.

Rich.
Doubly diuorc'd? (bad men) ye violate
A two-fold Marriage; 'twixt my Crowne, and me,
And then betwixt me, and my marryed Wife.
Let me vn-kisse the Oath 'twixt thee, and me;
And yet not so, for with a Kisse 'twas made.
Part vs, Northumberland: I, towards the North,
Where shiuering Cold and Sicknesse pines the Clyme:
My Queene to France: from whence, set forth in pompe,
She came adorned hither like sweet May;
Sent back like Hollowmas, or short'st of day.

Qu.
And must we be diuided? must we part?

Rich.
I, hand from hand (my Loue) and heart frõ heart.

Qu.
Banish vs both, and send the King with me.

North.
That were some Loue, but little Pollicy.

Qu.
Then whither he goes, thither let me goe.

Rich.
So two together weeping, make one Woe.
Weepe thou for me in France; I, for thee heere:
Better farre off, then neere, be ne're the neere.
Goe, count thy Way with Sighes; I, mine with Groanes.

Qu.
So longest Way shall haue the longest Moanes.

Rich.
Twice for one step Ile groane, ye Way being short,
And peece the Way out with a heauie heart.
Come, come, in wooing Sorrow let's be briefe,
Since wedding it, there is such length in Griefe:
One Kisse shall stop our mouthes, and dumbely part;
Thus giue I mine, and thus take I thy heart.

Qu.
Giue me mine owne againe: 'twere no good part,
To take on me to keepe, and kill thy heart.
So, now I haue mine owne againe, be gone,
That I may striue to kill it with a groane.
We make Woe wanton with this fond delay:
Once more adieu; the rest, let Sorrow say.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act V, Scene II
Enter Yorke, and his Duchesse.

Duch.
My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you breake the story off,
Of our two Cousins comming into London.

Yorke.
Where did I leaue?

Duch.
At that sad stoppe, my Lord,
Where rude mis-gouern'd hands, from Windowes tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richards head.

Yorke.
Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bullingbrooke,
Mounted vpon a hot and fierie Steed,
Which his aspiring Rider seem'd to know,
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course:
While all tongues cride, God saue thee Bullingbrooke.
You would haue thought the very windowes spake,
So many greedy lookes of yong and old,
Through Casements darted their desiring eyes
Vpon his visage: and that all the walles,
With painted Imagery had said at once,
Iesu preserue thee, welcom Bullingbrooke.
Whil'st he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower then his proud Steeds necke,
Bespake them thus: I thanke you Countrimen:
And thus still doing, thus he past along.

Dutch.
Alas poore Richard, where rides he the whilst?

Yorke.
As in a Theater, the eyes of men
After a well grac'd Actor leaues the Stage,
Areidlely bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
Euen so, or with much more contempt, mens eyes
Did scowle on Richard: no man cride, God saue him:
No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home,
But dust was throwne vpon his Sacred head,
Which with such gentle sorrow he shooke off,
His face still combating with teares and smiles
(The badges of his greefe and patience)
That had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce haue melted,
And Barbarisme it selfe haue pittied him.
But heauen hath a hand in these euents,
To whose high will we bound our calme contents.
To Bullingbrooke, are we sworne Subiects now,
Whose State, and Honor, I for aye allow.
Enter Aumerle.

Dut.
Heere comes my sonne Aumerle.

Yor.
Aumerle that was,
But that is lost, for being Richards Friend.
And Madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealtie to the new-made King.

Dut.
Welcome my sonne: who are the Violets now,
That strew the greene lap of the new-come Spring?

Aum.
Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not,
God knowes, I had as liefe be none, as one.

Yorke.
Well, beare you well in this new-spring of time
Least you be cropt before you come to prime.
What newes from Oxford? Hold those Iusts & Triumphs?

Aum.
For ought I know my Lord, they do.

Yorke.
You will be there I know.

Aum.
If God preuent not, I purpose so.

Yor.
What Seale is that that hangs without thy bosom?
Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the Writing.

Aum.
My Lord, 'tis nothing.

Yorke.
No matter then who sees 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 haue seene.

Yorke.
Which for some reasons sir, I meane to see:
I feare, I feare.

Dut.
What should you feare?
'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
For gay apparrell, against the Triumph.

Yorke.
Bound to himselfe? What doth he with a Bond
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a foole.
Boy, let me see the Writing.

Aum.
I do beseech you pardon me, I may not shew it.

Yor.
I will be satisfied: let me see it I say.
Snatches it
Treason, foule Treason, Villaine, Traitor, Slaue.

Dut.
What's the matter, my Lord?

Yorke.
Hoa, who's within there? Saddle my horse.
Heauen for his mercy: what treachery is heere?

Dut.
Why, what is't my Lord?

Yorke.
Giue me my boots, I say: Saddle my horse:
Now by my Honor, my life, my troth,
I will appeach the Villaine.

Dut.
What is the matter?

Yorke.
Peace foolish Woman.

Dut.
I will not peace. What is the matter Sonne?

Aum.
Good Mother be content, it is no more
Then my poore life must answer.

Dut.
Thy life answer?

Yor.
Bring me my Boots, I will vnto the King.
Enter Seruant with Boots.

Dut.
Strike him Aumerle. Poore boy, yu art amaz'd,
Hence Villaine, neuer more come in my sight.

Yor.
Giue me my Boots, I say.

Dut.
Why Yorke, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the Trespasse of thine owne?
Haue we more Sonnes? Or are we like to haue?
Is not my teeming date drunke vp with time?
And wilt thou plucke my faire Sonne from mine Age,
And rob me of a happy Mothers name?
Is he not like thee? Is he not thine owne?

Yor.
Thou fond mad woman:
Wilt thou conceale this darke Conspiracy?
A dozen of them heere haue tane the Sacrament,
And interchangeably set downe their hands
To kill the King at Oxford.

Dut.
He shall be none:
Wee'l keepe him heere: then what is that to him?

Yor.
Away fond woman: were hee twenty times my Son
I would appeach him.

Dut.
Hadst thou groan'd for him as I haue done,
Thou wouldest be more pittifull:
But now I know thy minde; thou do'st suspect
That I haue bene disloyall to thy bed,
And that he is a Bastard, not thy Sonne:
Sweet Yorke, sweet husband, be not of that minde:
He is as like thee, as a man may bee,
Not like to me, nor any of my Kin,
And yet I loue him.

Yorke.
Make way, vnruly Woman.
Exit

Dut.
After Aumerle. Mount thee vpon his horse,
Spurre post, and get before him to the King,
And begge thy pardon, ere he do accuse thee,
Ile not be long behind: though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as Yorke:
And neuer will I rise vp from the ground,
Till Bullingbrooke haue pardon'd thee: Away be gone.
Exit
Original text
Act V, Scene III
Enter Bullingbrooke,
Percie, and other Lords.

Bul.
Can no man tell of my vnthriftie Sonne?
'Tis full three monthes since I did see him last.
If any plague hang ouer vs, 'tis he,
I would to heauen (my Lords) he might be found:
Enquire at London, 'mongst the Tauernes there:
For there (they say) he dayly doth frequent,
With vnrestrained loose Companions,
Euen such (they say) as stand in narrow Lanes,
And rob our Watch, and beate our passengers,
Which he, yong wanton, and effeminate Boy
Takes on the point of Honor, to support
So dissolute a crew.

Per.
My Lord, some two dayes since I saw the Prince,
And told him of these Triumphes held at Oxford.

Bul.
And what said the Gallant?

Per.
His answer was: he would vnto the Stewes,
And from the common'st creature plucke a Gloue
And weare it as a fauour, and with that
He would vnhorse the lustiest Challenger.

Bul.
As dissolute as desp'rate, yet through both,
I see some sparkes of better hope: which elder dayes
May happily bring forth. But who comes heere?
Enter Aumerle.

Aum.
Where is the King?

Bul.
What meanes our Cosin, that hee stares / And lookes so wildely?

Aum.
God saue your Grace. I do beseech your Maiesty
To haue some conference with your Grace alone.

Bul.
Withdraw your selues, and leaue vs here alone:


What is the matter with our Cosin now?

Aum.
For euer may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleaue to my roofe within my mouth,
Vnlesse a Pardon, ere I rise, or speake.

Bul.
Intended, or committed was this fault?
If on the first, how heynous ere it bee,
To win thy after loue, I pardon thee.

Aum.
Then giue me leaue, that I may turne the key,
That no man enter, till my tale be done.

Bul.
Haue thy desire.
Yorke withiu.

Yor.

My Liege beware, looke to thy selfe,
Thou hast a Traitor in thy presence there.

Bul.

Villaine, Ile make thee safe.

Aum.
Stay thy reuengefull hand, thou hast no cause to feare.

Yorke.
Open the doore, secure foole-hardy King:
Shall I for loue speake treason to thy face?
Open the doore, or I will breake it open.
Enter Yorke.

Bul.
What is the matter (Vnkle) speak, recouer breath,
Tell vs how neere is danger,
That we may arme vs to encounter it.

Yor.
Peruse this writing heere, and thou shalt know
The reason that my haste forbids me show.

Aum.
Remember as thou read'st, thy promise past:
I do repent me, reade not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

Yor.
It was (villaine) ere thy hand did set it downe.
I tore it from the Traitors bosome, King.
Feare, and not Loue, begets his penitence;
Forget to pitty him, least thy pitty proue
A Serpent, that will sting thee to the heart.

Bul.
Oh heinous, strong, and bold Conspiracie,
O loyall Father of a treacherous Sonne:
Thou sheere, immaculate, and siluer fountaine,
From whence this streame, through muddy passages
Hath had his current, and defil'd himselfe.
Thy ouerflow of good, conuerts to bad,
And thy abundant goodnesse shall excuse
This deadly blot, in thy digressing sonne.

Yorke.
So shall my Vertue be his Vices bawd,
And he shall spend mine Honour, with his Shame;
As thriftlesse Sonnes, their scraping Fathers Gold.
Mine honor liues, when his dishonor dies,
Or my sham'd life, in his dishonor lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life, giuing him breath,
The Traitor liues, the true man's put to death.

Dut.
Dutchesse within.
What hoa (my Liege) for heauens sake let me in.

Bul.
What shrill-voic'd Suppliant, makes this eager cry?

Dut.
A woman, and thine Aunt (great King) 'tis I.
Speake with me, pitty me, open the dore,
A Begger begs, that neuer begg'd before.

Bul.
Our Scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
And now chang'd to the Begger, and the King.
My dangerous Cosin, let your Mother in,
I know she's come, to pray for your foule sin.
Enter Dutchesse.

Yorke.
If thou do pardon, whosoeuer pray,
More sinnes for this forgiuenesse, prosper may.
This fester'd ioynt cut off, the rest rests sound,
This let alone, will all the rest confound.

Dut.
O King, beleeue not this hard-hearted man,
Loue, louing not it selfe, none other can.

Yor.
Thou franticke woman, what dost yu make here,
Shall thy old dugges, once more a Traitor reare?

Dut.
Sweet Yorke be patient, heare me gentle Liege.

Bul.
Rise vp good Aunt.

Dut.
Not yet, I thee beseech.
For euer will I kneele vpon my knees,
And neuer see day, that the happy sees,
Till thou giue ioy: vntill thou bid me ioy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing Boy.

Aum.
Vnto my mothers prayres, I bend my knee.


Yorke.
Against them both, my true ioynts bended be.


Dut.
Pleades he in earnest? Looke vpon his Face,
His eyes do drop no teares: his prayres are in iest:
His words come from his mouth, ours from our brest.
He prayes but faintly, and would be denide,
We pray with heart, and soule, and all beside:
His weary ioynts would gladly rise, I know,
Our knees shall kneele, till to the ground they grow:
His prayers are full of false hypocrisie,
Ours of true zeale, and deepe integritie:
Our prayers do out-pray his, then let them haue
That mercy, which true prayers ought to haue.

Bul.
Good Aunt stand vp.

Dut.
Nay, do not say stand vp.
But Pardon first, and afterwards stand vp.
And if I were thy Nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon should be the first word of thy speach.
I neuer long'd to heare a word till now:
Say Pardon (King,) let pitty teach thee how.
The word is short: but not so short as sweet,
No word like Pardon, for Kings mouth's so meet.

Yorke.
Speake it in French (King) say Pardon'ne moy.

Dut.
Dost thou teach pardon, Pardon to destroy?
Ah my sowre husband, my hard-hearted Lord,
That set's the word it selfe, against the word.
Speake Pardon, as 'tis currant in our Land,
The chopping French we do not vnderstand.
Thine eye begins to speake, set thy tongue there,
Or in thy pitteous heart, plant thou thine eare,
That hearing how our plaints and prayres do pearce,
Pitty may moue thee, Pardon to rehearse.

Bul.
Good Aunt, stand vp.

Dut.
I do not sue to stand,
Pardon is all the suite I haue in hand.

Bul.
I pardon him, as heauen shall pardon mee.

Dut.
O happy vantage of a kneeling knee:
Yet am I sicke for feare: Speake it againe,
Twice saying Pardon, doth not pardon twaine,
But makes one pardon strong.

Bul.
I pardon him with all my hart.

Dut.
A God on earth thou art.

Bul.
But for our trusty brother-in-Law, the Abbot,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction straight shall dogge them at the heeles:
Good Vnckle helpe to order seuerall powres
To Oxford, or where ere these Traitors are:
They shall not liue within this world I sweare,
But I will haue them, if I once know where.
Vnckle farewell, and Cosin adieu:
Your mother well hath praid, and proue you true.

Dut.
Come my old son, I pray heauen make thee new.
Exeunt
Original text
Act V, Scene IV
Enter Exton and Seruants.

Ext.
Didst thou not marke the King what words hee spake?
Haue I no friend will rid me of this liuing feare:
Was it not so?

Ser.
Those were his very words.

Ex.
Haue I no Friend? (quoth he:) he spake it twice,
And vrg'd it twice together, did he not?

Ser.
He did.

Ex.
And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me,
As who should say, I would thou wer't the man
That would diuorce this terror from my heart,
Meaning the King at Pomfret: Come, let's goe;
I am the Kings Friend, and will rid his Foe.
Exit.
Original text
Act V, Scene V
Enter Richard.

Rich.
I haue bin studying, how to compare
This Prison where I liue, vnto the World:
And for because the world is populous,
And heere is not a Creature, but my selfe,
I cannot do it: yet Ile hammer't out.
My Braine, Ile proue the Female to my Soule,
My Soule, the Father: and these two beget
A generation of still breeding Thoughts;
And these same Thoughts, people this Little World
In humors, like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better sort,
As thoughts of things Diuine, are intermixt
With scruples, and do set the Faith it selfe
Against the Faith: as thus: Come litle ones:
& then again,
It is as hard to come, as for a Camell
To thred the posterne of a Needles eye.
Thoughts tending to Ambition, they do plot
Vnlikely wonders; how these vaine weake nailes
May teare a passage through the Flinty ribbes
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walles:
And for they cannot, dye in their owne pride.
Thoughts tending to Content, flatter themselues,
That they are not the first of Fortunes slaues,
Nor shall not be the last. Like silly Beggars,
Who sitting in the Stockes, refuge their shame
That many haue, and others must sit there;
And in this Thought, they finde a kind of ease,
Bearing their owne misfortune on the backe
Of such as haue before indur'd the like.
Thus play I in one Prison, many people,
And none contented. Sometimes am I King;
Then Treason makes me wish my selfe a Beggar,
And so I am. Then crushing penurie,
Perswades me, I was better when a King:
Then am I king'd againe: and by and by,
Thinke that I am vn-king'd by Bullingbrooke,
And straight am nothing. But what ere I am, Musick
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd
With being nothing. Musicke do I heare?
Ha, ha? keepe time: How sowre sweet Musicke is,
When Time is broke, and no Proportion kept?
So is it in the Musicke of mens liues:
And heere haue I the daintinesse of eare,
To heare time broke in a disorder'd string:
But for the Concord of my State and Time,
Had not an eare to heare my true Time broke.
I wasted Time, and now doth Time waste me:
For now hath Time made me his numbring clocke;
My Thoughts, are minutes; and with Sighes they iarre,
Their watches on vnto mine eyes, the outward Watch,
Whereto my finger, like a Dialls point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from teares.
Now sir, the sound that tels what houre it is,
Are clamorous groanes, that strike vpon my heart,
Which is the bell: so Sighes, and Teares, and Grones,
Shew Minutes, Houres, and Times: but my Time
Runs poasting on, in Bullingbrookes proud ioy,
While I stand fooling heere, his iacke o'th' Clocke.
This Musicke mads me, let it sound no more,
For though it haue holpe madmen to their wits,
In me it seemes, it will make wise-men mad:
Yet blessing on his heart that giues it me;
For 'tis a signe of loue, and loue to Richard,
Is a strange Brooch, in this all-hating world.
Enter Groome.

Groo.
Haile Royall Prince.

Rich.
Thankes Noble Peere,
The cheapest of vs, is ten groates too deere.
What art thou? And how com'st thou hither?
Where no man euer comes, but that sad dogge
That brings me food, to make misfortune liue?

Groo.
I was a poore Groome of thy Stable (King)
When thou wer't King: who trauelling towards Yorke,
With much adoo, at length haue gotten leaue
To looke vpon my (sometimes Royall) masters face.
O how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld
In London streets, that Coronation day,
When Bullingbrooke rode on Roane Barbary,
That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid,
That horse, that I so carefully haue drest.

Rich.
Rode he on Barbary? Tell me gentle Friend,
How went he vnder him?

Groo.
So proudly, as if he had disdain'd the ground.

Rich.
So proud, that Bullingbrooke was on his backe;
That Iade hath eate bread from my Royall hand.
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble? Would he not fall downe
(Since Pride must haue a fall) and breake the necke
Of that proud man, that did vsurpe his backe?
Forgiuenesse horse: Why do I raile on thee,
Since thou created to be aw'd by man
Was't borne to beare? I was not made a horse,
And yet I beare a burthen like an Asse,
Spur-gall'd, and tyrd by iauncing Bullingbrooke.
Enter Keeper with a Dish.

Keep.

Fellow, giue place, heere is no longer stay.

Rich.
If thou loue me, 'tis time thou wer't away.

Groo.
What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.
Exit.

Keep.
My Lord, wilt please you to fall too?

Rich.
Taste of it first, as thou wer't wont to doo.

Keep.
My Lord I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton,
Who lately came from th' King, commands the contrary.

Rich.
The diuell take Henrie of Lancaster, and thee;
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

Keep.
Helpe, helpe, helpe.
Enter Exton and Seruants.

Ri.
How now? what meanes Death in this rude assalt?
Villaine, thine owne hand yeelds thy deaths instrument,

Go thou and fill another roome in hell.
Exton strikes him
downe.
That hand shall burne in neuer-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand,
Hath with the Kings blood, stain'd the Kings own land.
Mount, mount my soule, thy seate is vp on high,
Whil'st my grosse flesh sinkes downward, heere to dye.

Exton.
As full of Valor, as of Royall blood,
Both haue I spilt: Oh would the deed were good.
For now the diuell, that told me I did well,
Sayes, that this deede is chronicled in hell.
This dead King to the liuing King Ile beare,
Take hence the rest, and giue them buriall heere.
Exit.
Original text
Act V, Scene VI
Flourish. Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, with
other Lords & attendants.

Bul.
Kinde Vnkle Yorke, the latest newes we heare,
Is that the Rebels haue consum'd with fire
Our Towne of Ciceter in Gloucestershire,
But whether they be tane or slaine, we heare not.
Enter Northumberland.
Welcome my Lord: What is the newes?

Nor.
First to thy Sacred State, wish I all happinesse:
The next newes is, I haue to London sent
The heads of Salsbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent:
The manner of their taking may appeare
At large discoursed in this paper heere.

Bul.
We thank thee gentle Percy for thy paines,
And to thy worth will adde right worthy gaines.
Enter Fitz-waters.

Fitz.
My Lord, I haue from Oxford sent to London,
The heads of Broccas, and Sir Bennet Seely,
Two of the dangerous consorted Traitors,
That sought at Oxford, thy dire ouerthrow.

Bul.
Thy paines Fitzwaters shall not be forgot,
Right Noble is thy merit, well I wot.
Enter Percy and Carlile.

Per.
The grand Conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,
With clog of Conscience, and sowre Melancholly,
Hath yeelded vp his body to the graue:
But heere is Carlile, liuing to abide
Thy Kingly doome, and sentence of his pride.

Bul.
Carlile, this is your doome:
Choose out some secret place, some reuerend roome
More then thou hast, and with it ioy thy life:
So as thou liu'st in peace, dye free from strife:
For though mine enemy, thou hast euer beene,
High sparkes of Honor in thee haue I seene.
Enter Exton with a Coffin.

Exton.
Great King, within this Coffin I present
Thy buried feare. Heerein all breathlesse lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies
Richard of Burdeaux, by me hither brought.

Bul.
Exton, I thanke thee not, for thou hast wrought
A deede of Slaughter, with thy fatall hand,
Vpon my head, and all this famous Land.

Ex.
From your owne mouth my Lord, did I this deed.

Bul.
They loue not poyson, that do poyson neede,
Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead,
I hate the Murtherer, loue him murthered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor Princely fauour.
With Caine go wander through the shade of night,
And neuer shew thy head by day, nor light.
Lords, I protest my soule is full of woe,
That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow.
Come mourne with me, for that I do lament,
And put on sullen Blacke incontinent:
Ile make a voyage to the Holy-land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.
March sadly after, grace my mourning heere,
In weeping after this vntimely Beere.
Exeunt.
Modern text
Act V, Scene I
Enter the Queen with her attendants

QUEEN ISABEL
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 doomed a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke.
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 honour, thou King Richard's tomb,
And not King Richard! Thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favoured grief be lodged in thee
When triumph is become an alehouse guest?

RICHARD
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 awaked 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 ISABEL
What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transformed and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke
Deposed 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'erpowered. 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?

RICHARD
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 deathbed 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 goodnight, 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

NORTHUMBERLAND
My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed.
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.

RICHARD
Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is ere foul sin, gathering head,
Shalt 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 urged 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.

NORTHUMBERLAND
My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave and part, for you must part forthwith.

RICHARD
Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate
A two-fold marriage – 'twixt my crown and me,
And then betwixt me and my married wife.
(To Queen Isabel)
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 shortest of day.

QUEEN ISABEL
And must we be divided? Must we part?

RICHARD
Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

QUEEN ISABEL
(To Northumberland)
Banish us both, and send the King with me.

NORTHUMBERLAND
That were some love, but little policy.

QUEEN ISABEL
Then whither he goes, thither let me go.

RICHARD
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 nea'er.
Go count thy way with sighs, I mine with groans.

QUEEN ISABEL
So longest way shall have the longest moans.

RICHARD
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 ISABEL
Give me mine own again. 'Twere no good part
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
They kiss
So, now I have mine own again, be gone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

RICHARD
We make woe wanton with this fond delay.
Once more, adieu. The rest let sorrow say.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act V, Scene II
Enter Duke of York and the Duchess

DUCHESS OF YORK
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?

DUCHESS OF YORK
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 Bolingbroke,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed
Which his aspiring rider seemed to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
Whilst all tongues cried ‘ God save thee, Bolingbroke!’
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 Bolingbroke,’
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 passed along.

DUCHESS OF YORK
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 steeled
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 Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
Enter Aumerle

DUCHESS OF YORK
Here comes my son 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.

DUCHESS OF YORK
Welcome, my son! Who are the violets now
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?

AUMERLE
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 cropped before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold?

AUMERLE
For aught I know, my lord, they do.

YORK
You will be there, I know.

AUMERLE
If God prevent not, I purpose so.

YORK
What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom?
Yea, lookest thou pale? Let me see the writing.

AUMERLE
My lord, 'tis nothing.

YORK
No matter, then, who see it.
I will be satisfied. Let me see the writing.

AUMERLE
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!

DUCHESS OF YORK
What should you fear?
'Tis nothing but some bond that he is entered 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.

AUMERLE
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!

DUCHESS OF YORK
What is the matter, my lord?

YORK
Ho, who is within there? Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy! What treachery is here!

DUCHESS OF YORK
Why, what is it, my lord?

YORK
Give me my boots, I say. Saddle my horse.
Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth,
I will appeach the villain.

DUCHESS OF YORK
What is the matter?

YORK
Peace, foolish woman.

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

AUMERLE
Good mother, be content. It is no more
Than my poor life must answer.

DUCHESS OF YORK
Thy life answer?

YORK
Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.
His man enters with his boots

DUCHESS OF YORK
Strike him, Aumerle! Poor boy, thou art amazed.
(To York's man)
Hence, villain! Never more come in my sight!

YORK
Give me my boots, I say!
York's man gives him the boots and goes out

DUCHESS OF YORK
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.

DUCHESS OF YORK
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.

DUCHESS OF YORK
Hadst thou groaned 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

DUCHESS OF YORK
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;
And never will I rise up from the ground
Till Bolingbroke have pardoned thee. Away, be gone!
Exeunt
Modern text
Act V, Scene III
Enter Bolingbroke, now King Henry, with Harry
Percy and other lords

KING HENRY
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 honour 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.

KING HENRY
And what said the gallant?

PERCY
His answer was he would unto the stews,
And from the commonest creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

KING HENRY
As dissolute as desperate. Yet through both
I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years
May happily bring forth. But who comes here?
Enter Aumerle, amazed

AUMERLE
Where is the King?

KING HENRY
What means our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly?

AUMERLE
God save your grace. I do beseech your majesty
To have some conference with your grace alone.

KING HENRY
Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.
Exeunt Harry Percy and the other lords
What is the matter with our cousin now?

AUMERLE
For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

KING HENRY
Intended or committed was this fault?
If on the first, how heinous e'er it be
To win thy after-love I pardon thee.

AUMERLE
Then give me leave that I may turn the key
That no man enter till my tale be done.

KING HENRY
Have thy desire.
Aumerle locks the door. The Duke of York knocks at
the door and crieth

YORK
(within)
My liege, beware, look to thyself,
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

KING HENRY
(to Aumerle)
Villain, I'll make thee safe!

AUMERLE
Stay thy revengeful hand, thou hast no cause to fear.

YORK
Open the door, secure foolhardy King.
Shall I for love speak treason to thy face?
Open the door, or I will break it open.
King Henry opens the door. Enter York

KING HENRY
What is the matter, uncle? Speak, recover breath,
Tell us how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.

YORK
Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
The treason that my haste forbids me show.

AUMERLE
Remember, as thou readest, thy promise passed.
I do repent me. Read not my name there.
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

YORK
It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, King.
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence.
Forget to pity him lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.

KING HENRY
O, heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!
O loyal father of a treacherous son,
Thou sheer immaculate and silver fountain
From whence this stream through muddy passages
Hath held his current and defiled himself –
Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

YORK
So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd
An he shall spend mine honour with his shame,
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies.
Thou killest me in his life – giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.

DUCHESS OF YORK
(within)
What ho, my liege, for God's sake let me in!

KING HENRY
What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?

DUCHESS OF YORK
A woman, and thy aunt, great King. 'Tis I.
Speak with me, pity me, open the door!
A beggar begs that never begged before.

KING HENRY
Our scene is altered from a serious thing,
And now changed to ‘ The Beggar and the King.’
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in.
I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.
Aumerle admits the Duchess. She kneels

YORK
If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.
This festered joint cut off, the rest rest sound;
This let alone will all the rest confound.

DUCHESS OF YORK
O King, believe not this hard-hearted man.
Love loving not itself, none other can.

YORK
Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?
Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?

DUCHESS OF YORK
Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.

KING HENRY
Rise up, good aunt!

DUCHESS OF YORK
Not yet, I thee beseech.
For ever will I walk upon my knees,
And never see day that the happy sees
Till thou give joy, until thou bid me joy
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.

AUMERLE
Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee.
He kneels

YORK
Against them both my true joints bended be.
He kneels
Ill mayst thou thrive if thou grant any grace.

DUCHESS OF YORK
Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face.
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast.
He prays but faintly, and would be denied;
We pray with heart and soul, and all beside.
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow.
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy,
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do outpray his: then let them have
That mercy which true prayer ought to have.

KING HENRY
Good aunt, stand up!

DUCHESS OF YORK
Nay, do not say ‘ Stand up!’
Say ‘ Pardon ’ first, and afterwards, ‘ Stand up!’
An if I were thy nurse thy tongue to teach,
‘ Pardon ’ should be the first word of thy speech.
I never longed to hear a word till now.
Say ‘ Pardon,’ King. Let pity teach thee how.
The word is short, but not so short as sweet.
No word like ‘ Pardon ’ for kings' mouths so meet.

YORK
Speak it in French, King: say, ‘ Pardonne-moi.’

DUCHESS OF YORK
Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord!
That sets the word itself against the word.
Speak ‘ Pardon ’ as 'tis current in our land;
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye begins to speak. Set thy tongue there;
Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,
That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,
Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse.

KING HENRY
Good aunt, stand up.

DUCHESS OF YORK
I do not sue to stand.
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

KING HENRY
I pardon him as God shall pardon me.

DUCHESS OF YORK
O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again.
Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.

KING HENRY
With all my heart
I pardon him.

DUCHESS OF YORK
A god on earth thou art!
York, Duchess of York, and Aumerle stand

KING HENRY
But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
Good uncle, help to order several powers
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are.
They shall not live within this world, I swear,
But I will have them if I once know where.
Uncle, farewell; and cousin, adieu.
Your mother well hath prayed; and prove you true.

DUCHESS OF YORK
Come, my old son. I pray God make thee new.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act V, Scene IV
Enter Sir Piers of Exton and a Man

EXTON
Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake?
‘ Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?’
Was it not so?

MAN
These were his very words.

EXTON
‘ Have I no friend?’ quoth he. He spake it twice,
And urged it twice together, did he not?

MAN
He did.

EXTON
And speaking it, he wishtly looked on me,
As who should say ‘ I would thou wert the man
That would divorce this terror from my heart ’ –
Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let's go.
I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act V, Scene V
Enter Richard alone

RICHARD
I have been studying how I may compare
This prison where I live unto the world;
And for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,
My soul the father, and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
And these same thoughts people this little world,
In humours like the people of this world.
For no thought is contented; the better sort,
As thoughts of things divine, are intermixed
With scruples, and do set the word itself
Against the word; as thus: ‘ Come, little ones ’;
And then again,
‘ It is as hard to come as for a camel
To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.’
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders – how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls,
And for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves
That they are not the first of Fortune's slaves,
Nor shall not be the last; like seely beggars,
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame
That many have, and others must sit there.
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
Of such as have before endured the like.
Thus play I in one person many people,
And none contented. Sometimes am I king.
Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar;
And so I am. Then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king.
Then am I kinged again; and by and by
Think that I am unkinged by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing. But whate'er I be,
Nor I, nor any man that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased
With being nothing. (The music plays) Music do I hear.
Ha, ha; keep time! How sour sweet music is
When time is broke, and no proportion kept.
So is it in the music of men's lives;
And here have I the daintiness of ear
To check time broke in a disordered string,
But for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;
For now hath time made me his numbering clock.
My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch
Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still in cleansing them from tears.
Now, sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans
Show minutes, times, and hours. But my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his jack of the clock.
This music mads me. Let it sound no more;
For though it have holp madmen to their wits,
In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me;
For 'tis a sign of love, and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Enter a Groom of the stable

GROOM
Hail, royal prince!

RICHARD
Thanks, noble peer.
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou, and how comest thou hither
Where no man never comes but that sad dog
That brings me food to make misfortune live?

GROOM
I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,
When thou wert king; who travelling towards York
With much ado at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.
O, how it earned my heart when I beheld
In London streets, that coronation day,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary,
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,
That horse that I so carefully have dressed!

RICHARD
Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend,
How went he under him?

GROOM
So proudly as if he disdained the ground.

RICHARD
So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!
That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand;
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble, would he not fall down –
Since pride must have a fall – and break the neck
Of that proud man that did usurp his back?
Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be awed by man,
Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse,
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spurred, galled, and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke.
Enter Keeper to Richard with meat

KEEPER
(to Groom)
Fellow, give place. Here is no longer stay.

RICHARD
(to Groom)
If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away.

GROOM
What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.
Exit

KEEPER
My lord, will't please you to fall to?

RICHARD
Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.

KEEPER
My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton,
Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.

RICHARD
(attacks the keeper)
The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee.
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

KEEPER
Help, help, help!
The murderers, Exton and servants, rush in

RICHARD
How now! What means death in this rude assault?
Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.
He snatches a weapon from a servant and kills him
Go thou, and fill another room in hell.
He kills another servant. Here Exton strikes him
down
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire
That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand
Hath with the King's blood stained the King's own land.
Mount, mount, my soul. Thy seat is up on high,
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to die.
He dies

EXTON
As full of valour as of royal blood.
Both have I spilled. O, would the deed were good!
For now the devil, that told me I did well,
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead King to the living King I'll bear.
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.
Exeunt with the bodies
Modern text
Act V, Scene VI
Flourish. Enter King Henry with the Duke of York,
other lords, and attendants

KING HENRY
Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
Is that the rebels have consumed with fire
Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire.
But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not.
Enter Northumberland
Welcome, my lord. What is the news?

NORTHUMBERLAND
First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness.
The next news is, I have to London sent
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent.
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.

KING HENRY
We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains;
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Enter Lord Fitzwater

FITZWATER
My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely,
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

KING HENRY
Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot.
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
Enter Harry Percy with the Bishop of Carlisle,
guarded

PERCY
The grand conspirator Abbot of Westminster
With clog of conscience and sour melancholy
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle living, to abide
Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride.

KING HENRY
Carlisle, this is your doom:
Choose out some secret place, some reverent room
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life.
So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife;
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
Enter Exton with the coffin

EXTON
Great King, within this coffin I present
Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought.

KING HENRY
Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought
A deed of slander with thy fatal hand
Upon my head and all this famous land.

EXTON
From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.

KING HENRY
They love not poison that do poison need;
Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead,
I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word nor princely favour.
With Cain go wander thorough shades of night,
And never show thy head by day nor light.
Exit Exton
Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe
That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.
Come mourn with me for that I do lament,
And put on sullen black incontinent.
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.
March sadly after. Grace my mournings here
In weeping after this untimely bier.
Exeunt
SHAKESPEARE'S WORDS © 2018 DAVID CRYSTAL & BEN CRYSTAL