That it may show me what a face I have, Boling. Go, some of you, and fetch a looking- glass. come. K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me. Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. North. The commons will not then be satisfied. K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. Re-enter Attendant, with a Glass. Give me that glass, and therein will I read. O, flattering glass, 'Like to my followers in prosperity, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face, Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face, As brittle as the glory is the face; [Dashes the glass against the ground. For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow of your face. K. Rich. Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see: very true, my grief lies all within; 'Tis And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, Boling. Name it, fair cousin. K. Rich. Fair cousin? Why, I am greater than a king: For, when I was a king, my flatterers Were then but subjects; being now a subject, Being so great, I have no need to beg. K. Rich. And shall I have? Boling. You shall. K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. Boling. 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 K. RICHARD, some Lords, and a Guard. Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves. [Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of CARLISLE, and 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 I see your brows are full of discontent, [Exeunt. ACT THE FIFTH. SCENE I. London. A Street leading to the Tower. Enter QUEEN, and Ladies. Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower, To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Enter King RICHARD, and Guards. But soft, but see, or rather do not see, And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. 9 Tower of London. Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb, And not king Richard; thou most beauteous inn, Why should 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 so, To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul, Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, Which our profane hours here have stricken down. Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform'd, and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage, K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales And, ere thou bid good night, to quit' their grief, Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, Requite, repay. And send the hearers weeping to their beds. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended. North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd; You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. |