And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith,
To tie thee to my ftrong correction.
As I intend to thrive in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.
Befides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say,
That thou, Aumerle, didft fend two of thy men
To execute the noble Duke at Calais.
Aum. Some honeft christian trust me with a gage
That Norfolk lies; here do I throw down this,
If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour.
Boling. Thefe diff'rences fhall all reft under gage,
"Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be,
And, though mine enemy, reftor'd again
To all his figniories; when he's return'd,
Against Aumerle we will enforce his tryal.
Carl. That honourable day fhall ne'er be feen.
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
For Jefu Chrift, in glorious chriftian field
Streaming the enfign of the chriftian Cross,
Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens :
Then, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself
To Italy, and there at Venice gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth,
And his pure foul unto his captain Chrift,
Under whofe colours he had fought fo long.
Boling. Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?
Carl. Sure as I live, my Lord.
Boling. Sweet peace conduct his foul
To th' bofom of good Abraham!—Lords appealants,
Your diff'rences fhall all reft under gage,
"Till we affign you to your days of tryal.
SCENE II. Enter York.
York. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee
From plume-pluckt Richard, who with willing foul
Adopts thee heir, and his high fcepter yields
To the poffeffion of thy royal hand.
Afcend his throne, defcending now from him,
And long live Henry of that name the Fourth!
Boling. In God's name, I'll afcend the regal throne.
Carl. Marry, heav'n forbid !
Worst in this royal prefence may speak?
Yet beft befeeming me to speak the truth.
Would God, that any in this noble prefence
Were enough noble to be upright judge
Of noble Richard; then true nobleness would
Learn him forbearance from fo foul a wrong.
What fubject can give fentence on his King?
And who fits here that is not Richard's fubje&t?
Thieves are not judg'd but they are by to hear,
Although apparent guilt be feen in them.
And fhall the figure of God's Majefty,
His Captain, Steward, Deputy elect,
Anointed, crown'd, and planted many years,
Be judg'd by fubject and inferior breath,
And he himself not prefent? oh, forbid it,
That in a chriftian climate, fouls refin'd
Should fhew fo heinous, black, obscene a dead!
I fpeak to fubjects, and a fubject speaks,
Stirr'd up by heav'n, thus boldly for his King.
My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call King,
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's King.
And if you crown him, let me prophefie,
The blood of English fhall manure the ground,
And future ages groan for this foul act,
Peace fhall go fleep with Turks and Infidels,
And in this feat of peace, tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound,
Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
The field of Golgotha, and dead men's fculls.
Oh, if you rear this house against this house,
It will the wofulleft divifion prove,
That ever fell upon this curfed earth.
Prevent, refift it, let it not be fo,
Left children's children cry against you, woe!
North. Well have you argu'd, Sir; and for your pains,
Of capital treafon we arreft you here.
My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge,
To keep him fafely 'till his day of tryal.
May't please you, Lords, to grant the Commons fuit!
Baling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view
He may furrender: fo we fhall proceed
Without fufpicion.
York. I will be his conduct.
Boling. Lords, you that are here under our arreft, Procure your fureties for your days of answer: Little are we beholden to your love,
And little look'd for at your helping hands.
SCENE III. Enter King Richard and York. K. Rich. Alack, why am I fent for to a King, Before I have fhook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd T'infinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee: Give forrow leave a-while to tutor me
To this fubmiffion. Yet I well remember
The favours of these men: were they not mine?
Did they not fometime cry, all hail to me?
So Judas did to Chrift: but he in twelve,
Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none.* To do what fervice am I fent for hither?
York. To do that office of thine own good will,
Which tired Majefty did make thee offer:
The refignation of thy ftate and crown.
K. Rich. Give me the crown. Here, coufin, feize the
Here, on this fide my hand, on that fide thine. †
----in twelve thousa :d, none.
God fave the King! will no man fay, Amen?
Am I both priest and clark? well then, Amen.
God fave the King, although I be not het
And yet Amen, if heav'n do think him me.
To do what fervice, &c.
+ on that fide thine,
Now is this golden crown like a deep well,
That owes two buckets, filling one another,
The emptier ever dancing in the air,
The other down, unfeen, and full of water:
That bucket down, and full of tears am 1,
Drinking my griefs, whilft you mount up on high.
Boling. I thought you had been willing to refign.
K. Rich. My crown I am, but ftill my griefs are miner
You may my glories, and my ftate depote,
But not my griefs, ftill am I King of thofe
Now, mark me, how I will undo myself;
I give this heavy weight from off my
head,
And this unwieldy scepter from my hand,
The pride of kingly fway from out my heart,
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my facred ftate,
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths:
All pomp and Majefty I do forfwear :
My manors, rents, revenues, I forgo;
My acts, decrees, and ftatutes, I deny:
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!
God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee!
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
These accufations, and thefe grievous crimes
Committed by your perfon, and your followers,
Against the state and profit of this land:
That by confeffing them, the fouls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.
K. Rich. Muft I do fo? and must I ravel out
My weav'd-up follies? Oh Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,
Would it not fhame thee in fo fair a troop,
Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. K. Rich. Your cares fet up do not pluck my cares dowa. My care, is lofs of care, by old care done;
Your care, is gain of care, by new care won.
The cares I give, I have, though given away;
They tend the crown, yet ftill with me they ftay.
Boling. Are you contented to reĥign the crown?
K. Rich. I, no, no, 1; for 1 mu't nothing be:
Therefore no no, for I refign to thee.
Now, mark me, &c.
-- that haft all atchiev'd!
Long may it thou live in Richard's feat to fit,
And foon lye Richard in an earthy pit!
God fave King Henry, unking'd Richard fays,
And fend him many years of fun-thine days!
What more, &s,
To read a lecture of them? if thou would'st,
There should'ft thou find one heinous article,
Containing the depofing of a King,
And cracking the ftrong warrant of an oath,
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heav'n.
Nay, all of you, that ftand and lock upon me,
Whilft that my wretchedness doth bait my self,
Though fome of you with Pilate wash your hands,
Shewing an outward pity; yet you Pilates
Have here deliver'd me to my fow'r cross,
And water cannot wash away your fin.
North. My Lord, difpatch; read o'er these articles,
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears: I cannot fee:
And yet falt-water blinds them not fo much,
But they can fee a fort of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon my felf,
I find my felf a traitor with the reft:
For I have given here my foul's confent,
T'undeck the pompous body of a King;
Made glory base; a Sovereign, a slave;
Proud Majesty, a fubject; state, a peasant,
North. My Lord-
K. Rich. No Lord of thine, infulting man ;
Nor no man's Lord: I have no name, no title;
No, not that name was giv'n me at the font,
But 'tis ufurp'd. Alack the the heavy day!
That I have worn fo many winters out,
And know not now what name to call my felf.
Oh, that I were a mockery King of fnow,
Standing before the fun of Bolingbroke,
To melt my self away in water-drops! *
An if my word te fterling yet in England,
Let it command a mirror hither straight,
That it may fhew me what a fate I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his Majesty.
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.
Good King, great King, and yet not greatly good,
An if my, 'C
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