Richard II (Quarto 1, 1597)

Author: William Shakespeare

Editor: Catherine Lisak

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Richard II (Modern)
- Work
- Scene
  1. 1.1
  2. 1.2
  3. 1.3
  4. 1.4
  5. 2.1
  6. 2.2
  7. 2.3
  8. 2.4
  9. 3.1
  10. 3.2
  11. 3.3
  12. 3.4
  13. 4.1
  14. 5.1
  15. 5.2
  16. 5.3
  17. 5.4
  18. 5.5
  19. 5.6
Richard II (Folio 1, 1623)
- Work
- Scene
  1. 1.1
  2. 1.2
  3. 1.3
  4. 1.4
  5. 2.1
  6. 2.2
  7. 2.3
  8. 2.4
  9. 3.1
  10. 3.2
  11. 3.3
  12. 3.4
  13. 4.1
  14. 5.1
  15. 5.2
  16. 5.3
  17. 5.4
  18. 5.5
  19. 5.6
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Richard II (Quarto 1, 1597)
- Work
- Scene
  1. 1.1
  2. 1.2
  3. 1.3
  4. 1.4
  5. 2.1
  6. 2.2
  7. 2.3
  8. 2.4
  9. 3.1
  10. 3.2
  11. 3.3
  12. 3.4
  13. 4.1
  14. 5.1
  15. 5.2
  16. 5.3
  17. 5.4
  18. 5.5
  19. 5.6
- Page
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The Tragedie of
¶To lifte shrewd steele against our golden crowne,
1415God for his Ric: hath in heauenly pay,
¶A glorious Angell; then if Angels fight,
¶Weake men must fall, for heauen still gardes the right.
¶Enter Salisb.	
¶King Welcome my Lo:_how far off lies your power?
1420Salis. Nor neare nor farther off my gratious Lo:
¶Than this weake arme; discomfort guides my tongue,
¶And bids me speake of nothing but Despaire,
¶One day too late I feare me noble Lo:
¶Hath clouded all thy happy daies on earth:
1425O call backe yesterday, bid Time returne,
¶And thou shalt haue twelue thousand fighting men,
¶To day to day vnhappie daie too late,
¶Ouerthrowes thy ioies friends, fortune and thy state, 
¶For all the Welshmen hearing thou wert dead,
1430Are gone to Bullingbrooke disperst and fled.
¶Aum. Comfort my liege, why lookes your grace so pale.
¶King But now the bloud of 20000. men,
¶Did triumph in my face, and they are fled:
1435And till so much bloud thither come againe,
¶Haue I not reason to looke pale and dead?
¶All soules that wilbe safe, flie from my side,
¶For time hath set a blot vpon my pride.
¶Aum. Comfort my liege remember who you are.
1440King I had forgot my selfe, am I not King?
¶Awake thou coward Maiesty thou sleepest, 
¶Is not the Kings name twenty thousand names?
¶Arme arme, my name a puny subiect strikes,
¶At thy great glorie, looke not to the ground,
1445Ye fauourites of a King, are we not high?
¶High be our thoughts, I know my Vnckle Yorke,
¶Hath power enough to serue our turne: but who comes here?
¶ Enter Scroope.		
¶Scro. More health and happines betide my liege,
1450Then can my care tunde tongue deliuer him.
¶King Mine eare is open, and my hart prepard,
The

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Richard II (Quarto 1, 1597)

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Richard II (Quarto 1, 1597)