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  • Title: Richard II (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editor: Catherine Lisak

    • ISBN: 978-1-55058-436-3

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Catherine Lisak
    Peer Reviewed

    Richard II (Folio 1, 1623)

    The Life and Death of Richard the Second. 41
    What euer I shall happen to deuise.
    2255I see your Browes are full of Discontent,
    Your Heart of Sorrow, and your Eyes of Teares.
    Come home with me to Supper, Ile lay a Plot
    Shall shew vs all a merry day. Exeunt.


    Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.


    2260Enter Queene, and Ladies.
    Qu. This way the King will come: this is the way
    To Iulius Caesars ill-erected Tower:
    To whose flint Bosome, my condemned Lord
    Is doom'd a Prisoner, by prowd Bullingbrooke.
    2265Here 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,
    2270That 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,
    2275Why 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,
    2280From 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:
    2285Our 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?
    2290The 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,
    2295Which 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,
    2300As 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,
    2305Tell 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:
    2310And 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.
    2315And 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,
    2320More 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
    2325To 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,
    2330To 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,
    2335And 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:
    2340My 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 frō heart.
    2345Qu. 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:
    2350Better 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.
    2355Come, 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,
    2360To 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.
    Rich. We make Woe wanton with this fond delay:
    Once more adieu; the rest, let Sorrow say. Exeunt.


    2365Scoena Secunda.


    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.
    2370Yorke. 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.
    d 3 Yorke. Then
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