Internet Shakespeare Editions

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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. 45
    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.
    2765Rich. 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.
    2770Keep. 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.

    2775Enter 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.
    2780That 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.
    2785Exton. 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,
    2790Take hence the rest, and giue them buriall heere. Exit.

    Scoena Quinta.

    Flourish. Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, with
    other Lords & attendants.
    Bul. Kinde Vnkle Yorke, the latest newes we heare,
    2795Is 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?
    2800Nor. 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.
    2805Bul. 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,
    2810Two 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.
    2815Per. 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.
    2820Bul. 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,
    2825High 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
    2830Richard 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.
    2835Bul. 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.
    2840With 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,
    2845And 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.