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  • Title: Richard II (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editor: Catherine Lisak
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-436-3

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    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Catherine Lisak
    Peer Reviewed

    Richard II (Folio 1, 1623)

    The life and death of Richard the second. 31
    Qu. 'Tis nothing lesse: conceit is still deriu'd
    From some fore-father greefe, mine is not so,
    For nothing hath begot my something greefe,
    Or something, hath the nothing that I greeue,
    990'Tis in reuersion that I do possesse,
    But what it is, that is not yet knowne, what
    I cannot name, 'tis namelesse woe I wot.
    Enter Greene.
    Gree. Heauen saue your Maiesty, and wel met Gentle-(men:
    995I hope the King is not yet shipt for Ireland.
    Qu Why hop'st thou so? Tis better hope he is:
    For his designes craue hast, his hast good hope,
    Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipt?
    Gre. That he our hope, might haue retyr'd his power,
    1000and driuen into dispaire an enemies hope,
    Who strongly hath set footing in this Land.
    The banish'd Bullingbrooke repeales himselfe,
    And with vp-lifted Armes is safe arriu'd
    At Rauenspurg.
    1005Qu. Now God in heauen forbid.
    Gr. O Madam 'tis too true: and that is worse,
    The L. Northumberland, his yong sonne Henrie Percie,
    The Lords of Rosse, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
    With all their powrefull friends are fled to him.
    1010Bush. Why haue you not proclaim'd Northumberland
    And the rest of the reuolted faction, Traitors?
    Gre. We haue: whereupon the Earle of Worcester
    Hath broke his staffe, resign'd his Stewardship,
    And al the houshold seruants fled with him to Bullinbrook
    1015Qu. So Greene, thou art the midwife of my woe,
    And Bullinbrooke my sorrowes dismall heyre:
    Now hath my soule brought forth her prodegie,
    And I a gasping new deliuered mother,
    Haue woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow ioyn'd.
    1020Bush. Dispaire not Madam.
    Qu. Who shall hinder me?
    I will dispaire, and be at enmitie
    With couzening hope; he is a Flatterer,
    A Parasite, a keeper backe of death,
    1025Who gently would dissolue the bands of life,
    Which false hopes linger in extremity.
    Enter Yorke
    Gre. Heere comes the Duke of Yorke.
    Qu. With signes of warre about his aged necke,
    1030Oh full of carefull businesse are his lookes:
    Vncle, for heauens sake speake comfortable words:
    Yor. Comfort's in heauen, and we are on the earth,
    Where nothing liues but crosses, care and greefe:
    Your husband he is gone to saue farre off,
    1035Whilst others come to make him loose at home:
    Heere am I left to vnder-prop his Land,
    Who weake with age, cannot support my selfe:
    Now comes the sicke houre that his surfet made,
    Now shall he try his friends that flattered him.
    1040Enter a seruant.
    Ser. My Lord, your sonne was gone before I came.
    Yor. He was: why so: go all which way it will:
    The Nobles they are fled, the Commons they are cold,
    And will I feare reuolt on Herfords side.
    1045Sirra, get thee to Plashie to my sister Gloster,
    Bid her send me presently a thousand pound,
    Hold, take my Ring.
    Ser. My Lord, I had forgot
    To tell your Lordship, to day I came by, and call'd there,
    1050But I shall greeue you to report the rest.
    Yor. What is`t knaue?

    Ser. An houre before I came, the Dutchesse di'de.
    Yor. Heau'n for his mercy, what a tide of woes
    Come rushing on this wofull Land at once?
    1055I know not what to do: I would to heauen
    (So my vntruth had not prouok'd him to it)
    The King had cut off my head with my brothers.
    What, are there postes dispatcht for Ireland?
    How shall we do for money for these warres?
    1060Come sister (Cozen I would say) pray pardon me.
    Go fellow, get thee home, poouide some Carts,
    And bring away the Armour that is there.
    Gentlemen, will you muster men?
    If I know how, or which way to order these affaires
    1065Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,
    Neuer beleeue me. Both are my kinsmen,
    Th' one is my Soueraigne, whom both my oath
    And dutie bids defend: th' other againe
    Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd,
    1070Whom conscience, and my kindred bids to right:
    Well, somewhat we must do: Come Cozen,
    Ile dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster vp your men,
    And meet me presently at Barkley Castle:
    I should to Plashy too: but time will not permit,
    1075All is vneuen, and euery thing is left at six and seuen. Exit
    Bush. The winde sits faire for newes to go to Ireland,
    But none returnes: For vs to leuy power
    Proportionable to th' enemy, is all impossible.
    Gr. Besides our neerenesse to the King in loue,
    1080Is neere the hate of those loue not the King.
    BaAnd that's the wauering Commons, for their loue
    Lies in their purses, and who so empties them,
    By so much fils their hearts with deadly hate.
    Bush. Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd
    1085Bag. If iudgement lye in them, then so do we,
    Because we haue beene euer neere the King.
    Gr. Well: I will for refuge straight to Bristoll Castle,
    The Earle of Wiltshire is alreadie there.
    Bush. Thither will I with you, for little office
    1090Will the hatefull Commons performe for vs,
    Except like Curres, to teare vs all in peeces:
    Will you go along with vs?
    Bag. No, I will to Ireland to his Maiestie:
    Farewell, if hearts presages be not vaine,
    1095We three here part, that neu'r shall meete againe.
    Bu. That's as Yorke thriues to beate back Bullinbroke
    Gr. Alas poore Duke, the taske he vndertakes
    Is numbring sands, and drinking Oceans drie,
    Where one on his side fights, thousands will flye.
    1100Bush. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and euer.
    Well, we may meete againe.
    Bag. I feare me neuer. Exit.

    Scaena Tertia.

    Enter the Duke of Hereford, and Northum-

    Bul. How farre is it my Lord to Berkley now?
    Nor. Beleeue me noble Lord,
    I am a stranger heere in Gloustershire,
    These high wilde hilles, and rough vneeuen waies,
    1110Drawes out our miles, and makes them wearisome.
    And yet our faire discourse hath beene as sugar,