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  • Title: Richard II (Quarto 1, 1597)
  • 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 (Quarto 1, 1597)

    King Richard the second.
    And make vs wade euen in our kinreds bloud;
    Therefore we banish you our territories:
    You cousin Hereford vpon paine of life,
    Til twice fiue summers haue enricht our fields,
    435Shall not regreete our faire dominions,
    But treade the stranger paths of banishment.
    Bul. Your will be done; this must my comfort be,
    That Sunne that warmes you here, shall shine on me,
    And those his golden beames to you heere lent,
    440Shall point on me, and guilde my banishment.
    King Norfolke, for thee remaines a heauier doome,
    Which I with some vnwillingnesse pronounce,
    The slie slow houresshall not determinate
    The datelesse limite of thy deere exile,
    445The hoplesse word of neuerto returne,
    Breathe I against thee, vpon paine of life.
    Mowb. A heauy sentence, my most soueraigne Liege,
    And all vnlookt for from your Highnesse mouth,
    A deerer merit not so deepe a maime,
    450As to be cast forth in the common ayre
    Haue I deserued at your Highnesse hands:
    The language I haue learnt these forty yeeres,.
    My natiue English now I must forgo,
    And now my tongues vse is to me, no more
    455Than an vnstringed violl or a harpe,
    Or like a cunning instrument casde vp,
    Or being open, put into his hands
    That knowes no touch to tune the harmonie:
    Within my mouth you haue engaold my tongue,
    460Doubly portculist with my teeth and lippes,
    And dull vnfeeling barren ignorance
    Is made my Gaoler to attend on me:
    I am too olde to fawne vpon a nurse,
    Too far in yeeres to be a pupill now,
    465What is thy sentence but speechlesse death?
    Which robbes my tongue from breathing natiue breath.
    King It bootes thee not to be compassionate,