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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)

    The Tragedie of
    2265Heere let vs rest, if this rebellious earth,
    Haue any resting for her true Kings Queene. ( Enter Ric.
    But soft, but see, or rather doe not see,
    My faire Rose wither, yet looke vp, behold,
    2270That you in pittie may dissolue to deaw,
    And wash him fresh againe with true loue teares.
    Ah thou the modle where olde Troy did stand!
    Thou mappe of honour, thou King Richards tombe,
    And not King Richard: thou most beauteous Inne,
    2275Why should hard fauourd greife be lodged in thee,
    When triumph is become an alehouse guest?
    Rich. ioyne not with greife faire woman, doe not so,
    To make my end too sudden, learne good soule,
    To thinke our former state a happie dreame,
    2280From which awakt the trueth of what we are
    Shewes vs but this: I am sworne brother (sweet)
    To grim necessitie, and he and I,
    Will keepe a league till death. Hie thee to Fraunce,
    And cloister thee in some religious house,
    2285Our holy liues must win a new worlds crowne,
    Which our prophane houres heere haue throwne downe.
    Quee. what is my Richard both in shape and minde
    Transformd and weakned? hath Bullingbrooke,
    Deposde thine intellect? hath he been in thy hart?
    2290The Lyon dying thrusteth foorth his pawe,
    And woundes the earth if nothing else with rage,
    To be ore-powr'd, and wilt thou pupill-like
    Take the correction, mildly kisse the rod,
    And fawne on Rage with base humilitie,
    2295Which art a Lion and the king of beasts.
    King. a King of beasts indeed, if aught but beasts,
    I had been still a happie King of men.
    Good (sometimes Queene) prepare thee hence for France,
    Thinke I am dead, and that euen here thou takest
    2300As from my death bed thy last liuing leaue;
    In winters tedious nights sit by the fire,
    with good old folkes, and let them tell the tales,
    Of woefull ages long agoe betidde: