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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.
    To win thy after loue, I pardon thee.
    Aum. Then giue me leaue that May turne the key,
    That no man enter till my tale be done.
    2535King. Haue thy desire.
    The Duke of Yorke knokes at the doore and crieth.
    Yor. My leige beware, looke to thy selfe,
    Thou hast a Traitor in thy presence there.
    King. Vilain Ile make thee safe.
    Aum. Stay thy reuengefull hand, thou hast no cause to(feare
    York. Open the dore, secure foole, hardie King,
    Shall I for loue speake treason to thy face,
    Open the dore, or I will breake it open.
    2545King What is the matter vncle, speake, recouer breath,
    TeIl vs, how neare is daunger,
    That wee may arme vs to encounter it?
    Yor. Peruse this writtng heere, and thou shalt know,
    The treason that my haste forbids me shew.
    2550Aum. remember as thou readst, thy promise past,
    I do repent me, reade not my name there,
    My hart is not confederate with my hand.
    Yor. It was (vilaine) ere thy hand did set it downe.
    I tore it from the traitors bosome (King,)
    2555Feare, and not loue, begets his penitence:
    Forget to pittie him, lest thy pittie proue,
    A Serpent that will sting thee to the hart.
    King. O heynous, strong, and bould conspiracy;
    O loyall Father, of a treacherous Sonne,
    2560Thou sheere immaculate and siluer Fountaine,
    From whence this streame, through muddy passages,
    Hath held his current, and defild himselfe,
    Thy ouerflow of good, conuerts to bad:
    And thy aboundant goodnes, shall excuse,
    2565This deadly blot in thy digressing sonne.
    Yor. So shall my vertue, be his vices baude,
    An he shall spend mine honour, with his shame,
    As thriftles sonnes, their scraping Fathers gold:
    Mine honour liues when his dishonour dies,

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