« 이전계속 »
And send him many years of sun-shine days!
What more remains ?
North. No more, but that you read
These accusations, and these grievous crimes,
Committed by your person, and your followers,
Against the state and profit of this land ;
That, by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos’d.
K. Rich. Must I do fo ? and must I 'ravel out
My weav'd up follies ? Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,
Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them ? If thou would't,
There should'st thou find one heinous article,
Containing the deposing of a king,
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven:
Nay, all of yoụ, that stand and look upon me,
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,
Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,
Shewing an outward pity ; yet you
Pilates Have here deliver'd me to my four cross, And water cannot wash away your sin.
North. My lord, dispatch ; read o'er these articles.
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see ;
And yet salt-water blinds them not so much, ,
But they can see a sort of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor with the rest :
For I have given here my soul's consent,
To undeck the pompous body of a king;
Make glory base; and sovereignty, a Nave ;
Proud majesty, a subject ; ftate, a peasant.
North. My lord,
i ravel our]-untwift, unfold. a forr]a set, a company.
K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou " haught, insulting man, Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title, No, not that name was given me at the font,But 'tis usurp'd :-Alack the heavy day, That I have worn so many winters out, And know not now what name to call myself ! Oh, that I were a mockery king of snow, Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, To melt myself away in water-drops ! Good king-great king—(and yet not greatly good) An if my word be sterling yet in England, (To Boling. Let it command a mirror hither straight ; That it may shew me what a face I have, Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.
Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-glass.
Nortb. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth come.
K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come to hell.
Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland.
North. The commons will not then be fatisfy’d.
K. Rich. They shall be satisfy'd ; I'll read enough,
When I do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that's—myself.
Enter one, with a glass.
Give me that glass, and therein will I read.-
No deeper wrinkles yet ? hath forrow struck
this face of mine,
And made no deeper wounds ?-Oh, Aattering glass,
Like to my followers in prosperity,
Thou dost beguile me!-Was this face the face
That every day under his houshold roof
Did keep ten thousand men ? Was this the face,
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink?
Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies,
And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory shineth in this face :
(Dashes the glass against the ground,
As brittle as the glory, is the face ;
For there it is, crack'd in an hundred shivers.-
Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport,—
How soon my forrow hath destroy'd my
Boling. The shadow of your forrow hath destroy'd
The shadow of your face.
K. Rich. Say that again.
The shadow of my forrow? Ha! let's see :--
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within li
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief,
That swells with filence in the tortur'd foul ;
There lies the substance : and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
Me cause to wail, but reachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon,
And then be
you no more. Shall I obtain it?
Boling. Name it, fair' cousin.
K. Rich. Fair cousin ? Why, I am greater than a king;
For, when I was a king, my flatterers
Were then-but subjects ; being now a subject,
I have a king here to my Aatterer. .
Being so great, I have no need to beg.
Boling. Yet ask.
K. Rich. And shall I have ?
Boling. You shall.
K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your lights.
Boling. Go fome of you, convey him to the Tower.
K. Rich. Oh, good ! Convey? -- "Conveyers are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. [Exit.
Boling. On Wednesday next, we folemnly set down Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves.
[Ex. all but the Abbot, bishop of Carlife, and Aumerle. Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
Carl. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot ?
Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein,
You shall not only take the facrament
To bury mine intents, but also to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devise :-
I see, your brows are full of discontent,
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears ;
Come home with me to supper, and I'll lay
A plot, shall thew us all a merry day.
Enter Queen, and Ladies. Queen, This way the king will come; this is the way * To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower, To whose flint borom my condemned lord Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke : Here let us reft, if this rebellious earth Have any resting for her true king's queen.
* Conveyers]-Jugglers, dealers in fleight of hand. y bury)-conceal, keep secret.
? To Julius Cæsar's, &c.]-The Tower of London is said to have been built by him,
Enter King Richard, and guards.
But foft, but fee, or rather do not see,
My fair rose wither : Yet look up; behold;
That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did ftand ;
[To K. Rich, Thou
of honour; thou king Richard's tomb,
And not king Richard ; thou most beauteous inn,
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg’d in thee,
When triumph is become an ale-house guest ?
K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden : learn, good foul,
To think our former ftate a happy dream ;
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shews us but this : *I am sworn brother; sweet,
To grim necessity; and he and I
Will keep a league 'till death. Hie thee to France,
And cloifter thee in some religious houfe :
Our holy lives must win a new world's crown,
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind
Transform'd, and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke
Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart?
The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o'erpower'd; And wilt thou, pupil-like,
Take thy correction mildly? kiss the rod ?
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?
a the model]-the ground plot.
+ Join not with grief,]-against me. e I am sworn brotber, sweet, to grim neceflity;]-I am perfe&tly reconciled to this necessary confinement.