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K. Rich. Give me the crown :-Here, coufin, feize the

crown;

Here, on this fide, my hand; on that fide, thine.

Now is this golden crown like a deep well,

That owes two buckets filling one another;
The emptier ever dancing in the air,

The other down, unfeen, and full of water :
That bucket down, and full of tears, am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilft you mount up on high.
Boling. I thought, you had been willing to refign.
K. Rich. My crown, I am; but still my griefs are mine :
You may my glories and my state depose,

But not my griefs; ftill am I king of those.

Boling. Part of your cares you gave me with your crown. K. Rich. Your cares fet up, do not pluck my cares down, My care is lofs of care, by old care done;

Your care is

gain of care, by new care won:
The cares I give, I have, though given away;
They tend the crown, yet ftill with me they stay.
Boling. Are you contented to refign the crown?
K. Rich. Ay, no ;-no, ay ;—for I muft nothing be;
Therefore no no, for I refign to thee.

Now mark me how I will undo myself :—
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy fcepter from my hand,
The pride of kingly fway from out my heart;
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths:
All pomp and majesty I do forswear;

My manors, rents, revenues, I forego;
My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny :

God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me !

God

God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee!
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd;
And thou with all pleas'd, that haft all achiev'd!
Long may'st thou live in Richard's feat to fit,
And foon lie Richard in an earthy pit!

God fave king Henry, unking'd Richard says,
And fend him many years of funshine days!-
What more remains ?

North.

No more, but that you read

[Offering a paper.

These accufations, and these grievous crimes,
Committed by your perfon, and your followers,
Against the state and profit of this land;
That, by confeffing them, the fouls of men
May deem that you are worthily depofed.

K. Rich. Muft 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 fo fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? If thou would'st,
There should'ft thou find one heinous article,—
-Containing the depofing 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 you, that stand and look upon me,
Whilft that my wretchedness doth bait myself,—
Though fome of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,
Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates

Have here deliver'd me to my four cross,
And water cannot wash away your fin.

North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these articles.
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot fee:
And
yet falt water blinds them not fo much,
But they can fee a fort of traitors here.

Nay,

Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,

I find myself a traitor with the reft:
For I have given here my foul's consent,
To undeck the pompous body of a king;
Make glory base; and fovereignty, a slave;
Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant.
North. My lord,-

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, infulting man, Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,—

No, not that name was given me at the font,-
But 'tis ufurp'd :—Alack the heavy day,
That I have worn fo many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself!
O, that I were a mockery, king of fnow,
Standing before the fun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops!-

Good king,-great king,—(and yet not greatly good,)
An if my word be fterling yet in England,
Let it command a mirror hither straight;
That it may fhow me what a face I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his majefty.

Boling. Go fome of you, and fetch a looking-glass.
[Exit an Attendant,

North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth come. K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'ft me ere I come to hell. Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. North. The commons will not then be fatisfied.

K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, When I do fee the very book indeed

Where all my fins are writ, and that's—myself.

Re-enter Attendant, with a glass.

Give me that glafs, and therein will I read.

No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath forrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine,

And made no deeper wounds? O, flattering glass,
Like to my followers in profperity,

Thou doft beguile me! Was this face the face,
That every day under his household roof
Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face,
That, like the fun, did make beholders wink?
Was this the face, that faced fo many follies,
And was at last outfaced by Bolingbroke?
A brittle glory fhineth in this face :

As brittle as the glory is the face;

[Dafbes the glass against the ground.

For there it is, crack'd in a hundred fhivers.-
Mark, filent king, the moral of this sport,-
How foon my forrow hath destroy'd my face.

Boling. The hadow of your forrow hath destroy'd
The fhadow of your face.

K. Rich.
Say that again.
The fhadow of my forrow? Ha! let's fee
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;
And these external manners of lament
Are merely fhadows to the unfeen grief,
That fwells 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 teachest me the way
How to lament the caufe. I'll beg one boon,
And then be gone, and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it ?

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K. Rich. Fair coufin? Why, I am greater than a king: For, when I was a king, my flatterers

Were then but subjects; being now a fubject,

I have a king here to my flatterer.

Being fo great, I have no need to beg.

Boling. Yet afk.

K. Rich. And fhall I have?

Boling. You fhall.

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Boling. Whither?

K. Rich. Whither you will, fo I were from your fights.
Boling. Go fome of you, convey him to the Tower.
K. Rich. O, good! Convey?-Conveyers are you all,
That rife thus nimbly by a true king's fall.

[Exeunt K. RICHARD, fome Lords, and a guard. Boling. On Wednesday next, we folemnly fet down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.

[Exeunt all but the Abbot, bishop of Carlisle, and
AUMERLE.

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
Car. 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 fpeak my mind herein,
You fhall not only take the facrament
To bury mine intents, but to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devife :-
I fee, your brows are full of discontent,
Your hearts of forrow, and your eyes of tears;
Come home with me to fupper; I will lay
A plot, fhall show us all a merry day.

[Exeunt.

ACT

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