Classic Audiobook Collection - The Tragedy of Richard II by William Shakespeare ~ Full Audiobook [tragedy]

Episode Date: May 3, 2025

The Tragedy of Richard II by William Shakespeare audiobook. Genre: tragedy William Shakespeare's The Tragedy of Richard II opens on a kingdom where words carry the weight of swords. King Richard II presides over a court simmering with grievance as Henry Bolingbroke accuses Thomas Mowbray of treason, forcing a public reckoning that quickly exposes the fragility of royal authority. Richard's choice to halt the dispute and impose banishment sets off a chain of political consequences, worsened by his costly policies and the resentments of powerful nobles. When John of Gaunt, Richard's formidable uncle, delivers blistering counsel about England's honor and the king's conduct, the divide between sacred kingship and practical governance becomes impossible to ignore. As Bolingbroke returns to claim his inheritance and gathers support, Richard is driven to confront a crisis that is as personal as it is national: what makes a ruler legitimate, and what remains of a man when the crown's certainty begins to slip? Rich in poetic imagery and psychological insight, this history play traces the collision of pride, loyalty, and ambition at the heart of a realm on the brink. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 1 (00:44:34) Chapter 2 (01:22:39) Chapter 3 (02:02:03) Chapter 4 (02:25:46) Chapter 5 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Tragedy of King Richard II By William Shakespeare Act 1 Scene 1 London A Room in the Palace Enter King Richard attended John of Gaunt with other nobles

Old John of Gaunt Time honoured Lancaster Hast thou, according to thy oath and band Brought Hither Henry Hurriford Thy bold son here to make good the boisterous late appeal, which then our leisure would not let us hear, against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray.

I have, my liege. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him if he appeal the Duke on ancient malice, or worthily, as a good subject should, on some known ground of treachery in him. As near as I could sift him on that argument on some apparent danger seen in him aimed at your highness. No inveterate malice. Then call them to our presence, face to face and frowning brow to brow.

Our cells will hear the accuser and the accused freely speak. High stomach are they both and full of ire. In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. Re-enter attendance with Bowlingbroke and Mowbray. many years of happy days befall my gracious sovereign my most loving liege each day still better others happiness until the heavens envying earth's good hap add an immortal title to your crown we thank you both yet one but flatters us as well appeareth by the cause you come namely to appeal each other of high treason cousin of heriford what dost thou object against the duke of norfolk thomas mowbray First, heaven be the record to my speech. In the devotion of a subject's love,

tendering the precious safety of my prince, and free from other misbegotten hate, come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, and mark my greeting well, for what I speak, my body shall make a good upon this earth, or my divine soul answered in heaven. thou art a traitor and a miscreant too good to be so and too bad to live since the more fair and crystal is the sky the uglier seem the clouds that in it fly once more the more to aggravate the note with a foul traitor's name stuff i thy throat

And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, But my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal, Tis not the trial of a woman's war? The bitter clamor of two eager tongues Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain. The blood is hot that must be cooled for this. yet can I not of such tame patience boast

as to be hushed and not at all to say. First, the fair reverence of Your Highness curbs me from giving reins and spurs to my free speech, which else would post until it had returned these terms of treasoned doubled down his throat, setting aside his high blood's royalty, and let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him, and call him a slanderous coward and a villain.

Which to maintain I would allow him odds and meet him, where I tied to run afoot, even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, or any other ground inhabitable, wherever Englishman durst set his foot. Meantime, let this defend my loyalty, by all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. trembling coward. There I throw my gauge, disclaiming here the kindred of the king, and lay aside my high blood's royalty, which fear, not reverence, makes thee to accept. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength as to take up mine honor's pawn, then stoop. By that, and all the rights of knighthood else, will I make good against thee, arm to arm, when I have spoke, or thou canst

worst devise? I take it up, and by that sword I swear, which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree, or chivalrous design of nightly trial, and when I'm out, alive may I not light if I be traitor, or unjustly fight. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true,

That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In the name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detained for lewd employments, Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides, I say and will in battle-proof, or here, or elsewhere to the farthest verge that ever was surveyed by English eye, that all the treasons for these eighteen years complotted and contrived in this land, fetch from false Maubre, their first head and spring. Further, I say, and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death

Suggest his soon-believing adversaries And consequently, like a traitor coward, Slewest out his innocent soul through streams of blood Which blood, like sacrificing abels, cries even from the tongueless caverns of the earth to me for justice and rough chastisement and by the glorious worth of my descent this arm shall do it

or this life be spent how higher pitch his resolution soars Thomas of Norfolk what sayest thou to this oh let my sovereign turn away his face and bid his ears a little while be dead till I have told this slander of his blood how God and good men hate so foul a liar. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears. Were he my brother, nay my kingdom's heir, as he is but my father's brother's son.

Now by my sceptre's oar I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood should nothing privilege him, nor partialize the unstooping firmness of my upright soul. He is our subject, Melbury, so art thou, free speech and fearless, I to thee allow. Then Bolingbroke, As low is to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat thou liest. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, dispersed I duly to His Highness's soldiers. The other part reserved I by consent, but that my sovereign liege was in my debt,

upon remainder of a dear account, since last I went to France to fetch his queen. Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death I slew him not, but to my own disgrace neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, the Honourable Father to my foe, "'Once did I lay an ambush for your life,

"'a trespass that doth vex my grieved soul, "'but ere I last received the sacrament I did confess it, "'and exactly begged your grace's pardon, "'and I hope I had it. "'This is my fault. "'As for the rest appealed, "'it issues from the rancor of a villain, "'a recreant and most degenerate traitor,

"'which in myself I boldly will defend, "'and interchangeably hurled, down my gauge upon this overweening traitor's foot, to prove myself a loyal gentleman, even in the blessed blood, chambered in his bosom. In haste whereof most heartily I pray, your highness to assign our trial day. Rothkindled gentlemen, be ruled by me. Let's purge this color without letting blood. This we prescribe, though no physician. Deep malice makes too deep incision. Forget, forgive, conclude, and be agreed.

Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it began. We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you, your son. To be a make-piece shall become my age. Throw down my son the Duke of Norfolk's gauge. And Norfolk, throw down his. When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again.

Norfolk throw down, we bid. There is no boot. Myself I throw, dread sovereign at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame. The one my duty owes, but my fair name, Despite of death that lives upon my grave, To dark dishonor's use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here.

pierced to the soul with slander's venom spear, the which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood which breathe this poison. Rage must be withstood. Give me his gauge. Lions make leopards tame. Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame, and I resign my gauge.

My dear, dear Lord, the purest treasure mortal times afford in spotless reputation. that away men are but gilded loam or painted clay. A jewel in a ten times barred up chest is a bold spirit, in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life, both grow and one. Take honour from me and my life is done. Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try, in that I live, and for that will I die. Cousin, throw down your gauge.

Do you begin? Oh, God defend my soul from such deep sin. Shall I seem crestfallen in my father's sight, or with pale beggar fear and impeach my height, Before this outdard bastard? Ere my tongue shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parl, My teeth shall tear,

The slavish motive of recanting fiending, and spit it bleeding in this high disgrace, for shame doth harbor even in Malbury's face. Exit Gaunt. We were not born to sue, but to command, which, since we cannot do to make you friends, be ready, as your lives shall answer it, at Coventry upon St. Lambert's Day.

There shall your swords and lances arbitrate the swelling, of your settled hate. Since we cannot atone you, we shall see justice design the victor's chivalry. Lord Marshall, command their officers at arms, be ready to direct these home alarms. Exeient End of Act 1, Scene 1.

Act 1, Scene 2, The same, A room in the Duke of Lancaster's Palace. Enter Gaunt and Duchess of Gloucester. Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood doth more solicit me than your exclaims to stir against the butchers of his life, but since correction lieth in those hands which made the fault, that we cannot correct, put we our quarrel to the will of heaven, who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, will

Reign hot vengeance on offenders' heads. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur. Hath love in thy old blood no living fire. Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one. Where are seven vials of his sacred blood, or seven fair branches springing from one root. Some of those seven are dried by nature's course. some of those branches by the destiny's cut,

but Thomas, my dear Lord, my life, my gloucester, one vial of Edward's sacred blood, one flourishing branch of his most royal root, is cracked, and all the precious liquor spilt, is hacked down, and his summer leaves all vaded by, envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.

Ah, God! His blood was thine. That bed, that womb, that metal, that self-mould, that fashioned thee, made him a man. And though thou lives and breathed, yet art thou slain in him, thou dost consent in some large measure to thy father's death, in that thou seized thy wretched brother die, who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair. In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughtered, thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,

teaching stern murder how to butcher thee. That which in mean men we in mean men, entitled patience, is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life, the best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. God's is the quarrel, for God substitute his deputy anointed in his sight has caused his death, the which, if wrongfully let heaven revenge, for I may never lift an angry arm against his minister.

Where then, alas, may I complain myself? To God, the widow's champion and defence. Why, then, I will. Farewell, old gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold our cousin Hereford, and Fell Mulberry fight. O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, that it may enter, butcher Mowbray's breast

Or if misfortune Missed the first career Be Mowbray's sins So heavy in his bosom That they may break his foaming courses Back and throw the rider Headlong in the lists A cative

Recreent to my cousin Hereford Farewell old Gaunt Thy sometimes bother's wife With her companion Grief must end her life. Sister, farewell. I must Coventry.

As much good stay with thee as go with me. Yet one word more. Grief boundeth where it falls, not with the empty hollowness, but with weight. I take my leave before I have begun, for sorrow ends not when it seem is done. Commend me to thy brother,

Edmund York, lo this is all nay yet depart not so though this be all do not so quickly go i shall remember more bid him ah what with all speed at plashie visit me alack and what shall good old york there see but empty lodgings and unfurnished walls unpeopled offices untrodden stones And what here therefore welcome, but my groans. Therefore, commend me, let him not come there, to seek out sorrow that dwells everywhere. Desolate, desolate will I hence and die. The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.

Exeunt. End of Act 1, Scene 2. Act 1, Scene 3. Open Space, Near Coventry. Lists set out and a throne. Herald, etc. attending. Enter the Lord Marshal and Omerle. My Lord Ormel. Is Harry Hoverford armed? Yay, at all points, and longs to enter in. The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, stays but the summons of the appellate.

trumpet. Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay for nothing but his majesty's approach. Enter King Richard, who takes his seat on his throne, Gaunt, bushy, bagot, green, and others who take their places. A trumpet is sounded, and answered by another trumpet within. Then enter Mowbray in armour, defendant, preceded by a herald. Marshal, demand of yonder-churchaseed by a herald. Marshal, demand of yonder champion the cause of his arrival here in arms. Ask him his name, and orderly proceed to swear him in the justice of his cause. In God's name and the kings say who thou art, and why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,

against what man thou comest and what thy quarrel. Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath, as so defend thee heaven and thy valor. My name is Thomas Malbury, Duke of Norfolk, who hither come engaged by my oath, which God defend a knight should violate, both to defend my loyalty and truth to God, my king, and my succeeding issue,

against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me. And by the grace of God and this mine arm, to prove him in defending of myself, a traitor to my God, my king, and me. And as I truly fight, defend me heaven. He takes his seat. Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke, appellant, in armor, preceded by a herald.

Marshal, ask Yonanite in arms, both who he is, and why he cometh hither thus plated in her billaments of war, and formally, according to our law, depose him in the justice of his cause. What is thy name, and wherefore comest thou either before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight. So defend thee heaven. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, am I, who here ready to stand in arms

to prove by God's grace and my body's valor enlists on Thomas Malbury, Duke of Norfolk, that he's a traitor foul and dangerous. To God of heaven, King Richard and to me. And as I truly fight, defend me, heaven. On pain of death, no person be so bold or daring hardy as to touch the lists, except the Marshal and such officers appointed to direct these fair designs. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand and bow my knee before His Majesty,

for Mowbray and myself are like two men that vow a long and weary pilgrimage. Then let us take a ceremonious leave and a loving farewell of our several friends. The appellant in all duty greets your highness and craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. King Richard descends from his throne. We will descend and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, so be thy fortune in this royal fight. Farewell, my blood, which if to-day thou shed, lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

Oh, let no noble eye profane a tear for me. If I be gourd with Mowbray's spear, As confident as is the falcons flight against a bird, Do I with Mowbray fight? My loving lord, I take my leave of you, Of you my noble cousin, Lord Amirl, Not sick, although I have to. do with death, but lusty, young, and a cheerly drawing breath.

Lo, as at English feasts, so I regrit the daintiest last, to make the end most sweet. O thou, the earthly author of my blood, whose youthful spirit in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigor lift me up, to reach at vicar. above my head and proof unto mine armor with thy prayers and with thy blessings steal my lances point that it may enter mowbray's waxen coat and efferbush new the name of john agaunt even in the lusty behavior of his son God, in thy good cause, make thee prosperous, be swift like lightning in the execution, and let thy blows doubly redoubled, fall like amazing thunder on the cask of thy adverse spinitious enemy. Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live. Mine innocency and St. George to thrive.

He takes his seat. Mowbray, rising. However God or fortune cast my lot, there lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, a loyal, just, an upright gentleman. Never did captive, with a freer heart, cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace his golden, uncontrolled enfranchisement. More than my dancing soul doth celebrate this feast of battle with mine adversary. Most mighty liege, and my companion peers,

Take from my mouth the wish of happy years. As gentle and as jocund as to jest go I to fight, Truth hath a quiet breast. Farewell, my lord. Securely, I is by virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial marshal, and begin. The king and the lords return to their seats. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby,

receive thy lance And God defend the right Strong as a tower in hope I cry amen Go bear this lance To Thomas Duke of Norfolk Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby Stands here for God

His sovereign and himself On pain to be found false and recreant To prove the Duke of Norfolk Thomas Malbury A traitor to his God, his king and him, and dares him to step forward to the fight. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, on pain to be found false and recreant,

both to defend himself and to approve, Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Darby, to God his sovereign and to him disloyal, courageously, and with a free desire, attending but the signal to begin. Sound trumpets, and set up to him, forward combatants? A charge sounded.

Stay, the king has thrown his warder down. Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, and both return back to their chairs again. Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound, while we return these dukes what we decree. Along a flourish, to the combatants. Draw near, and list what with our counsel we have done, for that our kingdom's earth should not be soiled with that dear blood which it hath fostered,

And, for our eyes do hate the dire aspect of civil wounds, ploughed up with neighbour's swords, And, for we think the eagle-winged pride of sky- aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you to wake our peace, Which in our country's cradle draws the sweet infant breath of gentle scy. sleep, which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums, with harsh resounding trumpets dreadful bray, and grating shock of wrathful iron arms, might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, and make us wade even in our kindred's blood. Therefore we banished you our territories. You, Cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, till twice five summers have enriched our fields,

shall not re-greet our fair dominions, but tread the stranger paths of banishment. Your will be done. This must my comfort be, that sun that warms you here shall shine on me, and those, his golden beams to you here lent, shall point on me and gild my banishment. Norfolk, for thee,

remains a heavier doom, which I, with some unwillingness pronounce, The sly, slow hours shall not determine the dateless limit of thy dear exile. The hopeless word of never to return, breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, and all unlooked for from your highness's mouth, a dearer merit, not so deep a maim as to be cast forth than the common air, have I deserved at your highness's hands. The language I have learned these forty years, my native English, now I must forego. And now my tongue's use is to me no more than an unstringed vial or a harp, or like a cunning instrument cased up, or, being open, put into his hands that knows no touch

to tune the harmony. Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue, doubly porculest with my teeth and lips, and dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance has made my jailer to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, too far in years to be a pupil now. What is thy sentence, then,

but speechless death which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? It boots thee not to be compassionate. After our sentence, Plaining comes too late. Then thus I turn me from my country's light To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. Retiring

Return again, And take an oath with thee, Lay on our royal sword your banished hands, Swear by the duty that you owe to God, our part therein we banish with yourselves, to keep the oath that we administer. You never shall, so help you, truth and God, embrace each other's love in banishment, nor never look upon each other's face, nor never write, re-greet, nor reconcile this luring tempest of your home-bred hate, nor never by advised purpose meet, to plot, contrive or

complot any ill against us, our state, our subjects, or our land. I swear. And I, to keep all this. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy. By this time, had the king permitted us, one of our souls had wandered in the air, banished of this frail sepulchre of our flesh, and now our flesh,

is banished from this land. Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm. Since thou hast far to go, bear not along the clogging burden of a guilty soul. No, bowlingbroke, if ever I were traitor, my name be blotted from the book of life, and I from heaven banished as from hence. But what thou art, God, thou and I do know, and all too soon I, I. I fear, the king shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray, save back to England, All the world's my way. Exit. Uncle, Even in the glasses of thine eyes, I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect hath from the number of his banished years plucked four away. Six frozen winters spent,

Return with Welcome Home from Banishment. How long a time lies in one little word. Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs end in a word. Such is the breath of kings. I thank my liege that in regard of me he shortens four years of my son's exile, but little vantage shall I reap thereby, For ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons

And bring their times about My oil-dried lamp And time-be-wasted light Shall be extinct With age and endless night My inch of taper will be burnt and done And blindfold death Not let me see my son

Why, uncle, there hast many years to live but not a minute, king, that thou canst give. Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, and pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow. Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, but stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage. Thy word is current with him for my death, but dead.

Thy kingdom cannot buy my life. breath. Thy son is banished upon good advice, where to thy tongue a party verdict gave. Why, at our justice, seems thou then to lower. Things sweet to taste prove indigestion sour. You urged me as a judge,

but I had rather you would have bid me argue like a father. Oh, had it been a stranger. not my child. To smooth his fault I should have been more mild, a partial slander sought I to avoid, and, in the sentence, my own life destroyed, alas. I looked when some of you should say I was too strict to make my own away, but you gave leave to my unwilling tongue against my will to do myself this raw. Cousin, farewell, and uncle bid him so. Six years we banish him, and he shall go.

Flourish, exit King Richard and train. Cousin, farewell. What presence must not know from where you do remain? Let paper show. My lord, no leave take eye, for I will ride as far as land will let me by your side. O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words That thou returnst no greeting to thy friends?

I have too few to take my leave of you. When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolor of the heart. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. Joy absent. grief is present for that time. What is six winters? They are quickly gone.

To men enjoy. But grief makes one hour ten. Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. The sullen passage of thy weary steps esteemed, Steam as foil wherein thou art to set the precious jewel of thy home return. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love.

Must I not serve a long apprenticehood to foreign passages? And in the end, having my freedom. boast of nothing else but that I was a journeyman to grief. All places that the eye of heaven visits are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus. There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, but thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit where it perceives it is but faintly bold.

Go say I sent thee forth to purchase honour, and not the king exiled thee. Or suppose devouring pestilence hangs in our air, and thou art flying to a fresher climb. Look what thy soul holds, dear, imagine it. To lie that way thou gost, not whence thou comst? Suppose the singing-bird's musicians the grass whereon thou treadst the presence strewed, the flowers of fair ladies and thy steps no more than a delightful measure or a dance, for gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite the man that mocks it and sets it light. Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand by thinking on the frosty Caucasus,

or cloy the unhungry edge of appetite, by bare imagination of a feast Or wallow naked in December's snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat Oh no The apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse Fell sorrow's tooth

Doth never rankle more Than when it bites that lanceth not the sore. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way. Had I thy youth and cause I would not stay. Then, England's ground, farewell, sweet soil, adieu, My mother and my nurse, that bears me yet. Where'er I wander, boast of this I can.

though banished yet a true-born Englishman. Excient. End of Act 1, Scene 3. Act 1, Scene 4, London, a room in the King's Castle. Enter King Richard, Baggett, and Green at one door, O Merle at another. We did observe. Cousin O'Mell, How far brought you, High Hereford on his way.

I brought High Harrahford, if you call him so, but to the next highway, and there I left him. And say, what store of parting tears were shed? Faith none for me, except the northeast wind which then blew bitterly against our faces, awake the sleeping room, and so by chance did grace our hollow parting with a tear. What said our cousin when you parted with him? Farewell. And for my heart disdain that my tongue should so profane the word that taught me craft to counterfeit oppression of such grief that words seemed buried in my sorrow's grave.

Mary, would the word farewell have lengthened hours and added years to his short banishment? He should have had a volume of farewells, but since it would not, he had none of me. He is our cousin, cousin. But tis doubt when time shall call him home from banishment, whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself and bushy, Bagot here, and green, observed his courtship to the common people, how he did seem to dive into their hearts with humble and familiar courtesy.

What reverence he did throw away on slaves, wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles and patient underbearing of his fortune, as to banish their effects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster wench, a brace of draymen, bid God speed him well, and had the tribute of his supple knee, with thanks my countrymen, my loving friends, as were our England, in reversion his, and he, our subject's next degree in hope.

Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, expedient advantage must be made, my liege, ere further leisure yield them further, means for their advantage, and Your Highness's loss. We will, ourselves in person to this war, and for our coffers with too great a court and liberal largesse are grown somewhat light, we are enforced to farm our royal realm. The revenue whereof shall furnish us for our affairs in hand. If that come short, our substitutes at home shall have blank charters, where too, when they

shall know what men are rich. They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, and send them after to supply our wants, for we will make for Ireland presently. Enter Bushy. Busy! What news? Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, suddenly taken, and hath sent post haste to entreat your majesty to visit him.

Where lies he? At Ely House. Now put it God in his physician's mind to help him to his grave him, immediately. The lining of his coffers shall make coats to deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him. Pray God we may make haste, and come too late. Amen. Excient. End of Act 1, Scene 4. End of Act 1. This is a Libervox recording. All Libervox recordings are in the public domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librevox.org. The Tragedy of King Richard II. By William Shakespeare Act 2, Scene 1. London. An apartment in Eli House. Gaunt on a couch, the Duke of York and others standing by him. Will the King come that I may breathe my last in wholesome council? to his unstayed youth.

Fex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath. For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. Oh, but they say the tongues of dying men and force attention like deep harmony. Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, for they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. He that no more must say is listened more than they whom you and ease have taught to gloss. More are men's ends marked than their lives before. The setting sun,

and music at the close, as the last taste of sweets is sweetest last, writ in remembrance more than things long past, though Richard my life's counsel would not hear. My death's sad tale may yet Undeaf his ear. No, it is stopped with other flattering sounds, as praises of whose tastes the wise are fond. Lecivius meters to whose venom sound the open ear of youth doth always listen. Reports of fashions in proud Italy, whose manners still are tardy, apish nation,

limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity? So it be new, there's no respect how vile that is not quickly buzzed into his ears. Then all too late comes counsel to be heard. where will doth mutiny with wits regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose, Tis breath thou laxed, and that breath wilt thou lose.

Methinks I am a prophet, new inspired, And thus expiring do foretell of him his rash, fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves. Small showers last long, But sudden storms are short. He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes. With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder.

Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, consuming meals soon praise upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, this earth of majesty, this seat of margaret, This other Eden, Demi Paradise, this fortress built by nature for herself against infection and the hand of war. This happy breed of men, this little world, this precious stone set in the Silver Sea which serves it in the office of a wall or as a moat, defensive to a house against the envy of less happier lands. this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, this nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings feared by their breed and famous by their birth, renowned for their seeds as far from home for Christian service and true chivalry as is the sepulchre in stubborn jewelry of the world's ransom, Blessed Mary's son,

this land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land. Dear for her reputation through the world is now leased out. I die pronouncing it, like to a tenement or pelting farm, England. Bound in with the triumphant sea whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, with inky blots and rotten parchment bonds that England that was wont to conquer others hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life? How happy then were my ensuing death?

Enter King Richard and Queen, O'Murl, Bushy, Green, Baggett, Ross, and Willoughby. The King has come, deal mildly with his youth for young hot cults being raged to rage the more. How fairs our noble uncle, Lancaster? What comfort, man? How is it with aged gaunt? Oh, how that name befits my composition, old gaunt in deed and gaunt in being old, Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast, And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt For sleeping England long time have I watched.

Watching breeds leanness. Lieness is all gaunt. The pleasure that some fathers feed upon is my strict fast. I mean my children's looks. And therein, fasting, hast thou made me gaunt. Gaunt I am for the grave, Gaunt as a grave, whose hollow womb inherits naught but bones.

Can sick men play so nicely with their names? No, misery makes sport to mock itself. Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. Should dying men flatter with those that, live. No, no, men living flatter those that die. Thou now a dying, sayest thou flatterest me. Oh, no, thou diest, though I the sicker be. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. Now, he that made me knows I see thee ill. Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill,

thy deathbed is no lesser than thy land wherein thou liest in reputation sick. And thou, too careless patient as thou art, commits the anointed body to the cure of those physicians that first wounded thee. A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown whose compass is no bigger than thy head. And yet, encaged in so small, Averge the waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth they reach he would have laid thy shame deposing thee before thou were possessed.

Which art possessed now to depose thyself? Why, cousin, would thou reach into the world, were shame to let this land by lease, but for thy world enjoying but this land is it not more than shame to shame it so.

Landlord of England art thou now not king? Thy state of law is bond-slave to the law. And thou, a lunatic lean-witted fool, presuming on an ague's privilege,

dearest with thy frozen admonition, make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood with fury from his native residence. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, wert thou not brother to great Edward's son? This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. Oh, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, for that I was his father, Edward's son. For that I was his father, Edward's son, that blood already, Like a pelican hast thou tapped and drunkenly caroused. My brother Gloucester, plain, well-meaning soul,

Whom fare befall in heaven amongst happy souls, May be a precedent, And witness good that thou respectest not spilling Edward's blood. Join with the present sickness that I have, and thy unkindness be like crooked age to crop at once a too long withered flower. Live in thy shame. But die not shame with thee. These words hereafter thy tormentors be convey me to my bed.

And then to my grave. Love they to live that love and honor have. Exit, borne out by his attendants. And let them die that age and sullens have, For both hast thou, and both become the grave. I do beseech your majesty impute his words to wayward sickliness and age in him. He loves you on my life, and holds you dear as Harry Duke of Hereford were he here. Right, you say true.

As Hereford's love, so his, as theirs, so mine, and all be as it is. Enter Northumberland. My liege old gaunt commends him to your majesty. What says he? Nay, nothing. All is said. His tongue is now a stringless instrument, words life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. The york the next that must be bankrupt so.

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he. His time is spent. Our pilgrimage must be. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars. We must supplant those rough, rug-headed kerns which live like venom, where no venom else but only they have privileged to live.

And for these great affairs to ask some charge. Towards our assistance, we do seize to us the plate, coin, revenues and movables, whereof our Uncle Gaunt did stand possessed. How long shall I be patient? Ar, how long shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment, nor Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, nor the prevention of Paul Bowling broke about his marriage, nor my own disgrace, have ever made me sour my patient cheek, or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.

I am the last of noble Edward's sons, of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first. In war was never lion-raged more fierce. In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so looked he, accomplished with the number of thy hours. But when he frowned it was against the French and not against his friends. His noble hand did win what he did spend, and spent not that which his triumphant father's hand had won. His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, but bloody with the enemies of his kin.

O Richard, York is too far gone with grief, or else he never would compare between. Why, uncle, what's the matter? Oh, my liege, pardon me, if you please. If not, I please not to be pardoned, am content with all. Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands the royalties and rights of banish Hereford. Is not gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? Was not gaunt just, and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir?

Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, And take from time his charters and his customary rights. Let not tomorrow then ensue today. Be not thyself, for how art thou a king, but by fair sequence and succession. Now, before God, God forbid I say true, If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,

Call in the letters patents that he hath by his eternity generals To sue his livery, and deny his offered homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, And prick my tender patience to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. Think what you will.

We seize into our hands his plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. I'll not be by the while, my liege, farewell. What will ensue hereof there's none can tell, But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good. Exit. Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire Strait. Bid him repair to us to Eli House to see this business.

Tomorrow next we will for Ireland, and tis time, I trough. And we create in absence of ourselves our Uncle York, Lord Governor of England, for he is just, and always loved us well. Come on now, Queen, tomorrow must be part. Be merry, for our time of stay is short. King, Queen, Bushie, Omerle, Green, and Bagget. Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. And living, too, for now his son is Duke.

Barely in title, not in revenues. Richly in both, if justice had her right. My heart is great, but it must break with silence, ere it be disburdened with a liberal tongue. Nay, speak thy mind, and let him ne'er speak more that speaks thy words again to do thee harm. Tends that thou would speak to the Duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man.

Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. No good at all that I can do for him. Unless you call it good to pity him, bereft and gelded of his patrimony. Now afore God his shame such wrongs are born in him, a royal prince, and many more noble blood in this declining land, the king is not himself, but basely led by flatterers, and what they will inform merely in hate against any of us all,

that will the king severely prosecute against us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. The commons hath he pilled with grievous taxes, and quite lost their hearts. The nobles hath he fined for ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. And daily new exactions are devised. as blanks, benevolences, and I won't not what.

But what, oh, God's name doth become of this. Wars hath not wasted it, for warred he hath not, but basely yielded upon compromise that which his ancestors achieved with blows. More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. The Earl of Wiltshire had the realm in farm. The king's grown bankrupt like a broken man. reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. He hath not money for these Irish wars.

His burdenous taxation is notwithstanding, but by the robbing of the banished duke. His noble kinsman, most degenerate king. But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm. We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, and yet we strike not, but surely perish. We see the very rack that we must suffer.

And unavoid it is the danger now, for suffering so the causes of our rack. Not so, even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life-peering, but I dare not say how near the tidings of our comfort is. Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours. Be confident to speak, Northumberland. We three are but thyself, and speaking so, thy words are but as thoughts. Therefore, be bold. Then thus, I have from Le Port Blanc, a bay in Brittany, received intelligence that Harry Duke of Hereford,

reigned old Lord Cobham, the late broke from the Duke of Exeter, his brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbury, Sir John Waterton, and Francis Quoit. All these well furnished by the Duke of Britann, with eight tall ships, three thousand men of war are making hither with all due expedience, and shortly mean to touch our northern shore. Perhaps they had air this, but that they stay the first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, imp out of our drooping country's broken wing, redeem from broken pawn the blemished crown, wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's guilt,

and make high majesty look like itself. Away with me in post to Ravensper! But if you faint as fearing to do so, stay and be secret, and myself will go. To horse, to horse, urge doubts to them that fear. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Exeunt. End of Act 2, Scene 1. Act 2, Scene 2.

The same, a room in the castle. Enter Queen, bushy, and baggage. "'Madame, your majesty is too much sad. "'You promised when you parted with the king "'to lay aside life-harming heaviness "'and entertain a cheerful disposition. "'To please the king I did. "'To please myself, I cannot do it.

"'Yet I know no cause "'why I should welcome such a guest as grief, "'safe bidding farewell to so sweet a guest as my sweet Richard. "'Yet again methinks, "'some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb is coming towards me, and my inward soul with nothing trembles. At something it grieves more than with parting from my lord the king.

Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows which shows like grief itself, but is not so. For sorrow's eye glazed with blinding tears divides one thing entire to many objects, like perspectives which rightly gazed upon show nothing but confusion, either I distinguish form. so your sweet majesty looking awry upon your lord's departure find shapes of grief more than himself to wail which looked on as it is is not but shadows of what it is not then thrice gracious queen more than your lord's departure weep not more is not seen or if it be it is with false sorrow's eye which for things true weeps things imaginary it may be so but yet my inward soul persuades me it is otherwise however it be i cannot but be sad so heavy sad as though in thinking on no thought i think makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink tis nothing but conceit my gracious lady

tis nothing less conceit is still derived from some forefather grief mine is not so for nothing hath begot my something grief or something hath the nothing that i grieve tis in reversion that I do possess, but what it is that is not yet known. What I cannot name. Tis nameless woe I Watt. Enter Green. God save your majesty, and well met, gentlemen. I hope the king is not yet shipped for Ireland. Why hopes thou so? Tis better hope he is for his designs crave haste, his haste good hope, then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipped? That he, our hope, might have retired his power, and driven into despair an enemy's hope who strongly hath set footing in this land. The banished Bollingbrook repeals himself, and with uplifted arms is safe arrived at Ravensburg. Now God in heaven forbid!

Ah, madam, tis too true, and that is worse, the Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, the lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, with all their powerful friends, are fled to him. why have you not proclaimed northumberland and all the rest revolted faction traitors we have whereupon the earl of worcester has broken his staff resigned his stewardship and all the household servants fled with him to bolingbrook so green thou art the midwife to my woe and bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal air now hath myself brought forth her prodigy and i a gasping knee-delivered mother Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined. Despair not, madam. Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity with cozening hope. He is a flatterer, a parasite, a keeper back of death who gently would dissolve the bands of life,

which false hope lingers in extremity. Enter York. Here comes the Duke of York. With signs of war about his aged neck, O, full of careful business are his looks. Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts. Comforts in heaven, and we are on earth,

where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief. Your husband, he is gone to save far off, whilst others come to make him lose at home. Here am I left to underprop his land, who, weak with age, cannot support myself. How comes the sick hour that is surf it made? Now shall he try his friends that flattered him. Enter a servant.

My lord, your son was gone before I came. He was? Why so? Go all which way it will. The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, and will I fear revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, get thee to Plashy to my sister Gloucester. Bid her send me presently a thousand pound. Old. Take my ring. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship. Today, as I came by, I called there.

But I shall grieve you to report the rest. What is, knave? An hour before I came, the Duchess died. God for his mercy! What a tide of woes comes rushing on this woeful land at once. I know not what to do. I would to God so my untruth had not provoked him to it the king had cut off my head with my brothers. What are there no posts dispatched for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars?

Come, sister, cousin I would say, pray, pardon me. Go fellow, get thee home, provide some carts, and bring away the armour that is there. Exit, servant. Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know how or which way to order these affairs, thus disorderly thrust into my hands, never believe me. Both are my kinsman. One is my sovereign, whom both my oath and duty bids defend, t'other again is my kingsman, whom the king hath wronged, whom comely.

conscience and my kindred bids to write. Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men and meet me presently at Berkeley. I should to plashy too, but time will not permit. All is uneven, and everything is left at six and seven. Exeunt, York and Queen The winds, it's fair for news to go to Ireland, but none returns. For us to levy power proportional to the enemy is all impossible. Besides, our nearness to the king in love is near

the hate of those love not the king. And that is the wavering commons. For their love lies in their purses, and whoso empties them, by so much, fills their hearts with deadly hate. Wherein the king stands generally

condemned. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, because we ever have been near the king. I will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle. The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. Vither will I with you. For little office the hateful commons will perform for us,

except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? No. I will to Ireland, to his majesty. Farewell. If Hart's presages be not vain, we three hear part that ne'er shall meet again. That says York thrive.

to beat back Bollingbrook. Alas, poor Duke, the task he undertakes is numbering sand and drinking oceans dry. Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once. For once, for all, and ever. Well, we may meet again. I fear me, never. Excient. End of Act 2, Scene 2.

Act 2, Scene 3. The Wold in Gloucestershire Enter Bolingbroke in Northumberland with forces. How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now? Believe me, noble lord, I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire. These high, wild hills and rough uneven ways draws out our miles and makes them wearisome. And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,

making the hard way sweet and delectable. But I bethink me what a way. weary way from Ravenspur to Cotswold will be found in Ross and Willoughby wanting your company, which I protest, hath very much beguiled the tediousness and process of my travel. But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have the present benefit which I possess, and hope to joy is little less in joy than hope enjoyed. By this, the weary lord shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done by sight of what I have. Your own. noble company.

Of much less value is my company than your good words. But who comes here? Enter Harry Percy. It is my son, young Harry Percy, sent from my brother Worcester whenceover. Harry, how fares your uncle? I had thought, my lord, to have learned his health of you. Why, is he not with the queen? No, my good lord, he hath forsook the court, broken his staff of office and dispersed the

household of the king. What is his reason? He was not so resolved when last we spake together. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, has gone to Ravensburg to offer service to the Duke of Hereford, and sent me over by Barclay to discover what power the Duke of York hath levied there, then with directions to repair to Ravensburg. Have you forgotten the Duke of Hereford, boy?

No, my good lord. Well, that is not forgot which near I did remember. to my knowledge i never in my life did look on him then learn to know him now this is the duke my gracious lord i tender you my service such as it is being tender raw and young which elder days shall ripen and confirm to more approved service and desert I thank thee, gentle Percy, and be sure I count myself in nothing else so happy, as in soul, remembering my good friends. And as my fortune ripens with thy love, it shall be still thy true love's recompense. My heart, this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. How far is it to Berkeley, and what stir keeps good old York there with you? his men of war.

There stands the castle by yon tuft of trees, manned with three hundred men, as I have heard, and it are the Lords of York, Barkley, and Seymour. None else of name and noble estimate. Enter Ross and Willoughby. Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, bloody with spurring, fiery red with haste. Welcome, my lords. I what your love pursues. a banished traitor all my treasury is yet but unfelt thanks which more enriched shall be your love and labor's recompense your presence makes us rich most noble lord and far surmounts our labor to attain it

ever more thanks the exchequer of the poor which till my infant fortune comes to years stands for my bounty but who comes here but who comes here Enter Berkeley. It is my lord of Berkeley, as I guess. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. My lord, my answer is to Lancaster, and I am come to seek that name in England, and I must find that title in your tongue before I make reply to ought you say.

Mistake me not, my lord. It is not my meaning to raise one title of your honor out. To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will, from the most gracious regent of this land, the Duke of York, to know what pricks on you, to take advantage of the absent time, and fright your native peace with self-born arms. Enter York, attended. I shall not need transport my words by you. Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle! Neals Show me thy humble heart And not thy knee

Whose duty is deceivable and false My gracious uncle Tutt tut tut Grace me no grace Nor uncle me no uncle I am no traitor's uncle And that word grace in an ungracious mouth Is but profane

Why have those banished and forbidden legs Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground But then more why Why have they dared to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom Frighting her pale-faced villages with war, And ostentation of despised arms. "'Cumst thou because the anointed king is hence?

Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, And in my loyal bottom lies his power. Were I but now lord of such hot youth As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, rescued the black prince, That young mars of men from forth the ranks of many thousand French? O then how quickly should this arm of mine now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee and minister correction to thy fault.

My gracious uncle, let me know my fault. On what condition stand it and wherein? Even in condition of the worst degree, in gross rebellion and detested treason, thou art a banished man, and here art come before the expiration of thy time in braving arms against thy sovereign. As I was banished, I was banished hereford.

But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace. Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye. You are my father. For me thinks in you I see old gaunt alive. Oh, then my father,

will you permit that I shall stand condemned, a wandering vagabound, my rights and royalties plucked from my arms per force, and given away to upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? If that my cousin king be king in England, it must be granted, I am Duke of Lancaster. You have a son, a Merle, my noble cousin.

Had you first died, and he been thus trodden down, he should have found his uncle Gaunt a father to rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay. I am denied to sue my livery here, and yet my letters, parents give me leave. My father's goods are all distrained and sold, and these and all are all amiss employed. What would you have me do?

I am a subject, and challenge law, attorneys are denied me, and therefore personally I lay my claim to my inheritance of free descent. The noble duke hath been too much abused. It stands your grace upon to do him right. Base men by his endowments are made great. My lords of England, let me tell you this. I have had feelings of my cousin's wrongs and laboured all I could to do him right.

but in this kind to come in braving arms be his own carver and cut out his way to find out right with wrong it may not be and you that do abet him in this kind cherish rebellion and our rebels all the noble duke hath sworn his coming is but for his own and for the right of that we all have strongly sworn to give him aid and let him never see joy that breaks that oath Well, well, I see the issue of these arms. I cannot mend it, I must need to confess, because my power is weak and all ill left. But if I could, by him that gave me life, I would attach you all and make you stoop unto the sovereign mercy of the king. But since I cannot be it known unto you, I do remain as neuter. So fare you well, unless you please to enter in the castle and there repose you for this night. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.

but we must win your grace to go with us. To Bristol Castle, which they say is held by bushy, bagget, and their accomplices, the caterpillars of the Commonwealth, which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. It may be I will go with you, but yet I'll pause, for I am loath to break our country's laws. Nor friends nor foes to me welcome you are. Things past redress are now with me past K. Excient. End of Act 2, Scene 3. 2, Scene 4. A camp in Wales. Enter Earl of Salisbury and a captain. My Lord of Salisbury, we have stayed ten days and hardly kept our countrymen together, and yet we hear no tidings from the king.

Therefore we will disperse ourselves. Farewell. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman. The king reposeth all. his confidence in thee. "'Tis thought the king is dead. We will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all withered, and meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven. The pale-faced moon looks bloodily upon the earth, and lean-looked prophets, whisper fearful change. Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, the one in fear to lose what they enjoy, the other to enjoy by rage and war. These signs forrun the death or fall of kings. Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled,

well assured, Richard, their king, he's dead. Exit. Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind, I see thy glory like a shooting star, fall to the base earth from the firmament. Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest. Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,

and crossly to thy good. all fortune goes. Exit. End of Act 2, Scene 4, and end of Act 2. This is a Libervox recording. All Libervox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer,

please visit Libravox.org. The Tragedy of King Richard II by William Shakespeare. Act 3, Scene 1 Bristol, Bowlingbroke's Camp Enter Bowlingbroke, York, Northumberland, Henry Percy, Willoughby, Ross, Officers behind with Bushy and Green, prisoners.

Bring forth these men. Busy and Green, I will not vex your souls since presently your souls must part your bodies. With too much urging your pernicious lives, for tourno charity, yet to wash your blood from off my hands, here, in the view of men, I will unfold some causes of your deaths. You have misled a prince, a royal king,

a happy gentleman in blood and liniments, by you, unhappied and disfigured clean. you have in manner with your sinful hours made a divorce betwixt his queen and him broke the possession of her royal bed and stained the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks with tears drawn from our eyes by your foul wrongs myself a prince by fortune of my birth near to the king in blood and near in love till you did make him misinterpret me have stooped my neck under your injuries and sighed my English breath in foreign clouds eating the bitter bread of banishment whilst you have fed upon my signaries this parked my parks and the felled my forest woods from my own windows torn down my household coat raised out my impress leaving me no sign save men's opinions and

my living blood to show the world I am a gentleman. This, and much more, much more than twice all this, condemns you to the death. See them delivered over to execution and the hand of death. More welcome is the stroke of death to me

than Bollingbrook to England, Lord, farewell. My comfort is that heaven will take our souls and plague injustice with the pains of hell. My lord Northumberland, see them dispatched. Excient, Northumberland, and others, with bushy and green. Uncle, you say the queen is at your house. For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated. Tell her I sent to her my kind commends.

Take special care my greetings be delivered. A gentleman of mine I have dispatched with letters of your love to her at large. Thanks, gentle uncle. Come, lords away, to fight with Glendower and his country. accomplices, a while to work, and after holiday. Excient. End of Act 3, Scene 1. Act 3, Scene 2.

The Coast of Wales, a castle in view. Flourish, drums and trumpets. Enter King Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Omerl, and Soldiers. Barkluffly Castle, do they call this at a half? Yay, my lord. How brooks your grace the air after your late tossing on the breaking seas? Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy to stand upon my kingdom once again.

Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand. The rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs, as a long-parted mother with her child plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting. So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favours with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense,

But let thy spiders that suck up thy venom, And heavy gated toads lie in their way, Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, Which, with usurping steps do trample thee, Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies, And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee with a lurking adder, Whose double tongue may, with a mortal touch,

Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. Mock not, my senseless conjuration, lords. This earth shall have a feeling, And these stones prove armed soldiers, Ere her native king shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. Fear not, my lord, that power that made you king Have power to keep you king in spite of all The means that heaven yields must be embraced and not neglected

Else if heaven would and we will not Heaven's offer we refuse, the proffered means of succor and redress He means, my lord, that we are too remiss Whilst bowling broke, through our security Grow strong and great in substance and in substance and in friends. Discomfortable, cousin, knowest thou not

that when the searching eye of heaven is hid behind the globe that lights the lower world, then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen in murders and in outrage boldly here. But when, from under this terrestrial ball, he fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,

and darts his light through every guilty whole, then murders, treasons, and detested sins, the cloak of night being plucked from off their backs, stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves. So when this thief, this traitor Bollingbrook, who all this while hath revelled in the night whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, shall see us rising in our throne the east,

His treasons will sit blushing in his face, not able to endure the sight of day, but self-affrighted, tremble at his sin, Not all the water in the rough, rude sea Can wash the balm off from an anointed king The breath of worldly men cannot depose the deputy Elected by the Lord For every man that Bollingbroke hath pressed

To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown God, For his Richard Hath in heavenly pay a glorious angel Then if angels fight, weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right. Enter Salisbury. Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power? Nor near, nor farther off, my gracious lord, than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue and bids me speak of nothing but despair. One day too late, I fear me, noble lord,

hath clouded all thy happy days on earth. O call back yesterday, bid time return, and thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men. Today, today, unhappy day, too late, or throws thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state. For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, are gone to Bollingbrook, dispersed and fled. Comfort, my liege,

Why looks your grace so pale? But now, the blood of twenty thousand men did triumph in my face, And they are fled, And till so much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale and dead? All souls that will be safe, fly from my side, for time hath set a blot upon my pride. Comfort, my liege, remember who you are.

I had forgot myself. Am I not king? Awake, thou coward majesty, thou sleepest. Is not the king's name, twenty thousand names? Arm, arm, my name. A puny subject strikes at thy great glory, look not to the ground, ye favourites of a king. Are we not high?

High be our thoughts. I know my uncle York hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here? Enter Sir Stephen's group. More health and happiness betide my liege than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him. Mine ear is open and my heart prepared. The worst is worldly loss thou canst

unfold. Say, say, is my kingdom lost? Why, t'was my care, and what loss is it, to be rid of care? Strives Bollingbrook to be as great as we? Greater he shall not be. If he serve God, we'll serve him too. And be his fellow, so, revolt our subjects? That we cannot mend. they break their faith to God as well as us. Cry woe, distraction, ruin, loss, decay, The worst is death, and death will have his day. Glad am I that Your Highness is so armed To bear the tidings of calamity.

Like an unseasonable stormy day Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores As if the world were all dissolved to tears, so high above his limits swells the rage of bowlingbroke, covering your fearful land with hard, bright steel, and hearts harder than steel.

White beards have armed their thin and hairless scalps against thy majesty, and boys with women's voices strive to speak big and clap their, female joints in stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown. Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows of double fatal U against thy state. Yea, distaff women manage rusty bills against thy seat,

both young and old rebel, and all goes worse than I have power to tell. Too well, too well thou tell'ster tale so ill. Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot? What is become of bushy? Where is green? That they have let the dangerous enemy measure our confines with such peaceful steps. If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.

I warrant they have made peace with Bollingbrook. Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord. O villains, vipers, damned without redemption! Dogs easily one to fawn on any man! Snakes! In my heart blood warmed! That sting my heart! Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas. Would they make peace?

Terrible hell make war upon their spotted souls for this offence. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, turns to the sourest and most deadly hate. Again uncursed their souls. Their peace is made with heads, not with hands. Those whom you curse have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, and lie full low, graved in the hollow ground. Is bushy green And the Earl of Wilcher dead?

I, all of them at Bristol, lost their heads. Where is the Duke my father with his power? No matter where. Of comfort, no man speak. Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs. Make dust our paper. and with rainy eyes, write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let's choose executors, and talk of wills.

And yet not so, for what can we bequeath save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bollingbrooks, and nothing can we call our own but death, and that small model of the barren earth which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings.

How some have been deposed, some slain in war, some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed, some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed, all murdered. For within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king, keeps death his court. And there the antics sits, scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,

allowing him a breath a little scene, to monarchize be feared, and kill with looks, infusing him with self and vain conceit, as if this flesh which walls about our life were brass impregnable, and humoured thus, comes at the last, and with a little pin, bores through his castle wall, and farewell king. Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood with solemn reverence, throw away respect, tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, for you have but mistook me all this while. I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus, how can you say to me I am a king? My lord, wise men, nears sit and wail their woes, but presently prevent the ways to wail.

To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength gives in your weakness strength unto your foe, and so your follies fight against yourself. Fear and be slay. No worse can come to fight and fight and die is death destroying death, where fearing dying pays death's servile breath. My father hath power, inquire of him, and learn to make a body of a limb. Thou chides to me well. Proud Bollingbroke, I come to change blows with thee for our day of doom. This ague fit of fear is overblown, an easy task it is to win our own.

Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. Men judge by the complexion of the sky, the state in inclination of the day. So may you, by my dull and heavy eye, My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. I play the torturer, by small and small, To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken. your uncle York is joined with bowlingbroke

and all your northern castles yielded up and all your southern gentlemen in arms upon his party thou hast said enough to O Merle beshrew thee cousin which didst lead me forth of that sweet way I was in to despair what says to you now what comfort have we now

By heaven I'll hate him Everlastingly that bids me be of comfort Anymore Go to Flint Castle There I'll pine away A king woe's slave Shall kingly Woe obey

That power I have discharge And let them go to ear the land That hath some hope to grow For I have none Let no man speak again To alter this for counsel is but vain. My liege, one word.

He doth me double wrong that wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers. Let them hence away from Richard's Knight to Bollingbrook's Fair Day. Exeunt. End of Act 3, Scene 2. Act 3, Scene 3. Wales, before Flint Castle

Enter with drum and colours Bowlingbroke and Forces, York, Northumberland, and others. So that by this intelligence we learn, The Welshmen are dispersed, And Salisbury is gone to meet the king Who lately landed with some few private friends upon this coast. The news is very fair and good, my lord,

Richard not far from hence hath hid his head. It would be seem, Lord Northumberland, to say King Richard, alack the heavy day when such a sacred king should hide his head. Your grace mistakes, only to be brief, left I his title out. The time hath been, would you have been so brief with him, he would have been so brief with you to shorten you, for taking so the head your whole head's length. Mistake not, uncle.

further than you should. Take not good cousin further than you should, lest you mistake the heavens are over our heads. I know it, uncle, but oppose not myself against their will, but who comes here? Enter Henry Percy. Welcome, Henry.

What will not this castle yield? The castle royally is manned, my lord, against thy entrance. Royally, Why, it contains no king? Yes, my good lord. It doth contain a king. King Richard lies within the limits of yon lime and stone,

and with them are the Lord Almere, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman of holy reverence, who I cannot learn. Oh, be like it is the Bishop of Carlisle. To Northumberland. Noble Lord, go to the rude ribs of that ancient

castle. Through brazen trumpet, send the breath of parlay to his ruined ears and thus deliver. Henry Bolingbroke, on both his knees, doth kiss King Richard's hand, and sends allegiance and true faith of heart to his most royal person. Hither come, even at his feet, to lay my arms and power, provided that my banishment repealed. and lands restored again be freely granted if not i'll use the advantage of my power and lay the summer's dust with showers of blood reigned from the wounds of slaughtered englishmen the witch how far off from the mind of bowlingbroke it is such crimson tempest should be drench the fresh green lap of fair king richard's land My stooping duty tenderly shall show. Go, signify as much.

While here we march upon the grassy carpet of this plain, let's march without the noise of threatening drum that, from this castle's tottered battlements, our fair appointments may well be pursued. Methinks King Richard and myself should meet, with no less terror than the elements of fire and water when their thundering shock

at meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven be he the fire I'll be the yielding water the rage be his whilst on earth I reign my waters on the earth and not on him march on

and mark King Richard how he looks A parley sounded, and answered by a trumpet within. Flourish. Enter on the walls, the king, the bishop of Carlisle, Omerle, Scroop, and Salisbury. See, see, King Richard doth himself appear, As doth the blushing discontented sun from out the fiery portal of the east, When he perceives the envious clouds are bent to dim his glory and stain the track of his bright passage to the occident.

Yet he looks like a king. Behold his eye as bright as is the eagle's lightens forth controlling majesty. Alack, alack for woe that any harm should stain so fair a show. To Northumberland. We are amazed, and thus long have we stood to watch the fearful bending of thy knee, because we thought ourselves thy lawful king, and if we be, how dare thy joints forget to pay their awful duty to our presence? If we be not,

show us the hand of God that hath dismissed us from our stewardship. For well we know no hand of blood and bone can grip the sacred handle of our sceptre, unless he do profane, steal or usurp. And though you think that all as you have done, have torn their souls by turning them from us, and we are barren and bereft of friends. Yet no, my master, God omnipotent, is mustering in his clouds on our behalf armies of pestilence, and they shall strike your children yet unborn and unbegot, that lift your vassal hands against my head, and threat the glory of my precious crown.

Tell, Bollingbroke, for yond me think, he stands, that every stride he makes upon my land is dangerous treason. He has come to open the purple testament of bleeding war. But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, ten thousand bloody crowns of mother's sons shall ill become the flower of England's face, change the complexion of her made pale peace to scarlet indignation, and bidew her pastures grass with faithful English blood.

The king of heaven forbid, our lord, the king should so with civil and uncivil arms be rushed upon. Thy thrice noble cousin, Harry Bollingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand, and by the honourable tomb he swears that stands upon your royal grandsire's bones and by the royalties of both your bloods, currents that spring from one, most gracious head, and by the buried hand of warlike gaunt, and by the worth and honour of himself, comprising all that may be sworn or said, his coming hither hath no further scope than for his lineal royalties, and to beg enfranchisement immediate on his knees, which on thy royal party granted once his glittering arms he will commend to rust, his barbid steeds to

stables and his heart to faithful service of your majesty. This swears he, as he is a prince, is just, and, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. Northumberland, say, thus the king returns. His noble cousin is right to welcome hither, and all the number of his fair demands shall be accomplished without contradiction. With all the gracious, utterance thou hast, speak to his gentle hearing mind, commends. Northumberland retires to Bowlingbroke, to O'Marrell. We do abase ourselves, cousin, do we not, to look so poorly, and to speak so fair? Shall we call back Northumberland and send defiance to the traitor, and so die?

No, good my lord, let's fight with chival. gentle words, till time lent friends, and friends, their helpful swords. Oh, God, oh God! That ere this tongue of mine that laid the sentence of dread banishment on yon'd proud man should take it off again with words of sooth. Oh, that I was as great as is my grief, or lesser than my name, or that I could forget what I have been, or not remember

what I must be now swellest thou proud heart I'll give thee scope to beat since foes have scope to beat both thee and me Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke What must the king do now Must he submit

The king shall do it Must he be deposed The king shall be contented Must he lose the name of king For God's name, let it go I'll give my jewels For a set of beads My gorgeous palace for a hermitage

My gay apparel For an arm's gown My figured goblets for a dish of wood My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff My subjects for a pair of carved saints and my large kingdom for a little grave

A little, little grave An obscure grave Or I'll be buried in the King's Highway Some way of common trade Where subjects' feet may hourly trample on their sovereign's head For on my heart they tread now whilst I live and buried once Why not upon my head?

O male, thou weepest, My tender-hearted cousin We'll make foul weather with despised tears Our sighs and they Shall lodge the summer corn And make a dearth In this revolting land Or shall we play the wantons with our woes

And make some pretty match with shedding tithe tears, as thus, to drop them still upon one place till they have fretted us a pair of graves within the earth, and there, inlaid, there lies two kinsmen deeped to their graves with weeping eyes. Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see, I talk but idly, and you laugh at me. Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, what? says King Bollingbrook.

Will His Majesty give Richard leave to live till Richard die? You make a leg, and Bollingbrook says I. My lord, in the base court he doth contend to speak with you. May it please you to come down? Down, down I come. Like glistering phytton.

Wanting the manage of unethical, unruly jades. In the base court? Base court, where kings grow bass, to come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. In the base court, come down, down court, down king,

or night owls shriek where mounting larks should sing. Exeant from above. What says his majesty? his majesty. Sorrow and grief of heart makes him speak fondly like a frantic man, yet he is come. Enter King Richard and his attendance. Stand all apart and show fair duty to his majesty. Kneeling.

My gracious Lord. Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee to make the base earth proud with kissing it. me rather had my heart might feel your love than my unpleased eye see your courtesy up cousin up your heart is up i know thus high at least although your knee below my gracious lord i come but for mine own your own is yours and i am yours and all so far be mine my most redoubted lord as my true service shall deserve your love well you deserve they well deserve to have that know the strongest and surest way to get uncle give me your hand now dry your eyes tears show their love but want their remedies cousin i am too young to be your father though you are old enough to be my heir what you will have I'll give, and willing to. For do we must, what force will have us do.

Set on towards London. Cousin, is it so? Yea, my good lord. Then I must not say no. Flourish. Excient. End of Act 3, Scene 3. Act 3, Scene 4.

Langley. the Duke of York's Garden Enter the Queen and two ladies What sport shall we devise here in this garden To drive away the heavy thought of care Madame, we'll play at balls To make me think the world is full of rubs And that my fortune runs against the bias

Madame, we'll dance My legs can keep no measure in delight When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief therefore no dancing girl some other sport madame will tell tales of sorrow or of joy of either madame of neither girl for if of joy being altogether wanting it doth remember me the more of sorrow or if of grief being altogether had it adds more sorrow to my want of joy for what i have i need not to repeat and what i want it not to complain. Madame, I'll sing. Tis well that thou hast cause, but thou should please me better

which thou weep. I could weep, madame, would it do you good? And I could sing would weeping do me good and never borrow any tear of thee. But stay, here come the gardeners, let's step into the shadow of these trees.

My wretchedness unto a row of pins, they will talk of stork, for everyone doth so against a change. Woe is forerun with woe. Queen and ladies retire. Enter a gardener and two servants. Go bind thou up yon dangling apricocks, which, like unruly children,

make their sire stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight. Give some supportance to the bending twigs. Go thou, and, like an executioner, cut off the heads of too fast-growing sprays that look too lofty in our commonwealth all must be even in our government you thus employed i will go root away the noisome weeds which without profit suck the soil's fertility from wholesome flowers why should we in the compass of a pale keep law and form and due proportion showing as in a model our firm estate when our sea-walled got on the whole land is full of weeds her fairest flowers choked up her fruit-trees unpruned her hedges ruined her knots disordered and her wholesome herbs swarming with caterpillars "'Hold thy peace. He that hath suffered this disordered spring hath now himself met with the fall of leaf. The weeds, which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, that seemed in eating him to hold him up, are plucked up root and all by Bollingbroke, I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, bushy, green.

What? Are they dead? They are. And Bollingbroke hath seized the wasteful king. oh what pity is it that he had not so trimmed and dressed his land as we this garden we at time of year do wound the bark the skin of our fruit-trees lest being over-prowed in sap and blood with too much riches it confound itself had he done so to great and growing men they might have lived to bear and he to taste their fruits of duty superfluous branches we lop away that bearing boughs may live had he done so himself had home the crown which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down what think you the king shall be deposed depressed he is already and deposed his doubt he will be. Letters came last night to a dear friend of the good Duke of Yorks that tell black tidings. Oh, I am pressed to death through want of speaking. Coming forward, thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden. How darest thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?

What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee to make a second fall of cursed man? Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed. Dirst thou, though, little better thing than earth, divine his downfall? Say where, when, and how, came'st thou by this ill tidings. Speak thou wretch. Pardon me, madam. Little joy have I to breathe this news, yet what I say is true. King Richard, he is in the mighty hold of Bollingbroke. Their fortunes both are weighed. In your lord's scale is nothing but himself and some few vanities that make him light. But, in the balance of great Bollingbroke, besides himself, are all the English peers, and with that odds he weighs King Richard down, post you to London, and you will find it so.

I speak no more than every one doth know. Nimbled mischance that art so light afoot, Doth not thy embassage belong to me, and am I last that knows it? O thou thinkest to serve me last, That I may longest keep thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go, to meet at London, London's king in woe. What was I born to this, That my sad look should grace the triumph of Great Bollingbroke?

Gardner, for telling me these news of woe, Pray God the plants thou grafts may never grow. Exeunt, Queen, and Ladies. Poor Queen. so that thy state might be no worse, I would my skill were subject to thy curse. Here did she fall a tear. Here in this place I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace. Rue, even for Ruth, here shortly shall be seen, in the remembrance of a weeping queen. Exeant. End of Act 3, Scene 4, and End of Act 3.

This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visitlibrovox.org. The Tragedy of King Richard II by William Shakespeare. Act 4, Scene 1, Westminster Hall The Lord's Spiritual on the right side of the throne. The Lord's temporal on the left. The Commons below.

Enter Bolingbroke, O'Murrell, Surrey, Northumberland, Henry Percy, Fitzwater, another Lord, the Bishop of Carlisle, the Abbot of Westminster, and attendance. Officers behind with Baggett. Call forth Baggett. Now Baggett, freely speak thy voice. mind. What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death? Who rotted with the king, and who performed the bloody office of his timeless end? Then set before my face the Lord or Merle.

Cousin, stand forth and look upon that man. My Lord or Merle, I know your daring tongue, scorns to unsay what once it hath delivered. In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted, I heard you say, is not my arm of length that reacheth from the restful English court as far as Calais to mine uncle's head? Amongst much other talk that very time, I heard you say that you had rather refuse the offer of an hundred thousand crowns than Bolingbroke's return to England, adding with all how blessed this land would be, in this your cousin's death. Princes and noble lords, what answer shall I give to this base man?

Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars on equal terms to give him chastisement? Either I must, or have mine honour soiled with the attainder of his sons. slanderous lips. There is my gauge the manual seal of death that marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest, and will maintain what thou hast said is false in thy heart blood. Through being all too base to stain the temper of my knightly sword. Bag it, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. Accepting one, I would he were the best. best in all this presence that hath moved me so.

If that thy vow to stand on sympathies, there is my gauge, Amel, and gauge to thine. Be that fair sign which shows me where thou stand'st. I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest it. That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death. If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest, and I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart where it was forged with my rapier's point. Thou darest not, coward, live to see that day.

Now, by my soul, I would it worth this hour. Fitzwater, thou art damned to hell for this. Omerer, thou liest. His honour is as true in this appeal as thou art an unjust. and that thou art so, there I throw my gauge, To prove it on thee to the extremest point of mortal breathing, Seize it if thou darest. And if I do not, may my hands rot off

And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe. I task the earth to the like, foresworn, all myarl, And spur thee on with as many lies, as may be hallowed in thy treacherous ear. From sun to sun, there is my honor's pawn. Engage it to the trial if thou darest. Who sets me else? By heaven, I'll throw it all.

I have a thousand spirits in one breast to answer twenty thousand such as you. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well. The very time, O Merle and you did talk. "'Tis very true. You were in presence, then, and you can witness with me this is true.' "'As false by heaven, as heaven itself is true.' "'Sury, thou liest.' "'Dishonorable boy, that lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, "'that it shall render vengeance and revenge, till thou the lie-giver, and that that

Lie do lie, in earth as quiet as thy father's skull. In proof whereof there is my honor's pawn. Engage it to the trial if thou darest. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse? If I dare eat or drink or breathe or live, I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness and spit upon him, whilst I say he lies and lies and lies. There is my bond of faith to tie thee to my strong correction.

As I intend to thrive in this world, Ammeril is guilty of my true appeal. Besides, I heard the banished Norfolk say that thou, Ammeral, did send two of thy men to execute the noble duke at Calais. Some honest Christian trust me with a gauge, that Norfolk, If D'Aulfoq dies, here do I throw down this, if he may be repealed to try his honor. These differences shall all rest under gauge, till Northpok be repealed. Repealed he shall be, and though mine enemy restored again, to all his land and signaries, when he is returned against Amurl, we will enforce his trial. that honourable day shall ne'er be seen many a time hath banished norfolk fought for jesu christ in glorious christian field streaming the ensign of the christian cross against black pagans turks and saracens

and toiled with works of war retired himself to italy and there at venice gave his body to that pleasant country's earth and his pure soul unto his captain christ under whose cause colors he had fought so long. Why, Bishop? Is Norfolk dead? As surely as I live, my lord. Sweet peace, conduct his sweet soul to the bosom of good old Abraham. Lord's appellants, your differences shall all rest under gauge till we assign you to your days of trial. Enter York attended.

Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee from plume plucked Richard, who with willing soul adopts the heir, and his high sceptre yield to the possession of thy royal hand. Ascend his throne, descending now from him, and long live Henry, fourth of that name. In God's name, I'll ascend the royal throne. Mary, God forbid! Worse in this royal presence may I speak, yet best be seeming me to speak the truth. Would God that any in this noble presence were enough noble to be upright judge of noble Richard, then true noblest would learn him forbearance from so foul of wrong?

What subject can give sentence on his king? And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? Thieves are not judged, but they abide to hear, although apparent guilt be seen in them, and shall the figure of God's majesty, his captain, steward, deputy-elect, anointed, crowned, planted many years, be judged by subject and inferior breath, and he himself not present? Oh, forfend it God that in a Christian climate souls refined should show so heinous, black, obscene

Indeed, I speak to subjects And a subject speaks stirred up by God Thus boldly for his king My lord of Hereford here Whom you call king Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king

And if you crown him Let me prophesy The blood of English shall manure the ground And future ages groan For this foul act peace shall go sleep with turks and infidels and in this seat of peace tumultuous war shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound disorder horror fear and mutiny shall here inhabit and this land be called the field of golgatha and dead men's skulls oh if you raise this house against this house it will the woefulest division prove that ever fell upon this cursed earth.

Prevent it. Resist it. Let it not be so, lest child, child's children cry against you, woe! Well, have you argued, sir, and for your pains of capital treason we arrest you here, my lord Westminster, be at your charge to keep him safely till his day of trial. May it please you, Lords, to grant the common suit?

Fetch hither, Richard, that in common view he may surrender, so we shall proceed without suspicion. I will be his conduct. Exit. Lords, you that here are under our arrest, procure your sureties for your days of answer. little are we beholding to your love and little looked for at your helping hands

Re-enter York with King Richard and officers bearing the crown, etc. Alack, why am I sent for to a king before I have shook off the regal thoughts wherewith I reigned? I hardly yet have learnt to insinuate flatter, bow and bend my knee Give sorrow leave a while To tutor me to this submission Yet I well remember the favours of these men

Were they not mine Did they not sometime cry All hail to me So Judas did to Christ But he, in twelve, found truth in all but one I, in twelve thousand, none God save the king Will no man say amen

Am I both priest and clerk Well then Amen God save the king Though I be not he And yet amen If heaven do think him Me To do what service am I sent for hither

To do that office of thine own good will Which tired majesty did make the offer The resignation of thy state and crown to Henry Bowlingbroke Give me the crown Here cousin, seize the crown Here cousin, on this side my hand and on that side 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 unseen and full of water. That bucket down and full of tears am I, drinking my griefs, while you mount up on high. I thought you had been willing to resign. My crown, I am, but still my griefs are mine.

You may my glories and my state depose, but not my griefs, still am I. king of those. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares down. My care is loss of care by old care done. Your care is gain of care by new care one. The cares I give I have, though given away. They tend the crime.

crown. Yet still with me they stay. Are you contented to resign the crown? I, no, no, I, for I must nothing be, therefore no, no, for I resign to thee. Now mark me how I will undo myself. I give this heavy weight from off my head, and this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, the pride of kingly sway from out my heart. With mine own tears I wash away my balm. With mine own hands I give away my crown. With my own tongue deny my sacred state. With my own breath, release all deutious rites. all pomp and majesty I do forswear. My manners, rents, revenues I forego, my acts, decrees,

and statutes, I deny. God pardon all oaths that are broke to me. God keep all vows unbroke that are made to thee. Make me that nothing have with nothing grieved, and thou with all pleased, that hath all achieved. Long mayest thou live, in Richard's seat to sit, and soon lie Richard in an earthly pit. God save King Henry, unkinged Richard says, and sent him many years of sunshine days. What more remains?

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 deposed. Must I do so? And must I revel out my weaved-up follies? Gentle nor thumberland, if thy offences were upon record, Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop to read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst, there shouldst thou find one heinous article

containing the deposing of a king and cracking the strong warrant of an oath, marked with a blot damned in the Book of Heaven. Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, though some of you with pilot wash your hands, showing an outward pity, yet you pilots have here delivered me to my sour cross, and water cannot wash away your sin. My lord, dispatch! Read all these articles! Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see, and yet saltwater blinds them not so much but that 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 undect the pompous body of a king, made glory, base, and sovereignty a slave,

proud majesty a subject, state a peasant. My lord! 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 usurped alack the heavy day that i have worn so many winters out and know not now what name to call myself o that i were a mockery king of snow standing before the sun of bolingbrook to melt myself away in water-drops good king great king and yet not greatly good and if my word be sterling yet in england let it command a mirror hither straight that it may show me what a face i am since it is bankrupt of his majesty

go some of you and fetch a looking-glass exit and attendant read all this paper while the glass doth come Viend, thou tormentst me ere I come to hell. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. The commons will not then be satisfied. They shall be satisfied. I'll read enough when I do see the very book indeed where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. Re-enter attendant with glass.

Give me that glass, and therein will I read. no deeper wrinkles yet hath sorrow struck so many blows upon this face of mine and made no deeper wounds o flattering glass like to my followers in prosperity thou dost 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 sun did make beholders wink is this the face which faced so many follies that was at last outfaced by bolingbroke a brittle glory shineth in this face as brittle as the glory is the face dashes the glass against the ground for there it is cracked in a hundred shivers mark silent king the moral of this sport how soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face The shadow of your sorrow have destroyed the shadow of your face. Say that again, the shadow of my sorrow. Ha, let's see.

It is very true. My grief lies all within. And these external manner of laments are merely shadows to the unseen grief that swells with silence in the tortured soul. There lies the substance, and I thank you. Thank thee, king, for thy great bounty, that not only givest me cause to wail, but teachest me the way how to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, and then be gone, and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it?

Name it, fair cousin! 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 flatterer. so great I have no need to beg. Yet ask. And shall I have? You shall. Then give me leave to go.

Whither? Whither you will, so I were from your sight. Go, some of you convey him to the tower. Oh, good, conveyors are you all that rise thus nimbly by a true king's full. Exeant King Richard and Guard. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down our coronation.

Lords, prepare yourselves. Exeant all but the Bishop of Carlisle, the abbot of Westminster, and Omerle. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. The woes to come. The children yet, unborn shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. You holy clergyman, is there no plot to rid the realm of this pernicious plot?

My lord, before I freely speak my mind herein, you shall not only take the sacrament 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. I will lay, our plot shall show us all a merry day. Exciant. End of Act 4, Scene 1, and End of Act 4. This is a Libervox recording.

All Libervox recordings are in the public domain. information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. The tragedy of King Richard II by William Shakespeare. Act 5, Scene 1, London, a street leading to the tower. Enter the queen and ladies. This way the king will come. This is the way to Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, to whose flint bosom my condemned lord is doomed a prisoner by proud Bollingbrook.

here let us rest if this rebellious earth have any resting for her true king's queen enter king richard and guard but soft but see or rather do not see my fair rose whither yet look up behold that you and pity may dissolve to dew and wash him fresh again with true love tears ah thou the model where old troy did stand thou map of honour thou king richard's tomb and not king richard's tomb and not king richard's tomb and not king Richard. Thou most beauteous inn. Why should hard-favoured grief be lodged in thee, when triumph has become an alehouse guest? Join not with grief, fair

woman. Do not so, to make my end too sudden. Learn good soul to think our former state a happy dream, from which, awaked, the truth of what we are shows us but this. I am sworn brother, sweet, to grim

necessity, and he and I will keep a league till death. I thee to France, and close to thee in some religious house, our holy lives must win a new world's crown, which our profane hours here have thrown down. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind transformed and weakened? Hath Bolingbroke disposed 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'er-powered. And wilt thou, pupil-like, Take the correction mildly, Kiss the rod and fall on rage with base humility, Which art a lion and the king of beasts! A king of beasts, indeed,

If ought but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometimes, queen, Prepare thee hence for France. think i am dead and that even here thou takest as from my death-bed thy last living leave in winter's tedious nights sit by the fire with good old folks and let them tell thee tales of woeful ages long ago betide and ere thou bid good night to quit their griefs tell thou the lamentable tale of me and send the hearers weeping to their bed for why the senseless brands will sympathize the heavy accent of thy moving tongue and in compassion weep the fire out and some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, for the deposing of a rightful king.

Enter Northumberland, attended. My lord, the mind of Bollingbroke is changed. You must to Pumfret, not unto the tower. And, madam, there is an order tain for you, with all swift speed, you must away to France. Northumberland, thou ladder, wherewithal the mounting Bollingbroke ascends my throne. The time shall not be many hours of age more than it is, ere foul sin gathering head shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think, though he divide the realm and give thee half, it is too little, helping him to all,

and he shall think that thou, which knowest the way to plant unrightful kings, will know again, being near so little urged, another way to pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. The love of wicked men converts to fear. That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both to worthy danger and deserved death. My guilt be on my head and there at an end. Take leave and part, for you must part forthwith. Doubly divorced.

Bad men, ye violate a two-fold. marriage, twixt my crown and me, and then betwixt me and my married wife. Let me unkiss the oath betwixt thee and me, and yet not so, for with a kiss t'was made. Part us, Northumberland, I, towards the north, where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime. My wife to France, from whence, set forth, Pomp, she came adorned hither like sweet May, sent back like hallow mass, or shortest of day. And must we be divided? Must we part?

Aye, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. Banish us both and send the king with me. That were some love but little policy. Then whither he goes thither let me go. So two, together weeping, make one one, Wo, weep thou for me in France, I, for thee, here, better far off than near, be near the near, go, count thy way with sighs, I, mine, with groans. So long as we shall have the longest moans. Twice, for one step, I'll groan, the way being short, and peace the way out with a heavy heart.

Come, come, in wooing sorrow, let's be. Webray, since wedding it, there is such length in grief. One kiss shall stop our mouths and dumbly part. Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. They kiss. Give me mine own again, to a no good part to take on me to keep and kill thy heart. They kiss again. So, now I have mine own again, be gone, that I may strive to kill it with a groan.

We make woe wanton with this fond delay. Once more adieu. The rest let sorrow say. Exeunt. End of Act 5, Scene 1. Act 5, scene 2. The same. A room in the Duke of York's palace.

Enter York and his Duchess. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest when weeping made you break the story off of our two cousins coming into London. Where did I leave? At that sad stop, my lord, where rude misgoverned hands from windows tops through dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

Then, as I said, the great Duke, Bolingbroke, mounted upon a hot and fiery steed which his aspiring rider seemed to know, with slow but stately pace kept on his course, while all tongues cried, God save thee, Bowlingbroke. You would have thought the very windows spake, so many greedy looks of young and old

through casements darted their desiring eyes upon his visage. And that all the walls with painted imagery had said at once, Jesus preserve thee, welcome, Bowlingbroke, whilst he, from the one side to the other turning, bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, bespake them thus. I thank you, countryman.

and thus still doing, thus he passed along. Alack, poor Richard! Where wrote he the wilest? As in a theatre the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next, thinking his prattle to be tedious. Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes did scowl on gentle Richard. No man cried, God save him, no joyful tongue gave him his welcome home, but dust was thrown upon his sacred head, which with some sort,

such gentle sorrow he shook off, his face still combating with tears and smiles, the badges of his grief and patience. That had not God for some strong purpose steeled the hearts of men, they must be force have melted, and barbarism itself have pitied him. But heaven hath a hand in these events, to whose high will we bound our calm contents. To Bolingbroke we are sworn subjects now, whose state and honour, aye for I allow. Amaral. O'Mell, that was, but that is lost for being Richard's friend, and, madam, you must call him Rutland now. I am in Parliament pledge for his truth and lasting fealty to the new-made king.

Enter Omerle. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now that strew the green lap of the new-come spring? Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not. God knows I had his leaf be none as one. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, lest you be cropped before you come to prime. What news from Oxford, do these justs and triumphs hold? For aught I know, my lord, they do.

You will be there, I know. If God prevent naught, I propose so. What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom? Yeah, he looks thou pale, let me see the writing. My lord, tis nothing. No matter, then, who see it? I will be satisfied, let me see the writing. I do beseech your grace to pardon me.

It is a matter of small consequence, which for some reasons I would not have seen. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear. What should you fear? Tis nothing but some bond that he's entered into for gay apparel against the triumph day. Bound to himself, what doth he with a bond that he is bound to?

Wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me see the writing. I do beseech you, pardon me, I may not show it. I will be satisfied, let me see it, I say. Snatches it and reads. Treason, foul, treason, villain, traitor, slave. What is the matter, my lord? Oh, who is within there?

Enter a servant. Saddle my horse, God, for his mercy, what treachery is here. Why, what is it, my lord? Give me my boots, I say, saddle my horse. Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth, I will appeach the villain. Exit servant. What is the matter? Peace, foolish woman.

I will not peace. What is the matter, Amaral? Good mother, be content. It is no more than my poor life must answer. Thy life answer? Bring me my boots, I will enter the king. Re-enter servant with boots. strike him amrael poor boy thou art amazed to servant hence villain never more come in my sight exit servant give me my boots i say why york what wilt thou do

wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own have we more sons or are we like to have is not my teeming date drunk up with time and wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age and rob me of a happy mother's name is he not like thee is he not thine own? Thou fond, mad woman, wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy, a dozen of them, here have tamed the sacrament, and interchangeably set down their hands to kill the king at Oxford. He shall be none. We'll keep him here. Then what is that to him? Away, fond woman, where he twenty times my son I would appeach him. Had thou's groaned for him as I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. But I now know thy mind, thou doth suspect that I have been disloyal to thy bed and that he is a bastard, not thy son. Sweet, york, sweet husband, be not of that mind. He is as like thee as a man may be,

not like to me or any of my kin, and yet I love him. Make way unruly woman. Exit. After Amaral. Mount thee upon his horse, spur post, and get before him to the king, and beg thy pardon ere he do accused thee. I'll not be long behind, though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as fast as York, and never will I rise up from the ground till Bollingbrook have pardoned thee. Away, be gone.

Excient. End of Act 5, scene 2. Act 5, scene 3. Windsor, a room in the castle. Enter Bolingbroke as king. Henry Percy and other lords. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son? Tis full three months since I did see him last.

If any plague hang over us, tis he. I would to God, my lords, he might be found. Inquire at London, monks the taverns there, for there, they say, he daily doth frequent, With unrestrained loose companions, Even such, they say, a stand in narrow lanes and beat our watch and rob our passengers,

which he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, takes on the point of honor to support so dissolute a crew. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince and told him of those triumphs held at Oxford. And what, said the gallant? His answer was, he would unto the stews, and from the commonest creature pluck a glove

and wear it as a favor, and with that he would unhorse the lustiest challenger. As the salute, as desperate, yet through both I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years may happily bring forth, but who comes here? Enter O'Murall. Where is the king? What means our cousin that he stares and looks so wildly? God save your grace, I do beseech your majesty to have some conference with your grace alone.

Withdraw yourselves and leave us here alone. Exeunt Henry Percy and Lords. What is the matter with our cousin now? Forever may my knees grow to the earth my tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, unless a pardoner I rise or speak. Intended or committed was this fault, if on the first, How keenness, ere it be, to win thy after love, I pardon thee. Then give me leave that I may turn the key that no man entered till my tale be done.

Have thy desire. O Merle locks the door. Within. My liege, beware, look to thyself. Thou hast a traitor in thy presence here. Villain, I'll make thee safe. Drawing. Stay thy revengeful sword. Thou hast no cause to fear. Within. Open the door, secure, foolhardy King.

Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face, open the door, or I will break it open. Bowlingbroke unlocks the door, and afterwards, relax it. Enter York. What is the matter, uncle? Speak. Recover breath. Tell us how near is danger, that we may arm us to encounter it. Peruse this writing here and thou shalt know.

and thou shalt know the treason that my hast forbids me show. Remember, as thou reits, thy promise passed. I do repent me, read not my name there. My heart is not confederate with my hand. It was villain, ere thy hand did set it down. I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king, fear and not love begets his penitence. Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove a serpent, that will sting thee to the heart.

O keenness, strong and bold conspiracy! O loyal father of a treacherous son! Thou sheer immaculate and silver fountain, from whence this stream through muddy passages, have held his current and defiled himself. Thy overflow of good converts to bad, and thy abundant goodness shall excuse this deadly blot in thy digressing son.

So shall my virtue be his vices bored, and he shall spend mine honour with his shame, as thriftless sons their scraping father's gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, or my shamed life in his dishonour lies, thou kill'st me in this life, giving him breath. The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. Within.

What ho, my liege, for God's sake, let me in. What shrill voiced supplicant Makes this eager cry Within A woman and thine aunt great king tis I Speak with me, pity me, open the door A beggar begs that never begged before Our scene is altered from a serious thing

And now change to The beggar and the king My dangerous cousin, let your mother in I know she's come To pray for your foul sin If thou do pardon whosoever pray More sins for this forgiveness prosper may This festered joint cut off

The rest rest sound This let alone will all the rest confound Enter Duchess O King believe not this hard-hearted man Love, loving not itself None other can Thou frantic woman What dost thou make here

Shall thy of Old Doug's once more a traitor rear? Sweet York, be patient. Neal's. Hear me, gentle-each. Rise up, good aunt. Not yet, I thee beseech. Forever I will walk upon my knees

and never see day that the happy sees, till thou give joy, till thou bid me joy by pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee. Neals. Against them both my true joints bended be.

Neals. Ill mayst thou thrive if thou grant any grace. Pleads he in earnest, look upon his face. His eyes do drop no tears. His prayers are in jest. His words come from his mouth, hours from our breast. He prays but faintly and would be denied.

We pray with heart and soul and all beside. His weary joints would gladly rise, I know. Our knees still need. till to the ground they grow. His prayers are full of false hypocrisy, ours of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers do out pray his. Then let them have that mercy

which true prayer ought to have. Good aunt, stand up. Nay, do not say stand up. Say pardon first and afterwards stand up. And if I were thy nurse, their tongue to teach, Pardon should be the first word of thy speech. I never long to hear a word till now. Say pardon, King.

Let pity teach thee how. The word is short, but not so short as sweet. No word like pardon for king's mouth so meet. Speak it in French, King, say pardony mo. Dost thou teach pardon, pardon to destroy? Oh, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, that set us the word itself against the word. Speak pardon as tis current in our land,

the chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there, or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear that hearing how our plaites and prayers do pierce, pity may move thee pardon to rehearse. Good aunt, stand up. I do not sue to stand. Pardon. Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. Oh, happy vantage of a kneeling knee. Yet I am sick for fear. Speak it again. Twice saying pardon doth not pardon Twain, but makes one pardon strong. With all my heart I pardon him. O God on earth thou art. But for our trusty brother-in-law, I'm the abbot. With all the rest of that consorted crew,

Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. Good uncle, help to order several powers to Oxford, Or where these traitors are. They shall not live within this world, I swear. But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell, and cousin, adieu. Your mother well hath prayed and prove you true. Come, my old son, I pray God make thee new.

Excient. End of Act 5, Scene 3. Act 5, Scene 4. Another room in the castle. Enter Exton and a servant. Didst thou not mark the king? What words he spake? Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?

Was it not so? these were his very words have i no friend quoth he he spake it twice and urged it twice together did he did and speaking it he wistly looked on me as who should say i would thou wert the man that would divorce this terror from my heart meaning the king at pomfrey come let's go i am the king's friend and will rid his foe Excient End of Act 5, Scene 4 Act 5, Scene 5 Pomfret The Dungeon of the Castle

Enter King Richard I have been studying How I may compare this prison Where I live Unto the World And for because the world is populous And here is not a creature but myself I cannot do it,

Yet I'll hammer it out My brain, I'll prove the female to my soul, my soul, the father. And these two beget a generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world, In humours like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better thought, as thoughts of things divine, Are intermixed with scruples,

And to set the word itself against the word itself against the world, the word. As thus, come little ones, and then again, it is as hard to come as for a camel to thread the postern of a needle's eye. Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot unlikely wonders, how these vain weak nails may tear a passage through the flinty ribs of this hard world my ragged prison walls, and, for they cannot die in their own pride, thoughts tending to content flatter themselves that they are not the first of fortune slaves nor shall not be the last like silly beggars who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame that many have and others must sit there and in this thought they find a kind of ease bearing their own misfortune on the back of such as have before endured the like thus play i in one person many people and none contented sometimes am i king then treasons make me wish myself a beggar and so i am

then crushing penury persuades me i was better when a king then am i kinged again and by and by think that i am unkinged by by by by i am unkinged by by bolingbrook and straight am nothing But whate'er I be, nor I, nor any man, that but man is, with nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased with being nothing. Music. Music do I hear? Ha ha, ha, keep time. How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept. So is it in the music of men's life. And here have I the daintiness of ear to check time broke in a disordered string.

But, for the concord of my state and time, had not an ear to hear my true time broke. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. For now hath time made me his numbering clock. My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar their watches on. on unto mine eyes. The outward watch where to my finger, like a dial's point, is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now, sir, the sounds that tell what hour it is are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart, which is the bell.

So sighs and tears and groans, show minutes, times and hours. but my time runs posting on in bolingbrook's proud joy while i stand fooling here he's jack o'clock this music mads me let it sound no more for though it have hope madmen to their wits in me it seems it will make wise men mad yet blessing on his heart that gives it me for it is a sign of love and love to richard is a strange brooch in this all-hating world enter a groom of the stable hail royal prince thanks noble peer the cheapest of us is ten groats too dear what art thou and how comest thou hither man where no man never comes but that sad dog that brings me food to make misfortune live. I was a poor groom of thy stable king, when thou wert king, who, travelling towards York, with much ado at length have gotten leave to look upon my sometimes royal master's face.

Oh, how it yearned my heart when I beheld in London streets that Coordination Day, when boating broke road on Rhone Barbary, that horse that horse that thou so often hast best rid, that horse that I so carefully have dressed. Road he on Barbary? Tell me gentle friend. How went he under him? So proudly as if he to stay in the ground. So proud that Bollingbrook was on his back.

That Jade hath et bread from my royal hand. This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble, would he not fall down, since pride must have a fool, and break the neck of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse, why do I rail on thee, since thou, created to be awed by man, was born to bear? I was not made a horse, and yet I bear a burden like an ass, spur galled and tired by jaunties. Bollingbrook. Enter Keeper with a dish. Keeper to the groom.

Fellow, give place. Here is no longer stay. If thou love me, tis time they were to weigh. My tongue dares not that my heart shall say. Exit. My lord, wilt please you to fall to? Taste of it first, as thou art weren't to do.

My lord, I dare not, Sir Pierce of Exton, who lately came from the king, commands the contrary. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee. Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. Strikes the keeper. Help, help, help! Enter Exton and servants, armed. How now? What means death in this rude assault?

Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. Snatching a weapon and killing one. Go thou and fill another room in hell. He kills another. Then, Axton strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never quenching fire That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand hath with the king's blood stained

as the king's own land. Mount, mount my soul, Thy seat is up on high, whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to die. Dyes. As full of valour as of royal blood, both have I spilt.

Oh, would the deed were good? For now, the devil, that told me I did well, says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear. Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. Excient. End of Act 5, Scene 5.

Act 5, Scene 6. Windsor, an apartment in the castle. Flourish. Enter Bowlingbroke and York with lords and attendants. Kind Uncle York. The latest news we hear is that the rebels

have consumed with fire or town of Sissister in Gloucestershire. But whether they be tain or slain we hear not. Enter Northumberland. Welcome, my lord.

What is the news? First to the first to the Thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is, I have to London sent the heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kant. The manner of their taking may appear at large discoursed in this paper here. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains. And to thy worth, we'll add, write worthy gains. Enter Fitzwater. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London the heads of Brockes and Sir Bennett Sealy, two of the dangerous consort traders

that sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot. Right noble is thy merit. Will I what? Enter Henry Percy, with the Bishop of Carlis. The grand conspirator, Abbott of Westminster, with clog of conscience and sour melancholy, hath yielded up his body to the grave. But here is Carlisle living, to abide thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. Carlisle, this is your doom. Choose out some secret place, some reverent room,

more than thou hast, and with it joy thy life. So as thou livest in peace die free from strife, for though mine enemy thou hast ever been, high sparks of honor in thee have I seen. Enter Exton with attendance, bearing a coffin. Great king, within this coffin I present thy buried fear. Herein, all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies

Richard of Bordeaux By me hither brought Exton, I thank thee not For thou hast wrought a deed of slander With thy fatal hand Upon my head and all this famous land From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. They love not put

Poison that do poison need. Nor do I thee, though I did wish him dead. I hate the murderer, love her murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labor. But neither my good word nor princely favor, With Cain go wander through shade of night, And never show thy head by day nor light. Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe, that blood should sprinkle me to make me grow.

Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, and put on sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land to wash this blood off my guilty hand. Much sadly after grace my mornings here, in weeping, After this untimely beer. Exeunt. End of Act 5, Scene 6. And End of Act 5. End of the Tragedy of King Richard II.

By William Shakespeare.