Excerpt from Richard II - anthology.

Excerpt from Richard II - anthology. In 1601, on the day before beginning his unsuccessful revolt against Queen Elizabeth I, the earl of Essex commissioned a group of actors to perform a play about Richard II at the Globe Theatre, believed by many critics to have been Shakespeare's Richard II. The performance was controversial, since Elizabeth disliked any connection made between herself and the earlier monarch, who had come to a tragic end. In 1599 the archbishop of Canterbury, acting on her behalf, had ordered the destruction of a book concerning King Richard and Henry Bolingbroke, who had taken over Richard's throne to become Henry IV: the book had borne a dedication to Essex and the potential for comparison was deemed too dangerous. It is thought unlikely, however, that Shakespeare had any such direct political purpose in mind, and the actors who undertook the 1601 performance were not punished along with the conspirators. In one of the contentious episodes, Act 4, Scene i, Richard, resigned to his fate, sends news of his abdication of the throne to his stronger opponent, Bolingbroke, and those assembled with him. The bishop of Carlisle, who voices opposition, is silenced and arrested for treason, just before Richard arrives to hand over the crown. Although self-indulgent, Richard's melancholy is poignantly expressed, and while the forceful, plain-speaking Bolingbroke seems a more natural leader, the contrasting presentation of the pair is not entirely unsympathetic to Richard's plight. Richard II Act 4, Scene i YORK. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee From plume-plucked Richard, who with willing soul Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields To the possession of thy royal hand. Ascend his throne, descending now from him, And long live Henry, fourth of that name! BOLINGBROKE. In God's name I'll ascend the regal throne. BISHOP OF CARLISLE. Marry, God forbid! Worst in this royal presence may I speak, Yet best beseeming 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 noblesse would Learn him forbearance from so foul a 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 are by to hear Although apparent guilt be seen in them; And shall the figure of God's majesty, His captain, steward, deputy elect, Anointed, crownèd, planted many years, Be judged by subject and inferior breath And he himself not present? O, forfend it God That in a Christian climate souls refined Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! 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 wars 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 Golgotha and dead men's skulls. O, if you raise this house against this house It will the woefullest division prove That ever fell upon this cursèd earth. Prevent it; resist it; let it not be so, Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe. NORTHUMBERLAND. Well have you argued, sir; and for your pains Of capital treason we arrest you here. My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge To keep him safely till his day of trial. May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit? BOLINGBROKE. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may surrender. So we shall proceed Without suspicion. YORK. I will be his conduct. Exit BOLINGBROKE. 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. Enter Richard and York RICHARD. Alack, why am I sent for to a king Before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reigned? I hardly yet have learned To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee. Give sorrow leave awhile 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, although I be not he; And yet Amen if Heaven do think him me. To do what service am I sent for hither? YORK. To do that office of thine own good will Which tired majesty did make thee offer: The resignation of thy state and crown To Henry Bolingbroke. RICHARD. 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 whilst you mount up on high. BOLINGBROKE. I thought you had been willing to resign. RICHARD. 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. BOLINGBROKE. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. RICHARD. 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 won. The cares I give, I have, though given away. They 'tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. BOLINGBROKE. Are you contented to resign the crown? RICHARD. Ay, no. No, ay; 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 mine own tongue deny my sacred state, With mine own breath release all duteous oaths. All pomp and majesty I do forswear. My manors, rents, revenues I forgo. My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny. God pardon all oaths that are broke to me; God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee; Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved, And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved. Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit. "God save King Henry," unkinged Richard says, "And send him many years of sunshine days." What more remains? NORTHUMBERLAND. 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. RICHARD. Must I do so? And must I ravel out My weaved-up follies? Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record, Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop To read a lecture of them? If thou 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 Pilate--wash your hands, Showing an outward pity, yet you Pilates Have here delivered me to my sour cross, And water cannot wash away your sin. NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, dispatch. Read o'er these articles. RICHARD. Mine eyes are full of tears. I cannot see. And yet salt water blinds them not so much But they can see a sort of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself I find myself a traitor with the rest. For I have given here my soul's consent To'undeck the pompous body of a king; Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave; Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant. NORTHUMBERLAND My lord-- RICHARD. 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 Bolingbroke, To melt myself away in water-drops! Good king; great king--and yet not greatly good-- An if my word be sterling yet in England Let it command a mirror hither straight That it may show me what a face I have Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. BOLINGBROKE. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-glass. Exit attendant NORTHUMBERLAND. Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come. RICHARD. Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell. BOLINGBROKE. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND. The commons will not then be satisfied. RICHARD. 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. Enter attendant with a 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, (he throws the glass down) For there it is, cracked in an hundred shivers. Mark, silent King, the moral of this sport: How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face. BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyed The shadow of your face. RICHARD. Say that again! "The shadow of my sorrow"--ha, let's see. 'Tis 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 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? BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin. RICHARD. "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. Being so great, I have no need to beg. BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask. RICHARD. And shall I have? BOLINGBROKE. You shall. RICHARD. Then give me leave to go. BOLINGBROKE. Whither? RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. BOLINGBROKE. Go some of you, convey him to the Tower. RICHARD. O, good, "convey!"--Conveyors are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly proclaim Our coronation. Lords, be ready, all. Exeunt all except the Abbot of Westminster, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. BISHOP OF CARLISLE. The woe's to come. The children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. AUMERLE. You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER. 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 A plot shall show us all a merry day. Exeunt