Richard II: Act V

Hie thee to France
And cloister thee in some religious house.

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 fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion and the king of beasts?

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
“Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!”

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
“Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!”

As in a theater 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.

As in a theater 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.

I am in parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

Do these jousts and triumphs hold?

I do beseech your Grace to pardon me.

Now by mine honor, by my life, by my troth,
I will appeach the villain.

Inquire at London, ’mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent
With unrestrainèd loose companions,
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes
And beat our watch and rob our passengers,
While he, young wanton and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honor to support
So dissolute a crew.

Inquire at London, ’mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent
With unrestrainèd loose companions,
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes
And beat our watch and rob our passengers,
While he, young wanton and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honor to support
So dissolute a crew.

Forever may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

Open the door, secure, foolhardy king!

My heart is not confederate with my hand.

Fear, and not love, begets his penitence.

O loyal father of a treacherous son,
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain
From whence this stream, through muddy passages,
Hath 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.

O loyal father of a treacherous son,
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain
From whence this stream, through muddy passages,
Hath 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 vice’s bawd,
And he shall spend mine honor with his shame,
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers’ gold.

What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?

This festered joint cut off, the rest rest sound.

Forever will I walk upon my knees
And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give joy, until thou bid me joy
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.

His prayers are full of false hypocrisy,
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.

O, happy vantage of a kneeling knee!

But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.

The better sort,
As thoughts of things divine, are intermixed
With scruples, and do set the word itself
Against 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 small needle’s eye.”

Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am; then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king.

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.

Now, sir, the sound that tells what hour it is
Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell.

Why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be awed by man,
Wast born to bear?

I was not made a horse,
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spurred, galled, and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke.

The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursèd in this paper here.

Carlisle, this is your doom:
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life.

Grace my mournings here
In weeping after this untimely bier.

Grace my mournings here
In weeping after this untimely bier.