RICHARD II

RICHARD II THE subject matter of Richard II seemed inflammatorily topical to Shakespeare’s contemporaries. Richard, who had notoriously indulged his favourites, had been compelled to yield his throne to Henry Bolingbroke, Earl of Hereford: like Richard, the ageing Queen Elizabeth had no obvious successor, and she too encouraged favourites—such as the Earl of Essex—who might aspire to the throne. When Shakespeare’s play first appeared in print (in 1597), and in the two succeeding editions printed during Elizabeth’s life, the episode (4.1.145-308) showing Richard yielding the crown was omitted, and in 1601, on the day before Essex led his ill-fated rebellion against Elizabeth, his fellow conspirators commissioned a special performance in the hope of arousing popular support, even though the play was said to be ‘long out of use’—surprisingly, since it was probably written no earlier than 1595. But Shakespeare introduced no obvious topicality into his dramatization of Richard’s reign, for which he read widely while using Raphael Holinshed’s Chronicles (1577, revised and enlarged in 1587) as his main source of information. In choosing to write about Richard II (1367―1400) he was returning to the beginning of the story whose ending he had staged in Richard III; for Bolingbroke’s usurpation of the throne to which Richard’s hereditary right was indisputable had set in train the series of events finally expiated only in the union of the houses of York and Lancaster celebrated in the last speech of Richard III. Like Richard III, this is a tragical history, focusing on a single character; but Richard II is a far more introverted and morally ambiguous figure than Richard III. In this play, written entirely in verse, Shakespeare forgoes stylistic variety in favour of an intense, plangent lyricism. Our early impressions of Richard are unsympathetic. Having banished Mowbray and Bolingbroke, he behaves callously to Bolingbroke’s father, John of Gaunt, a stern upholder of the old order to whose warning against his irresponsible behaviour he pays no attention, and upon Gaunt’s death confiscates his property with no regard for Bolingbroke’s rights. During Richard’s absence on an Irish campaign, Bolingbroke returns to England and gains support in his efforts to claim his inheritance. Gradually, as the balance of power shifts, Richard makes deeper claims on the audience’s sympathy. When he confronts Bolingbroke at Flint Castle (3.1) he eloquently laments his imminent deposition even though Bolingbroke insists that he comes only to claim what is his; soon afterwards (4.1.98-103) the Duke of York announces Richard’s abdication. The transference of power is effected in a scene of lyrical expansiveness, and Richard becomes a pitiable figure as he is led to imprisonment in Pomfret (Pontefract) Castle while his former queen is banished to France. Richard’s self-exploration reaches its climax in his soliloquy spoken shortly before his murder at the hands of Piers Exton; at the end of the play, Henry, anxious and guilt-laden, denies responsibility for the murder and plans an expiatory pilgrimage to the Holy Land. THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY KING RICHARD II The QUEEN, his wife JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster, Richard’s uncle Harry BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, John of Gaunt’s son, later KING HENRY IV DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER, widow of Gaunt’s and York’s brother Duke of YORK, King Richard’s uncle DUCHESS OF YORK Duke of AUMERLE, their son Thomas MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk Lord BERKELEY Lord FITZWALTER Duke of SURREY ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER Sir Piers EXTON LORD MARSHAL HERALDS CAPTAIN of the Welsh army LADIES attending the Queen GARDENER Gardener’s MEN Exton’s MEN KEEPER of the prison at Pomfret GROOM of King Richard’s stable, Lords, soldiers, attendants

The Tragedy of King Richard the Second

Atto 1, Scena 1

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard and John of Gaunt, with the Lord Marshal, other nobles, and attendants
KING RICHARD	Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster, Hast thou according to thy oath and bond Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son, Here to make good the boist’rous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
JOHN OF GAUNT	I have, my liege.
KING RICHARD	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?
JOHN OF GAUNT	As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aimed at your highness, no inveterate malice.
KING RICHARD	Then call them to our presence. [Exit one or more] Face to face And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak. High-stomached are they both and full of ire; In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
(didascalia)	Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Hereford, and Mowbray Duke of Norfolk
BOLINGBROKE	Many years of happy days befall My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
MOWBRAY	Each day still better others’ happiness, Until the heavens, envying earth’s good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown!
KING RICHARD	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 Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
BOLINGBROKE	First—heaven be the record to my speech— In the devotion of a subject’s love, Tend’ring 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 good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it 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 What my tongue speaks my right-drawn sword may prove.
MOWBRAY	Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal. ’Tis not the trial of a woman’s war, The bitter clamour 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 naught 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 treason 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, Call him a slanderous coward and a villain; Which to maintain I would allow him odds, And meet him, were 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.
BOLINGBROKE	(throwing down his gage) Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the King, And lay aside my high blood’s royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour’s pawn, then stoop. By that, and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke or thou canst worse devise.
MOWBRAY	(taking up the gage) 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 knightly trial; And when I mount, alive may I not light If I be traitor or unjustly fight!
KING RICHARD	(to Bolingbroke) 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.
BOLINGBROKE	Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true: That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In 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 prove, Or here or elsewhere, to the furthest 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 Mowbray 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, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood; Which blood, like sacrificing Abel’s, 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.
KING RICHARD	How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what sayst thou to this?
MOWBRAY	O, let my sovereign turn away his face, And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood How God and good men hate so foul a liar!
KING RICHARD	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 awe 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, Mowbray; so art thou. Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.
MOWBRAY	Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart Through the false passage of thy throat thou liest! Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness’ soldiers. The other part reserved I by consent, For 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 rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor, Which in myself I boldly will defend, He throws down his gage And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor’s foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom; In haste whereof most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day.
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke takes up the gage
KING RICHARD	Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me. Let’s purge this choler 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 time to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun. We’ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.
JOHN OF GAUNT	To be a make-peace shall become my age. Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk’s gage.
KING RICHARD	And, Norfolk, throw down his.
JOHN OF GAUNT	When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again.
KING RICHARD	Norfolk, throw down! We bid; there is no boot.
MOWBRAY	(kneeling) 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 dishonour’s use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander’s venomed spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart blood Which breathed this poison.
KING RICHARD	Rage must be withstood. Give me his gage. Lions make leopards tame.
(didascalia)	MOWBRAY standing
KING RICHARD	Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame, And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is 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 in 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.
KING RICHARD	Cousin, throw down your gage. Do you begin.
BOLINGBROKE	O God defend my soul from such deep sin! Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father’s sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray’s face.
(didascalia)	Exit John of Gaunt
KING RICHARD	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 Saint Lambert’s day. There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate. Since we cannot atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor’s chivalry. Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms Be ready to direct these home alarms.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 1, Scena 2

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, with the Duchess of Gloucester
JOHN OF GAUNT	Alas, the part I had in Gloucester’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 rain hot vengeance on offenders’ heads.
DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER	Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward’s seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as 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 destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full 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 faded By envy’s hand and murder’s bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb, That mettle, that self mould that fashioned thee, Made him a man; and though thou liv‘st and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father’s death In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father’s life. Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair. In suff’ring thus thy brother to be slaughtered Thou show’st the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee. That which in mean men we entitle 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.
JOHN OF GAUNT	God’s is the quarrel; for God’s substitute, His deputy anointed in his sight, Hath caused his death; the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift An angry arm against his minister.
DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER	Where then, alas, may I complain myself?
JOHN OF GAUNT	To God, the widow’s champion and defence.
DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER	Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. O, set my husband’s wrongs on Hereford’s spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray’s breast! Or if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray’s sins so heavy in his bosom That they may break his foaming courser’s back And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff, recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt. Thy sometimes brother’s wife With her companion, grief, must end her life.
JOHN OF GAUNT	Sister, farewell. I must to Coventry. As much good stay with thee as go with me.
DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER	Yet one word more. Grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight. I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth 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 good speed at Pleshey visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones, And what hear there for 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.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Atto 1, Scena 3

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Marshal [with officers setting out chairs], and the Duke of Aumerle
LORD MARSHAL	My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed?
AUMERLE	Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.
LORD MARSHAL	The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant’s trumpet.
AUMERLE	Why then, the champions are prepared, and stay For nothing but his majesty’s approach.
(didascalia)	The trumpets sound, and King Richard enters, with John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, Bushy, Bagot, Green,] and other nobles. When they are set, enter Mowbray Duke of Norfolk, defendant, in arms, Fand a Herald]
KING RICHARD	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.
LORD MARSHAL	(to Mowbray) In God’s name and the King‘s, say who thou art, And why thou com’st thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou com’st, and what thy quarrel. Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath, As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!
MOWBRAY	My name is Thomas Mowbray, 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!
(didascalia)	He sits.
(didascalia)	The trumpets sound. Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Hereford, appellant, in armour, and a Herald
KING RICHARD	Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war; And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause.
LORD MARSHAL	(to Bolingbroke) What is thy name? And wherefore com’st thou hither 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!
BOLINGBROKE	Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby Am I, who ready here do stand in arms To prove by God’s grace and my body’s valour In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor foul and dangerous To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me. And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
(didascalia)	He sits
LORD MARSHAL	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.
(didascalia)	BOLINGBROKE standing
LORD MARSHAL	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 loving farewell of our several friends.
LORD MARSHAL	(to King Richard) The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.
KING RICHARD	We will descend and fold him in our arms. He descends from his seat and embraces Bolingbroke Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is just, So be thy fortune in this royal fight. Farewell, my blood, which if today thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
BOLINGBROKE	O, let no noble eye profane a tear For me if I be gored with Mowbray’s spear. As confident as is the falcon’s flight Against a bird do I with Mowbray fight. (To the Lord Marshal) My loving lord, I take my leave of you; (To Aumerle) Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
(didascalia)	(To Gaunt, kneeling O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
BOLINGBROKE	Whose youthful spirit in me regenerate Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers, And with thy blessings steel my lance’s point, That it may enter Mowbray’s waxen coat And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt Even in the lusty haviour of his son.
JOHN OF GAUNT	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 casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy. Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.
(didascalia)	BOLINGBROKE standing
JOHN OF GAUNT	Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!
(didascalia)	MOWBRAY standing
JOHN OF GAUNT	However God or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard’s throne, A loyal, just, and 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.
KING RICHARD	Farewell, my lord. Securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.— Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.
LORD MARSHAL	Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!
(didascalia)	An officer bears a lance to Bolingbroke
BOLINGBROKE	Strong as a tower in hope, I cry ‘Amen!’
LORD MARSHAL	(to an officer) Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.
(didascalia)	An officer bears a lance to Mowbray
FIRST HERALD	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 Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king, and him, And dares him to set forward to the fight.
SECOND HERALD	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 Derby To God his sovereign and to him disloyal, Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin.
(didascalia)	Sound trumpets, and set forward combatants!
(didascalia)	A charge is sounded.
LORD MARSHAL	King Richard throws down his warder Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down.
KING RICHARD	Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again.
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke and Mowbray disarm and sit
KING RICHARD	(To the nobles) Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree.
(didascalia)	A long flourish, during which King Richard and his nobles withdraw and hold council, then come forward]. King Richard addresses Bolingbroke and Mowbray
KING RICHARD	Draw near, and list what with our council 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 neighbours’ swords, Which, so roused up with boist’rous 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 banish you our territories. You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enriched our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
BOLINGBROKE	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.
KING RICHARD	Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce. The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile. The hopeless word of ‘never to return’ Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
MOWBRAY	A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlooked-for from your highness’ mouth. A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness’ hands. The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo, And now my tongue’s use is to me no more Than an unstringèd viol 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.
(didascalia)	Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue,
MOWBRAY	Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips, And dull unfeeling barren ignorance Is 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?
KING RICHARD	It boots thee not to be compassionate. After our sentence, plaining comes too late.
MOWBRAY	Then thus I turn me from my country’s light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
KING RICHARD	Return again, and take an oath with thee. (To both) 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, regreet, nor reconcile This low‘ring tempest of your home-bred hate, Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill ’Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
BOLINGBROKE	I swear.
MOWBRAY	And I, to keep all this.
BOLINGBROKE	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 this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As 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.
MOWBRAY	No, Bolingbroke, 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 fear the King shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray: Save back to England, all the world’s my way.
(didascalia)	Exit
KING RICHARD	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. (To Bolingbroke) Six frozen winters spent, Return with welcome home from banishment.
BOLINGBROKE	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.
JOHN OF GAUNT	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-bewasted 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.
KING RICHARD	Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.
JOHN OF GAUNT	But not a minute, King, that thou canst give. Shorten my days thou canst with sudden 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 breath.
KING RICHARD	Thy son is banished upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave. Why at our justice seem’st thou then to lour?
JOHN OF GAUNT	Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urged me as a judge, but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. Alas, I looked when some of you should say I was too strict to make mine own away, But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong.
KING RICHARD	Cousin, farewell; and uncle, bid him so. Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
(didascalia)	Flourish. Exeunt all but Aumerle, the Lord Marshal, John of Gaunt, and Bolingbroke
AUMERLE	(to Bolingbroke) Cousin, farewell. What presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. [Exit]
LORD MARSHAL	(to Bolingbroke) My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride As far as land will let me by your side.
JOHN OF GAUNT	(to Bolingbroke) O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return’st no greeting to thy friends?
BOLINGBROKE	I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue’s office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.
JOHN OF GAUNT	Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
BOLINGBROKE	Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
JOHN OF GAUNT	What is six winters? They are quickly gone.
BOLINGBROKE	To men in joy, but grief makes one hour ten.
JOHN OF GAUNT	Call it a travel that thou tak’st for pleasure.
BOLINGBROKE	My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.
JOHN OF GAUNT	The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return.
BOLINGBROKE	O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus, Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast, Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat? O no, the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. Fell sorrow’s tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.
JOHN OF GAUNT	Come, come, my son, I’ll bring thee on thy way. Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.
BOLINGBROKE	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 trueborn Englishman.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 1, Scena 4

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard with Green and Bagot at one door, and the Lord Aumerle at another
KING RICHARD	We did observe.—Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way?
AUMERLE	I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him.
KING RICHARD	And say, what store of parting tears were shed?
AUMERLE	Faith, none for me, except the north-east wind, Which then grew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
KING RICHARD	What said our cousin when you parted with him?
AUMERLE	‘Farewell.’ And for my heart disdained 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. Marry, 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.
KING RICHARD	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 ’twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oysterwench. 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 subjects’ next degree in hope.
GREEN	Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland. Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness’ loss.
KING RICHARD	We will ourself in person to this war, And for our coffers with too great a court And liberal largess 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, Whereto, 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.
(didascalia)	Enter Bushy
KING RICHARD	Bushy, what news?
BUSHY	Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, Suddenly taken, and hath sent post-haste To entreat your majesty to visit him.
KING RICHARD	Where lies he?
BUSHY	At Ely House.
KING RICHARD	Now put it, God, in his physician’s mind To help him to his grave 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!
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 2, Scena 1

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, sick, carried in a chair, with the Duke of York
JOHN OF GAUNT	Will the King come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?
YORK	Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath, For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
JOHN OF GAUNT	O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce 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 youth and ease have taught to glose. 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.
YORK	No, it is stopped with other, flattering sounds, As praises of whose taste the wise are feared, Lascivious metres to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen, Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our 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 wit’s regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose: ’Tis breath thou lack’st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
JOHN OF GAUNT	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 means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 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 blessèd 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 deeds as far from home For Christian service and true chivalry As is the sepulchre, in stubborn Jewry, 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 wat’ry 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!
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard and the Queen; the Duke of Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Lord Ross, and Lord Willoughby
YORK	The King is come. Deal mildly with his youth, For young hot colts, being reined, do rage the more.
QUEEN	How fares our noble uncle Lancaster?
KING RICHARD	What comfort, man? How is’t with aged Gaunt?
JOHN OF GAUNT	O, how that name befits my composition I Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old.
(didascalia)	Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast,
JOHN OF GAUNT	And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watched. Watching breeds leanness, leanness 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 am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits naught but bones.
KING RICHARD	Can sick men play so nicely with their names?
JOHN OF GAUNT	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.
KING RICHARD	Should dying men flatter with those that live?
JOHN OF GAUNT	No, no, men living flatter those that die.
KING RICHARD	Thou now a-dying sayst thou flatt’rest me.
JOHN OF GAUNT	O no: thou diest, though I the sicker be.
KING RICHARD	I am in health; I breathe, and see thee ill.
JOHN OF GAUNT	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, Committ’st thy 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, encagèd in so small a verge, 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 thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possessed, Which art possessed now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world It were a 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 bondslave to the law, And—
KING RICHARD	And thou, a lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague’s privilege, Dar’st 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.
JOHN OF GAUNT	O, spare me not, my brother Edward’s son, For that I was his father Edward’s son. That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapped out and drunkenly caroused. My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul— Whom fair befall in heaven ‘mongst happy souls— May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect’st 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. (To attendants) Convey me to my bed, then to my grave. Love they to live that love and honour have.
(didascalia)	Exit, [carried in the chair]
KING RICHARD	And let them die that age and sullens have, For both hast thou, and both become the grave.
YORK	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.
KING RICHARD	Right, you say true: as Hereford’s love, so his. As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Northumberland
NORTHUMBERLAND	My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.
KING RICHARD	What says he?
NORTHUMBERLAND	Nay, nothing: all is said. His tongue is now a stringless instrument. Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
YORK	Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
KING RICHARD	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 privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, coin, revenues, and movables Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possessed.
YORK	How long shall I be patient? Ah, 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 poor Bolingbroke 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.
KING RICHARD	Why uncle, what’s the matter?
YORK	O my liege, Pardon me if you please; if not, I, pleased Not to be pardoned, am content withal. Seek you to seize and grip into your hands The royalties and rights of banished 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 afore God—God forbid I say true!— If you do wrongfully seize Hereford’s rights, Call in the letters patents that he hath By his attorneys general 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.
KING RICHARD	Think what you will, we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.
YORK	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.
(didascalia)	Exit
KING RICHARD	Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight. Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. Tomorrow next We will for Ireland, and ’tis time, I trow. And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York Lord Governor of England; For he is just and always loved us well.— Come on, our Queen; tomorrow must we part. Be merry, for our time of stay is short.
(didascalia)	Flourish. Exeunt Bushy at one door; King Richard, the Queen, Aumerle, Green, and Bagot at another door. Northumberland, Willoughby, and Ross remain
NORTHUMBERLAND	Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.
ROSS	And living too, for now his son is Duke.
WILLOUGHBY	Barely in title, not in revenues.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Richly in both, if justice had her right.
ROSS	My heart is great, but it must break with silence Ere’t be disburdened with a liberal tongue.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Nay, speak thy mind, and let him ne’er speak more That speaks thy words again to do thee harm.
WILLOUGHBY	Tends that that thou wouldst 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.
ROSS	No good at all that I can do for him, Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Now afore God, ‘tis shame such wrongs are borne In him, a royal prince, and many more Of noble blood in this declining land. The King is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform Merely in hate ’gainst any of us all, That will the King severely prosecute ’Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
ROSS	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.
WILLOUGHBY	And daily new exactions are devised, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what. But what, a’ God’s name, doth become of this?
NORTHUMBERLAND	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.
ROSS	The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
WILLOUGHBY	The King’s grown bankrupt like a broken man.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.
ROSS	He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banished Duke.
NORTHUMBERLAND	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 securely perish.
ROSS	We see the very wreck that we must suffer, And unavoided is the danger now For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
NORTHUMBERLAND	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.
WILLOUGHBY	Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.
ROSS	Be confident to speak, Northumberland. We three are but thyself, and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts. Therefore be bold.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Then thus. I have from Port le Blanc, A bay in Brittaine, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Reinold Lord Cobham, Thomas son and heir to the Earl of Arundel That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Thomas Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Coint, All these well furnished by the Duke of Brittaine 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 ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the King for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country’s broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemished crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre’s gilt, And make high majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh. But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.
ROSS	To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.
WILLOUGHBY	Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 2, Scena 2

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Queen, Bushy, and Bagot
BUSHY	Madam, 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.
QUEEN	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, Save 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 At nothing trembles. With something it grieves More than with parting from my lord the King.
BUSHY	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; eyed awry, 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 naught 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, ’tis with false sorrow’s eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
QUEEN	It may be so, but yet my inward soul Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe’er it be, I cannot but be sad: so heavy-sad As thought—on thinking on no thought I think— Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
BUSHY	’Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
QUEEN	‘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 wot.
(didascalia)	Enter Green
GREEN	God save your majesty, and well met, gentlemen. I hope the King is not yet shipped for Ireland.
QUEEN	Why hop‘st 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?
GREEN	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 Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arrived At Ravenspurgh.
QUEEN	Now God in heaven forbid!
GREEN	Ah madam, ’tis too true! And, that is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Harry Percy, The Lords of Ross, Beaumont, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
BUSHY	Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland, And all the rest, revolted faction-traitors?
GREEN	We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resigned his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke.
QUEEN	So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow’s dismal heir. Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, And I, a gasping new-delivered mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined.
BUSHY	Despair not, madam.
QUEEN	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 bonds of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of York, wearing a gorget
GREEN	Here comes the Duke of York.
QUEEN	With signs of war about his aged neck. O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for God’s sake speak comfortable words.
YORK	Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts. Comfort’s in heaven, and we are on the 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. Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made. Now shall he try his friends that flattered him.
(didascalia)	Enter a Servingman
SERVINGMAN	My lord, your son was gone before I came.
YORK	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 Pleshey, to my sister Gloucester. Bid her send me presently a thousand pound— Hold; take my ring.
SERVINGMAN	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.
YORK	What is’t, knave?
SERVINGMAN	An hour before I came, the Duchess died.
YORK	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 brother’s. What, are there no posts dispatched for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? (To the Queen) Come, sister—cousin, I would say; pray pardon me. (To the Servingman) Go, fellow, get thee home. Provide some carts, And bring away the armour that is there.
(didascalia)	Exit Servingman
YORK	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 kinsmen. T‘one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; t’other again Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. (To the Queen) Come, cousin, I’ll dispose of you.— Gentlemen, go muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkeley Castle. I should to Pleshey too, but time will not permit. All is uneven, And everything is left at six and seven.
(didascalia)	Exeunt the Duke of York and the Queen. Bushy, Bagot, and Green remain
BUSHY	The wind sits fair for news to go for Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible.
GREEN	Besides, our nearness to the King in love Is near the hate of those love not the King.
BAGOT	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.
BUSHY	Wherein the King stands generally condemned.
BAGOT	If judgement lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the King.
GREEN	Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle. The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
BUSHY	Thither will I with you; for little office Will the hateful commoners perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. (To Bagot) Will you go along with us?
BAGOT	No, I will to Ireland, to his majesty. Farewell: if heart’s presages be not vain We three here part that ne’er shall meet again.
BUSHY	That’s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.
GREEN	Alas, poor Duke, the task he undertakes Is numb’ring sands and drinking oceans dry. Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
(didascalia)	BAGOT
GREEN	Farewell at once, for once, for all and ever.
BUSHY	Well, we may meet again.
BAGOT	I fear me never.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Bushy and Green at one door, and Bagot at another door

Atto 2, Scena 3

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, and the Earl of Northumberland
BOLINGBROKE	How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?
NORTHUMBERLAND	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 weary way From Ravenspurgh 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 lords Shall make their way seem short as mine hath done By sight of what I have: your noble company.
BOLINGBROKE	Of much less value is my company Than your good words.
(didascalia)	Enter Harry Percy
BOLINGBROKE	But who comes here?
NORTHUMBERLAND	It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. Harry, how fares your uncle?
HARRY PERCY	I had thought, my lord, to have learned his health of you.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Why, is he not with the Queen?
HARRY PERCY	No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, Broken his staff of office, and dispersed The household of the King.
NORTHUMBERLAND	What was his reason? He was not so resolved when last we spake together.
HARRY PERCY	Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh To offer service to the Duke of Hereford, And sent me over by Berkeley to discover What power the Duke of York had levied there, Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?
HARRY PERCY	No, my good lord, for that is not forgot Which ne’er I did remember. To my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Then learn to know him now. This is the Duke.
HARRY PERCY	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.
BOLINGBROKE	I thank thee, gentle Percy, and be sure I count myself in nothing else so happy As in a soul rememb’ring 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. He gives Percy his hand
NORTHUMBERLAND	How far is it to Berkeley, and what stir Keeps good old York there with his men of war?
HARRY PERCY	There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Manned with three hundred men, as I have heard, And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour, None else of name and noble estimate.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Ross and Lord Willoughby
NORTHUMBERLAND	Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery red with haste.
BOLINGBROKE	Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues A banished traitor. All my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enriched, Shall be your love and labour’s recompense.
ROSS	Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.
WILLOUGHBY	And far surmounts our labour to attain it.
BOLINGBROKE	Evermore thank’s the exchequer of the poor, Which till my infant fortune comes to years Stands for my bounty.
(didascalia)	Enter Berkeley
BOLINGBROKE	But who comes here?
NORTHUMBERLAND	It is my lord of Berkeley, as I guess.
BERKELEY	My lord of Hereford, my message is to you.
BOLINGBROKE	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 aught you say.
BERKELEY	Mistake me not, my lord, ’tis not my meaning To raze one title of your honour 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 you on To take advantage of the absent time And fright our native peace with self-borne arms.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of York
BOLINGBROKE	I shall not need transport my words by you. Here comes his grace in person.—My noble uncle! He kneels
YORK	Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whose duty is deceivable and false.
BOLINGBROKE	My gracious uncle—
YORK	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? Com’st thou because the anointed King is hence? Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind, And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the 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!
BOLINGBROKE	My gracious uncle, let me know my fault. On what condition stands it and wherein?
YORK	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.
(didascalia)	BOLINGBROKE standing
YORK	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 methinks in you I see old Gaunt alive. O then, my father, Will you permit that I shall stand condemned A wandering vagabond, my rights and royalties Plucked from my arms perforce 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, Aumerle my noble kinsman. Had you first died and he been thus trod 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 patents 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 I challenge law; attorneys are denied me; And therefore personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent.
NORTHUMBERLAND	The noble Duke hath been too much abused.
ROSS	It stands your grace upon to do him right.
WILLOUGHBY	Base men by his endowments are made great.
YORK	My lords of England, let me tell you this. I have had feeling 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 are rebels all.
NORTHUMBERLAND	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.
YORK	Well, well, I see the issue of these arms. I cannot mend it, I must needs 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 to 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.
BOLINGBROKE	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, Bagot, and their complices, The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
YORK	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 care.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 2, Scena 4

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Salisbury and a Welsh Captain
WELSH 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.
SALISBURY	Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman. The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.
WELSH CAPTAIN	’Tis thought the King is dead. We will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all withered, And meteors fright the fixèd stars of heaven. The pale-faced moon looks bloody on 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 forerun the death or fall of kings. Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assured Richard their king is dead.
(didascalia)	Exit
SALISBURY	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

Atto 3, Scena 1

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, the Duke of York, the Earl of Northumberland, Lord Ross, Harry Percy, and Lord Willoughby
BOLINGBROKE	Bring forth these men.
(didascalia)	Enter Bushy and Green, guarded as prisoners
BOLINGBROKE	Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls, Since presently your souls must part your bodies, With too much urging your pernicious lives, For ’twere no 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 lineaments, 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 a royal bed, And stained the beauty of a fair queen’s cheeks With tears drawn from her 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 signories, Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods, From my own windows torn my household coat, Razed out my imprese, 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.
BUSHY	More welcome is the stroke of death to me Than Bolingbroke to England.
GREEN	My comfort is that heaven will take our souls, And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
BOLINGBROKE	My lord Northumberland, see them dispatched.
(didascalia)	Exit Northumberland, with Bushy and Green, guarded
BOLINGBROKE	Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house. For God’s sake, fairly let her be intreated. Tell her I send to her my kind commends. Take special care my greetings be delivered.
YORK	A gentleman of mine I have dispatched With letters of your love to her at large.
BOLINGBROKE	Thanks, gentle uncle.—Come, lords, away, To fight with Glyndwr and his complices. A while to work, and after, holiday.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
(didascalia)	3.2 Flourish. Enter King Richard, the Duke of Aumerle, the Bishop of Carlisle, and soldiers, with drum and colours
KING RICHARD	Harlechly Castle call they this at hand?
AUMERLE	Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air After your late tossing on the breaking seas?
KING RICHARD	Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy To stand upon my kingdom once again. He touches the ground Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though 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-gaited 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.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE	Fear not, my lord. That power that made you king Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
AUMERLE	He means, my lord, that we are too remiss, Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great in substance and in friends.
KING RICHARD	Discomfortable cousin, know‘st 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 bloody here; But when from under this terrestrial ball He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole, 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, Bolingbroke, Who all this while hath revelled in the night Whilst we were wand’ring 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 from an anointed king. The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord. For every man that Bolingbroke 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.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Salisbury
KING RICHARD	Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?
SALISBURY	Nor nea’er 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, Overthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed, and fled.
AUMERLE	Comfort, my liege. Why looks your grace so pale?
KING RICHARD	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.
AUMERLE	Comfort, my liege. Remember who you are.
KING RICHARD	I had forgot myself. Am I not King? Awake, thou sluggard majesty, thou sleep’st! Is not the King’s name forty 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.
(didascalia)	Enter Scrope
KING RICHARD	But who comes here?
SCROPE	More health and happiness betide my liege Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him.
KING RICHARD	Mine ear is open and my heart prepared. The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost? Why ’twas my care, And what loss is it to be rid of care? Strives Bolingbroke 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, destruction, ruin, loss, decay: The worst is death, and death will have his day.
SCROPE	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 Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. Whitebeards have armed their thin and hairless scalps Against thy majesty. Boys with women’s voices Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints no In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown. Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew 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.
KING RICHARD	Too well, too well thou tell’st a 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 Bolingbroke.
SCROPE	Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.
KING RICHARD	O villains, vipers damned without redemption! Dogs easily won to fawn on any man I 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!
SCROPE	Sweet love, I see, changing his property, Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate. Again uncurse their souls. Their peace is made With heads, and 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.
AUMERLE	Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?
SCROPE	Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.
AUMERLE	Where is the Duke my father, with his power?
KING RICHARD	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 Bolingbroke’s; 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.
(didascalia)	Sitting For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground,
KING RICHARD	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 antic 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?
BISHOP OF CARLISLE	My lord, wise men ne’er wail their present 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 slain. No worse can come to fight; And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
AUMERLE	My father hath a power. Enquire of him, And learn to make a body of a limb.
(didascalia)	KING RICHARD standing
AUMERLE	Thou chid’st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, 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, Scrope, where lies our uncle with his power? Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.
SCROPE	Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and 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 Bolingbroke, And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Upon his faction.
KING RICHARD	Thou hast said enough. (To Aumerle) Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth Of that sweet way I was in to despair. What say you now? What comfort have we now? By heaven, I’ll hate him everlastingly That bids me be of comfort any more. 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.
AUMERLE	My liege, one word.
KING RICHARD	He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers. Let them hence away From Richard’s night to Bolingbroke’s fair day.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 3, Scena 3

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, the Duke of York, the Earl of Northumberland, and soldiers, with drum and colours
BOLINGBROKE	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.
NORTHUMBERLAND	The news is very fair and good, my lord. Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.
YORK	It would beseem the Lord Northumberland To say ‘King Richard’. Alack the heavy day When such a sacred king should hide his head!
NORTHUMBERLAND	Your grace mistakes. Only to be brief Left I his title out.
YORK	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.
BOLINGBROKE	Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.
YORK	Take not, good cousin, further than you should, Lest you mistake the heavens are over our heads.
BOLINGBROKE	I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself Against their will.
(didascalia)	Enter Harry Percy and a trumpeter
BOLINGBROKE	But who comes here? Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?
HARRY PERCY	The castle royally is manned, my lord, Against thy entrance.
BOLINGBROKE	Royally? Why, it contains no king.
HARRY PERCY	Yes, my good lord, It doth contain a king. King Richard lies
(didascalia)	Within the limits of yon lime and stone,
HARRY PERCY	And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scrope, besides a clergyman Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.
NORTHUMBERLAND	O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
BOLINGBROKE	(to Northumberland) Noble lord, Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley Into his ruined ears, and thus deliver. Henry Bolingbroke Upon 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 Rained from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen; The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke It is such crimson tempest should bedrench 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 threat‘ning drum, That from this castle’s tottered battlements Our fair appointments may be well perused. Methinks King Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements Of fire and water when their thund’ring 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 the earth I rain My waters: on the earth, and not on him.— March on, and mark King Richard, how he looks.
(didascalia)	They march about the stage; then Bolingbroke, York, Percy, and soldiers stand at a distance from the walls; Northumberland and trumpeter advance to the walls. The trumpets sound Fa parley without, and an answer within; then a flourish within. King Richard appeareth on the walls, with the Bishop of Carlisle, the Duke of Aumerle, Scrope, and the Earl of Salisbury
BOLINGBROKE	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 to stain the track Of his bright passage to the occident.
YORK	Yet looks he 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!
KING RICHARD	(to Northumberland) We are amazed; and thus long have we stood To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, Because we thought ourself thy lawful king. An if we be, how dare thy joints forget To pay their aweful 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 know 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 Bolingbroke, for yon methinks he is, That every stride he makes upon my land Is dangerous treason. He is come to open The purple testament of bleeding war; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers’ sons Shall ill become the flower of England’s face, Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace To scarlet indignation, and bedew Her pastures’ grass with faithful English blood.
(didascalia)	NORTHUMBERLAND kneeling
KING RICHARD	The King of heaven forbid our lord the King Should so with civil and uncivil arms Be rushed upon. Thy thrice-noble cousin Harry Bolingbroke 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, no 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 barbed steeds to stables, and his heart To faithful service of your majesty. This swears he as he is a prince and just, And as I am a gentleman I credit him.
KING RICHARD	Northumberland, say thus the King returns: His noble cousin is right 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 kind commends. Northumberland and the trumpeter return to Bolingbroke (To Aumerle) We do debase ourself, 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?
AUMERLE	No, good my lord, let’s fight with gentle words Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.
KING RICHARD	O God, O God, that e‘er this tongue of mine, That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yon proud man, should take it off again With words of sooth! O, that I were 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! Swell’st thou, proud heart? I’ll give thee scope to beat, Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. Northumberland advances to the walls
AUMERLE	Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.
KING RICHARD	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? A 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 almsman’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? Aumerle, thou weep‘st, 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 tears; As thus to drop them still upon one place Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
(didascalia)	Within the earth, and therein laid? ‘There lies
KING RICHARD	Two kinsmen digged their graves with weeping eyes.’ Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see I talk but idly and you mock at me. Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, What says King Bolingbroke? Will his majesty Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ‘Ay’.
NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord, in the base court he doth attend To speak with you. May it please you to come down?
KING RICHARD	Down, down I come like glist’ring Phaethon, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. In the base court: base court where kings grow base To come at traitors’ calls, and do them grace. In the base court, come down: down court, down King, For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.
(didascalia)	Exeunt King Richard and his party
KING RICHARD	Northumberland returns to Bolingbroke
BOLINGBROKE	What says his majesty?
NORTHUMBERLAND	Sorrow and grief of heart Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man.
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard and his party below
NORTHUMBERLAND	Yet he is come.
BOLINGBROKE	Stand all apart, And show fair duty to his majesty. He kneels down My gracious lord.
KING RICHARD	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 be low.
BOLINGBROKE	My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.
KING RICHARD	Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.
BOLINGBROKE	So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, As my true service shall deserve your love.
KING RICHARD	Well you deserve. They well deserve to have That know the strong’st and surest way to get.
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke rises
KING RICHARD	(To York) Uncle, give me your hands. Nay, dry your eyes. Tears show their love, but want their remedies. (To Bolingbroke) 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 too; For do we must what force will have us do. Set on towards London, cousin: is it so?
BOLINGBROKE	Yea, my good lord.
KING RICHARD	Then I must not say no.
(didascalia)	Flourish. Exeunt

Atto 3, Scena 4

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Queen, with her two Ladies
QUEEN	What sport shall we devise here in this garden, To drive away the heavy thought of care?
(didascalia)	first LADY Madam, we’ll play at bowls.
QUEEN	’Twill make me think the world is full of rubs, And that my fortune runs against the bias.
(didascalia)	SECOND LADY Madam, we’ll dance.
QUEEN	My legs can keep no measure in delight When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief; Therefore no dancing, girl. Some other sport.
(didascalia)	FIRST LADY Madam, we’ll tell tales.
QUEEN	Of sorrow or of joy?
(didascalia)	FIRST LADY Of either, madam.
QUEEN	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 boots not to complain.
(didascalia)	SECOND LADY
QUEEN	Madam, I’ll sing.
QUEEN	’Tis well that thou hast cause; But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.
(didascalia)	SECOND LADY
QUEEN	I could weep, madam, would it do you good.
QUEEN	And I could sing, would weeping do me good, And never borrow any tear of thee.
(didascalia)	Enter a Gardener and two Men
QUEEN	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 state, for everyone doth so Against a change. Woe is forerun with woe. The Queen and her Ladies stand apart
(didascalia)	GARDENER to First Man
QUEEN	Go, bind thou up young dangling apricots Which, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight. Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
(didascalia)	To Second Man Go thou, and, like an executioner,
QUEEN	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.
(didascalia)	FIRST MAN
QUEEN	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-wallèd garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up, Her fruit trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined, Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars?
GARDENER	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 Bolingbroke— I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.
(didascalia)	SECOND MAN
GARDENER	What, are they dead?
GARDENER	They are; and Bolingbroke Hath seized the wasteful King. O, 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-proud 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 borne the crown, Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.
(didascalia)	FIRST MAN
GARDENER	What, think you then the King shall be deposed?
GARDENER	Depressed he is already, and deposed ’Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night To a dear friend of the good Duke of York’s That tell black tidings.
QUEEN	O, I am pressed to death through want of speaking! She comes forward Thou, old Adam’s likeness, set to dress this garden, How dares 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? Dar‘st thou, thou little better thing than earth, Divine his downfall? Say where, when, and how Cam’st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch!
GARDENER	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 Bolingbroke. 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 Bolingbroke, 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 everyone doth know.
QUEEN	Nimble mischance that art so light of foot, Doth not thy embassage belong to me, And am I last that knows it? O, thou think‘st 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 Bolingbroke? Gard’ner, for telling me these news of woe, Pray God the plants thou graft’st may never grow.
(didascalia)	Exit with her Ladies
GARDENER	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.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 4, Scena 1

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter, as to Parliament, Bolingbroke Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, the Duke of Aumerle, the Earl of Northumberland, Harry Percy, Lord Fitzwalter, the Duke of Surrey, the Bishop of Carlisle, and the Abbot of Westminster
BOLINGBROKE	Call forth Bagot.
(didascalia)	Enter Bagot, with officers
BOLINGBROKE	Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind: What thou dost know of noble Gloucester’s death, Who wrought it with the King, and who performed The bloody office of his timeless end.
BAGOT	Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.
BOLINGBROKE	(to Aumerle) Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. Aumerle stands forth
BAGOT	My lord Aumerle, 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 withal how blest this land would be In this your cousin’s death.
AUMERLE	Princes and noble lords, What answer shall I make 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 slanderous lips. He throws down his gage There is my gage, 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, though being all too base To stain the temper of my knightly sword.
BOLINGBROKE	Bagot, forbear. Thou shalt not take it up.
AUMERLE	Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence that hath moved me so.
FITZWALTER	If that thy valour stand on sympathy, There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine. He throws down his gage By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand‘st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak’st it, That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester’s death. If thou deny’st it twenty times, thou liest, And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Where it was forged, with my rapier’s point.
AUMERLE	Thou dar’st not, coward, live to see that day.
FITZWALTER	Now by my soul, I would it were this hour.
AUMERLE	Fitzwalter, thou art damned to hell for this.
HARRY PERCY	Aumerle, thou liest. His honour is as true In this appeal as thou art all unjust; And that thou art so, there I throw my gage He throws down his gage To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing. Seize it if thou dar’st.
AUMERLE	An if I do not, may my hands rot off, And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe.
SURREY	My lord Fitzwalter, I do remember well The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
FITZWALTER	’Tis very true. You were in presence then, And you can witness with me this is true.
SURREY	As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.
FITZWALTER	Surrey, thou liest.
SURREY	Dishonourable boy, That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword That it shall render vengeance and revenge, Till thou, the lie-giver, and that lie do lie In earth as quiet as thy father’s skull; In proof whereof, there is my honour’s pawn. He throws down his gage Engage it to the trial if thou dar’st.
FITZWALTER	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 new world, Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal. Besides, I heard the banished Norfolk say That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble Duke at Calais.
AUMERLE	Some honest Christian trust me with a gage. He takes another’s gage and throws it down That Norfolk lies, here do I throw down this, If he may be repealed, to try his honour.
BOLINGBROKE	These differences shall all rest under gage Till Norfolk be repealed. Repealed he shall be, And, though mine enemy, restored again To all his lands and signories. When he is returned, Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE	That honourable day shall never 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 colours he had fought so long.
BOLINGBROKE	Why, Bishop of Carlisle, is Norfolk dead?
BISHOP OF CARLISLE	As surely as I live, my lord.
BOLINGBROKE	Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants, Your differences shall all rest under gage Till we assign you to your days of trial.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of York
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, of that name the fourth!
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, crowned, 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 rear this house against this house It will the woefullest division prove That ever fell upon this cursed earth! Prevent, 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.
(didascalia)	Exit
BOLINGBROKE	Lords, you that here are under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer. Little are we beholden to your love, And little looked for at your helping hands.
(didascalia)	Enter Richard and the Duke of York, with attendants bearing the crown and sceptre
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 haill’ 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	(to an attendant) Give me the crown. (To Bolingbroke) Here, cousin, seize the crown. Here, cousin. On this side my hand, 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, [Bolingbroke accepts the crown] And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke accepts the sceptre
RICHARD	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	(giving Richard papers) 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 Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, Showing an outward pity, yet you Pitates 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 T’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.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
NORTHUMBERLAND	Read o’er this paper while the glass doth come.
RICHARD	Fiend, thou torment’st 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.
(didascalia)	Enter one with a glass
RICHARD	Give me that glass, and therein will I read. Richard takes the glass and looks in it No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds? O flatt’ring 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 shatters the glass 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 giv’st 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.
(didascalia)	Exit, guarded
BOLINGBROKE	On Wednesday next we solemnly set down Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but the Abbot of Westminster, the Bishop of Carlisle, and 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.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 5, Scena 1

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Queen, with her Ladies
QUEEN	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 Bolingbroke. Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth Have any resting for her true king’s queen.
(didascalia)	Enter Richard and guard
QUEEN	But soft, but see—or rather do not see— My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold, That you in pity may dissolve to dew, And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.— Ah, thou the model where old Troy did stand! Thou map of honour, thou King Richard’s tomb, And not King Richard! Thou most beauteous inn: Why should hard-favoured grief be lodged in thee, When triumph is become an alehouse guest?
RICHARD	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. Hie thee to France, And cloister thee in some religious house. Our holy lives must win a new world’s crown, Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
QUEEN	What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transformed and weakenèd? Hath Bolingbroke Deposed 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’erpowered; 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 ?
RICHARD	A king of beasts indeed! If aught 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 tak’st, 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 betid; And ere thou bid goodnight, to quit their griefs Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, And send the hearers weeping to their beds; Forwhy 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.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Northumberland
NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed. You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. And, madam, there is order ta’en for you. With all swift speed you must away to France.
RICHARD	Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal The mounting Bolingbroke 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. He shall think that thou, which know‘st the way To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, Being ne’er so little urged another way, To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. The love of wicked friends converts to fear, That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death.
NORTHUMBERLAND	My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave and part, for you must part forthwith.
RICHARD	Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate A twofold marriage:‘twixt my crown and me, And then betwixt me and my married wife. (To the Queen) Let me unkiss the oath ’twixt thee and me— And yet not so, for with a kiss ‘twas made. Part us, Northumberland: I towards the north, Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; My queen to France, from whence set forth in pomp She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas or short’st of day.
QUEEN	And must we be divided? Must we part?
RICHARD	Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.
QUEEN	Banish us both, and send the King with me.
(didascalia)	NORTHUMBERLAND
QUEEN	That were some love, but little policy.
QUEEN	Then whither he goes, thither let me go.
RICHARD	So two together weeping make one woe. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here. Better far off than, near, be ne’er the nea’er. Go count thy way with sighs, I mine with groans.
QUEEN	So longest way shall have the longest moans.
RICHARD	Twice for one step I’ll groan, the way being short, And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow let’s be brief, 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
QUEEN	Give me mine own again. ’Twere no good part To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. They kiss So now I have mine own again, be gone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
RICHARD	We make woe wanton with this fond delay. Once more, adieu. The rest let sorrow say.
(didascalia)	Exeunt FRichard, guarded, and Northumberland at one door, the Queen and her Ladies at another door

Atto 5, Scena 2

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke and Duchess of York
DUCHESS OF YORK	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.
YORK	Where did I leave?
DUCHESS OF YORK	At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgoverned hands from windows’ tops Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard’s head.
YORK	Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seemed to know, With slow but stately pace kept on his course, Whilst all tongues cried ‘God save thee, 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!’ Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed’s neck, Bespake them thus: ‘I thank you, countrymen’, And thus still doing, thus he passed along.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Alack, poor Richard! Where rode he the whilst?
YORK	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 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 perforce 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 are we sworn subjects now, Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Aumerle
DUCHESS OF YORK	Here comes my son Aumerle.
YORK	Aumerle 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.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?
AUMERLE	Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not. God knows I had as lief be none as one.
YORK	Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropped before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? Hold these jousts and triumphs?
AUMERLE	For aught I know, my lord, they do.
YORK	You will be there, I know.
AUMERLE	If God prevent it not, I purpose so.
YORK	What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom? Yea, look’st thou pale? Let me see the writing.
AUMERLE	My lord, ’tis nothing.
YORK	No matter, then, who see it. I will be satisfied. Let me see the writing.
AUMERLE	I do beseech your grace to pardon me. It is a matter of small consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
YORK	Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear!
DUCHESS OF YORK	What should you fear? ‘Tis nothing but some bond that he is entered into For gay apparel ’gainst the triumph day.
YORK	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.
AUMERLE	I do beseech you, pardon me. I may not show it.
YORK	I will be satisfied. Let me see it, I say. He plucks it out of Aumerle’s bosom, and reads it Treason, foul treason ! Villain, traitor, slave !
DUCHESS OF YORK	What is the matter, my lord?
YORK	Ho, who is within there? Saddle my horse.— God for his mercy, what treachery is here I
DUCHESS	of YORK Why, what is it, my lord?
YORK	Give me my boots, I say. Saddle my horse.— Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain.
DUCHESS OF YORK	What is the matter?
YORK	Peace, foolish woman.
DUCHESS OF YORK	I will not peace. What is the matter, son?
AUMERLE	Good mother, be content. It is no more Than my poor life must answer.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Thy life answer?
YORK	Bring me my boots. I will unto the King. His man enters with his boots
DUCHESS OF YORK	Strike him, Aumerle! Poor boy, thou art amazed. (To York’s man) Hence, villain! Never more come in my sight.
YORK	Give me my boots, I say.
DUCHESS OF YORK	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?
YORK	Thou fond, mad woman, Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? A dozen of them here have ta’en the sacrament, And interchangeably set down their hands To kill the King at Oxford.
DUCHESS OF YORK	He shall be none. We’ll keep him here, then what is that to him?
YORK	Away, fond woman! Were he twenty times my son I would appeach him.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Hadst thou groaned for him As I have done thou wouldst be more pitiful. But now I know thy mind: thou dost 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.
YORK	Make way, unruly woman.
(didascalia)	Exit with his man
DUCHESS OF YORK	After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse. Spur, post, and get before him to the King, And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse 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 Bolingbroke have pardoned thee. Away, be gone I
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Atto 5, Scena 3

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Bolingbroke, crowned King Henry, with Harry Percy, and other nobles
KING HENRY	Can no man tell 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. Enquire at London ’mongst the taverns there, For there, they say, he daily doth frequent With unrestrained loose companions— Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes And beat our watch and rob our passengers— Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, Takes on the point of honour to support So dissolute a crew.
HARRY PERCY	My lord, some two days since, I saw the Prince, And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.
KING HENRY	And what said the gallant?
HARRY PERCY	His answer was he would unto the stews, And from the common’st creature pluck a glove, And wear it as a favour, and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
KING HENRY	As dissolute as desperate. Yet through both I see some sparks of better hope, which elder days May happily bring forth.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Aumerle, amazed
KING HENRY	But who comes here?
AUMERLE	Where is the King?
KING HENRY	What means our cousin that he stares and looks so wildly?
AUMERLE	(kneeling) God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty To have some conference with your grace alone.
KING HENRY	(to lords) Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but King Henry and Aumerle
KING HENRY	What is the matter with our cousin now?
AUMERLE	For ever may my knees grow to the earth, My tongue cleave to the roof within my mouth, Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.
KING HENRY	Intended or committed was this fault? If on the first, how heinous e’er it be, To win thy after-love I pardon thee.
AUMERLE	(rising) Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done.
KING HENRY	Have thy desire. Aumerle locks the door. The Duke of York knocks at the door and crieth
YORK	(within) My liege, beware! Look to thyself! Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. King Henry draws his sword
KING HENRY	(to Aumerle) Villain, I’ll make thee safe.
AUMERLE	Stay thy revengeful hand! Thou hast no cause to fear.
YORK	(knocking 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.
(didascalia)	King Henry opens the door. Enter the Duke of York
KING HENRY	What is the matter, uncle? Speak, Recover breath, tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it.
YORK	Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me show. He gives King Henry the paper
AUMERLE	Remember, as thou read’st, thy promise past. I do repent me. Read not my name there. My heart is not confederate with my hand.
YORK	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 pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
KING HENRY	O, heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy! 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.
YORK	So shall my virtue be his vice’s bawd, And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers’ gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies. Thou kill’st me in his life: giving him breath The traitor lives, the true man’s put to death.
DUCHESS OF YORK	(within) What ho, my liege, for God’s sake let me in!
KING HENRY	What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?
DUCHESS OF YORK	(within) A woman, and thy aunt, great King; ’tis I. Speak with me, pity me! Open the door! A beggar begs that never begged before.
KING HENRY	Our scene is altered from a serious thing, And now changed to ‘The Beggar and the King’. My dangerous cousin, let your mother in. I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. Aumerle opens the door. Enter the Duchess of York
YORK	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.
DUCHESS OF YORK	(kneeling) O King, believe not this hard-hearted man. Love loving not itself, none other can.
YORK	Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?
DUCHESS OF YORK	Sweet York, be patient.—Hear me, gentle liege.
KING HENRY	Rise up, good aunt.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Not yet, I thee beseech. Forever will I kneel 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.
AUMERLE	(kneeling) Unto my mother’s prayers I bend my knee.
YORK	(kneeling) Against them both my true joints bended be. Ill mayst thou thrive if thou grant any grace.
DUCHESS OF YORK	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; ours 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 shall kneel till to the ground they grow. His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers do outpray his; then let them have That mercy which true prayer ought to have.
(didascalia)	KING HENRY
DUCHESS OF YORK	Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Nay, do not say ‘Stand up’. Say ‘Pardon’ first, and afterwards ‘Stand up’. An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, ‘Pardon’ should be the first word of thy speech. I never longed 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 kings’ mouths so meet.
YORK	Speak it in French, King: say ‘Pardonnez-moi’.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord That sets 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 plaints and prayers do pierce, Pity may move thee ’Pardon’ to rehearse.
KING HENRY	Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS OF YORK	I do not sue to stand. Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
KING HENRY	I pardon him as God shall pardon me.
(didascalia)	York and Aumerle rise
DUCHESS OF YORK	O, happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again. Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong.
KING HENRY	I pardon him With all my heart.
DUCHESS OF YORK	(rising) A god on earth thou art.
KING HENRY	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. Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or where’er 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, so adieu. Your mother well hath prayed; and prove you true.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Come, my old son. I pray God make thee new.
(didascalia)	Exeunt King Henry at one door; York, the Duchess of York, and Aumerle at another door

Atto 5, Scena 4

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Sir Piers Exton, and his Men
EXTON	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?
(didascalia)	FIRST MAN Those were his very words.
EXTON	‘Have I no friend?’ quoth he. He spake it twice, And urged it twice together, did he not?
(didascalia)	SECOND MAN He did.
EXTON	And speaking it, he wishtly 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 Pomfret. Come, let’s go. I am the King’s friend, and will rid his foe.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Atto 5, Scena 5

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Richard, alone
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 sort, As thoughts of things divine, are intermixed With scruples, and do set the faith itself Against the faith, 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.’ 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’s slaves, Nor shall not be the last—like seely beggars, Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame That many have, and others must, set there; And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortunes 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 treason makes 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 Bolingbroke, 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. The music plays
(didascalia)	Music do I hear.
RICHARD	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 lives. 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 numb‘ring clock. My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch Whereto 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 that strike upon my heart, Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans Show minutes, hours, and times. But my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke’s proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his jack of the clock. This music mads me. Let it sound no more, For though it have holp madmen to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
(didascalia)	The music ceases
RICHARD	Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me, For ’tis a sign of love, and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
(didascalia)	Enter
RICHARD	a Groom of the stable
GROOM	Hail, royal Prince!
RICHARD	Thanks, noble peer. The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou, and how com’st thou hither, Where no man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live?
GROOM	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. O, how it erned my heart when I beheld In London streets, that coronation day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, That horse that I so carefully have dressed!
RICHARD	Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him?
GROOM	So proudly as if he disdained the ground.
RICHARD	So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back. That jade hath eat 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 fall—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, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse, And yet I bear a burden like an ass, Spur-galled and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke.
(didascalia)	Enter Keeper to Richard, with meat
KEEPER	(to Groom) Fellow, give place. Here is no longer stay.
RICHARD	(to Groom) If thou love me, ’tis time thou wert away.
GROOM	What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.
(didascalia)	Exit
KEEPER	My lord, will’t please you to fall to?
RICHARD	Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.
KEEPER	My lord, I dare not. Sir Piers of Exton, Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.
RICHARD	(striking the Keeper) The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee I Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
KEEPER	Help, help, help! Exton and his men rush in
RICHARD	How now! What means death in this rude assault? He seizes a weapon from a man, and kills him Villain, thy own hand yields thy death’s instrument. He kills another Go thou, and fill another room in hell. Here Exton strikes him down
RICHARD	That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the King’s blood stained the King’s own land. Mount, mount, my soul; thy seat is up on high, Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. He dies
EXTON	As full of valour as of royal blood. Both have I spilt. O, would the deed were good I 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.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Exton with Richard’s body at one door, and his men with the other bodies at another door
(didascalia)	5.6 Flourish. Enter King Henry and the Duke of York, with other lords and attendants
KING HENRY	Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consumed with fire Our town of Ci’cester in Gloucestershire; But whether they be ta’en or slain we hear not.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Northumberland
KING HENRY	Welcome, my lord. What is the news?
NORTHUMBERLAND	First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is, I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent. The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. He gives the paper to King Henry
KING HENRY	We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains, And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Fitzwalter
FITZWALTER	My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, Two of the dangerous consorted traitors That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
KING HENRY	Thy pains, Fitzwalter, shall not be forgot. Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
(didascalia)	Enter Harry Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle, guarded
HARRY PERCY	The grand conspirator Abbot 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.
KING HENRY	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 liv’st in peace, die free from strife. For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
(didascalia)	Enter Exton with his men bearing the coffin
EXTON	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.
KING HENRY	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.
EXTON	From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.
KING HENRY	They love not poison that do poison need; Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour. With Cain go wander through the shades of night, And never show thy head by day nor light.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Exton and his men
KING HENRY	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 from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
(didascalia)	Exeunt With the coffin
ADDITIONAL PASSAGES	The following passages of four lines or more appear in the 1597 Quarto but not the Folio; Shakespeare probably deleted them as part of his limited revisions to the text. a. . AFTER 1.3.127 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 sleep, b. AFTER 1.3.235 O, had’t 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. c. AFTER 1.3.256
BOLINGBROKE	Nay, rather every tedious stride I make Will but remember 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?
JOHN OF GAUNT	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 borne. 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 clime. Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com’st. Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread’st the presence strewed, The flowers 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 at it and sets it light. d. AFTER 3.2.28 The means that heavens yield must be embraced And not neglected; else heaven would, And we will not: heaven’s offer we refuse, The proffered means of succour and redress. e. AFTER 4.1.50
ANOTHER LORD	I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle, And spur thee on with full as many lies As may be hollowed in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun. There is my honour’s pawn. Engage it to the trial if thou darest. He throws down his gage
AUMERLE	Who sets me else? By heaven, I’ll throw at all. I have a thousand spirits in one breast To answer twenty thousand such as you.
ON	its first appearance in print, in 1597, Romeo and Juliet was described as ‘An excellent conceited tragedy’ that had ‘been often (with great applause) played publicly’; its popularity is witnessed by the fact that this is a pirated version, put together from actors’ memories as a way of cashing in on its success. A second printing, two years later, offered a greatly superior text apparently printed from Shakespeare’s working papers. Probably he wrote it in 1594 or 1595. The story was already well known, in Italian, French, and English. Shakespeare owes most to Arthur Brooke’s long poem The Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet (1562), which had already supplied hints for The Two Gentlemen of Verona; he may also have looked at some of the other versions. In his address ‘To the Reader’, Brooke says that he has seen ‘the same argument lately set forth on stage with more commendation than I can look for’, but no earlier play survives. Shakespeare’s Prologue neatly sketches the plot of the two star-crossed lovers born of feuding families whose deaths ‘bury their parents’ strife’; and the formal verse structure of the Prologue—a sonnet—is matched by the carefully patterned layout of the action. At the climax of the first scene, Prince Escalus stills a brawl between representatives of the houses of Montague (Romeo’s family) and Capulet (Juliet’s); at the end of Act 3, Scene 1, he passes judgement on another, more serious brawl, banishing Romeo for killing Juliet’s cousin Tybalt after Tybalt had killed Romeo’s friend and the Prince’s kinsman, Mercutio; and at the end of Act 5, the Prince presides over the reconciliation of Montagues and Capulets. Within this framework of public life Romeo and Juliet act out their brief tragedy: in the first act, they meet and declare their love—in another sonnet; in the second, they arrange to marry in secret; in the third, after Romeo’s banishment, they consummate their marriage and part; in the fourth, Juliet drinks a sleeping draught prepared by Friar Laurence so that she may escape marriage to Paris and, after waking in the family tomb, run off with Romeo; in the fifth, after Romeo, believing her to be dead, has taken poison, she stabs herself to death. The play’s structural formality is offset by an astonishing fertility of linguistic invention, showing itself no less in the comic bawdiness of the servants, the Nurse, and (on a more sophisticated level) Mercutio than in the rapt and impassioned poetry of the lovers. Shakespeare’s mastery over a wide range of verbal styles combines with his psychological perceptiveness to create a richer gallery of memorable characters than in any play written up to this time; and his theatrical imagination compresses Brooke’s leisurely narrative into a dramatic masterpiece.
THE PERSONS OF THE	PLAY
ROMEO	MONTAGUE, his father
MONTAGUE’S WIFE	BENVOLIO, Montague’s nephew ABRAHAM, Montague’s servingman BALTHASAR, Romeo’s man
JULIET	CAPULET, her father
CAPULET’S WIFE	TYBALT, her nephew His page
CAPULET’S COUSIN	Juliet’s NURSE Other SERVINGMEN
MUSICIANS	Escalus, PRINCE of Verona
FRIAR JOHN	An APOTHECARY
CHIEF WATCHMAN	Other CITIZENS OF THE WATCH Masquers, guests, gentlewomen, followers of the Montague and Capulet factions

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard and John of Gaunt, with the Lord Marshal, other nobles, and attendants
KING RICHARD	Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster, Hast thou according to thy oath and bond Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son, Here to make good the boist’rous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
JOHN OF GAUNT	I have, my liege.
KING RICHARD	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?
JOHN OF GAUNT	As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aimed at your highness, no inveterate malice.
KING RICHARD	Then call them to our presence. [Exit one or more] Face to face And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak. High-stomached are they both and full of ire; In rage, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
(didascalia)	Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Hereford, and Mowbray Duke of Norfolk
BOLINGBROKE	Many years of happy days befall My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
MOWBRAY	Each day still better others’ happiness, Until the heavens, envying earth’s good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown!
KING RICHARD	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 Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
BOLINGBROKE	First—heaven be the record to my speech— In the devotion of a subject’s love, Tend’ring 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 good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it 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 What my tongue speaks my right-drawn sword may prove.
MOWBRAY	Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal. ’Tis not the trial of a woman’s war, The bitter clamour 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 naught 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 treason 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, Call him a slanderous coward and a villain; Which to maintain I would allow him odds, And meet him, were 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.
BOLINGBROKE	(throwing down his gage) Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the King, And lay aside my high blood’s royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour’s pawn, then stoop. By that, and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke or thou canst worse devise.
MOWBRAY	(taking up the gage) 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 knightly trial; And when I mount, alive may I not light If I be traitor or unjustly fight!
KING RICHARD	(to Bolingbroke) 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.
BOLINGBROKE	Look what I speak, my life shall prove it true: That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In 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 prove, Or here or elsewhere, to the furthest 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 Mowbray 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, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood; Which blood, like sacrificing Abel’s, 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.
KING RICHARD	How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what sayst thou to this?
MOWBRAY	O, let my sovereign turn away his face, And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood How God and good men hate so foul a liar!
KING RICHARD	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 awe 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, Mowbray; so art thou. Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.
MOWBRAY	Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart Through the false passage of thy throat thou liest! Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness’ soldiers. The other part reserved I by consent, For 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 rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor, Which in myself I boldly will defend, He throws down his gage And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor’s foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom; In haste whereof most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day.
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke takes up the gage
KING RICHARD	Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me. Let’s purge this choler 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 time to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun. We’ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.
JOHN OF GAUNT	To be a make-peace shall become my age. Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk’s gage.
KING RICHARD	And, Norfolk, throw down his.
JOHN OF GAUNT	When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again.
KING RICHARD	Norfolk, throw down! We bid; there is no boot.
MOWBRAY	(kneeling) 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 dishonour’s use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander’s venomed spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart blood Which breathed this poison.
KING RICHARD	Rage must be withstood. Give me his gage. Lions make leopards tame.
(didascalia)	MOWBRAY standing
KING RICHARD	Yea, but not change his spots. Take but my shame, And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is 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 in 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.
KING RICHARD	Cousin, throw down your gage. Do you begin.
BOLINGBROKE	O God defend my soul from such deep sin! Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father’s sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray’s face.
(didascalia)	Exit John of Gaunt
KING RICHARD	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 Saint Lambert’s day. There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate. Since we cannot atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor’s chivalry. Lord Marshal, command our officers-at-arms Be ready to direct these home alarms.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano re Riccardo e Giovanni di Gaunt, col Lord Maresciallo, altri nobili e servitori
RE RICCARDO	Vecchio Giovanni di Gaunt, Lancaster venerato dal tempo, hai tu, secondo il tuo giuramento e il tuo impegno, condotto qui Enrico di Hereford, il tuo ardito figliolo, a sostenere la turbolenta accusa d’or non è molto, che allora i nostri impegni non ci concessero di udire, contro il duca di Norfolk, Tommaso Mowbray?
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	L’ho fatto, mio sovrano.
RE RICCARDO	Dimmi inoltre: l’hai tu sondato se accusi il duca per antico rancore, o degnamente, come deve un buon suddito, su qualche noto fondamento di tradimento in lui?
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Per quanto ho potuto scandagliarlo su tale argomento, è per un pericolo manifesto ch’egli scorge in lui rivolto contro vostra altezza, non per malanimo inveterato.
RE RICCARDO	Chiamateli allora alla nostra presenza. [Esce uno o più] Faccia a faccia e fronte accigliata contro fronte, noi stessi udremo l’accusatore e l’accusato parlare liberamente. Orgogliosi sono entrambi e pieni d’ira; nella collera, sordi come il mare, impetuosi come il fuoco.
(didascalia)	Entrano Bolingbroke duca di Hereford, e Mowbray duca di Norfolk
BOLINGBROKE	Molti anni di giorni felici tocchino al mio grazioso sovrano, al mio amatissimo signore!
MOWBRAY	Ogni giorno superi in felicità gli altri, finché i cieli, invidiando la buona sorte della terra, aggiungano un titolo immortale alla vostra corona!
RE RICCARDO	Ringraziamo entrambi. Eppure l’uno soltanto ci adula, come bene appare dalla causa per cui venite, cioè, per accusarvi a vicenda d’alto tradimento. Cugino di Hereford, che cosa obietti contro il duca di Norfolk, Tommaso Mowbray?
BOLINGBROKE	Primo—il cielo sia testimone alle mie parole— nella devozione dell’amore d’un suddito, avendo a cuore la preziosa salvezza del mio principe, e libero d’ogni altro odio mal generato, vengo io accusatore a questa presenza principesca. Ora, Tommaso Mowbray, a te mi volgo; e nota bene il mio saluto, ché quel che dico il mio corpo sosterrà su questa terra, o la mia divina anima ne risponderà in cielo. Tu sei un traditore e un miscredente, troppo buono per esserlo, e troppo cattivo per vivere, poiché quanto più il cielo è chiaro e cristallino, tanto più brutte appaion le nubi che vi volano. Ancora una volta, per aggravare la nota, col nome d’immondo traditore ti riempio la gola, e desidero, se piace al mio sovrano, prima ch’io mi muova, che quel che dice la mia lingua la mia spada sguainata a diritto lo provi.
MOWBRAY	Non accusino le mie fredde parole il mio ardore. Non è la prova d’una guerra di donne, l’aspro clamore di due lingue accanite, che può dirimere questa causa fra noi due. Caldo è il sangue che per questo dev’essere raffreddato. Pure non posso vantarmi d’una pazienza sì mite da tacere e non dir proprio nulla. Primo, il giusto rispetto di vostra altezza mi trattiene dal dar briglie e speroni al mio libero dire, che altrimenti correrebbe finché non avesse ricacciato queste accuse di tradimento raddoppiate giù per la sua gola. Messa da parte la regalità del suo alto sangue, e supposto ch’ei non sia parente del mio signore, io lo sfido, e gli sputo addosso, lo chiamo vile calunniatore e scellerato; e per sostenerlo gli concederei vantaggio, e l’affronterei, dovessi correre a piedi fino ai gelati crinali delle Alpi, o a qualunque altra terra inabitabile dove mai inglese osò posare il piede. Frattanto valga questo a difender la mia lealtà: per tutte le mie speranze, egli mente falsissimamente.
BOLINGBROKE	(gettando a terra il guanto) Pallido tremante codardo, ecco getto il mio guanto, rinnegando qui la parentela col re, e depongo la regalità del mio alto sangue, che la paura, non il rispetto, ti fa eccepire. Se il colpevole terrore t’ha lasciato tanta forza da raccogliere il pegno del mio onore, allora chinati. Per esso, e per tutti gli altri riti di cavalleria, sosterrò contro di te, braccio a braccio, quel che ho detto o quel che tu di peggio possa immaginare.
MOWBRAY	(raccogliendo il guanto) Lo raccolgo, e per quella spada giuro che dolcemente posò sulla mia spalla la cavalleria, ch’io ti risponderò in qualsiasi giusta forma o cavalleresco disegno di prova di cavaliere; e quando monterò in sella, ch’io non ne scenda vivo se son traditore o se combatto ingiustamente!
RE RICCARDO	(a Bolingbroke) Che cosa imputa nostro cugino a Mowbray? Deve esser cosa grande, per farci ereditare anche solo un pensiero di male in lui.
BOLINGBROKE	Badate a ciò che dico: la mia vita ne proverà la verità. Che Mowbray ha ricevuto ottomila nobili a titolo di prestito per i soldati di vostra altezza, e li ha trattenuti per turpi impieghi, da falso traditore e scellerato iniquo. Inoltre dico, e in battaglia proverò, qui o altrove, fino all’estremo confine che mai occhio inglese abbia scrutato, che tutti i tradimenti di questi diciotto anni complottati e ordinati in questo paese traggono dal falso Mowbray la loro prima testa e sorgente. Inoltre dico, e inoltre sosterrò sulla sua trista vita, per far buono tutto questo, ch’egli ordì la morte del duca di Gloucester, istigò i suoi avversari facili a credere, e di conseguenza, da traditore codardo, riversò la sua innocente anima in fiumi di sangue; e quel sangue, come quello del sacrificante Abele, grida fin dalle caverne senza lingua della terra a me, chiedendo giustizia e aspro castigo. E, per il glorioso valore della mia stirpe, questo braccio lo compirà, o questa vita sarà spesa.
RE RICCARDO	A che altezza s’innalza la sua risolutezza! Tommaso di Norfolk, che dici tu a questo?
MOWBRAY	Oh, volga il mio sovrano la faccia altrove, e ordini alle sue orecchie d’esser per poco sorde, finché io non abbia detto a questa calunnia del suo sangue quanto Dio e gli uomini buoni odino un sì immondo mentitore!
RE RICCARDO	Mowbray, imparziali sono i nostri occhi e i nostri orecchi. Fosse egli mio fratello, anzi, erede del mio regno, com’egli è soltanto figlio del fratello di mio padre, ora per la maestà del mio scettro faccio voto che tale prossimità al nostro sacro sangue non deve privilegiarlo in nulla, né render parziale l’inflessibile fermezza della mia retta anima. Egli è nostro suddito, Mowbray; e tale sei tu. Parola libera e senza timore io ti concedo.
MOWBRAY	Allora, Bolingbroke, giù fino al tuo cuore attraverso il falso passaggio della tua gola, tu menti! Tre parti di quella somma che ebbi per Calais le sborsai debitamente ai soldati di sua altezza. L’altra parte la trattenni di comune accordo, poiché il mio sovrano signore m’era debitore per il residuo d’un caro conto da quando andai in Francia a prendere la sua regina. Ora ingoia quella menzogna. Quanto alla morte di Gloucester, io non l’uccisi, ma a mia propria vergogna trascurai in quel caso il mio dovere giurato. Quanto a voi, mio nobile signore di Lancaster, onorevole padre del mio nemico, una volta tesi un’imboscata alla vostra vita, colpa che tormenta la mia afflitta anima; ma prima di ricever l’ultima volta il Sacramento la confessai, e puntualmente implorai il perdono di vostra grazia, e spero d’averlo avuto. Questa è la mia colpa. Quanto al resto delle accuse, viene dal rancore d’uno scellerato, d’un rinnegato e degeneratissimo traditore, e ciò io stesso arditamente sosterrò, Getta a terra il guanto e in cambio scaglio giù il mio guanto ai piedi di questo tracotante traditore, per provarmi leale gentiluomo anche nel miglior sangue racchiuso nel suo petto; e a tal fine con tutto il cuore prego vostra altezza di fissare il giorno della nostra prova.
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke raccoglie il guanto
RE RICCARDO	Signori accesi d’ira, lasciatevi guidare da me. Purghiamo questa collera senza cavar sangue. Questo prescriviamo, benché non siamo medici: malizia profonda fa incisione troppo profonda; dimenticate, perdonate, concludete e mettetevi d’accordo; i nostri dottori dicono che non è tempo di salassi. Buon zio, che ciò finisca dove è cominciato. Noi calmeremo il duca di Norfolk, voi vostro figlio.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Far da paciere s’addice alla mia età. Getta a terra, figlio mio, il guanto del duca di Norfolk.
RE RICCARDO	E tu, Norfolk, getta il suo.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Quando, Harry, quando? L’obbedienza vuole che io non debba ripetere l’ordine.
RE RICCARDO	Norfolk, getta a terra! Lo comandiamo; non c’è rimedio.
MOWBRAY	(inginocchiandosi) Me stesso io getto, temuto sovrano, ai tuoi piedi. La mia vita potrai comandare, ma non la mia vergogna. L’una il mio dovere la deve, ma il mio buon nome, a dispetto della morte che vive sulla mia tomba, all’uso del buio disonore tu non l’avrai. Sono qui disonorato, accusato, umiliato, trafitto fino all’anima dalla lancia avvelenata della calunnia, e nessun balsamo può guarirla, se non il sangue del cuore che spirò questo veleno.
RE RICCARDO	Bisogna resistere alla rabbia. Datemi il suo guanto. I leoni domano i leopardi.
(didascalia)	MOWBRAY alzandosi
RE RICCARDO	Sì, ma non ne cambiano le macchie. Toglietemi solo la vergogna, e io rinuncio al mio guanto. Mio caro carissimo signore, il più puro tesoro che i tempi mortali offrano è una reputazione senza macchia; tolta quella, gli uomini non sono che fango dorato, o creta dipinta. Un gioiello in uno scrigno chiuso da dieci sbarre è uno spirito ardito in un petto leale. Il mio onore è la mia vita. Insieme crescono entrambi. Toglietemi l’onore, e la mia vita è finita. Dunque, caro mio signore, lasciate ch’io provi il mio onore. In esso io vivo, e per esso voglio morire.
RE RICCARDO	Cugino, gettate a terra il vostro guanto. Cominciate voi.
BOLINGBROKE	Oh Dio difenda la mia anima da sì profondo peccato! Dovrò apparire abbattuto agli occhi di mio padre? O con pallida paura da mendicante avvilire la mia statura davanti a questo vile già sfidato? Prima che la mia lingua ferisca il mio onore con sì fiacco torto, o suoni un sì basso parlamentare, i miei denti lacereranno lo strumento servile della paura che ritratta, e lo sputeranno sanguinante a sua alta vergogna là dove la vergogna dimora, sul volto stesso di Mowbray.
(didascalia)	Esce Giovanni di Gaunt
RE RICCARDO	Non nascemmo per supplicare, ma per comandare; e poiché non possiamo con ciò rendervi amici, siate pronti, ne risponderanno le vostre vite, a Coventry il giorno di San Lamberto. Là le vostre spade e le vostre lance dirimeranno la crescente contesa del vostro odio radicato. Poiché non possiamo riconciliarvi, vedremo la giustizia designare la cavalleria del vincitore. Lord Maresciallo, comandate ai nostri ufficiali d’arme d’esser pronti a dirigere questi allarmi in patria.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, with the Duchess of Gloucester
JOHN OF GAUNT	Alas, the part I had in Gloucester’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 rain hot vengeance on offenders’ heads.
DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER	Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward’s seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as 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 destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full 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 faded By envy’s hand and murder’s bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that womb, That mettle, that self mould that fashioned thee, Made him a man; and though thou liv‘st and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father’s death In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father’s life. Call it not patience, Gaunt, it is despair. In suff’ring thus thy brother to be slaughtered Thou show’st the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee. That which in mean men we entitle 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.
JOHN OF GAUNT	God’s is the quarrel; for God’s substitute, His deputy anointed in his sight, Hath caused his death; the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift An angry arm against his minister.
DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER	Where then, alas, may I complain myself?
JOHN OF GAUNT	To God, the widow’s champion and defence.
DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER	Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight. O, set my husband’s wrongs on Hereford’s spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray’s breast! Or if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray’s sins so heavy in his bosom That they may break his foaming courser’s back And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff, recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt. Thy sometimes brother’s wife With her companion, grief, must end her life.
JOHN OF GAUNT	Sister, farewell. I must to Coventry. As much good stay with thee as go with me.
DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER	Yet one word more. Grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight. I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth 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 good speed at Pleshey visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnished walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones, And what hear there for 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.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Giovanni di Gaunt, duca di Lancaster, con la duchessa di Gloucester
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Ahimè, la parte ch’io ebbi nel sangue di Gloucester più mi sollecita delle vostre grida a insorgere contro i macellai della sua vita. Ma poiché il castigo sta in quelle mani che commisero la colpa che noi non possiam correggere, rimettiamo la nostra contesa alla volontà del cielo, che, quando vedrà mature le ore sulla terra, farà piovere ardente vendetta sul capo degli offensori.
DUCHESSA DI GLOUCESTER	Non trova in te la fratellanza sprone più acuto? Non ha l’amore nel tuo vecchio sangue alcun fuoco vivo? I sette figli di Edoardo, di cui tu stesso sei uno, erano come sette ampolle del suo sacro sangue, o sette bei rami germogliati da un’unica radice. Alcuni di quei sette sono inariditi per corso di natura, alcuni di quei rami dai destini recisi; ma Tommaso, mio caro signore, mia vita, mio Gloucester, un’ampolla colma del sacro sangue di Edoardo, un ramo fiorente della sua regalissima radice, è infranta, e tutto il prezioso liquore versato; è abbattuto, e le sue fronde d’estate tutte appassite per mano dell’invidia e per la scure sanguinaria dell’omicidio. Ah, Gaunt, il suo sangue era il tuo! Quel letto, quel grembo, quella tempra, quello stesso sé stampo che plasmò te, fece lui uomo; e benché tu viva e respiri, pure in lui sei ucciso. Tu consenti in larga misura alla morte di tuo padre, in quanto vedi morire il tuo misero fratello, che era il modello della vita di tuo padre. Non chiamarla pazienza, Gaunt: è disperazione. Tollerando così che tuo fratello sia scannato mostri il sentiero scoperto alla tua vita, insegnando al truce omicidio come macellare te. Ciò che negli uomini vili chiamiamo pazienza è pallida fredda codardia nei petti nobili. Che dirò? Per salvaguardare la tua stessa vita la via migliore è vendicare la morte del mio Gloucester.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Di Dio è la contesa; poiché il vicario di Dio, il suo delegato unto al suo cospetto, ha causato la sua morte; e se ciò fu ingiusto, lo vendichi il cielo, ché io non potrò mai levare un braccio adirato contro il suo ministro.
DUCHESSA DI GLOUCESTER	Dove allora, ahimè, potrò io lamentarmi?
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	A Dio, campione e difesa della vedova.
DUCHESSA DI GLOUCESTER	Ebbene, lo farò. Addio, vecchio Gaunt. Tu vai a Coventry, per veder là battersi nostro cugino Hereford e il crudele Mowbray. Oh, poni i torti di mio marito sulla lancia di Hereford, affinché entri nel petto del macellaio Mowbray! O se la sventura fallisce il primo assalto, siano i peccati di Mowbray così pesanti nel suo seno da spezzare la schiena del suo destriero spumeggiante e gettare il cavaliere a capofitto nel campo chiuso, un vigliacco, un rinnegato di fronte a mio cugino Hereford! Addio, vecchio Gaunt. La moglie di colui che fu tuo fratello con la sua compagna, l’angoscia, deve finire la sua vita.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Sorella, addio. Devo andare a Coventry. Altrettanto bene resti con te quanto ne venga con me.
DUCHESSA DI GLOUCESTER	Ancora una parola. L’angoscia rimbalza dove cade, non per il suo vuoto incavo, ma per il suo peso. Prendo congedo prima d’aver cominciato, ché il dolore non finisce quando sembra concluso. Raccomandami a tuo fratello, Edmondo di York. Ecco, è tutto.—No, non partire ancora così! Benché sia tutto, non andartene così in fretta. Ricorderò dell’altro. Digli—ah, che cosa?— che con ogni buona sollecitudine venga a trovarmi a Pleshey. Ahimè, e che vedrà là il buon vecchio York se non stanze vuote e pareti spoglie, uffici spopolati, pietre non calpestate, e che udrà là in accoglienza se non i miei gemiti? Perciò raccomandami; non venga colà a cercare un dolore che dimora dappertutto. Desolata, desolata me ne andrò di qui a morire. L’ultimo congedo da te lo prende il mio occhio in pianto.
(didascalia)	Escono separatamente

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Marshal [with officers setting out chairs], and the Duke of Aumerle
LORD MARSHAL	My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed?
AUMERLE	Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.
LORD MARSHAL	The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant’s trumpet.
AUMERLE	Why then, the champions are prepared, and stay For nothing but his majesty’s approach.
(didascalia)	The trumpets sound, and King Richard enters, with John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, Bushy, Bagot, Green,] and other nobles. When they are set, enter Mowbray Duke of Norfolk, defendant, in arms, Fand a Herald]
KING RICHARD	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.
LORD MARSHAL	(to Mowbray) In God’s name and the King‘s, say who thou art, And why thou com’st thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou com’st, and what thy quarrel. Speak truly on thy knighthood and thy oath, As so defend thee heaven and thy valour!
MOWBRAY	My name is Thomas Mowbray, 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!
(didascalia)	He sits.
(didascalia)	The trumpets sound. Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Hereford, appellant, in armour, and a Herald
KING RICHARD	Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war; And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause.
LORD MARSHAL	(to Bolingbroke) What is thy name? And wherefore com’st thou hither 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!
BOLINGBROKE	Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby Am I, who ready here do stand in arms To prove by God’s grace and my body’s valour In lists on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor foul and dangerous To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me. And as I truly fight, defend me heaven!
(didascalia)	He sits
LORD MARSHAL	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.
(didascalia)	BOLINGBROKE standing
LORD MARSHAL	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 loving farewell of our several friends.
LORD MARSHAL	(to King Richard) The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.
KING RICHARD	We will descend and fold him in our arms. He descends from his seat and embraces Bolingbroke Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is just, So be thy fortune in this royal fight. Farewell, my blood, which if today thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
BOLINGBROKE	O, let no noble eye profane a tear For me if I be gored with Mowbray’s spear. As confident as is the falcon’s flight Against a bird do I with Mowbray fight. (To the Lord Marshal) My loving lord, I take my leave of you; (To Aumerle) Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
(didascalia)	(To Gaunt, kneeling O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
BOLINGBROKE	Whose youthful spirit in me regenerate Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers, And with thy blessings steel my lance’s point, That it may enter Mowbray’s waxen coat And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt Even in the lusty haviour of his son.
JOHN OF GAUNT	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 casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy. Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.
(didascalia)	BOLINGBROKE standing
JOHN OF GAUNT	Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!
(didascalia)	MOWBRAY standing
JOHN OF GAUNT	However God or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard’s throne, A loyal, just, and 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.
KING RICHARD	Farewell, my lord. Securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.— Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.
LORD MARSHAL	Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right!
(didascalia)	An officer bears a lance to Bolingbroke
BOLINGBROKE	Strong as a tower in hope, I cry ‘Amen!’
LORD MARSHAL	(to an officer) Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.
(didascalia)	An officer bears a lance to Mowbray
FIRST HERALD	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 Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king, and him, And dares him to set forward to the fight.
SECOND HERALD	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 Derby To God his sovereign and to him disloyal, Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin.
(didascalia)	Sound trumpets, and set forward combatants!
(didascalia)	A charge is sounded.
LORD MARSHAL	King Richard throws down his warder Stay, the King hath thrown his warder down.
KING RICHARD	Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again.
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke and Mowbray disarm and sit
KING RICHARD	(To the nobles) Withdraw with us, and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree.
(didascalia)	A long flourish, during which King Richard and his nobles withdraw and hold council, then come forward]. King Richard addresses Bolingbroke and Mowbray
KING RICHARD	Draw near, and list what with our council 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 neighbours’ swords, Which, so roused up with boist’rous 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 banish you our territories. You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enriched our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
BOLINGBROKE	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.
KING RICHARD	Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce. The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile. The hopeless word of ‘never to return’ Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
MOWBRAY	A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlooked-for from your highness’ mouth. A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness’ hands. The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo, And now my tongue’s use is to me no more Than an unstringèd viol 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.
(didascalia)	Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue,
MOWBRAY	Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips, And dull unfeeling barren ignorance Is 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?
KING RICHARD	It boots thee not to be compassionate. After our sentence, plaining comes too late.
MOWBRAY	Then thus I turn me from my country’s light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
KING RICHARD	Return again, and take an oath with thee. (To both) 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, regreet, nor reconcile This low‘ring tempest of your home-bred hate, Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill ’Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
BOLINGBROKE	I swear.
MOWBRAY	And I, to keep all this.
BOLINGBROKE	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 this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As 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.
MOWBRAY	No, Bolingbroke, 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 fear the King shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray: Save back to England, all the world’s my way.
(didascalia)	Exit
KING RICHARD	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. (To Bolingbroke) Six frozen winters spent, Return with welcome home from banishment.
BOLINGBROKE	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.
JOHN OF GAUNT	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-bewasted 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.
KING RICHARD	Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.
JOHN OF GAUNT	But not a minute, King, that thou canst give. Shorten my days thou canst with sudden 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 breath.
KING RICHARD	Thy son is banished upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave. Why at our justice seem’st thou then to lour?
JOHN OF GAUNT	Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urged me as a judge, but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. Alas, I looked when some of you should say I was too strict to make mine own away, But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong.
KING RICHARD	Cousin, farewell; and uncle, bid him so. Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
(didascalia)	Flourish. Exeunt all but Aumerle, the Lord Marshal, John of Gaunt, and Bolingbroke
AUMERLE	(to Bolingbroke) Cousin, farewell. What presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. [Exit]
LORD MARSHAL	(to Bolingbroke) My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride As far as land will let me by your side.
JOHN OF GAUNT	(to Bolingbroke) O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return’st no greeting to thy friends?
BOLINGBROKE	I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue’s office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.
JOHN OF GAUNT	Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
BOLINGBROKE	Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
JOHN OF GAUNT	What is six winters? They are quickly gone.
BOLINGBROKE	To men in joy, but grief makes one hour ten.
JOHN OF GAUNT	Call it a travel that thou tak’st for pleasure.
BOLINGBROKE	My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.
JOHN OF GAUNT	The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return.
BOLINGBROKE	O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus, Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast, Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat? O no, the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. Fell sorrow’s tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.
JOHN OF GAUNT	Come, come, my son, I’ll bring thee on thy way. Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.
BOLINGBROKE	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 trueborn Englishman.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra il Lord Maresciallo [con ufficiali che dispongono i seggi], e il duca di Aumerle
LORD MARESCIALLO	Mio signore di Aumerle, è armato Harry di Hereford?
AUMERLE	Sì, in ogni punto, e brama d’entrare.
LORD MARESCIALLO	Il duca di Norfolk, animoso e ardito, attende solo il richiamo della tromba dell’accusatore.
AUMERLE	Ebbene, i campioni sono pronti, e attendono null’altro che l’arrivo di sua maestà.
(didascalia)	Suonano le trombe, ed entra re Riccardo, con Giovanni di Gaunt, duca di Lancaster, Bushy, Bagot, Green,] e altri nobili. Quando si sono seduti, entra Mowbray duca di Norfolk, difensore, in armi, Fe un Araldo]
RE RICCARDO	Maresciallo, domanda a quel campione la causa del suo giungere qui in armi. Chiedigli il suo nome, e procedi con ordine a fargli giurare sulla giustizia della sua causa.
LORD MARESCIALLO	(a Mowbray) In nome di Dio e del re, di’ chi sei, e perché vieni così cavallerescamente rivestito d’armi, contro quale uomo tu venga, e quale sia la tua contesa. Parla con verità sulla tua cavalleria e sul tuo giuramento, e così ti difendano il cielo e il tuo valore!
MOWBRAY	Il mio nome è Tommaso Mowbray, duca di Norfolk, che qui vengo vincolato dal mio giuramento— e Dio non voglia che un cavaliere lo violi— sia per difendere la mia lealtà e verità verso Dio, il mio re e la mia discendenza futura, contro il duca di Hereford che m’accusa; sia per provare, con la grazia di Dio e con questo mio braccio, difendendo me stesso, che egli è un traditore del mio Dio, del mio re e di me. E poiché combatto lealmente, mi difenda il cielo!
(didascalia)	Si siede.
(didascalia)	Suonano le trombe. Entra Bolingbroke duca di Hereford, accusatore, in armatura, e un Araldo
RE RICCARDO	Maresciallo, chiedi a quel cavaliere in armi chi egli sia e perché venga qui così corazzato negli arnesi di guerra; e formalmente, secondo la nostra legge, fagli deporre sulla giustizia della sua causa.
LORD MARESCIALLO	(a Bolingbroke) Qual è il tuo nome? E perché vieni qui davanti a re Riccardo nel suo regale campo chiuso? Contro chi vieni? E qual è la tua contesa? Parla da vero cavaliere, e così ti difenda il cielo!
BOLINGBROKE	Harry di Hereford, Lancaster e Derby io sono, che qui pronto sto in armi per provare, per grazia di Dio e per il valore del mio corpo, in campo chiuso contro Tommaso Mowbray, duca di Norfolk, ch’egli è un traditore immondo e pericoloso verso il Dio del cielo, verso re Riccardo e verso di me. E poiché combatto lealmente, mi difenda il cielo!
(didascalia)	Si siede
LORD MARESCIALLO	Sotto pena di morte, nessuno sia tanto ardito o temerariamente audace da toccare lo steccato, eccetto il Maresciallo e quegli ufficiali incaricati di dirigere questi giusti disegni.
(didascalia)	BOLINGBROKE in piedi
LORD MARESCIALLO	Lord Maresciallo, lasciate ch’io baci la mano del mio sovrano e pieghi il ginocchio davanti a sua maestà, ché Mowbray ed io siamo come due uomini che fanno voto d’un lungo e faticoso pellegrinaggio; lasciateci dunque prendere cerimonioso congedo e amoroso commiato dai nostri rispettivi amici.
LORD MARESCIALLO	(a re Riccardo) L’accusatore con ogni ossequio saluta vostra altezza, e implora di baciarvi la mano e di prendere congedo.
RE RICCARDO	Discenderemo e lo stringeremo fra le nostre braccia. Discende dal suo seggio e abbraccia Bolingbroke Cugino di Hereford, quanto giusta è la tua causa, tanto sia la tua fortuna in questo regale duello. Addio, sangue mio, che se oggi verserai, potremo compiangerlo, ma non vendicarti morto.
BOLINGBROKE	Oh, nessun occhio nobile profani una lacrima per me, se sarò trafitto dalla lancia di Mowbray. Sicuro come il volo del falco contro un uccello, io combatto con Mowbray. (Al Lord Maresciallo) Mio amabile signore, prendo congedo da voi; (Ad Aumerle) e da voi, mio nobile cugino, Lord Aumerle; non malato, benché io abbia da fare con la morte, ma gagliardo, giovane e lieto nel respirare. Ecco, come nei banchetti inglesi, così io riservo il più squisito saluto all’ultimo, per rendere dolcissima la fine.
(didascalia)	(A Gaunt, inginocchiandosi O tu, terreno autore del mio sangue,
BOLINGBROKE	il cui spirito giovanile in me rigenerato con duplice vigore mi solleva a raggiungere la vittoria sopra il mio capo, aggiungi tempra alla mia armatura con le tue preghiere, e con le tue benedizioni tempra la punta della mia lancia, perché possa penetrare la corazza di cera di Mowbray e render nuovamente lucente il nome di Giovanni di Gaunt proprio nel gagliardo contegno di suo figlio.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Dio ti faccia prospero nella tua buona causa! Sii rapido come il fulmine nell’esecuzione, e cadano i tuoi colpi, doppiamente raddoppiati, come tuono che sbalordisce sull’elmo del tuo avverso pernicioso nemico. Ridesta il tuo giovane sangue, sii valoroso, e vivi.
(didascalia)	BOLINGBROKE in piedi
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	La mia innocenza e San Giorgio mi facciano vincere!
(didascalia)	MOWBRAY in piedi
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Comunque Dio o la fortuna getti la mia sorte, là vive o muore, fedele al trono di re Riccardo, un gentiluomo leale, giusto e retto. Mai prigioniero con cuore più libero gettò via le sue catene di schiavitù e abbracciò la sua aurea affrancazione senza freni, di quanto la mia anima danzante celebri questa festa di battaglia col mio avversario. Potentissimo signore, e voi miei pari compagni, ricevete dalla mia bocca l’augurio di anni felici. Sereno e gioioso come chi va a scherzare vado io a combattere. La verità ha il petto tranquillo.
RE RICCARDO	Addio, mio signore. Con certezza io scorgo virtù e valore annidati nel tuo occhio.— Ordina la prova, Maresciallo, e comincia.
LORD MARESCIALLO	Harry di Hereford, Lancaster e Derby, ricevi la tua lancia; e Dio difenda il diritto!
(didascalia)	Un ufficiale porta una lancia a Bolingbroke
BOLINGBROKE	Forte come una torre nella speranza, grido «Amen!»
LORD MARESCIALLO	(a un ufficiale) Va’, porta questa lancia a Tommaso, duca di Norfolk.
(didascalia)	Un ufficiale porta una lancia a Mowbray
PRIMO ARALDO	Harry di Hereford, Lancaster e Derby sta qui per Dio, per il suo sovrano e per se stesso, sotto pena d’esser trovato falso e rinnegato, a provare che il duca di Norfolk, Tommaso Mowbray, è traditore del suo Dio, del suo re e di lui, e lo sfida a farsi avanti al combattimento.
SECONDO ARALDO	Qui sta Tommaso Mowbray, duca di Norfolk, sotto pena d’esser trovato falso e rinnegato, sia per difendere se stesso, sia per dimostrare che Enrico di Hereford, Lancaster e Derby è sleale verso Dio, verso il suo sovrano e verso di lui, coraggiosamente e con libero desiderio non attendendo che il segnale per cominciare.
(didascalia)	Suonino le trombe, e avanzino i combattenti!
(didascalia)	Si suona la carica.
LORD MARESCIALLO	Re Riccardo getta a terra il suo bastone Fermi, il re ha gettato a terra il suo bastone.
RE RICCARDO	Depongano gli elmi e le loro lance, e ritornino entrambi ai loro seggi.
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke e Mowbray si disarmano e si siedono
RE RICCARDO	(Ai nobili) Ritiratevi con noi, e suonino le trombe mentre riferiamo a questi duchi quel che decretiamo.
(didascalia)	Una lunga fanfara, durante la quale re Riccardo e i suoi nobili si ritirano e tengono consiglio, poi si fanno avanti]. Re Riccardo si rivolge a Bolingbroke e a Mowbray
RE RICCARDO	Avvicinatevi, e udite quel che col nostro consiglio abbiamo deciso. Perché la terra del nostro regno non sia lordata di quel caro sangue ch’essa ha nutrito, e perché i nostri occhi odiano il tetro aspetto di ferite civili arate da spade di vicini, le quali, così destate da rozzi tamburi stonati, dallo spaventoso squillo di trombe aspramente risonanti, e dall’urto stridente d’armi di ferro irate, potrebbero cacciare la bella pace dai nostri quieti confini e farci guazzare nel sangue dei nostri congiunti, perciò vi bandiamo dai nostri territori. Voi, cugino di Hereford, sotto pena della vita, finché due volte cinque estati non abbiano arricchito i nostri campi, non tornerete a salutare i nostri bei domini, ma calcherete i sentieri stranieri del bando.
BOLINGBROKE	Sia fatta la vostra volontà. Questo dev’essere il mio conforto: che il sole che qui vi riscalda splenderà su di me, e quei suoi raggi dorati a voi qui prestati si punteranno su di me e indoreranno il mio bando.
RE RICCARDO	Norfolk, per te resta una sentenza più grave, ch’io con qualche riluttanza pronuncio. Le ore lente e insidiose non determineranno il limite senza data del tuo caro esilio. La parola senza speranza di «mai più ritornare» io spiro contro di te, sotto pena della vita.
MOWBRAY	Grave sentenza, mio sovranissimo signore, e del tutto inattesa dalla bocca di vostra altezza. Un merito più caro, non una mutilazione così profonda come l’esser gettato nell’aria comune, ho meritato dalle mani di vostra altezza. La lingua che ho appreso in questi quarant’anni, il mio inglese nativo, ora devo abbandonare, e ora l’uso della mia lingua non m’è più che una viola senza corde o un’arpa, o come un ingegnoso strumento chiuso nella custodia, o, se aperto, messo in quelle mani che non conoscono tocco per accordarne l’armonia.
(didascalia)	Dentro la mia bocca avete imprigionato la mia lingua,
MOWBRAY	doppiamente sbarrata con i miei denti e le mie labbra, e una sorda insensibile sterile ignoranza è fatta mio carceriere ad assistermi. Sono troppo vecchio per far vezzi a una nutrice, troppo avanti negli anni per essere ora scolaro. Che è dunque la tua sentenza se non muta morte, che ruba alla mia lingua il respirare il fiato natio?
RE RICCARDO	Non ti giova destare compassione. Dopo la nostra sentenza, il lamento giunge troppo tardi.
MOWBRAY	Allora così mi volgo via dalla luce del mio paese, per abitare nelle solenni ombre d’una notte senza fine.
RE RICCARDO	Torna indietro, e porta con te un giuramento. (A entrambi) Posate sulla nostra regale spada le vostre mani bandite. Giurate per il dovere che dovete a Dio— la parte che in esso ci spetta la bandiamo con voi— di mantenere il giuramento che vi imponiamo. Non dovrete mai, così vi assistano verità e Dio, abbracciare l’un l’altro l’amore nel bando, né mai guardarvi in faccia l’un l’altro, né mai scrivervi, salutarvi, né riconciliare questa tempesta minacciosa del vostro odio nato in patria, né mai per deliberato proposito incontrarvi per ordire, tramare o complottare alcun male contro di noi, il nostro stato, i nostri sudditi o la nostra terra.
BOLINGBROKE	Lo giuro.
MOWBRAY	E io, di osservare tutto questo.
BOLINGBROKE	Norfolk, questo dico a te, in quanto mio nemico: a quest’ora, se il re ce l’avesse permesso, una delle nostre anime avrebbe vagato nell’aria, bandita da questo fragile sepolcro della nostra carne, come ora la nostra carne è bandita da questa terra. Confessa i tuoi tradimenti prima di fuggire il regno. Poiché hai da andar lontano, non portarti dietro l’ingombrante peso d’un’anima colpevole.
MOWBRAY	No, Bolingbroke, se mai fui traditore, sia il mio nome cancellato dal libro della vita, e io bandito dal cielo come di qui. Ma ciò che tu sei, Dio, tu ed io lo sappiamo, e troppo presto, temo, il re avrà da pentirsene. Addio, mio signore. Ora non posso smarrire la via: salvo il ritorno in Inghilterra, tutto il mondo è la mia via.
(didascalia)	Esce
RE RICCARDO	Zio, proprio negli specchi dei tuoi occhi io vedo il tuo cuore afflitto. Il tuo triste aspetto ha tolto quattro anni dal numero dei suoi anni di bando. (A Bolingbroke) Passati sei gelidi inverni, torna con lieta accoglienza a casa dall’esilio.
BOLINGBROKE	Quanto lungo tempo sta in una piccola parola! Quattro lenti inverni e quattro capricciose primavere finiscono in una parola: tale è il fiato dei re.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Ringrazio il mio signore che per riguardo a me accorcia di quattro anni l’esilio di mio figlio. Ma poco vantaggio ne trarrò io, ché prima che i sei anni ch’egli deve spendere possano mutare le loro lune e compiere i loro giri, la mia lampada senz’olio e la mia luce consumata dal tempo saranno estinte dalla vecchiaia e dalla notte senza fine. Il mio dito di candela sarà arso e finito, e la cieca morte non mi lascerà vedere mio figlio.
RE RICCARDO	Ma come, zio, tu hai molti anni da vivere.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Ma non un minuto, re, che tu possa darmi. Accorciare i miei giorni tu puoi con improvviso dolore, e strapparmi notti, ma non prestarmi un domani. Tu puoi aiutare il tempo a solcarmi di vecchiaia, ma non fermare una ruga nel suo pellegrinaggio. La tua parola vale presso di lui per la mia morte, ma una volta morto, il tuo regno non può comprarmi il respiro.
RE RICCARDO	Tuo figlio è bandito per buon consiglio, al quale la tua lingua diede voce concorde. Perché dunque sembri accigliarti alla nostra giustizia?
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Le cose dolci al gusto riescono aspre nella digestione. Voi mi sollecitaste come giudice, ma avrei preferito che m’aveste comandato di parlare come padre. Ahimè, aspettavo che qualcuno di voi dicesse ch’ero troppo severo a mandar via il mio proprio sangue, ma voi deste licenza alla mia lingua riluttante di fare a me stesso, contro la mia volontà, questo torto.
RE RICCARDO	Cugino, addio; e voi, zio, ditegli lo stesso. Per sei anni lo bandiamo, ed egli partirà.
(didascalia)	Fanfara. Escono tutti tranne Aumerle, il Lord Maresciallo, Giovanni di Gaunt e Bolingbroke
AUMERLE	(a Bolingbroke) Cugino, addio. Ciò che la presenza non può sapere, lo mostri la carta da dove voi dimorate. [Esce]
LORD MARESCIALLO	(a Bolingbroke) Mio signore, io non prendo congedo, ché cavalcherò al vostro fianco fin dove la terra me lo consenta.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	(a Bolingbroke) Oh, a che scopo fai tesoro delle tue parole, tanto da non rendere alcun saluto ai tuoi amici?
BOLINGBROKE	Ne ho troppo poche per prender congedo da voi, quando l’ufficio della lingua dovrebbe esser prodigo per spirare l’abbondante dolore del cuore.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Il tuo dolore non è che la tua assenza per un tempo.
BOLINGBROKE	Assente la gioia, il dolore è presente per quel tempo.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Che sono sei inverni? Passano presto.
BOLINGBROKE	Per gli uomini nella gioia; ma il dolore fa d’un’ora dieci.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Chiamalo un viaggio che intraprendi per piacere.
BOLINGBROKE	Il mio cuore sospirerà quando lo chiamerò così a torto, ché lo sente un pellegrinaggio forzato.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Il tetro passaggio dei tuoi passi stanchi stimalo come la lamina su cui devi incastonare il prezioso gioiello del tuo ritorno a casa.
BOLINGBROKE	Oh, chi può tenere un fuoco in mano pensando al gelido Caucaso, o saziare l’affilata fame dell’appetito con la nuda immaginazione d’un banchetto, o rotolarsi nudo nella neve di dicembre pensando al fantastico calore dell’estate? Oh no, l’apprensione del bene non dà che maggior sentore del peggio. Il dente del crudo dolore mai più incancrenisce che quando morde, ma non incide la piaga.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Vieni, vieni, figlio mio, t’accompagnerò per la tua via. Avessi io la tua giovinezza e la tua causa, non resterei.
BOLINGBROKE	Allora, suolo d’Inghilterra, addio. Dolce terra, addio, mia madre e mia nutrice che ancora mi porti! Ovunque io vada, di questo posso vantarmi: benché bandito, pur sempre inglese di schietta nascita.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard with Green and Bagot at one door, and the Lord Aumerle at another
KING RICHARD	We did observe.—Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way?
AUMERLE	I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him.
KING RICHARD	And say, what store of parting tears were shed?
AUMERLE	Faith, none for me, except the north-east wind, Which then grew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
KING RICHARD	What said our cousin when you parted with him?
AUMERLE	‘Farewell.’ And for my heart disdained 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. Marry, 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.
KING RICHARD	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 ’twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oysterwench. 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 subjects’ next degree in hope.
GREEN	Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland. Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness’ loss.
KING RICHARD	We will ourself in person to this war, And for our coffers with too great a court And liberal largess 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, Whereto, 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.
(didascalia)	Enter Bushy
KING RICHARD	Bushy, what news?
BUSHY	Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, Suddenly taken, and hath sent post-haste To entreat your majesty to visit him.
KING RICHARD	Where lies he?
BUSHY	At Ely House.
KING RICHARD	Now put it, God, in his physician’s mind To help him to his grave 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!
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano re Riccardo con Green e Bagot da una porta, e Lord Aumerle da un’altra
RE RICCARDO	L’abbiamo osservato.—Cugino Aumerle, fin dove accompagnaste l’altero Hereford per la sua via?
AUMERLE	Accompagnai l’altero Hereford, se così lo chiamate, solo fino alla prossima strada maestra, e là lo lasciai.
RE RICCARDO	E dite, quanta copia di lacrime d’addio fu versata?
AUMERLE	In fede, nessuna da parte mia, se non che il vento di nordest, che allora si levava pungente contro i nostri volti, destò il sonnolento umore, e così per caso ornò d’una lacrima il nostro vuoto congedo.
RE RICCARDO	Che disse nostro cugino quando vi separaste da lui?
AUMERLE	«Addio.» E poiché il mio cuore sdegnava che la mia lingua profanasse così la parola, esso m’insegnò l’arte di simulare tale oppressione di dolore che le parole parvero sepolte nella tomba della mia afflizione. Perbacco, se la parola «addio» avesse allungato le ore e aggiunto anni al suo breve bando, egli avrebbe avuto un volume d’addii; ma poiché non l’avrebbe fatto, non ne ebbe alcuno da me.
RE RICCARDO	Egli è nostro cugino, cugino; ma è dubbio, quando il tempo lo richiamerà a casa dal bando, se il nostro congiunto verrà a rivedere i suoi amici. Noi stessi e Bushy, Bagot qui, e Green abbiamo osservato la sua corte al popolo minuto, come sembrasse tuffarsi nei loro cuori con umile e familiare cortesia, quale riverenza sprecasse per dei servi, corteggiando poveri artigiani con l’arte dei sorrisi e col paziente sopportare della sua sorte, come volesse esiliare con sé i loro affetti. Si toglie il berretto davanti a una pescivendola. Un paio di carrettieri gli augurano che Dio lo assista bene, ed ebbero il tributo del suo ginocchio pieghevole con un «Grazie, miei compatrioti, miei cari amici», come se la nostra Inghilterra fosse sua per successione, e lui il prossimo grado nella speranza dei nostri sudditi.
GREEN	Ebbene, egli è partito, e con lui se ne vadano questi pensieri. Ora ai ribelli che resistono in Irlanda. Bisogna prendere sollecite misure, mio signore, prima che un ulteriore indugio conceda loro ulteriori mezzi a proprio vantaggio e a perdita di vostra altezza.
RE RICCARDO	Andremo noi stessi in persona a questa guerra, e poiché i nostri forzieri, per una corte troppo grande e per liberali larghezze, si sono fatti alquanto leggeri, siamo costretti a dare in appalto il nostro reame, le cui entrate ci forniranno per le nostre imprese in corso. Se ciò non basta, i nostri vicari in patria avranno carte in bianco, sulle quali, quando sapranno quali uomini son ricchi, li faranno sottoscrivere per grandi somme d’oro, e ce le manderanno dietro a supplire i nostri bisogni; ché noi partiremo subito per l’Irlanda.
(didascalia)	Entra Bushy
RE RICCARDO	Bushy, che novità?
BUSHY	Il vecchio Giovanni di Gaunt è gravemente malato, mio signore, colto d’improvviso, e ha mandato in tutta fretta a supplicare vostra maestà di visitarlo.
RE RICCARDO	Dove giace?
BUSHY	A palazzo Ely.
RE RICCARDO	Ora metti, o Dio, nella mente del suo medico d’aiutarlo a raggiungere subito la sua tomba. La fodera dei suoi forzieri farà casacche per abbigliare i nostri soldati in queste guerre d’Irlanda. Venite, signori, andiamo tutti a visitarlo. Voglia Dio che ci affrettiamo e arriviamo troppo tardi!
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, sick, carried in a chair, with the Duke of York
JOHN OF GAUNT	Will the King come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth?
YORK	Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath, For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
JOHN OF GAUNT	O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce 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 youth and ease have taught to glose. 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.
YORK	No, it is stopped with other, flattering sounds, As praises of whose taste the wise are feared, Lascivious metres to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen, Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our 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 wit’s regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose: ’Tis breath thou lack’st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
JOHN OF GAUNT	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 means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 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 blessèd 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 deeds as far from home For Christian service and true chivalry As is the sepulchre, in stubborn Jewry, 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 wat’ry 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!
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard and the Queen; the Duke of Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Lord Ross, and Lord Willoughby
YORK	The King is come. Deal mildly with his youth, For young hot colts, being reined, do rage the more.
QUEEN	How fares our noble uncle Lancaster?
KING RICHARD	What comfort, man? How is’t with aged Gaunt?
JOHN OF GAUNT	O, how that name befits my composition I Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old.
(didascalia)	Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast,
JOHN OF GAUNT	And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watched. Watching breeds leanness, leanness 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 am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits naught but bones.
KING RICHARD	Can sick men play so nicely with their names?
JOHN OF GAUNT	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.
KING RICHARD	Should dying men flatter with those that live?
JOHN OF GAUNT	No, no, men living flatter those that die.
KING RICHARD	Thou now a-dying sayst thou flatt’rest me.
JOHN OF GAUNT	O no: thou diest, though I the sicker be.
KING RICHARD	I am in health; I breathe, and see thee ill.
JOHN OF GAUNT	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, Committ’st thy 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, encagèd in so small a verge, 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 thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possessed, Which art possessed now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world It were a 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 bondslave to the law, And—
KING RICHARD	And thou, a lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague’s privilege, Dar’st 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.
JOHN OF GAUNT	O, spare me not, my brother Edward’s son, For that I was his father Edward’s son. That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapped out and drunkenly caroused. My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul— Whom fair befall in heaven ‘mongst happy souls— May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect’st 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. (To attendants) Convey me to my bed, then to my grave. Love they to live that love and honour have.
(didascalia)	Exit, [carried in the chair]
KING RICHARD	And let them die that age and sullens have, For both hast thou, and both become the grave.
YORK	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.
KING RICHARD	Right, you say true: as Hereford’s love, so his. As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Northumberland
NORTHUMBERLAND	My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.
KING RICHARD	What says he?
NORTHUMBERLAND	Nay, nothing: all is said. His tongue is now a stringless instrument. Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
YORK	Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
KING RICHARD	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 privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, coin, revenues, and movables Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possessed.
YORK	How long shall I be patient? Ah, 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 poor Bolingbroke 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.
KING RICHARD	Why uncle, what’s the matter?
YORK	O my liege, Pardon me if you please; if not, I, pleased Not to be pardoned, am content withal. Seek you to seize and grip into your hands The royalties and rights of banished 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 afore God—God forbid I say true!— If you do wrongfully seize Hereford’s rights, Call in the letters patents that he hath By his attorneys general 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.
KING RICHARD	Think what you will, we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.
YORK	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.
(didascalia)	Exit
KING RICHARD	Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight. Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. Tomorrow next We will for Ireland, and ’tis time, I trow. And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York Lord Governor of England; For he is just and always loved us well.— Come on, our Queen; tomorrow must we part. Be merry, for our time of stay is short.
(didascalia)	Flourish. Exeunt Bushy at one door; King Richard, the Queen, Aumerle, Green, and Bagot at another door. Northumberland, Willoughby, and Ross remain
NORTHUMBERLAND	Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead.
ROSS	And living too, for now his son is Duke.
WILLOUGHBY	Barely in title, not in revenues.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Richly in both, if justice had her right.
ROSS	My heart is great, but it must break with silence Ere’t be disburdened with a liberal tongue.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Nay, speak thy mind, and let him ne’er speak more That speaks thy words again to do thee harm.
WILLOUGHBY	Tends that that thou wouldst 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.
ROSS	No good at all that I can do for him, Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Now afore God, ‘tis shame such wrongs are borne In him, a royal prince, and many more Of noble blood in this declining land. The King is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform Merely in hate ’gainst any of us all, That will the King severely prosecute ’Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
ROSS	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.
WILLOUGHBY	And daily new exactions are devised, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what. But what, a’ God’s name, doth become of this?
NORTHUMBERLAND	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.
ROSS	The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
WILLOUGHBY	The King’s grown bankrupt like a broken man.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him.
ROSS	He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banished Duke.
NORTHUMBERLAND	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 securely perish.
ROSS	We see the very wreck that we must suffer, And unavoided is the danger now For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
NORTHUMBERLAND	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.
WILLOUGHBY	Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.
ROSS	Be confident to speak, Northumberland. We three are but thyself, and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts. Therefore be bold.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Then thus. I have from Port le Blanc, A bay in Brittaine, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Reinold Lord Cobham, Thomas son and heir to the Earl of Arundel That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Thomas Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Coint, All these well furnished by the Duke of Brittaine 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 ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the King for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country’s broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemished crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre’s gilt, And make high majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh. But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.
ROSS	To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear.
WILLOUGHBY	Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra Giovanni di Gaunt, duca di Lancaster, malato, portato su una seggiola, col duca di York
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Verrà il re, perch’io possa esalare l’ultimo respiro in salutare consiglio alla sua incostante giovinezza?
YORK	Non tormentatevi, né affannate il vostro fiato, ché del tutto invano giunge il consiglio al suo orecchio.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Oh, ma dicono che le lingue dei morenti impongono ascolto, come profonda armonia. Dove le parole sono scarse, di rado si spendono invano, ché spira verità chi spira le sue parole nel dolore. Chi più non deve parlare è più ascoltato di quelli cui giovinezza e agio insegnarono a lusingare. Più si notano le fini degli uomini che le loro vite prima. Il sole al tramonto, e la musica alla chiusa, come l’ultimo gusto dei dolci, è il più dolce alla fine, e s’incide nella memoria più delle cose lungamente passate. Benché Riccardo non volesse udire il consiglio della mia vita, la triste storia della mia morte può ancora dischiudergli l’orecchio.
YORK	No, è otturato da altri suoni, adulatori, come lodi del cui sapore i saggi han timore, metri lascivi al cui suono velenoso l’orecchio aperto della gioventù sempre presta ascolto, notizie di mode nella superba Italia, i cui costumi la nostra nazione tarda e scimmiesca sempre insegue zoppicando in vile imitazione. Dove mai il mondo spinge fuori una vanità— purché sia nuova non importa quanto vile— che non sia subito ronzata nei suoi orecchi? Allora troppo tardi giunge il consiglio, per esser udito là dove la volontà s’ammutina contro il riguardo del senno. Non guidare colui che vuol scegliersi da sé la via: è fiato che ti manca, e quel fiato perderai.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Mi pare d’essere un profeta appena ispirato, e così, spirando, predìco di lui. La sua avventata, feroce vampa di sregolatezza non può durare, ché i fuochi violenti presto si consumano da sé. Le piogge lievi durano a lungo, ma le tempeste improvvise son brevi. Presto si stanca chi troppo presto sprona. Con ingorda voracità il cibo soffoca chi mangia. La leggera vanità, insaziabile cormorano, consumate le risorse, presto preda se stessa. Questo regale trono di re, quest’isola scettrata, questa terra di maestà, questa sede di Marte, quest’altro Eden, semiparadiso, questa fortezza costruita dalla natura per se stessa contro il contagio e la mano della guerra, questa felice stirpe d’uomini, questo piccolo mondo, questa pietra preziosa incastonata nel mare d’argento, che le fa da muro, o come fossato difensivo d’una casa contro l’invidia di terre men felici; questa zolla benedetta, questa terra, questo reame, quest’Inghilterra, questa nutrice, questo grembo fecondo di re regali, temuti per la loro razza e famosi per la loro nascita, rinomati per le loro gesta lontano da casa per servizio cristiano e vera cavalleria quanto lo è il sepolcro, nell’ostinata Giudea, del riscatto del mondo, il figlio della beata Maria; questa terra di anime sì care, questa cara cara terra, cara per la sua fama nel mondo, è ora data in affitto—muoio nel pronunciarlo— come un casamento o una meschina fattoria. L’Inghilterra, cinta dal mare trionfante, la cui riva rocciosa respinge l’assedio invidioso dell’acqueo Nettuno, è ora cinta di vergogna, di macchie d’inchiostro e di marci contratti in pergamena. Quell’Inghilterra che era solita conquistare gli altri ha fatto una vergognosa conquista di se stessa. Ah, se lo scandalo svanisse con la mia vita, quanto felice allora sarebbe la mia prossima morte!
(didascalia)	Entrano re Riccardo e la regina; il duca di Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Lord Ross e Lord Willoughby
YORK	Il re è giunto. Trattate con dolcezza la sua giovinezza, ché i giovani puledri ardenti, se tenuti a freno, s’infuriano di più.
REGINA	Come sta il nostro nobile zio Lancaster?
RE RICCARDO	Che conforto, brav’uomo? Come va con l’attempato Gaunt?
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Oh, quanto quel nome s’addice alla mia complessione! Vecchio Gaunt davvero, e scarno per esser vecchio.
(didascalia)	Dentro di me il dolore ha tenuto un tedioso digiuno,
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	e chi s’astiene dal cibo che non sia scarno? Per l’Inghilterra addormentata ho vegliato lungo tempo. Il vegliare genera magrezza, la magrezza è tutta scarna. Il piacere di cui certi padri si nutrono è il mio stretto digiuno: intendo lo sguardo dei miei figli. E facendomene digiunare, tu m’hai fatto scarno. Scarno son io per la tomba, scarno come una tomba, il cui vuoto grembo non eredita che ossa.
RE RICCARDO	Possono i malati giocare così argutamente coi loro nomi?
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	No, la miseria si diverte a beffare se stessa. Poiché tu cerchi d’uccidere in me il mio nome, io beffo il mio nome, gran re, per lusingarti.
RE RICCARDO	Devono i morenti lusingare quelli che vivono?
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	No, no, i viventi lusingano quelli che muoiono.
RE RICCARDO	Tu ora morente dici di lusingare me.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Oh no: sei tu che muori, benché più malato sia io.
RE RICCARDO	Io sono in salute; respiro, e ti vedo malato.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Ora Colui che mi fece sa che io ti vedo male: malato in me stesso nel vedere, e in te vedendo il male. Il tuo letto di morte non è men vasto della tua terra, dove tu giaci malato nella reputazione; e tu, paziente troppo incurante quale sei, affidi il tuo corpo consacrato alla cura di quei medici che per primi ti ferirono. Mille adulatori siedon dentro la tua corona, la cui circonferenza non è più larga del tuo capo, eppure, ingabbiato in sì piccolo giro, lo sperpero non è d’un briciolo minore della tua terra. Oh, se il tuo avo con occhio di profeta avesse visto come il figlio di suo figlio avrebbe distrutto i suoi figli, avrebbe posto fuori della tua portata la tua vergogna, deponendoti prima che tu ne fossi in possesso, tu che ora sei posseduto fino a deporre te stesso. Ma via, cugino, fossi tu reggente del mondo sarebbe una vergogna dare in affitto questa terra. Ma poiché il tuo mondo è il solo goderti questa terra, non è più che vergogna svergognarla così? Padrone di terre d’Inghilterra tu sei ora, non re. Il tuo stato di diritto è servo schiavo della legge, e—
RE RICCARDO	E tu, folle lunatico dal senno scarno, presumendo del privilegio d’una febbre, osi con la tua gelida ammonizione far pallida la nostra guancia, cacciando il regale sangue con furia dalla sua nativa dimora. Ora, per la giusta regale maestà del mio seggio, non fossi tu fratello del figlio del grande Edoardo, questa lingua che corre così spedita nel tuo capo farebbe correre il tuo capo giù dalle tue irriverenti spalle.
GIOVANNI DI GAUNT	Oh, non risparmiarmi, figlio di mio fratello Edoardo, per il fatto ch’io fui figlio di suo padre Edoardo. Quel sangue, come il pellicano, tu l’hai già spillato e da ubriaco tracannato. Mio fratello Gloucester, schietta anima ben intenzionata— gli tocchi buona sorte in cielo fra le anime felici— può essere un precedente e un buon testimone che tu non hai riguardo a versare il sangue d’Edoardo. Unisciti alla malattia presente ch’io ho, e la tua durezza sia come la vecchiaia ricurva a recidere d’un colpo un fiore da troppo tempo appassito. Vivi nella tua vergogna, ma non muoia la vergogna con te. Queste parole siano d’ora in poi i tuoi tormentatori. (Ai servitori) Portatemi al mio letto, poi alla mia tomba. Amino la vita quelli che hanno amore e onore.
(didascalia)	Esce, [portato sulla seggiola]
RE RICCARDO	E muoiano quelli che hanno vecchiaia e malumore, ché tu hai l’una e l’altro, ed entrambi s’addicono alla tomba.
YORK	Supplico vostra maestà d’imputare le sue parole alla riottosa infermità e alla vecchiaia che sono in lui. Egli vi ama, sulla mia vita, e vi tiene caro quanto Harry duca di Hereford, se fosse qui.
RE RICCARDO	Giusto, dite il vero: come l’amore di Hereford, così il suo. Come il loro, così il mio; e tutto resti com’è.
(didascalia)	Entra il conte di Northumberland
NORTHUMBERLAND	Mio signore, il vecchio Gaunt si raccomanda a vostra maestà.
RE RICCARDO	Che dice?
NORTHUMBERLAND	Nulla, ormai: tutto è detto. La sua lingua è ora uno strumento senza corde. Parole, vita e tutto, il vecchio Lancaster ha speso.
YORK	Sia York il prossimo che dovrà fallire così! Benché la morte sia povera, essa pone fine a un mortale affanno.
RE RICCARDO	Il frutto più maturo cade per primo, e così lui. Il suo tempo è speso; il nostro pellegrinaggio dev’essere. Basta con questo. Ora alle nostre guerre d’Irlanda. Dobbiamo estirpare quei rozzi fanti dalla testa irsuta, che vivono come veleno là dove nessun altro veleno se non essi soli ha privilegio di vivere. E poiché queste grandi imprese richiedono qualche spesa, a nostro sostegno confischiamo a noi l’argenteria, il denaro, le rendite e i beni mobili di cui nostro zio Gaunt era in possesso.
YORK	Quanto a lungo dovrò esser paziente? Ah, quanto a lungo il tenero dovere mi farà soffrire il torto? Né la morte di Gloucester, né il bando di Hereford, né i rimproveri di Gaunt, né i privati torti d’Inghilterra, né l’impedimento posto al povero Bolingbroke circa il suo matrimonio, né la mia stessa disgrazia, hanno mai fatto inasprire la mia paziente guancia, né corrugare una ruga al volto del mio sovrano. Io sono l’ultimo dei figli del nobile Edoardo, di cui tuo padre, principe di Galles, fu il primo. In guerra mai leone infuriò più fiero, in pace mai mite agnello fu più docile, di quel giovane e principesco gentiluomo. Il suo volto tu hai, ché proprio così egli appariva, giunto al numero delle tue ore. Ma quando lui s’accigliava era contro i francesi, e non contro i suoi amici. La sua nobile mano guadagnava ciò che spendeva, e non spendeva quello che la mano del suo trionfante padre aveva guadagnato. Le sue mani non furono colpevoli d’alcun sangue consanguineo, ma insanguinate coi nemici della sua stirpe. Oh, Riccardo, York è troppo trascinato dal dolore, altrimenti mai farebbe simili confronti.
RE RICCARDO	Ma zio, che c’è?
YORK	Oh mio signore, perdonatemi se vi piace; se no, io, contento di non esser perdonato, me ne appago ugualmente. Cercate voi d’afferrare e stringere nelle vostre mani i diritti e le prerogative del bandito Hereford? Non è morto Gaunt? E non vive Hereford? Non fu Gaunt giusto? E non è Harry leale? Non meritò l’uno d’avere un erede? Non è il suo erede un figlio ben meritevole? Togli a Hereford i suoi diritti, e togli al Tempo le sue carte e i suoi diritti consuetudinari: fa’ allora che il domani non segua l’oggi; non esser te stesso, ché come sei tu re se non per giusta sequenza e successione? Ora, davanti a Dio—Dio non voglia ch’io dica il vero!— se voi ingiustamente confiscate i diritti di Hereford, revocate le lettere patenti ch’egli ha per i suoi procuratori generali onde reclamare la sua investitura, e negate l’omaggio ch’egli offre, voi vi tirate addosso mille pericoli, voi perdete mille cuori ben disposti, e pungete la mia tenera pazienza a quei pensieri che l’onore e la fedeltà non possono pensare.
RE RICCARDO	Pensate quel che volete, noi confischiamo nelle nostre mani la sua argenteria, i suoi beni, il suo denaro e le sue terre.
YORK	Non sarò presente allora. Mio signore, addio. Che ne seguirà, nessuno può dirlo. Ma dalle cattive vie si può ben capire che i loro esiti non possono mai riuscire buoni.
(didascalia)	Esce
RE RICCARDO	Va’, Bushy, subito dal conte di Wiltshire. Digli di raggiungerci a palazzo Ely per curare quest’affare. Domani stesso partiremo per l’Irlanda, ed è tempo, credo. E nominiamo, in nostra assenza, nostro zio York Lord Governatore d’Inghilterra; ché egli è giusto e sempre ci amò bene.— Venite, nostra regina; domani dobbiamo separarci. Siate allegra, ché il nostro tempo di sosta è breve.
(didascalia)	Fanfara. Escono Bushy da una porta; re Riccardo, la regina, Aumerle, Green e Bagot da un’altra porta. Restano Northumberland, Willoughby e Ross
NORTHUMBERLAND	Ebbene, signori, il duca di Lancaster è morto.
ROSS	E vivo anche, ché ora suo figlio è duca.
WILLOUGHBY	A malapena nel titolo, non nelle rendite.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Riccamente in entrambi, se la giustizia avesse il suo diritto.
ROSS	Il mio cuore è gonfio, ma dovrà spezzarsi nel silenzio prima d’esser sgravato da una lingua libera.
NORTHUMBERLAND	No, di’ il tuo pensiero, e non parli mai più chi ridirà le tue parole per farti del male.
WILLOUGHBY	Tende ciò che vorresti dire al duca di Hereford? Se è così, fuori arditamente, uomo. Pronto è il mio orecchio a udire del bene verso di lui.
ROSS	Nessun bene io posso fargli, a meno che non chiamiate bene il compatirlo, spogliato ed evirato del suo patrimonio.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Ora davanti a Dio, è vergogna che tali torti siano sopportati da lui, principe di sangue reale, e da molti altri di nobile sangue in questa terra in declino. Il re non è più se stesso, ma vilmente guidato da adulatori; e quel ch’essi riferiranno per puro odio contro qualcuno di noi, quello il re severamente perseguirà contro di noi, le nostre vite, i nostri figli e i nostri eredi.
ROSS	Il popolo ha spogliato con gravose tasse, e ne ha del tutto perduto i cuori. I nobili ha multato per antiche liti, e ne ha del tutto perduto i cuori.
WILLOUGHBY	E ogni giorno nuove esazioni si escogitano, come carte in bianco, contributi «volontari», e non so cos’altro. Ma cosa, in nome di Dio, ne è di tutto questo?
NORTHUMBERLAND	Le guerre non l’hanno consumato; ché guerre non ne ha fatte, ma vilmente ha ceduto per accordo ciò che i suoi antenati conquistarono a colpi d’arme. Più ha speso in pace lui che quelli in guerra.
ROSS	Il conte di Wiltshire ha il reame in appalto.
WILLOUGHBY	Il re è divenuto insolvente come un uomo rovinato.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Obbrobrio e rovina incombono su di lui.
ROSS	Non ha denaro per queste guerre d’Irlanda, nonostante le sue gravose tassazioni, se non depredando il duca bandito.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Il suo nobile congiunto. Degeneratissimo re! Ma, signori, udiamo cantare questa pauroso tempesta, e pure non cerchiamo riparo per evitare la burrasca. Vediamo il vento premere aspro sulle nostre vele, eppure non ammainiamo, ma tranquillamente periamo.
ROSS	Vediamo proprio il naufragio che dovremo patire, e inevitabile è ormai il pericolo per aver così tollerato le cause del nostro naufragio.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Non è così: proprio attraverso le occhiaie vuote della morte io scorgo la vita far capolino; ma non oso dire quanto vicina sia la notizia del nostro conforto.
WILLOUGHBY	Su, facci parte dei tuoi pensieri, come tu dei nostri.
ROSS	Parla con fiducia, Northumberland. Noi tre non siamo che te stesso, e, parlando così, le tue parole non sono che pensieri. Perciò sii ardito.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Allora ecco. Ho ricevuto da Port le Blanc, una baia in Bretagna, notizia che Harry duca di Hereford, Reinold lord Cobham, Tommaso figlio ed erede del conte di Arundel che di recente fuggì dal duca di Exeter, suo fratello, ultimamente arcivescovo di Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Thomas Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton e Francis Coint, tutti costoro ben forniti dal duca di Bretagna di otto alte navi, tremila uomini d’arme, fanno vela verso di qui con tutta la debita sollecitudine, e fra breve intendono toccare la nostra costa settentrionale. Forse l’avrebbero già fatto, se non attendessero la prima partenza del re per l’Irlanda. Se dunque vogliamo scuoterci di dosso il servile giogo, rimpennare l’ala spezzata della nostra languente patria, riscattare dal turpe pegno la corona macchiata, spazzar via la polvere che nasconde l’oro del nostro scettro, e far sì che l’alta maestà torni a sembrare se stessa, via con me di gran corsa a Ravenspurgh. Ma se vi mancate d’animo, temendo di farlo, restate, e siate segreti, e io andrò da solo.
ROSS	A cavallo, a cavallo! Adducete dubbi a chi ha paura.
WILLOUGHBY	Regga il mio cavallo, e sarò io il primo ad arrivarci.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Queen, Bushy, and Bagot
BUSHY	Madam, 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.
QUEEN	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, Save 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 At nothing trembles. With something it grieves More than with parting from my lord the King.
BUSHY	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; eyed awry, 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 naught 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, ’tis with false sorrow’s eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
QUEEN	It may be so, but yet my inward soul Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe’er it be, I cannot but be sad: so heavy-sad As thought—on thinking on no thought I think— Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
BUSHY	’Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
QUEEN	‘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 wot.
(didascalia)	Enter Green
GREEN	God save your majesty, and well met, gentlemen. I hope the King is not yet shipped for Ireland.
QUEEN	Why hop‘st 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?
GREEN	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 Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arrived At Ravenspurgh.
QUEEN	Now God in heaven forbid!
GREEN	Ah madam, ’tis too true! And, that is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Harry Percy, The Lords of Ross, Beaumont, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
BUSHY	Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland, And all the rest, revolted faction-traitors?
GREEN	We have; whereupon the Earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resigned his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke.
QUEEN	So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow’s dismal heir. Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, And I, a gasping new-delivered mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined.
BUSHY	Despair not, madam.
QUEEN	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 bonds of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of York, wearing a gorget
GREEN	Here comes the Duke of York.
QUEEN	With signs of war about his aged neck. O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for God’s sake speak comfortable words.
YORK	Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts. Comfort’s in heaven, and we are on the 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. Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made. Now shall he try his friends that flattered him.
(didascalia)	Enter a Servingman
SERVINGMAN	My lord, your son was gone before I came.
YORK	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 Pleshey, to my sister Gloucester. Bid her send me presently a thousand pound— Hold; take my ring.
SERVINGMAN	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.
YORK	What is’t, knave?
SERVINGMAN	An hour before I came, the Duchess died.
YORK	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 brother’s. What, are there no posts dispatched for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? (To the Queen) Come, sister—cousin, I would say; pray pardon me. (To the Servingman) Go, fellow, get thee home. Provide some carts, And bring away the armour that is there.
(didascalia)	Exit Servingman
YORK	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 kinsmen. T‘one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; t’other again Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. (To the Queen) Come, cousin, I’ll dispose of you.— Gentlemen, go muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkeley Castle. I should to Pleshey too, but time will not permit. All is uneven, And everything is left at six and seven.
(didascalia)	Exeunt the Duke of York and the Queen. Bushy, Bagot, and Green remain
BUSHY	The wind sits fair for news to go for Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible.
GREEN	Besides, our nearness to the King in love Is near the hate of those love not the King.
BAGOT	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.
BUSHY	Wherein the King stands generally condemned.
BAGOT	If judgement lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the King.
GREEN	Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle. The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
BUSHY	Thither will I with you; for little office Will the hateful commoners perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. (To Bagot) Will you go along with us?
BAGOT	No, I will to Ireland, to his majesty. Farewell: if heart’s presages be not vain We three here part that ne’er shall meet again.
BUSHY	That’s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.
GREEN	Alas, poor Duke, the task he undertakes Is numb’ring sands and drinking oceans dry. Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
(didascalia)	BAGOT
GREEN	Farewell at once, for once, for all and ever.
BUSHY	Well, we may meet again.
BAGOT	I fear me never.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Bushy and Green at one door, and Bagot at another door

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano la regina, Bushy e Bagot
BUSHY	Signora, vostra maestà è troppo triste. Prometteste, separandovi dal re, di deporre la gravezza che nuoce alla vita e di accogliere una lieta disposizione.
REGINA	Per compiacere il re lo feci; per compiacere me stessa non posso. Eppure non conosco ragione per cui dovrei dare il benvenuto a un ospite come il dolore, se non l’aver detto addio a un ospite sì dolce come il mio dolce Riccardo. Eppure di nuovo, mi pare che una qualche pena non nata, matura nel grembo della fortuna, venga verso di me; e la mia intima anima trema di nulla. Di qualcosa s’affligge più che della partenza dal mio signore il re.
BUSHY	Ogni sostanza d’un dolore ha venti ombre che appaiono come il dolore stesso, ma non lo sono. Ché l’occhio del dolore, velato da lacrime accecanti, divide una cosa intera in molti oggetti— come quelle prospettive che, guardate di fronte, non mostrano che confusione; e viste di sbieco rivelano una forma. Così vostra dolce maestà, guardando di sbieco la partenza del vostro signore, trova forme di dolore da piangere più di lui stesso, le quali, guardate come sono, non sono che ombre di ciò che non è. Dunque, tre volte graziosa regina, non piangete più della partenza del vostro signore: altro non si vede, o se pur c’è, è con l’occhio del falso dolore, che per cose vere piange cose immaginarie.
REGINA	Può darsi, eppure la mia intima anima mi persuade che sia altrimenti. Comunque sia, non posso non esser triste: d’una tristezza sì greve che il pensiero—pensando io a nessun pensiero che io pensi— mi fa languire e rattrappire per un greve nulla.
BUSHY	Non è che fantasia, mia graziosa signora.
REGINA	Non è affatto così: la fantasia deriva sempre da qualche dolore progenitore; il mio non è tale; ché il nulla ha generato il mio qualcosa di dolore— o qualcosa possiede il nulla di cui mi dolgo— è in riversione ciò ch’io possiedo— ma che cosa sia ciò che non si sa ancora che sia, non lo so nominare; è affanno senza nome, lo so.
(didascalia)	Entra Green
GREEN	Dio salvi vostra maestà, e ben trovati, signori. Spero che il re non si sia ancora imbarcato per l’Irlanda.
REGINA	Perché lo speri? È meglio sperare che lo sia, ché i suoi disegni esigono fretta, e la sua fretta buona speranza. Perché dunque speri che non si sia imbarcato?
GREEN	Perché egli, nostra speranza, avesse potuto richiamare le sue forze, e cacciare nella disperazione la speranza d’un nemico, che ha già saldamente messo piede in questa terra. Il bandito Bolingbroke da sé revoca il proprio bando, e con armi levate è giunto salvo a Ravenspurgh.
REGINA	Ora Dio in cielo non voglia!
GREEN	Ah signora, è troppo vero! E, quel ch’è peggio, il lord di Northumberland, suo figlio il giovane Harry Percy, i lord di Ross, Beaumont e Willoughby, con tutti i loro potenti amici, sono fuggiti da lui.
BUSHY	Perché non avete proclamato Northumberland, e tutti gli altri, traditori ribelli di fazione?
GREEN	L’abbiamo fatto; al che il conte di Worcester ha spezzato il suo bastone, rinunciato al suo siniscalcato, e tutti i servitori di corte son fuggiti con lui presso Bolingbroke.
REGINA	Così, Green, tu sei la levatrice del mio affanno, e Bolingbroke il funesto erede del mio dolore. Ora la mia anima ha partorito il suo prodigio, e io, madre ansante appena sgravata, ho affanno ad affanno, dolore a dolore congiunto.
BUSHY	Non disperate, signora.
REGINA	Chi me lo impedirà? Voglio disperare, ed esser nemica dell’ingannevole speranza. È un’adulatrice, una parassita, una che tiene indietro la morte, la quale dolcemente scioglierebbe i legami della vita, che la falsa speranza prolunga all’estremo.
(didascalia)	Entra il duca di York, che porta una gorgiera
GREEN	Ecco viene il duca di York.
REGINA	Con segni di guerra intorno al suo collo canuto. Oh, pieni d’ansiose faccende sono i suoi sguardi! Zio, per amor di Dio, dite parole di conforto.
YORK	Se lo facessi, smentirei i miei pensieri. Il conforto è in cielo, e noi siamo sulla terra, dove nulla vive se non croci, affanni e dolore. Vostro marito è andato a salvare lontano, mentre altri vengono a fargli perdere in patria. Eccomi qui, lasciato a puntellare la sua terra, io che, debole d’anni, non posso sostenere me stesso. Ora giunge l’ora malata che la sua crapula ha prodotto. Ora metterà alla prova gli amici che l’hanno adulato.
(didascalia)	Entra un Servitore
SERVITORE	Mio signore, vostro figlio era partito prima ch’io giungessi.
YORK	Davvero? Ebbene, vada tutto come vuole. I nobili son fuggiti. Il popolo è freddo, e, temo, si volgerà dalla parte di Hereford. Ehi tu, va’ a Pleshey, da mia cognata Gloucester. Dille di mandarmi subito mille sterline— Ferma; prendi il mio anello.
SERVITORE	Mio signore, avevo dimenticato di dire a vostra signoria: oggi, passando di là, mi fermai colà— ma vi affliggerò a riferire il resto.
YORK	Che c’è, furfante?
SERVITORE	Un’ora prima ch’io giungessi, la duchessa era morta.
YORK	Dio per la sua misericordia, che marea di sventure si precipita tutta in una volta su questa terra dolente! Non so che fare. Volesse Dio, purché la mia slealtà non l’avesse provocato a ciò, che il re m’avesse mozzato il capo insieme a mio fratello. Come, non son partiti corrieri per l’Irlanda? Come faremo per il denaro di queste guerre? (Alla regina) Venite, sorella—cugina, volevo dire; vi prego perdonatemi. (Al Servitore) Va’, amico, torna a casa. Procura alcuni carri, e porta via l’armatura che vi si trova.
(didascalia)	Esce il Servitore
YORK	Signori, volete andare a reclutare uomini? Se io so come o per quale via ordinare queste faccende così disordinatamente cacciate nelle mie mani, non credetemi mai più. Entrambi mi son congiunti. L’uno è il mio sovrano, che sia il mio giuramento sia il mio dovere m’ingiungono di difendere; l’altro invece è mio congiunto, cui il re ha fatto torto, e cui la coscienza e il sangue m’ingiungono di rendere giustizia. Insomma, qualcosa dobbiamo fare. (Alla regina) Venite, cugina, provvederò a voi.— Signori, andate a radunare i vostri uomini, e raggiungetemi subito al castello di Berkeley. Dovrei andare anche a Pleshey, ma il tempo non lo permette. Tutto è sconvolto, e ogni cosa è lasciata alla rinfusa.
(didascalia)	Escono il duca di York e la regina. Restano Bushy, Bagot e Green
BUSHY	Il vento è propizio perché le notizie vadano in Irlanda, ma nessuna ne torna. Per noi levare forze proporzionate al nemico è del tutto impossibile.
GREEN	Inoltre, la nostra vicinanza al re nell’amore ci fa vicini all’odio di quanti non amano il re.
BAGOT	E quello è il popolo incostante; ché il loro amore sta nelle loro borse, e chiunque le vuoti di altrettanto riempie i loro cuori d’odio mortale.
BUSHY	Nel che il re è generalmente condannato.
BAGOT	Se il giudizio sta in loro, allora anche noi, perché siamo sempre stati vicini al re.
GREEN	Ebbene, io mi rifugerò subito nel castello di Bristol. Il conte di Wiltshire è già là.
BUSHY	Là verrò con voi; ché scarso servigio ci renderà l’odioso popolino, salvo, come cani, farci tutti a pezzi. (A Bagot) Volete venire con noi?
BAGOT	No, io andrò in Irlanda, da sua maestà. Addio: se i presagi del cuore non sono vani, noi tre qui ci separiamo per non incontrarci mai più.
BUSHY	Dipende da come York riuscirà a respingere Bolingbroke.
GREEN	Ahimè, povero duca, il compito ch’egli intraprende è contare i granelli di sabbia e prosciugare gli oceani. Dove uno combatte dalla sua parte, mille fuggiranno.
(didascalia)	BAGOT
GREEN	Addio in una volta sola, una volta, per tutto e per sempre.
BUSHY	Ebbene, potremmo incontrarci di nuovo.
BAGOT	Temo mai più.
(didascalia)	Escono Bushy e Green da una porta, e Bagot da un’altra porta

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, and the Earl of Northumberland
BOLINGBROKE	How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?
NORTHUMBERLAND	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 weary way From Ravenspurgh 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 lords Shall make their way seem short as mine hath done By sight of what I have: your noble company.
BOLINGBROKE	Of much less value is my company Than your good words.
(didascalia)	Enter Harry Percy
BOLINGBROKE	But who comes here?
NORTHUMBERLAND	It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. Harry, how fares your uncle?
HARRY PERCY	I had thought, my lord, to have learned his health of you.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Why, is he not with the Queen?
HARRY PERCY	No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, Broken his staff of office, and dispersed The household of the King.
NORTHUMBERLAND	What was his reason? He was not so resolved when last we spake together.
HARRY PERCY	Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh To offer service to the Duke of Hereford, And sent me over by Berkeley to discover What power the Duke of York had levied there, Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?
HARRY PERCY	No, my good lord, for that is not forgot Which ne’er I did remember. To my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Then learn to know him now. This is the Duke.
HARRY PERCY	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.
BOLINGBROKE	I thank thee, gentle Percy, and be sure I count myself in nothing else so happy As in a soul rememb’ring 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. He gives Percy his hand
NORTHUMBERLAND	How far is it to Berkeley, and what stir Keeps good old York there with his men of war?
HARRY PERCY	There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Manned with three hundred men, as I have heard, And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour, None else of name and noble estimate.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Ross and Lord Willoughby
NORTHUMBERLAND	Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery red with haste.
BOLINGBROKE	Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues A banished traitor. All my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enriched, Shall be your love and labour’s recompense.
ROSS	Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.
WILLOUGHBY	And far surmounts our labour to attain it.
BOLINGBROKE	Evermore thank’s the exchequer of the poor, Which till my infant fortune comes to years Stands for my bounty.
(didascalia)	Enter Berkeley
BOLINGBROKE	But who comes here?
NORTHUMBERLAND	It is my lord of Berkeley, as I guess.
BERKELEY	My lord of Hereford, my message is to you.
BOLINGBROKE	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 aught you say.
BERKELEY	Mistake me not, my lord, ’tis not my meaning To raze one title of your honour 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 you on To take advantage of the absent time And fright our native peace with self-borne arms.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of York
BOLINGBROKE	I shall not need transport my words by you. Here comes his grace in person.—My noble uncle! He kneels
YORK	Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whose duty is deceivable and false.
BOLINGBROKE	My gracious uncle—
YORK	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? Com’st thou because the anointed King is hence? Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind, And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the 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!
BOLINGBROKE	My gracious uncle, let me know my fault. On what condition stands it and wherein?
YORK	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.
(didascalia)	BOLINGBROKE standing
YORK	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 methinks in you I see old Gaunt alive. O then, my father, Will you permit that I shall stand condemned A wandering vagabond, my rights and royalties Plucked from my arms perforce 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, Aumerle my noble kinsman. Had you first died and he been thus trod 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 patents 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 I challenge law; attorneys are denied me; And therefore personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent.
NORTHUMBERLAND	The noble Duke hath been too much abused.
ROSS	It stands your grace upon to do him right.
WILLOUGHBY	Base men by his endowments are made great.
YORK	My lords of England, let me tell you this. I have had feeling 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 are rebels all.
NORTHUMBERLAND	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.
YORK	Well, well, I see the issue of these arms. I cannot mend it, I must needs 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 to 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.
BOLINGBROKE	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, Bagot, and their complices, The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
YORK	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 care.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Bolingbroke duca di Lancaster e di Hereford, e il conte di Northumberland
BOLINGBROKE	Quanto dista ormai, mio signore, Berkeley?
NORTHUMBERLAND	Credetemi, nobile signore, io sono straniero qui nel Gloucestershire. Queste alte colline selvagge e le vie aspre e ineguali allungano le nostre miglia e le rendono penose; eppure il vostro bel discorrere è stato come zucchero, rendendo dolce e dilettevole la dura via. Ma penso quanto faticoso cammino da Ravenspurgh al Cotswold parrà a Ross e a Willoughby, privi della vostra compagnia, la quale, lo dichiaro, ha molto ingannato la tediosità e il procedere del mio viaggio. Ma il loro è addolcito dalla speranza d’avere il beneficio presente ch’io possiedo; e sperare il godimento è poco meno godimento che speranza goduta. Per questo i lord stanchi faranno parer breve la loro via, come ha fatto la mia alla vista di ciò che ho: la vostra nobile compagnia.
BOLINGBROKE	Di ben minor valore è la mia compagnia che le vostre buone parole.
(didascalia)	Entra Harry Percy
BOLINGBROKE	Ma chi viene qui?
NORTHUMBERLAND	È mio figlio, il giovane Harry Percy, mandato da mio fratello Worcester, da qualunque luogo. Harry, come sta vostro zio?
HARRY PERCY	Avevo pensato, mio signore, di apprendere da voi come stia di salute.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Come, non è con la regina?
HARRY PERCY	No, mio buon signore; ha abbandonato la corte, spezzato il suo bastone d’ufficio, e disperso la casa del re.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Quale fu la sua ragione? Non era di questo avviso l’ultima volta che parlammo insieme.
HARRY PERCY	Perché vostra signoria fu proclamata traditrice. Ma egli, mio signore, è andato a Ravenspurgh a offrire i suoi servigi al duca di Hereford, e mi mandò via per Berkeley a scoprire quali forze il duca di York avesse levato là, poi con l’ordine di raggiungere Ravenspurgh.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Hai dimenticato il duca di Hereford, ragazzo?
HARRY PERCY	No, mio buon signore, ché non si dimentica ciò che non ho mai ricordato. Per quanto so, non l’ho mai guardato in vita mia.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Impara dunque a conoscerlo ora. Questi è il duca.
HARRY PERCY	Mio grazioso signore, vi offro il mio servizio, tale quale è, essendo tenero, acerbo e giovane, che gli anni più maturi matureranno e confermeranno in servizio e merito più provati.
BOLINGBROKE	Ti ringrazio, gentile Percy, e sii certo ch’io non mi stimo in nulla tanto felice quanto in un’anima che ricorda i suoi buoni amici; e a mano a mano che la mia fortuna maturerà col tuo amore, sarà sempre la ricompensa del tuo fedele amore. Il mio cuore fa questo patto; la mia mano così lo suggella. Dà la mano a Percy
NORTHUMBERLAND	Quanto dista Berkeley, e che movimento vi tiene il buon vecchio York coi suoi uomini d’arme?
HARRY PERCY	Là sorge il castello, presso quel ciuffo d’alberi, presidiato da trecento uomini, per quanto ho udito, e vi sono dentro i lord di York, Berkeley e Seymour, nessun altro di nome e di nobile considerazione.
(didascalia)	Entrano Lord Ross e Lord Willoughby
NORTHUMBERLAND	Ecco vengono i lord di Ross e Willoughby, insanguinati dagli speroni, rossi come fuoco per la fretta.
BOLINGBROKE	Benvenuti, miei signori. So che il vostro amore segue un traditore bandito. Tutto il mio tesoro non è ancora che ringraziamento non sentito, il quale, arricchito, sarà la ricompensa del vostro amore e della vostra fatica.
ROSS	La vostra presenza ci fa ricchi, nobilissimo signore.
WILLOUGHBY	E supera di gran lunga la nostra fatica per ottenerla.
BOLINGBROKE	Il ringraziamento è sempre l’erario dei poveri, che finché la mia infante fortuna non giunga agli anni tiene il posto della mia munificenza.
(didascalia)	Entra Berkeley
BOLINGBROKE	Ma chi viene qui?
NORTHUMBERLAND	È il mio signore di Berkeley, a quel che immagino.
BERKELEY	Mio signore di Hereford, il mio messaggio è per voi.
BOLINGBROKE	Mio signore, la mia risposta è per «Lancaster», e sono venuto a cercare quel nome in Inghilterra, e devo trovare quel titolo sulla vostra lingua prima di replicare a qualsiasi cosa diciate.
BERKELEY	Non fraintendetemi, mio signore, non è mia intenzione cancellare un solo titolo del vostro onore. A voi, mio signore, io vengo—qualunque signore vogliate— dal graziosissimo reggente di questa terra, il duca di York, per sapere che cosa vi sproni ad approfittare del tempo dell’assenza e a spaventare la nostra pace natia con armi levate da sé stessi.
(didascalia)	Entra il duca di York
BOLINGBROKE	Non avrò bisogno di trasmettere le mie parole per vostro mezzo. Ecco viene sua grazia in persona.—Mio nobile zio! S’inginocchia
YORK	Mostrami il tuo cuore umile, e non il tuo ginocchio, il cui ossequio è ingannevole e falso.
BOLINGBROKE	Mio grazioso zio—
YORK	Basta, basta, non chiamarmi grazioso né zio. Io non sono zio di traditori, e quella parola «grazia» in una bocca senza grazia non è che profanazione. Perché quelle gambe bandite e proibite hanno osato toccare un granello di polvere del suolo d’Inghilterra? Ma poi un «perché» più grave: perché hanno osato marciare per tante miglia sul suo pacifico seno, spaventando i suoi villaggi dal pallido volto con la guerra e con l’ostentazione d’armi spregevoli? Vieni tu perché l’unto re è lontano? Ma come, ragazzo sciocco, il re è rimasto qui, e nel mio leale petto giace il suo potere. Fossi io ora signore d’una giovinezza così ardente come quando il prode Gaunt, tuo padre, ed io stesso strappammo il Principe Nero, quel giovane Marte fra gli uomini, dalle file di molte migliaia di francesi, oh, allora quanto presto questo mio braccio, ora prigioniero della paralisi, ti castigherebbe e amministrerebbe correzione alla tua colpa!
BOLINGBROKE	Mio grazioso zio, fatemi conoscere la mia colpa. In quale condizione consiste e in che cosa?
YORK	Proprio in condizione del peggior grado: in aperta ribellione e detestato tradimento. Tu sei un bandito, e qui sei venuto prima della scadenza del tuo tempo con armi di sfida contro il tuo sovrano.
(didascalia)	BOLINGBROKE in piedi
YORK	Quando fui bandito, fui bandito come Hereford; ma come vengo, vengo per Lancaster. E, nobile zio, supplico vostra grazia: guardate ai miei torti con occhio imparziale. Voi siete mio padre, ché mi pare che in voi io veda vivo il vecchio Gaunt. Oh dunque, padre mio, permetterete voi ch’io resti condannato a vagabondo errante, i miei diritti e le mie prerogative strappati per forza dalle mie braccia e donati a scialacquatori arrivisti? A che scopo son nato? Se mio cugino il re è re in Inghilterra, bisogna concedere ch’io sono duca di Lancaster. Voi avete un figlio, Aumerle, mio nobile congiunto. Foste voi morto per primo ed egli così calpestato, avrebbe trovato in suo zio Gaunt un padre a stanare i suoi torti e a incalzarli fino alla resa. A me è negato di reclamare qui la mia investitura, eppure le mie lettere patenti me lo consentono. I beni di mio padre sono tutti sequestrati e venduti, e questi e tutto il resto sono tutti male impiegati. Che vorreste ch’io facessi? Sono un suddito, e reclamo la legge; mi son negati i procuratori; e perciò personalmente avanzo la mia rivendicazione all’eredità che mi spetta per libera discendenza.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Il nobile duca ha subìto troppi soprusi.
ROSS	Tocca a vostra grazia rendergli giustizia.
WILLOUGHBY	Uomini vili sono fatti grandi coi suoi possedimenti.
YORK	Miei signori d’Inghilterra, lasciate che vi dica questo. Io ho sentito i torti di mio nipote, e mi sono adoperato quanto ho potuto per rendergli giustizia. Ma venire in questo modo, con armi di sfida, farsi giustizia da sé, e tagliarsi la strada per trovare il diritto col torto—questo non può essere. E voi che lo appoggiate in tal modo fomentate la ribellione, e siete tutti ribelli.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Il nobile duca ha giurato che il suo venire è solo per ciò ch’è suo, e per il diritto di quello noi tutti abbiamo solennemente giurato di dargli aiuto; e non veda mai gioia chi rompe quel giuramento.
YORK	Ebbene, ebbene, vedo l’esito di queste armi. Non posso rimediarvi, devo pur confessarlo, perché il mio potere è debole e tutto malamente lasciato. Ma se potessi, per Colui che mi diede la vita, vi farei arrestare tutti, e vi farei piegare alla sovrana clemenza del re. Ma poiché non posso, vi sia noto che io rimango neutrale. E dunque state bene— a meno che non vi piaccia entrare nel castello e riposarvi là questa notte.
BOLINGBROKE	Un’offerta, zio, che accetteremo. Ma dobbiamo persuadere vostra grazia a venire con noi al castello di Bristol, che dicono sia tenuto da Bushy, Bagot e i loro complici, i bruchi della cosa pubblica, che ho giurato di estirpare e strappare via.
YORK	Può darsi ch’io venga con voi—ma pure indugerò, ché mi ripugna infrangere le leggi del nostro paese. Né amici né nemici, per me siate i benvenuti. Le cose oltre rimedio son per me ormai oltre ogni cura.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Salisbury and a Welsh Captain
WELSH 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.
SALISBURY	Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman. The King reposeth all his confidence in thee.
WELSH CAPTAIN	’Tis thought the King is dead. We will not stay. The bay trees in our country are all withered, And meteors fright the fixèd stars of heaven. The pale-faced moon looks bloody on 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 forerun the death or fall of kings. Farewell. Our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assured Richard their king is dead.
(didascalia)	Exit
SALISBURY	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

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano il conte di Salisbury e un capitano gallese
CAPITANO GALLESE	Mio signore di Salisbury, abbiamo atteso dieci giorni, e a stento abbiamo tenuto uniti i nostri compatrioti, e ancora non udiamo notizie dal re. Perciò ci disperderemo. Addio.
SALISBURY	Resta ancora un giorno, fidato gallese. Il re ripone in te tutta la sua fiducia.
CAPITANO GALLESE	Si crede che il re sia morto. Non resteremo. Gli allori nel nostro paese sono tutti seccati, e le meteore spaventano le fisse stelle del cielo. La luna dal pallido volto guarda sanguigna sulla terra, e profeti dal volto emaciato sussurrano paurosi mutamenti. I ricchi hanno l’aria mesta, e i furfanti danzano e saltano; gli uni per paura di perdere ciò che godono, gli altri per godere con la violenza e la guerra. Questi segni precorrono la morte o la caduta dei re. Addio. I nostri compatrioti se ne sono andati e fuggiti, ben certi che Riccardo loro re è morto.
(didascalia)	Esce
SALISBURY	Ah, Riccardo! Con gli occhi d’una mente afflitta io vedo la tua gloria, come una stella cadente, precipitare dal firmamento alla bassa terra. Il tuo sole tramonta piangendo nell’umile occidente, attestando tempeste future, sventura e inquietudine. I tuoi amici son fuggiti a servire i tuoi nemici, e ogni fortuna va di traverso al tuo bene. Esce

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, the Duke of York, the Earl of Northumberland, Lord Ross, Harry Percy, and Lord Willoughby
BOLINGBROKE	Bring forth these men.
(didascalia)	Enter Bushy and Green, guarded as prisoners
BOLINGBROKE	Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls, Since presently your souls must part your bodies, With too much urging your pernicious lives, For ’twere no 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 lineaments, 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 a royal bed, And stained the beauty of a fair queen’s cheeks With tears drawn from her 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 signories, Disparked my parks and felled my forest woods, From my own windows torn my household coat, Razed out my imprese, 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.
BUSHY	More welcome is the stroke of death to me Than Bolingbroke to England.
GREEN	My comfort is that heaven will take our souls, And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
BOLINGBROKE	My lord Northumberland, see them dispatched.
(didascalia)	Exit Northumberland, with Bushy and Green, guarded
BOLINGBROKE	Uncle, you say the Queen is at your house. For God’s sake, fairly let her be intreated. Tell her I send to her my kind commends. Take special care my greetings be delivered.
YORK	A gentleman of mine I have dispatched With letters of your love to her at large.
BOLINGBROKE	Thanks, gentle uncle.—Come, lords, away, To fight with Glyndwr and his complices. A while to work, and after, holiday.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
(didascalia)	3.2 Flourish. Enter King Richard, the Duke of Aumerle, the Bishop of Carlisle, and soldiers, with drum and colours
KING RICHARD	Harlechly Castle call they this at hand?
AUMERLE	Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air After your late tossing on the breaking seas?
KING RICHARD	Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy To stand upon my kingdom once again. He touches the ground Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though 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-gaited 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.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE	Fear not, my lord. That power that made you king Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
AUMERLE	He means, my lord, that we are too remiss, Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great in substance and in friends.
KING RICHARD	Discomfortable cousin, know‘st 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 bloody here; But when from under this terrestrial ball He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole, 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, Bolingbroke, Who all this while hath revelled in the night Whilst we were wand’ring 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 from an anointed king. The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord. For every man that Bolingbroke 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.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Salisbury
KING RICHARD	Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?
SALISBURY	Nor nea’er 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, Overthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed, and fled.
AUMERLE	Comfort, my liege. Why looks your grace so pale?
KING RICHARD	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.
AUMERLE	Comfort, my liege. Remember who you are.
KING RICHARD	I had forgot myself. Am I not King? Awake, thou sluggard majesty, thou sleep’st! Is not the King’s name forty 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.
(didascalia)	Enter Scrope
KING RICHARD	But who comes here?
SCROPE	More health and happiness betide my liege Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him.
KING RICHARD	Mine ear is open and my heart prepared. The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost? Why ’twas my care, And what loss is it to be rid of care? Strives Bolingbroke 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, destruction, ruin, loss, decay: The worst is death, and death will have his day.
SCROPE	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 Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. Whitebeards have armed their thin and hairless scalps Against thy majesty. Boys with women’s voices Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints no In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown. Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew 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.
KING RICHARD	Too well, too well thou tell’st a 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 Bolingbroke.
SCROPE	Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.
KING RICHARD	O villains, vipers damned without redemption! Dogs easily won to fawn on any man I 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!
SCROPE	Sweet love, I see, changing his property, Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate. Again uncurse their souls. Their peace is made With heads, and 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.
AUMERLE	Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?
SCROPE	Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.
AUMERLE	Where is the Duke my father, with his power?
KING RICHARD	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 Bolingbroke’s; 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.
(didascalia)	Sitting For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground,
KING RICHARD	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 antic 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?
BISHOP OF CARLISLE	My lord, wise men ne’er wail their present 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 slain. No worse can come to fight; And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
AUMERLE	My father hath a power. Enquire of him, And learn to make a body of a limb.
(didascalia)	KING RICHARD standing
AUMERLE	Thou chid’st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, 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, Scrope, where lies our uncle with his power? Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.
SCROPE	Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and 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 Bolingbroke, And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Upon his faction.
KING RICHARD	Thou hast said enough. (To Aumerle) Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth Of that sweet way I was in to despair. What say you now? What comfort have we now? By heaven, I’ll hate him everlastingly That bids me be of comfort any more. 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.
AUMERLE	My liege, one word.
KING RICHARD	He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers. Let them hence away From Richard’s night to Bolingbroke’s fair day.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Bolingbroke duca di Lancaster e di Hereford, il duca di York, il conte di Northumberland, Lord Ross, Harry Percy e Lord Willoughby
BOLINGBROKE	Conducete avanti questi uomini.
(didascalia)	Entrano Bushy e Green, sotto scorta come prigionieri
BOLINGBROKE	Bushy e Green, non tormenterò le vostre anime, poiché fra poco le vostre anime dovranno lasciare i vostri corpi, col troppo incalzare le vostre perniciose vite, ché non sarebbe carità. Pure, per lavare il vostro sangue dalle mie mani, qui alla vista degli uomini esporrò alcune ragioni della vostra morte. Voi avete traviato un principe, un regale re, un felice gentiluomo di sangue e di fattezze, da voi reso infelice e affatto sfigurato. Voi avete, in certo modo, con le vostre ore peccaminose fatto divorzio fra la sua regina e lui, infranto il possesso d’un letto regale, e macchiato la bellezza delle guance d’una bella regina con lacrime tratte dai suoi occhi dai vostri turpi torti. Io stesso—principe per fortuna della mia nascita, prossimo al re per sangue, e prossimo per amore finché voi non gli faceste fraintendermi— ho piegato il collo sotto le vostre offese, e ho sospirato il mio fiato inglese fra nubi straniere, mangiando l’amaro pane del bando, mentre voi vi nutrivate delle mie signorie, diboscavate i miei parchi e abbattevate i miei boschi, strappavate dalle mie stesse finestre lo stemma di famiglia, cancellavate la mia impresa, non lasciandomi altro segno che l’opinione degli uomini e il mio sangue vivente, a mostrare al mondo ch’io sono un gentiluomo. Questo e molto altro, molto più del doppio di tutto ciò, vi condanna alla morte.—Fate che siano consegnati all’esecuzione e alla mano della morte.
BUSHY	Più gradito è per me il colpo della morte che Bolingbroke per l’Inghilterra.
GREEN	Il mio conforto è che il cielo accoglierà le nostre anime, e flagellerà l’ingiustizia con le pene dell’inferno.
BOLINGBROKE	Mio signore di Northumberland, provvedete che siano giustiziati.
(didascalia)	Esce Northumberland, con Bushy e Green, sotto scorta
BOLINGBROKE	Zio, dite che la regina è nella vostra casa. Per amor di Dio, sia trattata con ogni riguardo. Ditele che le mando i miei cordiali saluti. Abbiate cura speciale che i miei omaggi le siano recati.
YORK	Un mio gentiluomo ho già inviato con lettere che diffusamente le dicono il vostro affetto.
BOLINGBROKE	Grazie, gentile zio.—Venite, signori, via, a combattere con Glyndwr e i suoi complici. Per un poco al lavoro, e dopo, festa.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Flourish. Enter King Richard, the Duke of Aumerle, the Bishop of Carlisle, and soldiers, with drum and colours
KING RICHARD	Harlechly Castle call they this at hand?
AUMERLE	Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air After your late tossing on the breaking seas?
KING RICHARD	Needs must I like it well. I weep for joy To stand upon my kingdom once again. He touches the ground Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though 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-gaited 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.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE	Fear not, my lord. That power that made you king Hath power to keep you king in spite of all.
AUMERLE	He means, my lord, that we are too remiss, Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great in substance and in friends.
KING RICHARD	Discomfortable cousin, know‘st 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 bloody here; But when from under this terrestrial ball He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole, 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, Bolingbroke, Who all this while hath revelled in the night Whilst we were wand’ring 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 from an anointed king. The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord. For every man that Bolingbroke 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.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Salisbury
KING RICHARD	Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power?
SALISBURY	Nor nea’er 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, Overthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed, and fled.
AUMERLE	Comfort, my liege. Why looks your grace so pale?
KING RICHARD	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.
AUMERLE	Comfort, my liege. Remember who you are.
KING RICHARD	I had forgot myself. Am I not King? Awake, thou sluggard majesty, thou sleep’st! Is not the King’s name forty 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.
(didascalia)	Enter Scrope
KING RICHARD	But who comes here?
SCROPE	More health and happiness betide my liege Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him.
KING RICHARD	Mine ear is open and my heart prepared. The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost? Why ’twas my care, And what loss is it to be rid of care? Strives Bolingbroke 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, destruction, ruin, loss, decay: The worst is death, and death will have his day.
SCROPE	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 Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. Whitebeards have armed their thin and hairless scalps Against thy majesty. Boys with women’s voices Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints no In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown. Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew 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.
KING RICHARD	Too well, too well thou tell’st a 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 Bolingbroke.
SCROPE	Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.
KING RICHARD	O villains, vipers damned without redemption! Dogs easily won to fawn on any man I 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!
SCROPE	Sweet love, I see, changing his property, Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate. Again uncurse their souls. Their peace is made With heads, and 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.
AUMERLE	Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?
SCROPE	Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.
AUMERLE	Where is the Duke my father, with his power?
KING RICHARD	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 Bolingbroke’s; 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.
(didascalia)	Sitting For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground,
KING RICHARD	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 antic 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?
BISHOP OF CARLISLE	My lord, wise men ne’er wail their present 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 slain. No worse can come to fight; And fight and die is death destroying death, Where fearing dying pays death servile breath.
AUMERLE	My father hath a power. Enquire of him, And learn to make a body of a limb.
(didascalia)	KING RICHARD standing
AUMERLE	Thou chid’st me well. Proud Bolingbroke, 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, Scrope, where lies our uncle with his power? Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.
SCROPE	Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and 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 Bolingbroke, And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Upon his faction.
KING RICHARD	Thou hast said enough. (To Aumerle) Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth Of that sweet way I was in to despair. What say you now? What comfort have we now? By heaven, I’ll hate him everlastingly That bids me be of comfort any more. 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.
AUMERLE	My liege, one word.
KING RICHARD	He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers. Let them hence away From Richard’s night to Bolingbroke’s fair day.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Fanfara. Entrano re Riccardo, il duca di Aumerle, il vescovo di Carlisle, e soldati, con tamburo e insegne
RE RICCARDO	Chiamano dunque Harlech questo castello qui vicino?
AUMERLE	Sì, mio signore. Come sopporta vostra grazia l’aria dopo il recente sballottamento sui mari in burrasca?
RE RICCARDO	Per forza mi piace assai. Piango di gioia a stare ancora una volta sul mio regno. Tocca il suolo Cara terra, io ti saluto con la mia mano, benché i ribelli ti feriscano con gli zoccoli dei loro cavalli. Come una madre da lungo tempo separata dal suo figlio gioca teneramente con le sue lacrime, e sorride nell’incontrarlo, così, piangendo e sorridendo, ti saluto, terra mia, e ti faccio carezze con le mie mani regali. Non nutrire il nemico del tuo sovrano, mia gentile terra, né con le tue dolcezze conforta il suo senso vorace; ma i tuoi ragni che succhiano il tuo veleno e i rospi dal passo pesante giacciano sul suo cammino, a molestare quei piedi traditori che con passi usurpatori ti calpestano. Offri ortiche pungenti ai miei nemici, e quando dal tuo seno colgano un fiore custodiscilo, ti prego, con una vipera in agguato, la cui doppia lingua possa con un mortale tocco gettare la morte sui nemici del tuo sovrano.— Non deridete il mio insensato scongiuro, signori. Questa terra avrà un sentimento, e queste pietre si faranno soldati armati, prima che il suo re nativo vacilli sotto le armi d’una turpe ribellione.
VESCOVO DI CARLISLE	Non temete, mio signore. Quel potere che vi fece re ha il potere di mantenervi re a dispetto di tutto.
AUMERLE	Egli intende, mio signore, che siamo troppo negligenti, mentre Bolingbroke, per la nostra noncuranza, si fa forte e grande di sostanze e di amici.
RE RICCARDO	Sconfortante cugino, non sai tu che quando l’occhio indagatore del cielo si nasconde dietro il globo, e illumina il mondo di sotto, allora ladri e rapinatori vagano non visti in omicidi e sanguinosi oltraggi quaggiù; ma quando di sotto a questa sfera terrestre egli infiamma le superbe cime dei pini d’oriente e lancia la sua luce in ogni buco colpevole, allora omicidi, tradimenti e peccati detestati, strappato dalle loro spalle il mantello della notte, stanno scoperti e nudi, tremando di se stessi? Così, quando questo ladro, questo traditore, Bolingbroke, che per tutto questo tempo ha gozzovigliato nella notte mentre noi vagavamo con gli Antipodi, ci vedrà sorgere sul nostro trono, l’oriente, i suoi tradimenti gli siederanno rossi sul volto, incapaci di sostenere la vista del giorno, ma, atterriti da sé stessi, tremeranno del proprio peccato. Non tutta l’acqua del mare rozzo e violento può lavare il crisma da un re consacrato. Il fiato d’uomini mondani non può deporre il vicario eletto dal Signore. Per ogni uomo che Bolingbroke ha arruolato a levare acciaio maligno contro la nostra aurea corona, Dio per il suo Riccardo ha al soldo celeste un angelo glorioso. E se gli angeli combattono, gli uomini deboli devon cadere; ché il cielo protegge sempre il diritto.
(didascalia)	Entra il conte di Salisbury
RE RICCARDO	Benvenuto, mio signore. Quanto lontano giacciono le vostre forze?
SALISBURY	Né più vicino né più lontano, mio grazioso signore, di questo debole braccio. Lo sconforto guida la mia lingua, e m’impone di parlare solo di disperazione. Un giorno di ritardo, temo, nobile signore, ha oscurato tutti i tuoi giorni felici sulla terra. Oh, richiama l’ieri, ordina al tempo di tornare, e avrai dodicimila uomini in armi. Oggi, oggi, sventurato giorno troppo tardo, rovescia le tue gioie, i tuoi amici, la tua fortuna e il tuo stato; ché tutti i gallesi, udendo che eri morto, sono passati a Bolingbroke, dispersi e fuggiti.
AUMERLE	Conforto, mio signore. Perché vostra grazia è così pallida?
RE RICCARDO	Or ora il sangue di ventimila uomini trionfava nel mio volto, e sono fuggiti; e finché altrettanto sangue non vi ritorni, non ho ragione d’apparire pallido e morto? Tutte le anime che vogliono salvarsi fuggano dal mio fianco, ché il tempo ha posto una macchia sul mio orgoglio.
AUMERLE	Conforto, mio signore. Ricordate chi siete.
RE RICCARDO	M’ero dimenticato di me. Non sono io il re? Destati, indolente maestà, tu dormi! Non è il nome del re quarantamila nomi? All’armi, all’armi, nome mio! Un suddito da nulla colpisce la tua grande gloria. Non guardate a terra, voi favoriti d’un re: non siamo noi in alto? Alti siano i nostri pensieri. So che mio zio York ha forze abbastanza per fare al caso nostro.
(didascalia)	Entra Scrope
RE RICCARDO	Ma chi viene qui?
SCROPE	Più salute e felicità tocchino al mio signore di quante la mia lingua accordata all’affanno possa recargliene.
RE RICCARDO	Il mio orecchio è aperto e il mio cuore preparato. Il peggio che tu possa esporre è perdita mondana. Di’: è perduto il mio regno? Esso era il mio affanno, e che perdita è liberarsi dell’affanno? Si sforza Bolingbroke d’esser grande quanto noi? Più grande non sarà. Se egli serve Dio, anche noi Lo serviremo, e saremo così suoi pari. Si ribellano i nostri sudditi? A questo non possiamo rimediare. Rompono la loro fede a Dio non meno che a noi. Gridate sventura, distruzione, rovina, perdita, sfacelo: il peggio è la morte, e la morte avrà il suo giorno.
SCROPE	Lieto sono che vostra altezza sia così armata a sopportare le notizie della calamità. Come un giorno di tempesta fuori stagione, che fa straripare i fiumi d’argento sulle loro rive come se il mondo fosse tutto disciolto in lacrime, così ben oltre i suoi limiti gonfia la furia di Bolingbroke, coprendo la vostra terra atterrita di duro acciaio lucente, e di cuori più duri dell’acciaio. Barbe bianche hanno armato i loro crani radi e glabri contro la tua maestà. Ragazzi con voci di donna si sforzano di parlar grosso, e serrano le loro membra femminee in armi rigide e ingombranti contro la tua corona. Perfino i tuoi beneficiati imparano a tendere i loro archi di tasso dalla doppia morte contro il tuo stato. Sì, donne da conocchia maneggiano alabarde arrugginite contro il tuo seggio. Giovani e vecchi si ribellano, e tutto va peggio di quanto io abbia forza di dire.
RE RICCARDO	Troppo bene, troppo bene tu racconti una storia così cattiva. Dov’è il conte di Wiltshire? Dov’è Bagot? Che ne è stato di Bushy, dov’è Green, ché hanno lasciato che il pericoloso nemico misurasse i nostri confini con passi così pacifici? Se prevaliamo, le loro teste ne pagheranno il fio. Scommetto che han fatto pace con Bolingbroke.
SCROPE	Pace hanno fatto con lui davvero, mio signore.
RE RICCARDO	Oh scellerati, vipere dannate senza redenzione! Cani facilmente indotti a far festa a chiunque! Serpi scaldate nel sangue del mio cuore, che il mio cuore pungono! Tre Giuda, ciascuno tre volte peggiore di Giuda! Vorrebbero far pace? Il terribile inferno faccia guerra alle loro anime maculate per quest’offesa!
SCROPE	Il dolce amore, vedo, mutando la sua natura, si volge nel più aspro e mortale odio. Ritirate la maledizione dalle loro anime. La loro pace è stata fatta con le teste, e non con le mani. Quelli che voi maledite hanno sentito il peggio della piaga distruttrice della morte, e giacciono ben in basso, sepolti nel cavo terreno.
AUMERLE	Sono morti Bushy, Green e il conte di Wiltshire?
SCROPE	Sì, tutti a Bristol persero la testa.
AUMERLE	Dov’è il duca mio padre, con le sue forze?
RE RICCARDO	Non importa dove. Nessuno parli di conforto. Parliamo di sepolcri, di vermi ed epitaffi, facciamo della polvere la nostra carta, e con occhi piovosi scriviamo il dolore sul seno della terra. Scegliamo esecutori e parliamo di testamenti— e pure no, ché cosa possiamo lasciare in eredità se non i nostri corpi deposti al suolo? Le nostre terre, le nostre vite e tutto sono di Bolingbroke; e nulla possiamo chiamare nostro se non la morte, e quel piccolo modello di sterile terra che serve da impasto e coperchio alle nostre ossa.
(didascalia)	Sedendosi Per amor di Dio, sediamoci in terra,
RE RICCARDO	e raccontiamo tristi storie della morte dei re— come alcuni sian stati deposti, altri uccisi in guerra, altri perseguitati dai fantasmi di quelli che avevan deposto, altri avvelenati dalle mogli, altri uccisi nel sonno, tutti assassinati. Ché dentro la vuota corona che cinge le mortali tempie d’un re tiene la Morte la sua corte; e là siede il buffone, schernendo il suo stato e sogghignando alla sua pompa, concedendogli un respiro, una breve scena, per fare il monarca, essere temuto e uccidere con lo sguardo, infondendogli sé stesso e vana presunzione, come se questa carne che cinge di mura la nostra vita fosse bronzo inespugnabile; e assecondatolo così, viene alla fine, e con un piccolo spillo fora il muro del suo castello; e addio, re. Copritevi il capo, e non deridete carne e sangue con solenne riverenza. Gettate via il rispetto, la tradizione, la forma e il dovere cerimonioso, ché per tutto questo tempo mi avete solo frainteso. Io vivo di pane, come voi; sento il bisogno, gusto il dolore, ho bisogno d’amici. Così soggetto, come potete dirmi ch’io sono un re?
VESCOVO DI CARLISLE	Mio signore, i saggi non piangon mai le sventure presenti, ma prontamente prevengono le vie del pianto. Temere il nemico, poiché la paura opprime la forza, dà nella vostra debolezza forza al vostro nemico; e così le vostre follie combattono contro voi stesso. Temete, e siate ucciso. Di peggio non può venire dal combattere; e combattere e morire è morte che distrugge la morte, mentre temere il morire paga alla morte un servile respiro.
AUMERLE	Mio padre ha delle forze. Informatevi di lui, e imparate a fare un corpo d’un membro.
(didascalia)	RE RICCARDO in piedi
AUMERLE	Tu mi rimproveri bene. Superbo Bolingbroke, io vengo a scambiar colpi con te per il nostro giorno del giudizio. Quest’accesso febbrile di paura è passato. Facile compito è riconquistare il nostro. Di’, Scrope, dove sta nostro zio con le sue forze? Parla dolcemente, uomo, benché il tuo sguardo sia arcigno.
SCROPE	Gli uomini giudicano dal colorito del cielo lo stato e l’inclinazione del giorno. Così potete voi, dal mio occhio spento e greve, capire che la mia lingua ha da dire una storia più greve ancora. Faccio il torturatore a poco a poco per allungare il peggio che dev’essere detto. Vostro zio York s’è unito a Bolingbroke, e tutti i vostri castelli del nord si sono arresi, e tutti i vostri gentiluomini del sud sono in armi dalla sua parte.
RE RICCARDO	Hai detto abbastanza. (Ad Aumerle) Maledetto tu, cugino, che mi conducesti fuori di quella dolce via su cui ero avviato verso la disperazione. Che dite ora? Che conforto abbiamo ora? Per il cielo, odierò eternamente chi mi dirà ancora di farmi coraggio. Andate al castello di Flint; là mi consumerò. Un re, schiavo della sventura, obbedirà a regale sventura. Le forze che ho, licenziatele, e lascino che vadano ad arare la terra che ha qualche speranza di crescere; ché io non ne ho. Nessuno parli ancora per mutare questo, ché il consiglio è vano.
AUMERLE	Mio signore, una parola.
RE RICCARDO	Mi fa doppio torto chi mi ferisce con le lusinghe della sua lingua. Licenziate i miei seguaci. Vadano via di qui dalla notte di Riccardo al bel giorno di Bolingbroke.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Bolingbroke Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, the Duke of York, the Earl of Northumberland, and soldiers, with drum and colours
BOLINGBROKE	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.
NORTHUMBERLAND	The news is very fair and good, my lord. Richard not far from hence hath hid his head.
YORK	It would beseem the Lord Northumberland To say ‘King Richard’. Alack the heavy day When such a sacred king should hide his head!
NORTHUMBERLAND	Your grace mistakes. Only to be brief Left I his title out.
YORK	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.
BOLINGBROKE	Mistake not, uncle, further than you should.
YORK	Take not, good cousin, further than you should, Lest you mistake the heavens are over our heads.
BOLINGBROKE	I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself Against their will.
(didascalia)	Enter Harry Percy and a trumpeter
BOLINGBROKE	But who comes here? Welcome, Harry. What, will not this castle yield?
HARRY PERCY	The castle royally is manned, my lord, Against thy entrance.
BOLINGBROKE	Royally? Why, it contains no king.
HARRY PERCY	Yes, my good lord, It doth contain a king. King Richard lies
(didascalia)	Within the limits of yon lime and stone,
HARRY PERCY	And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scrope, besides a clergyman Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn.
NORTHUMBERLAND	O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
BOLINGBROKE	(to Northumberland) Noble lord, Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley Into his ruined ears, and thus deliver. Henry Bolingbroke Upon 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 Rained from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen; The which how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke It is such crimson tempest should bedrench 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 threat‘ning drum, That from this castle’s tottered battlements Our fair appointments may be well perused. Methinks King Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements Of fire and water when their thund’ring 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 the earth I rain My waters: on the earth, and not on him.— March on, and mark King Richard, how he looks.
(didascalia)	They march about the stage; then Bolingbroke, York, Percy, and soldiers stand at a distance from the walls; Northumberland and trumpeter advance to the walls. The trumpets sound Fa parley without, and an answer within; then a flourish within. King Richard appeareth on the walls, with the Bishop of Carlisle, the Duke of Aumerle, Scrope, and the Earl of Salisbury
BOLINGBROKE	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 to stain the track Of his bright passage to the occident.
YORK	Yet looks he 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!
KING RICHARD	(to Northumberland) We are amazed; and thus long have we stood To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, Because we thought ourself thy lawful king. An if we be, how dare thy joints forget To pay their aweful 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 know 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 Bolingbroke, for yon methinks he is, That every stride he makes upon my land Is dangerous treason. He is come to open The purple testament of bleeding war; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers’ sons Shall ill become the flower of England’s face, Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace To scarlet indignation, and bedew Her pastures’ grass with faithful English blood.
(didascalia)	NORTHUMBERLAND kneeling
KING RICHARD	The King of heaven forbid our lord the King Should so with civil and uncivil arms Be rushed upon. Thy thrice-noble cousin Harry Bolingbroke 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, no 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 barbed steeds to stables, and his heart To faithful service of your majesty. This swears he as he is a prince and just, And as I am a gentleman I credit him.
KING RICHARD	Northumberland, say thus the King returns: His noble cousin is right 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 kind commends. Northumberland and the trumpeter return to Bolingbroke (To Aumerle) We do debase ourself, 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?
AUMERLE	No, good my lord, let’s fight with gentle words Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful swords.
KING RICHARD	O God, O God, that e‘er this tongue of mine, That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yon proud man, should take it off again With words of sooth! O, that I were 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! Swell’st thou, proud heart? I’ll give thee scope to beat, Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. Northumberland advances to the walls
AUMERLE	Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke.
KING RICHARD	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? A 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 almsman’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? Aumerle, thou weep‘st, 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 tears; As thus to drop them still upon one place Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
(didascalia)	Within the earth, and therein laid? ‘There lies
KING RICHARD	Two kinsmen digged their graves with weeping eyes.’ Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see I talk but idly and you mock at me. Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, What says King Bolingbroke? Will his majesty Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ‘Ay’.
NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord, in the base court he doth attend To speak with you. May it please you to come down?
KING RICHARD	Down, down I come like glist’ring Phaethon, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. In the base court: base court where kings grow base To come at traitors’ calls, and do them grace. In the base court, come down: down court, down King, For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing.
(didascalia)	Exeunt King Richard and his party
KING RICHARD	Northumberland returns to Bolingbroke
BOLINGBROKE	What says his majesty?
NORTHUMBERLAND	Sorrow and grief of heart Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man.
(didascalia)	Enter King Richard and his party below
NORTHUMBERLAND	Yet he is come.
BOLINGBROKE	Stand all apart, And show fair duty to his majesty. He kneels down My gracious lord.
KING RICHARD	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 be low.
BOLINGBROKE	My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.
KING RICHARD	Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.
BOLINGBROKE	So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, As my true service shall deserve your love.
KING RICHARD	Well you deserve. They well deserve to have That know the strong’st and surest way to get.
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke rises
KING RICHARD	(To York) Uncle, give me your hands. Nay, dry your eyes. Tears show their love, but want their remedies. (To Bolingbroke) 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 too; For do we must what force will have us do. Set on towards London, cousin: is it so?
BOLINGBROKE	Yea, my good lord.
KING RICHARD	Then I must not say no.
(didascalia)	Flourish. Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Bolingbroke duca di Lancaster e di Hereford, il duca di York, il conte di Northumberland, e soldati, con tamburo e insegne
BOLINGBROKE	Così da queste informazioni apprendiamo che i gallesi si sono dispersi, e che Salisbury è andato incontro al re, sbarcato di recente con pochi amici privati su questa costa.
NORTHUMBERLAND	La notizia è assai bella e buona, mio signore. Riccardo non lontano di qui ha nascosto il capo.
YORK	Si converrebbe al lord di Northumberland dire «re Riccardo». Ahimè il giorno funesto in cui un re così sacro debba nascondere il capo!
NORTHUMBERLAND	Vostra grazia s’inganna. Solo per esser breve ho tralasciato il suo titolo.
YORK	Ci fu un tempo in cui, se voi foste stato così breve con lui, egli sarebbe stato così breve con voi da accorciarvi, per aver preso così la testa, di tutta la lunghezza del vostro capo.
BOLINGBROKE	Non v’ingannate, zio, più di quanto dovreste.
YORK	Non prendete, buon nipote, più di quanto dovreste, per non ingannarvi che i cieli sono sopra le nostre teste.
BOLINGBROKE	Lo so, zio, e non mi oppongo alla loro volontà.
(didascalia)	Entrano Harry Percy e un trombettiere
BOLINGBROKE	Ma chi viene qui? Benvenuto, Harry. Come, non vuol cedere questo castello?
HARRY PERCY	Il castello è regalmente presidiato, mio signore, contro la tua entrata.
BOLINGBROKE	Regalmente? Ma come, non contiene alcun re.
HARRY PERCY	Sì, mio buon signore, contiene un re. Re Riccardo giace
(didascalia)	entro i limiti di quella calce e pietra,
HARRY PERCY	e con lui sono Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scrope, oltre a un ecclesiastico di santa reverenza; chi sia, non l’ho potuto sapere.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Oh, sarà probabilmente il vescovo di Carlisle.
BOLINGBROKE	(a Northumberland) Nobile signore, andate alle rozze costole di quell’antico castello; attraverso la tromba di bronzo mandate il fiato del parlamentare nelle sue orecchie in rovina, e riferite così. Enrico Bolingbroke in ginocchio bacia la mano di re Riccardo, e manda fedeltà e vera fede di cuore alla sua regalissima persona: qui è venuto a deporre proprio ai suoi piedi le sue armi e le sue forze, purché gli sia liberamente concesso il bando revocato e le terre di nuovo restituite. Se no, userò il vantaggio delle mie forze, e placherò la polvere dell’estate con piogge di sangue stillato dalle ferite d’inglesi trucidati; e quanto lontano dalla mente di Bolingbroke sia che una simile cremisi tempesta debba inzuppare il fresco verde grembo della terra del bel re Riccardo, il mio ossequio prostrato teneramente lo mostrerà. Andate, riferite ciò, mentre qui marciamo sul tappeto erboso di questa pianura. Marciamo senza il rumore di tamburo minaccioso, affinché dagli spalti diroccati di questo castello il nostro bell’apparato possa esser ben esaminato. Mi pare che re Riccardo ed io dovremmo incontrarci con non minor terrore degli elementi del fuoco e dell’acqua, quando il loro tonante urto nell’incontrarsi lacera le nuvolose guance del cielo. Sia egli il fuoco, io sarò l’acqua cedevole. La furia sia sua, mentre sulla terra io piovo le mie acque: sulla terra, e non su di lui.— Avanti, e osservate re Riccardo, come appare.
(didascalia)	Marciano intorno alla scena; poi Bolingbroke, York, Percy e i soldati si fermano a distanza dalle mura; Northumberland e il trombettiere avanzano verso le mura. Le trombe suonano Fun parlamentare fuori, e una risposta dentro; poi una fanfara dentro. Re Riccardo appare sulle mura, col vescovo di Carlisle, il duca di Aumerle, Scrope e il conte di Salisbury
BOLINGBROKE	Guardate, guardate, re Riccardo stesso appare, come fa il rosseggiante sole scontento fuori dall’igneo portale d’oriente quando s’accorge che le nuvole invidiose son decise a offuscare la sua gloria e a macchiare il tracciato del suo luminoso cammino verso l’occidente.
YORK	Eppure appare ancora come un re. Guardate, il suo occhio, lucente come quello dell’aquila, folgora maestà che domina. Ahimè, ahimè che sventura che un qualche danno debba macchiare sì bella apparenza!
RE RICCARDO	(a Northumberland) Siamo stupiti; e tanto a lungo siamo stati fermi ad attendere il timoroso piegarsi del tuo ginocchio, perché credevamo d’essere il tuo legittimo re. E se lo siamo, come osano le tue giunture dimenticare di pagare il loro riverente omaggio alla nostra presenza? Se non lo siamo, mostraci la mano di Dio che ci ha rimosso dal nostro ufficio. Ché ben sappiamo che nessuna mano di sangue e d’ossa può stringere la sacra impugnatura del nostro scettro, se non profanando, rubando o usurpando. E benché voi crediate che tutti—come avete fatto voi— abbiano lacerato le loro anime distogliendole da noi, e che noi siamo spogli e privi d’amici, pur sappiate che il mio padrone, Dio onnipotente, sta radunando nelle sue nubi in nostro favore eserciti di pestilenza; ed essi colpiranno i vostri figli ancora non nati e non generati, voi che levate le vostre mani di vassalli contro il mio capo e minacciate la gloria della mia preziosa corona. Dite a Bolingbroke, ché quello mi pare che sia, che ogni passo ch’egli compie sulla mia terra è pericoloso tradimento. È venuto ad aprire il purpureo testamento della guerra sanguinante; ma prima che la corona ch’egli agogna viva in pace diecimila sanguinose corone di figli di madri staranno male sul fiore del volto d’Inghilterra, muteranno il colorito della sua pace pallida di vergine in scarlatta indignazione, e irroreranno l’erba dei suoi pascoli di fedele sangue inglese.
(didascalia)	NORTHUMBERLAND inginocchiandosi
RE RICCARDO	Il Re del cielo non voglia che il nostro signore il re debba esser così assalito con armi civili e incivili. Il tuo tre volte nobile cugino Harry Bolingbroke umilmente ti bacia la mano, e per l’onorevole tomba egli giura, che sta sopra le ossa del vostro regale avo, e per la regalità dei vostri due sangui, correnti che sgorgano da un solo graziosissimo capo, e per la mano sepolta del bellicoso Gaunt, e per il valore e l’onore di se stesso, comprendendo tutto ciò che può esser giurato o detto, che il suo venir qui non ha altro scopo che le sue prerogative ereditarie, e implorare in ginocchio l’immediata liberazione; e una volta ciò concesso da parte vostra regale, egli affiderà alla ruggine le sue armi splendenti, i suoi destrieri bardati alle stalle, e il suo cuore al fedele servizio di vostra maestà. Questo giura egli come principe e come giusto, e come io sono gentiluomo, gli credo.
RE RICCARDO	Northumberland, di’ che il re risponde così: il suo nobile cugino è ben venuto qui, e tutto il numero delle sue giuste richieste sarà soddisfatto senza contraddizione. Con tutto il grazioso eloquio che possiedi, parla al suo gentile orecchio cortesi saluti. Northumberland e il trombettiere tornano da Bolingbroke (Ad Aumerle) Ci avviliamo, cugino, non è vero, ad apparire così meschini e a parlare così mite? Dobbiamo richiamare Northumberland, e mandare sfida al traditore, e così morire?
AUMERLE	No, mio buon signore, combattiamo con gentili parole finché il tempo non presti amici, e gli amici le loro soccorrevoli spade.
RE RICCARDO	Oh Dio, oh Dio, che mai questa mia lingua, che pose la sentenza del temuto bando su quell’uomo superbo, debba toglierla di nuovo con parole blande! Oh, fossi io grande quanto è il mio dolore, o minore del mio nome, o potessi dimenticare ciò che sono stato, o non ricordare ciò che ora devo essere! Ti gonfi, cuore superbo? Ti darò spazio per battere, poiché i nemici han spazio per battere te e me. Northumberland avanza verso le mura
AUMERLE	Northumberland torna da Bolingbroke.
RE RICCARDO	Che deve fare ora il re? Deve sottomettersi? Il re lo farà. Deve essere deposto? Il re se ne accontenterà. Deve perdere il nome di re? In nome di Dio, se ne vada. Darò i miei gioielli per una corona di grani, il mio splendido palazzo per un eremo, le mie vesti sfarzose per una tonaca da mendicante, i miei calici istoriati per una scodella di legno, il mio scettro per il bordone d’un pellegrino, i miei sudditi per un paio di santi scolpiti, e il mio vasto regno per una piccola tomba, una piccola, piccola tomba, un’oscura tomba; o sarò sepolto nella via maestra del re, qualche via di comune traffico dove i piedi dei sudditi possano d’ora in ora calpestare il capo del loro sovrano, ché sul mio cuore essi calpestano ora, mentre io vivo, e una volta sepolto, perché non sul mio capo? Aumerle, tu piangi, mio cugino dal cuore tenero. Faremo cattivo tempo con le nostre lacrime disprezzate. I nostri sospiri e quelle abbatteranno il grano d’estate, e produrranno carestia in questa terra ribelle. O vogliamo scherzare capricciosamente coi nostri affanni, e fare qualche grazioso gioco spargendo lacrime; come questo: lasciarle cadere sempre su un solo punto finché non ci abbiano scavato un paio di tombe
(didascalia)	dentro la terra, e là dentro deposti? «Qui giacciono
RE RICCARDO	due congiunti che si scavarono le tombe con occhi in pianto.» Non starebbe bene questo male? Bene, bene, vedo che parlo solo a vanvera e voi mi schernite. Potentissimo principe, mio signore di Northumberland, che dice re Bolingbroke? Vorrà sua maestà concedere a Riccardo di vivere finché Riccardo muoia? Voi fate un inchino, e Bolingbroke dice «Sì».
NORTHUMBERLAND	Mio signore, nella corte bassa egli attende di parlarvi. Vi piaccia scendere?
RE RICCARDO	Giù, giù io scendo come lo splendente Fetonte, incapace di governare ronzini indocili. Nella corte bassa: bassa corte dove i re si fanno bassi a venire alle chiamate dei traditori, e a far loro grazia. Nella corte bassa, scendete: giù corte, giù re, ché i gufi della notte stridono dove dovrebbero cantare allodole ascendenti.
(didascalia)	Escono re Riccardo e il suo seguito
RE RICCARDO	Northumberland torna da Bolingbroke
BOLINGBROKE	Che dice sua maestà?
NORTHUMBERLAND	Il dolore e l’affanno del cuore lo fanno parlare stoltamente, come un forsennato.
(didascalia)	Entrano re Riccardo e il suo seguito, in basso
NORTHUMBERLAND	Eppure è venuto.
BOLINGBROKE	Statevene tutti in disparte, e mostrate giusto omaggio a sua maestà. S’inginocchia Mio grazioso signore.
RE RICCARDO	Bel cugino, voi avvilite il vostro principesco ginocchio a far superba la bassa terra col baciarla. Preferirei che il mio cuore potesse sentire il vostro amore che il mio occhio scontento vedere la vostra cortesia. Su, cugino, su. Il vostro cuore è in alto, lo so, almeno a quest’altezza, benché il vostro ginocchio sia in basso.
BOLINGBROKE	Mio grazioso signore, io vengo solo per ciò ch’è mio.
RE RICCARDO	Il vostro è vostro, e io sono vostro, e tutto quanto.
BOLINGBROKE	Sia mio soltanto, mio temutissimo signore, quanto il mio fedele servizio meriterà il vostro affetto.
RE RICCARDO	Ben meritate. Ben meritano d’avere quelli che conoscono la via più forte e più sicura per ottenere.
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke si alza
RE RICCARDO	(A York) Zio, datemi le vostre mani. No, asciugatevi gli occhi. Le lacrime mostrano il loro amore, ma mancano dei loro rimedi. (A Bolingbroke) Cugino, sono troppo giovane per esser vostro padre, benché voi siate abbastanza vecchio per esser mio erede. Quel che vorrete io lo darò, e di buon grado; ché dobbiamo fare ciò che la forza vuole che facciamo. Avviamoci verso Londra, cugino: è così?
BOLINGBROKE	Sì, mio buon signore.
RE RICCARDO	Allora non devo dire di no.
(didascalia)	Fanfara. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Queen, with her two Ladies
QUEEN	What sport shall we devise here in this garden, To drive away the heavy thought of care?
(didascalia)	first LADY Madam, we’ll play at bowls.
QUEEN	’Twill make me think the world is full of rubs, And that my fortune runs against the bias.
(didascalia)	SECOND LADY Madam, we’ll dance.
QUEEN	My legs can keep no measure in delight When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief; Therefore no dancing, girl. Some other sport.
(didascalia)	FIRST LADY Madam, we’ll tell tales.
QUEEN	Of sorrow or of joy?
(didascalia)	FIRST LADY Of either, madam.
QUEEN	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 boots not to complain.
(didascalia)	SECOND LADY
QUEEN	Madam, I’ll sing.
QUEEN	’Tis well that thou hast cause; But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.
(didascalia)	SECOND LADY
QUEEN	I could weep, madam, would it do you good.
QUEEN	And I could sing, would weeping do me good, And never borrow any tear of thee.
(didascalia)	Enter a Gardener and two Men
QUEEN	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 state, for everyone doth so Against a change. Woe is forerun with woe. The Queen and her Ladies stand apart
(didascalia)	GARDENER to First Man
QUEEN	Go, bind thou up young dangling apricots Which, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight. Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
(didascalia)	To Second Man Go thou, and, like an executioner,
QUEEN	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.
(didascalia)	FIRST MAN
QUEEN	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-wallèd garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up, Her fruit trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined, Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars?
GARDENER	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 Bolingbroke— I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.
(didascalia)	SECOND MAN
GARDENER	What, are they dead?
GARDENER	They are; and Bolingbroke Hath seized the wasteful King. O, 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-proud 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 borne the crown, Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.
(didascalia)	FIRST MAN
GARDENER	What, think you then the King shall be deposed?
GARDENER	Depressed he is already, and deposed ’Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night To a dear friend of the good Duke of York’s That tell black tidings.
QUEEN	O, I am pressed to death through want of speaking! She comes forward Thou, old Adam’s likeness, set to dress this garden, How dares 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? Dar‘st thou, thou little better thing than earth, Divine his downfall? Say where, when, and how Cam’st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch!
GARDENER	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 Bolingbroke. 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 Bolingbroke, 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 everyone doth know.
QUEEN	Nimble mischance that art so light of foot, Doth not thy embassage belong to me, And am I last that knows it? O, thou think‘st 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 Bolingbroke? Gard’ner, for telling me these news of woe, Pray God the plants thou graft’st may never grow.
(didascalia)	Exit with her Ladies
GARDENER	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.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra la regina, con le sue due dame
REGINA	Quale svago inventeremo qui in questo giardino, per scacciare il greve pensiero dell’affanno?
(didascalia)	prima DAMA Signora, giocheremo alle bocce.
REGINA	Mi farà pensare che il mondo è pieno d’intoppi, e che la mia fortuna corre contro la piega.
(didascalia)	SECONDA DAMA Signora, danzeremo.
REGINA	Le mie gambe non possono tenere misura nel diletto quando il mio povero cuore non tiene misura nel dolore; perciò niente danza, ragazza. Qualche altro svago.
(didascalia)	PRIMA DAMA Signora, racconteremo storie.
REGINA	Di dolore o di gioia?
(didascalia)	PRIMA DAMA Dell’una o dell’altro, signora.
REGINA	Né dell’una né dell’altro, ragazza. Ché se di gioia, mancandomene del tutto, mi farà ricordare tanto più il dolore. O se di dolore, avendone in pieno, aggiungerà altro dolore alla mia mancanza di gioia. Ché ciò che ho non ho bisogno di ripeterlo, e ciò che mi manca non giova lamentarlo.
(didascalia)	SECONDA DAMA
REGINA	Signora, canterò io.
REGINA	È bene che tu ne abbia motivo; ma mi piaceresti di più se tu piangessi.
(didascalia)	SECONDA DAMA
REGINA	Potrei piangere, signora, se vi facesse bene.
REGINA	E io potrei cantare, se il piangere mi facesse bene, e non prenderei mai a prestito una lacrima da te.
(didascalia)	Entrano un giardiniere e due uomini
REGINA	Ma ferme; ecco vengono i giardinieri. Ritiriamoci nell’ombra di questi alberi. Scommetto la mia miseria contro una fila di spilli che parleranno dello stato, ché tutti fanno così alla vigilia d’un mutamento. La sventura è precorsa da sventura. La regina e le sue dame si tengono in disparte
(didascalia)	GIARDINIERE al primo uomo
REGINA	Va’, lega tu quelle giovani albicocche penzolanti che, come figli indocili, fanno curvare il loro padre sotto l’oppressione del loro prodigo peso. Da’ qualche sostegno ai ramoscelli che s’incurvano.
(didascalia)	Al secondo uomo Va’ tu, e, come un boia,
REGINA	taglia le teste ai ramoscelli che crescono troppo in fretta e che appaiono troppo alteri nella nostra repubblica. Tutto dev’essere pari nel nostro governo. Mentre voi sarete così occupati, io andrò a sradicare le erbacce nocive che senza profitto succhiano la fertilità del suolo ai fiori sani.
(didascalia)	PRIMO UOMO
REGINA	Perché dovremmo noi, nel giro d’uno steccato, mantenere legge e forma e debita proporzione, mostrando come in un modello il nostro saldo stato, quando il nostro giardino cinto dal mare, l’intera terra, è pieno d’erbacce, i suoi più bei fiori soffocati, i suoi alberi da frutto tutti non potati, le sue siepi in rovina, le sue aiuole disordinate, e le sue erbe salutari brulicanti di bruchi?
GIARDINIERE	Taci. Colui che ha tollerato questa primavera disordinata ha ora incontrato egli stesso la caduta delle foglie. Le erbacce cui le sue fronde largamente spiegate davano riparo, e che parevano, mangiandolo, sostenerlo, sono state strappate, con tutte le radici, da Bolingbroke— intendo il conte di Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.
(didascalia)	SECONDO UOMO
GIARDINIERE	Come, sono morti?
GIARDINIERE	Lo sono; e Bolingbroke ha catturato il re dissipatore. Oh, che peccato ch’egli non abbia potato e curato la sua terra come noi questo giardino! Noi, al tempo dell’anno, feriamo la corteccia, la pelle dei nostri alberi da frutto, perché, troppo superbi di linfa e di sangue, con troppa ricchezza non rovinino se stessi. Se egli avesse fatto così con gli uomini grandi e in ascesa, essi avrebbero potuto vivere per portare, ed egli per gustare, i loro frutti di fedeltà. I rami superflui noi li recidiamo, perché i rami fruttiferi possano vivere. Se egli avesse fatto così, avrebbe portato ancora la corona, che lo sperpero d’ore oziose ha del tutto abbattuto.
(didascalia)	PRIMO UOMO
GIARDINIERE	Come, credi tu dunque che il re sarà deposto?
GIARDINIERE	Abbassato lo è già, e deposto è probabile che sarà. Sono giunte lettere ieri notte a un caro amico del buon duca di York che recano nere notizie.
REGINA	Oh, sono schiacciata a morte per il bisogno di parlare! Si fa avanti Tu, immagine del vecchio Adamo, posto a curare questo giardino, come osa la tua lingua aspra e rozza suonare queste sgradite notizie? Quale Eva, quale serpente t’ha suggerito di fare una seconda caduta dell’uomo maledetto? Perché dici che re Riccardo è deposto? Osi tu, cosa poco migliore della terra, predire la sua caduta? Di’ dove, quando e come ti giunse questa cattiva notizia? Parla, miserabile!
GIARDINIERE	Perdonatemi, signora. Poca gioia ho io a spirare questa notizia, eppure ciò che dico è vero. Re Riccardo è nella possente stretta di Bolingbroke. Le loro fortune sono entrambe pesate. Nel piatto del vostro signore non c’è che lui stesso e poche vanità che lo rendono leggero. Ma sulla bilancia del grande Bolingbroke, oltre a lui stesso, ci sono tutti i pari d’Inghilterra, e con quel vantaggio egli fa scendere re Riccardo. Correte a Londra e troverete che è così. Non dico più di quanto ognuno sappia.
REGINA	Agile sventura dal piede così leggero, non spetta a me la tua ambasciata, e son l’ultima a saperla? Oh, tu pensi di servire me per ultima, perch’io conservi più a lungo il tuo dolore nel petto. Venite, dame, andiamo a incontrare a Londra il re di Londra nel dolore. Come, son io nata a questo, che il mio triste aspetto debba adornare il trionfo del grande Bolingbroke? Giardiniere, per avermi detto queste notizie di sventura, voglia Dio che le piante che innesti non crescano mai.
(didascalia)	Esce con le sue dame
GIARDINIERE	Povera regina, purché il tuo stato non ne fosse peggiore vorrei che la mia arte fosse soggetta alla tua maledizione. Qui ella lasciò cadere una lacrima. Qui in questo luogo porrò un’aiuola di ruta, amara erba della grazia. La ruta, in segno di pietà, qui fra breve si vedrà a ricordo d’una regina in pianto.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter, as to Parliament, Bolingbroke Duke of Lancaster and Hereford, the Duke of Aumerle, the Earl of Northumberland, Harry Percy, Lord Fitzwalter, the Duke of Surrey, the Bishop of Carlisle, and the Abbot of Westminster
BOLINGBROKE	Call forth Bagot.
(didascalia)	Enter Bagot, with officers
BOLINGBROKE	Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind: What thou dost know of noble Gloucester’s death, Who wrought it with the King, and who performed The bloody office of his timeless end.
BAGOT	Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.
BOLINGBROKE	(to Aumerle) Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. Aumerle stands forth
BAGOT	My lord Aumerle, 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 withal how blest this land would be In this your cousin’s death.
AUMERLE	Princes and noble lords, What answer shall I make 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 slanderous lips. He throws down his gage There is my gage, 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, though being all too base To stain the temper of my knightly sword.
BOLINGBROKE	Bagot, forbear. Thou shalt not take it up.
AUMERLE	Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence that hath moved me so.
FITZWALTER	If that thy valour stand on sympathy, There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine. He throws down his gage By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand‘st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak’st it, That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester’s death. If thou deny’st it twenty times, thou liest, And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Where it was forged, with my rapier’s point.
AUMERLE	Thou dar’st not, coward, live to see that day.
FITZWALTER	Now by my soul, I would it were this hour.
AUMERLE	Fitzwalter, thou art damned to hell for this.
HARRY PERCY	Aumerle, thou liest. His honour is as true In this appeal as thou art all unjust; And that thou art so, there I throw my gage He throws down his gage To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing. Seize it if thou dar’st.
AUMERLE	An if I do not, may my hands rot off, And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe.
SURREY	My lord Fitzwalter, I do remember well The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
FITZWALTER	’Tis very true. You were in presence then, And you can witness with me this is true.
SURREY	As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.
FITZWALTER	Surrey, thou liest.
SURREY	Dishonourable boy, That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword That it shall render vengeance and revenge, Till thou, the lie-giver, and that lie do lie In earth as quiet as thy father’s skull; In proof whereof, there is my honour’s pawn. He throws down his gage Engage it to the trial if thou dar’st.
FITZWALTER	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 new world, Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal. Besides, I heard the banished Norfolk say That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble Duke at Calais.
AUMERLE	Some honest Christian trust me with a gage. He takes another’s gage and throws it down That Norfolk lies, here do I throw down this, If he may be repealed, to try his honour.
BOLINGBROKE	These differences shall all rest under gage Till Norfolk be repealed. Repealed he shall be, And, though mine enemy, restored again To all his lands and signories. When he is returned, Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.
BISHOP OF CARLISLE	That honourable day shall never 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 colours he had fought so long.
BOLINGBROKE	Why, Bishop of Carlisle, is Norfolk dead?
BISHOP OF CARLISLE	As surely as I live, my lord.
BOLINGBROKE	Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants, Your differences shall all rest under gage Till we assign you to your days of trial.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of York
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, of that name the fourth!
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, crowned, 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 rear this house against this house It will the woefullest division prove That ever fell upon this cursed earth! Prevent, 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.
(didascalia)	Exit
BOLINGBROKE	Lords, you that here are under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer. Little are we beholden to your love, And little looked for at your helping hands.
(didascalia)	Enter Richard and the Duke of York, with attendants bearing the crown and sceptre
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 haill’ 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	(to an attendant) Give me the crown. (To Bolingbroke) Here, cousin, seize the crown. Here, cousin. On this side my hand, 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, [Bolingbroke accepts the crown] And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke accepts the sceptre
RICHARD	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	(giving Richard papers) 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 Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, Showing an outward pity, yet you Pitates 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 T’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.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
NORTHUMBERLAND	Read o’er this paper while the glass doth come.
RICHARD	Fiend, thou torment’st 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.
(didascalia)	Enter one with a glass
RICHARD	Give me that glass, and therein will I read. Richard takes the glass and looks in it No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds? O flatt’ring 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 shatters the glass 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 giv’st 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.
(didascalia)	Exit, guarded
BOLINGBROKE	On Wednesday next we solemnly set down Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but the Abbot of Westminster, the Bishop of Carlisle, and 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.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano, come in Parlamento, Bolingbroke duca di Lancaster e di Hereford, il duca di Aumerle, il conte di Northumberland, Harry Percy, Lord Fitzwalter, il duca di Surrey, il vescovo di Carlisle e l’abate di Westminster
BOLINGBROKE	Fate venire Bagot.
(didascalia)	Entra Bagot, con ufficiali
BOLINGBROKE	Ora, Bagot, di’ liberamente il tuo pensiero: ciò che sai della morte del nobile Gloucester, chi la macchinò col re, e chi compì il sanguinoso ufficio della sua fine anzitempo.
BAGOT	Ponete allora davanti al mio volto Lord Aumerle.
BOLINGBROKE	(ad Aumerle) Cugino, fatevi avanti, e guardate quell’uomo. Aumerle si fa avanti
BAGOT	Mio signore di Aumerle, so che la vostra ardita lingua sdegna di ritrattare ciò che una volta ha proferito. In quel morto tempo in cui si tramava la morte di Gloucester vi udii dire: «Non è forse il mio braccio di tale lunghezza da giungere dalla quieta corte inglese fino a Calais, alla testa di mio zio?» Fra molti altri discorsi, in quello stesso tempo vi udii dire che avreste piuttosto rifiutato l’offerta di centomila corone che il ritorno di Bolingbroke in Inghilterra, aggiungendo inoltre quanto benedetta sarebbe questa terra con la morte di questo vostro cugino.
AUMERLE	Principi e nobili signori, quale risposta darò io a quest’uomo vile? Dovrò io tanto disonorare le mie belle stelle da dargli castigo a pari condizioni? O devo, o avere il mio onore lordato dall’infamia delle sue labbra calunniose. Getta a terra il suo guanto Ecco il mio guanto, il sigillo manuale della morte che ti segna per l’inferno. Dico che tu menti, e sosterrò che ciò che hai detto è falso nel sangue del tuo cuore, per quanto tu sia troppo vile per macchiare la tempra della mia cavalleresca spada.
BOLINGBROKE	Bagot, trattieniti. Non lo raccoglierai.
AUMERLE	Eccettuato uno, vorrei che fosse il migliore di tutta questa assemblea colui che m’ha così provocato.
FITZWALTER	Se il tuo valore esige parità di grado, ecco il mio guanto, Aumerle, in pegno contro il tuo. Getta a terra il suo guanto Per quel bel sole che mi mostra dove tu stai, ti udii dire, e con vanto lo dicesti, che fosti tu la causa della morte del nobile Gloucester. Se lo neghi venti volte, tu menti, e ricaccerò la tua menzogna nel tuo cuore, dove fu forgiata, con la punta del mio stocco.
AUMERLE	Non oserai, codardo, vivere fino a veder quel giorno.
FITZWALTER	Ora per la mia anima, vorrei che fosse quest’ora stessa.
AUMERLE	Fitzwalter, per questo sei dannato all’inferno.
HARRY PERCY	Aumerle, tu menti. Il suo onore è tanto leale in quest’accusa quanto tu sei tutto ingiusto; e che tu sia tale, ecco getto il mio guanto Getta a terra il suo guanto per provarlo su di te fino all’estremo punto del respiro mortale. Raccoglilo se osi.
AUMERLE	E se non lo faccio, mi cadano marcite le mani, e non brandiscano mai più acciaio vendicativo sopra l’elmo scintillante del mio nemico.
SURREY	Mio signore Fitzwalter, io ricordo bene il tempo preciso in cui Aumerle e voi parlaste.
FITZWALTER	È verissimo. Voi eravate presente allora, e potete testimoniare con me che questo è vero.
SURREY	Falso, per il cielo, quanto il cielo stesso è vero.
FITZWALTER	Surrey, tu menti.
SURREY	Ragazzo disonorevole, quella menzogna giacerà così grave sulla mia spada ch’essa renderà vendetta e castigo, finché tu, che dài la menzogna, e quella menzogna giacciate in terra così quieti come il teschio di tuo padre; a prova di che, ecco il pegno del mio onore. Getta a terra il suo guanto Impegnalo alla prova se osi.
FITZWALTER	Quanto stoltamente speroni un cavallo già lanciato! Se oso mangiare, o bere, o respirare, o vivere, oso incontrare Surrey in un deserto e sputargli addosso mentre dico ch’egli mente, e mente, e mente. Ecco il mio pegno di fede per legarti alla mia forte correzione. Com’è vero ch’io spero di prosperare in questo mondo nuovo, Aumerle è colpevole della mia veritiera accusa. Inoltre, udii il bandito Norfolk dire che tu, Aumerle, mandasti due dei tuoi uomini a giustiziare il nobile duca a Calais.
AUMERLE	Qualche onesto cristiano m’affidi un guanto. Prende il guanto d’un altro e lo getta a terra Che Norfolk mente, qui io getto questo, perché, se gli sia revocato il bando, si provi il suo onore.
BOLINGBROKE	Tutte queste contese resteranno sotto pegno finché a Norfolk non sia revocato il bando. Revocato gli sarà, e, benché mio nemico, sarà di nuovo restituito a tutte le sue terre e signorie. Quando sarà tornato, contro Aumerle imporremo la sua prova.
VESCOVO DI CARLISLE	Quell’onorevole giorno non si vedrà mai. Molte volte il bandito Norfolk ha combattuto per Gesù Cristo in glorioso campo cristiano, spiegando l’insegna della croce cristiana contro neri pagani, turchi e saraceni; e, affaticato dalle opere di guerra, si ritirò in Italia, e là a Venezia rese il suo corpo alla terra di quel piacevole paese, e la sua pura anima al suo capitano, Cristo, sotto le cui insegne aveva combattuto così a lungo.
BOLINGBROKE	Come, vescovo di Carlisle, è morto Norfolk?
VESCOVO DI CARLISLE	Com’è certo ch’io vivo, mio signore.
BOLINGBROKE	Dolce pace conduca la sua dolce anima al seno del buon vecchio Abramo! Signori accusatori, le vostre contese resteranno tutte sotto pegno finché non vi assegneremo i vostri giorni di prova.
(didascalia)	Entra il duca di York
YORK	Gran duca di Lancaster, io vengo a te da parte di Riccardo spennato, che con anima volenterosa ti adotta erede, e il suo alto scettro cede al possesso della tua regale mano. Ascendi il suo trono, che ora discende da lui, e lunga vita a Enrico, quarto di quel nome!
BOLINGBROKE	In nome di Dio ascenderò il trono regale.
VESCOVO DI CARLISLE	Perbacco, Dio non voglia! Il più infimo in questa regale presenza io possa essere a parlare, eppure a me più s’addice dire la verità. Volesse Dio che qualcuno in questa nobile presenza fosse abbastanza nobile per essere retto giudice del nobile Riccardo. Allora la vera nobiltà gl’insegnerebbe a trattenersi da sì turpe torto. Quale suddito può dar sentenza sul suo re? E chi siede qui che non sia suddito di Riccardo? I ladri non son giudicati senza esser presenti a udire, benché manifesta colpa si veda in loro; e dovrà l’immagine della maestà di Dio, il suo capitano, amministratore, vicario eletto, unto, incoronato, insediato per molti anni, esser giudicato da fiato di sudditi e inferiori, ed egli stesso non presente? Oh, impediscilo, Dio, che in un clima cristiano anime raffinate mostrino un atto sì nefando, nero, osceno! Io parlo a sudditi, e un suddito parla mosso da Dio così arditamente per il suo re. Il mio signore di Hereford qui, che voi chiamate re, è un turpe traditore verso il re del superbo Hereford; e, se voi lo incoronate, lasciate ch’io profetizzi: il sangue degli inglesi concimerà il suolo, e le età future gemeranno per quest’atto turpe. La pace andrà a dormire fra turchi e infedeli, e in questa sede di pace guerre tumultuose confonderanno congiunto con congiunto e stirpe con stirpe. Disordine, orrore, terrore e ammutinamento abiteranno qui, e questa terra sarà chiamata il campo del Golgota e dei teschi dei morti. Oh, se voi levate questa casa contro questa casa, essa risulterà la più dolorosa divisione che mai sia caduta su questa terra maledetta! Prevenitela, resistetele; che non sia così, perché i figli, e i figli dei figli, non gridino sventura contro di voi.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Bene avete argomentato, signore, e per la vostra fatica di capitale tradimento qui vi arrestiamo. Mio signore di Westminster, sia vostro carico custodirlo al sicuro fino al suo giorno di giudizio. Vi piaccia, signori, accordare l’istanza dei Comuni?
BOLINGBROKE	Conducete qui Riccardo, perché in pubblica vista egli possa cedere. Così procederemo senza sospetto.
YORK	Io sarò la sua scorta.
(didascalia)	Esce
BOLINGBROKE	Signori, voi che qui siete in stato d’arresto, procuratevi i garanti per i vostri giorni di risposta. Poco siamo debitori al vostro affetto, e poco ci aspettavamo dalle vostre mani soccorrevoli.
(didascalia)	Entrano Riccardo e il duca di York, con servitori che recano la corona e lo scettro
RICCARDO	Ahimè, perché son chiamato davanti a un re prima d’aver scosso via i pensieri regali coi quali regnavo? A stento ho ancora imparato a insinuarmi, adulare, inchinarmi e piegare il ginocchio. Concedete al dolore un po’ di tempo per istruirmi a questa sottomissione. Pure ben ricordo i volti di questi uomini. Non erano miei? Non gridavano un tempo «Osanna!» a me? Così fece Giuda a Cristo. Ma Egli in dodici trovò fede in tutti tranne uno; io, in dodicimila, in nessuno. Dio salvi il re! Nessuno vuol dire «Amen»? Sono io sacerdote e chierico insieme? Ebbene, allora, Amen. Dio salvi il re, benché io non lo sia. E tuttavia Amen, se il cielo lo ritiene me. Per quale servizio son chiamato qui?
YORK	Per compiere di tua propria buona volontà quell’ufficio che la maestà stanca ti fece offrire: la rinuncia al tuo stato e alla tua corona a Enrico Bolingbroke.
RICCARDO	(a un servitore) Dammi la corona. (A Bolingbroke) Ecco, cugino, prendi la corona. Qua, cugino. Da questa parte la mia mano, da quella la tua. Ora questa aurea corona è come un profondo pozzo che ha due secchi che si riempiono l’un l’altro, il più vuoto sempre danzante nell’aria, l’altro giù, non visto, e pieno d’acqua. Quel secchio in basso e pieno di lacrime sono io, che bevo i miei dolori, mentre voi salite in alto.
BOLINGBROKE	Credevo foste disposto a rinunciare.
RICCARDO	Alla mia corona lo sono, ma i miei dolori restano miei. Voi potete deporre le mie glorie e il mio stato, ma non i miei dolori; di quelli sono ancora re.
BOLINGBROKE	Parte dei vostri affanni voi mi date con la vostra corona.
RICCARDO	I vostri affanni innalzati non abbattono i miei affanni. Il mio affanno è perdita d’affanno compiuta da vecchio affanno; il vostro affanno è guadagno d’affanno vinto con nuovo affanno. Gli affanni che dò io li ho, benché donati; seguono la corona, eppure restano ancora con me.
BOLINGBROKE	Siete contento di rinunciare alla corona?
RICCARDO	Sì, no; no, sì; ché devo essere nulla; perciò no, no, ché io rinuncio a te. Ora osservatemi come disfarò me stesso. Tolgo questo grave peso dal mio capo, [Bolingbroke accetta la corona] e questo ingombrante scettro dalla mia mano,
(didascalia)	Bolingbroke accetta lo scettro
RICCARDO	l’orgoglio del dominio regale fuori dal mio cuore. Con le mie stesse lacrime lavo via il mio crisma, con le mie stesse mani cedo la mia corona, con la mia stessa lingua rinnego il mio sacro stato, col mio stesso fiato sciolgo ogni giuramento di fedeltà. Ogni pompa e maestà abiuro. I miei manieri, censi, rendite abbandono. I miei atti, decreti e statuti rinnego. Dio perdoni tutti i giuramenti infranti verso di me. Dio mantenga inviolati tutti i voti fatti a te. Fa’ che io, che nulla ho, di nulla mi dolga, e tu di tutto sia lieto, tu che tutto hai ottenuto. A lungo tu possa vivere a sedere sul seggio di Riccardo, e presto giaccia Riccardo in una fossa di terra. «Dio salvi re Enrico», dice Riccardo spodestato, «e gli mandi molti anni di giornate di sole». Che altro rimane?
NORTHUMBERLAND	(porgendo a Riccardo dei fogli) Nulla più, se non che leggiate queste accuse e questi gravi delitti commessi dalla vostra persona e dai vostri seguaci contro lo stato e il profitto di questa terra, affinché, confessandoli, le anime degli uomini possano giudicare che voi siete degnamente deposto.
RICCARDO	Devo far ciò? E devo dipanare le mie follie intessute? Gentile Northumberland, se le tue offese fossero messe per iscritto, non ti farebbe vergogna in sì bella compagnia leggerne la lezione? Se volessi, vi troveresti un articolo nefando che contiene la deposizione d’un re e l’infrazione del forte vincolo d’un giuramento, segnato con una macchia, dannato nel libro del cielo. Anzi, tutti voi che state a guardare mentre la mia miseria strazia me stesso, benché alcuni di voi, con Pilato, si lavino le mani, mostrando pietà esteriore, pure voi Pilati m’avete qui consegnato alla mia amara croce, e l’acqua non può lavare il vostro peccato.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Mio signore, sbrigatevi. Leggete questi articoli.
RICCARDO	I miei occhi son pieni di lacrime; non ci vedo. Eppure l’acqua salata non li acceca tanto che non possano vedere qui una masnada di traditori. Anzi, se volgo gli occhi su me stesso trovo me stesso traditore con gli altri, ché ho dato qui il consenso della mia anima a spogliare il fastoso corpo d’un re, ho reso vile la gloria e schiava la sovranità, suddita la superba maestà, contadino lo stato.
NORTHUMBERLAND	Mio signore—
RICCARDO	Non tuo signore, uomo altero e insultante, né signore d’alcuno. Non ho nome, non ho titolo, no, nemmeno quel nome che mi fu dato al fonte, ma è usurpato. Ahimè il giorno funesto, ch’io abbia consumato tanti inverni e non sappia ora con che nome chiamarmi! Oh, fossi io un re da burla di neve, stante davanti al sole di Bolingbroke a sciogliermi via in gocce d’acqua! Buon re, gran re—eppure non grandemente buono— se la mia parola ha ancora corso in Inghilterra, ch’essa faccia venire subito qui uno specchio, perché mi mostri che faccia io abbia, ora ch’essa è fallita della sua maestà.
BOLINGBROKE	Andate, qualcuno di voi, e portate uno specchio.
(didascalia)	Esce uno o più
NORTHUMBERLAND	Leggete questo foglio mentre lo specchio arriva.
RICCARDO	Demonio, tu mi tormenti prima ch’io giunga all’inferno.
BOLINGBROKE	Non insistete oltre, mio signore di Northumberland.
NORTHUMBERLAND	I Comuni allora non saranno soddisfatti.
RICCARDO	Saranno soddisfatti. Leggerò abbastanza quando vedrò il libro vero e proprio dove tutti i miei peccati sono scritti, e quello è me stesso.
(didascalia)	Entra uno con uno specchio
RICCARDO	Datemi quello specchio, e in esso leggerò. Riccardo prende lo specchio e vi guarda dentro Nessuna ruga più profonda ancora? Ha il dolore vibrato tanti colpi su questo mio volto senza fare ferite più profonde? Oh specchio adulatore, come i miei seguaci nella prosperità, tu m’inganni! Era questo volto il volto che ogni giorno sotto il tetto della sua casa manteneva diecimila uomini? Era questo il volto che come il sole faceva socchiudere gli occhi a chi guardava? È questo il volto che affrontò tante follie, e che alla fine fu affrontato e vinto da Bolingbroke? Una fragile gloria splende in questo volto. Fragile quanto la gloria è il volto, Manda in frantumi lo specchio ché eccolo là, spezzato in cento schegge. Nota, silenzioso re, la morale di questo gioco: quanto presto il mio dolore ha distrutto il mio volto.
BOLINGBROKE	L’ombra del vostro dolore ha distrutto l’ombra del vostro volto.
RICCARDO	Ripetetelo: «L’ombra del mio dolore»—ah, vediamo. È verissimo: il mio dolore sta tutto dentro, e queste forme esteriori di lamento non sono che ombre del dolore invisibile che si gonfia in silenzio nell’anima torturata. Là sta la sostanza, e io ti ringrazio, re, per la tua grande munificenza, che non solo mi dai motivo di piangere, ma m’insegni il modo di lamentare il motivo. Chiederò un solo favore, e poi me ne andrò e non vi darò più fastidio. Lo otterrò?
BOLINGBROKE	Nominatelo, bel cugino.
RICCARDO	Bel cugino? Io sono più grande d’un re; ché quando ero re i miei adulatori erano allora solo sudditi; essendo ora suddito, ho un re qui per mio adulatore. Essendo così grande, non ho bisogno di mendicare.
BOLINGBROKE	Pure, chiedete.
RICCARDO	E l’otterrò?
BOLINGBROKE	L’otterrete.
RICCARDO	Allora datemi licenza d’andare.
BOLINGBROKE	Dove?
RICCARDO	Dove volete, purché sia lontano dai vostri sguardi.
BOLINGBROKE	Andate, alcuni di voi, e scortatelo alla Torre.
RICCARDO	Oh bello, «scortare»! Scortatori siete tutti, che salite così agilmente per la caduta d’un vero re.
(didascalia)	Esce, sotto scorta
BOLINGBROKE	Mercoledì prossimo solennemente fissiamo la nostra incoronazione. Signori, preparatevi.
(didascalia)	Escono tutti tranne l’abate di Westminster, il vescovo di Carlisle e Aumerle
ABATE DI WESTMINSTER	Un doloroso spettacolo abbiamo qui contemplato.
VESCOVO DI CARLISLE	La sventura è a venire, i figli ancora non nati sentiranno questo giorno per loro acuto come spina.
AUMERLE	Voi santi uomini di chiesa, non c’è alcun disegno per liberare il reame da questa pernicioso macchia?
ABATE DI WESTMINSTER	Mio signore, prima ch’io dica liberamente il mio pensiero in ciò, voi dovrete non solo prendere il sacramento per seppellire le mie intenzioni, ma anche per attuare qualunque cosa mi accada di ideare. Vedo che le vostre fronti son piene di scontento, i vostri cuori di dolore, e i vostri occhi di lacrime. Venite a casa mia a cena. Io ordirò un disegno che ci mostrerà a tutti un giorno lieto.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Queen, with her Ladies
QUEEN	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 Bolingbroke. Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth Have any resting for her true king’s queen.
(didascalia)	Enter Richard and guard
QUEEN	But soft, but see—or rather do not see— My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold, That you in pity may dissolve to dew, And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.— Ah, thou the model where old Troy did stand! Thou map of honour, thou King Richard’s tomb, And not King Richard! Thou most beauteous inn: Why should hard-favoured grief be lodged in thee, When triumph is become an alehouse guest?
RICHARD	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. Hie thee to France, And cloister thee in some religious house. Our holy lives must win a new world’s crown, Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
QUEEN	What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transformed and weakenèd? Hath Bolingbroke Deposed 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’erpowered; 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 ?
RICHARD	A king of beasts indeed! If aught 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 tak’st, 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 betid; And ere thou bid goodnight, to quit their griefs Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, And send the hearers weeping to their beds; Forwhy 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.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Northumberland
NORTHUMBERLAND	My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed. You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. And, madam, there is order ta’en for you. With all swift speed you must away to France.
RICHARD	Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal The mounting Bolingbroke 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. He shall think that thou, which know‘st the way To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, Being ne’er so little urged another way, To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. The love of wicked friends converts to fear, That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death.
NORTHUMBERLAND	My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave and part, for you must part forthwith.
RICHARD	Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate A twofold marriage:‘twixt my crown and me, And then betwixt me and my married wife. (To the Queen) Let me unkiss the oath ’twixt thee and me— And yet not so, for with a kiss ‘twas made. Part us, Northumberland: I towards the north, Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; My queen to France, from whence set forth in pomp She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas or short’st of day.
QUEEN	And must we be divided? Must we part?
RICHARD	Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.
QUEEN	Banish us both, and send the King with me.
(didascalia)	NORTHUMBERLAND
QUEEN	That were some love, but little policy.
QUEEN	Then whither he goes, thither let me go.
RICHARD	So two together weeping make one woe. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here. Better far off than, near, be ne’er the nea’er. Go count thy way with sighs, I mine with groans.
QUEEN	So longest way shall have the longest moans.
RICHARD	Twice for one step I’ll groan, the way being short, And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow let’s be brief, 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
QUEEN	Give me mine own again. ’Twere no good part To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. They kiss So now I have mine own again, be gone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
RICHARD	We make woe wanton with this fond delay. Once more, adieu. The rest let sorrow say.
(didascalia)	Exeunt FRichard, guarded, and Northumberland at one door, the Queen and her Ladies at another door

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra la regina, con le sue dame
REGINA	Di qui verrà il re. Questa è la via alla Torre malamente eretta di Giulio Cesare, al cui petto di selce il mio signore condannato è destinato prigioniero dal superbo Bolingbroke. Qui riposiamo, se questa terra ribelle ha qualche riposo per la regina del suo vero re.
(didascalia)	Entrano Riccardo e la guardia
REGINA	Ma piano, ma guardate—o piuttosto non guardate— appassire la mia bella rosa. Pure levate gli occhi, mirate, affinché per pietà voi possiate sciogliervi in rugiada e lavarlo di nuovo fresco con lacrime di vero amore.— Ah, tu, il modello dove sorgeva l’antica Troia! Tu mappa dell’onore, tu tomba di re Riccardo, e non re Riccardo! Tu bellissima locanda: perché il dolore dal volto duro deve alloggiare in te, quando il trionfo è divenuto ospite d’una bettola?
RICCARDO	Non t’unire al dolore, bella donna, non farlo, per rendere la mia fine troppo repentina. Impara, buona anima, a pensare il nostro stato d’un tempo un sogno felice, dal quale destati, la verità di ciò che siamo ci mostra solo questo. Io son fratello giurato, dolce mia, alla torva necessità, ed egli ed io terremo lega fino alla morte. Affrettati in Francia, e chiuditi in qualche religiosa casa. Le nostre sante vite devono conquistare la corona d’un mondo nuovo, che le nostre ore profane quaggiù hanno abbattuto.
REGINA	Come, è il mio Riccardo e nel corpo e nella mente trasformato e infiacchito? Ha Bolingbroke deposto il tuo intelletto? È stato nel tuo cuore? Il leone morente protende la zampa e ferisce la terra, se non altro, per la rabbia d’essere sopraffatto; e tu, come uno scolaro, accetterai la correzione, bacerai mite la verga, e adulerai la furia con vile umiltà, tu che sei un leone e il re delle bestie?
RICCARDO	Un re di bestie davvero! Se non fossero che bestie, sarei ancora un felice re d’uomini. Buona un tempo regina, preparati a partire per la Francia. Pensa ch’io sia morto, e che proprio qui tu prenda, come dal mio letto di morte, il tuo ultimo commiato da vivo. Nelle tediose notti d’inverno, siedi presso il fuoco con buona gente antica, e lascia che ti raccontino storie di età dolorose accadute molto tempo fa; e prima di dar la buonanotte, per ricambiare i loro affanni racconta tu la lamentevole caduta mia, e manda a letto piangenti gli ascoltatori; ché persino i ceppi insensibili s’accorderanno al grave accento della tua lingua commovente, e per compassione piangeranno fino a spegnere il fuoco; e alcuni faranno lutto in cenere, altri neri come carbone, per la deposizione d’un legittimo re.
(didascalia)	Entra il conte di Northumberland
NORTHUMBERLAND	Mio signore, la mente di Bolingbroke è mutata. Dovete andare a Pomfret, non alla Torre. E, signora, è stato dato ordine per voi. Con ogni rapida fretta dovete partire per la Francia.
RICCARDO	Northumberland, tu scala per mezzo della quale l’ascendente Bolingbroke sale al mio trono, il tempo non sarà di molte ore più vecchio di quanto sia ora, prima che il turpe peccato, gonfiandosi, erompa in corruzione. Tu penserai, anche s’egli divide il reame e te ne dà metà, ch’è troppo poco, avendolo aiutato ad averlo tutto. Egli penserà che tu, che sai la via di piantare re illegittimi, saprai di nuovo, per quanto poco spinto in altra direzione, strapparlo a capofitto dal trono usurpato. L’amore degli amici malvagi si converte in paura, quella paura in odio, e l’odio volge l’uno o entrambi a degno pericolo e meritata morte.
NORTHUMBERLAND	La mia colpa ricada sul mio capo, e basta così. Congedatevi e separatevi, ché dovete separarvi subito.
RICCARDO	Doppiamente divorziato! Uomini malvagi, voi violate un duplice matrimonio: quello fra la mia corona e me, e poi quello fra me e la mia sposa. (Alla regina) Lascia che disbaci il giuramento fra te e me— eppure no, ché con un bacio fu fatto. Separaci, Northumberland: io verso il nord, dove il freddo tremante e la malattia struggono il clima; la mia regina in Francia, donde partita in pompa ella venne qui adorna come il dolce maggio, rimandata indietro come Ognissanti o il più corto dei giorni.
REGINA	E dobbiamo essere divisi? Dobbiamo separarci?
RICCARDO	Sì, mano da mano, amore mio, e cuore da cuore.
REGINA	Bandite entrambi, e mandate il re con me.
(didascalia)	NORTHUMBERLAND
REGINA	Sarebbe un po’ d’amore, ma poca politica.
REGINA	Allora dove va lui, là lasciate andare me.
RICCARDO	Così due che piangono insieme fanno un solo dolore. Piangi tu per me in Francia, io per te qui. Meglio lontani che, vicini, non essere mai più vicini. Va’, misura il tuo cammino con sospiri, io il mio con gemiti.
REGINA	Così la via più lunga avrà i più lunghi lamenti.
RICCARDO	Due volte per un passo gemerò, essendo breve la via, e allungherò il cammino con un cuore pesante. Vieni, vieni, nel corteggiare il dolore siamo brevi, poiché, sposandolo, c’è tanta lunghezza nell’affanno. Un bacio chiuderà le nostre bocche, e muti ci separeremo. Così io dò il mio, e così prendo il tuo cuore. Si baciano
REGINA	Ridammi il mio. Non sarebbe buona parte prendere su di me di custodire e uccidere il tuo cuore. Si baciano Così ora ho di nuovo il mio; vattene, perch’io possa sforzarmi d’ucciderlo con un gemito.
RICCARDO	Rendiamo il dolore capriccioso con questo tenero indugio. Ancora una volta, addio. Il resto lo dica il dolore.
(didascalia)	Escono FRiccardo, sotto scorta, e Northumberland da una porta, la regina e le sue dame da un’altra porta

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke and Duchess of York
DUCHESS OF YORK	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.
YORK	Where did I leave?
DUCHESS OF YORK	At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgoverned hands from windows’ tops Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard’s head.
YORK	Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seemed to know, With slow but stately pace kept on his course, Whilst all tongues cried ‘God save thee, 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!’ Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed’s neck, Bespake them thus: ‘I thank you, countrymen’, And thus still doing, thus he passed along.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Alack, poor Richard! Where rode he the whilst?
YORK	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 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 perforce 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 are we sworn subjects now, Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Aumerle
DUCHESS OF YORK	Here comes my son Aumerle.
YORK	Aumerle 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.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?
AUMERLE	Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not. God knows I had as lief be none as one.
YORK	Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropped before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? Hold these jousts and triumphs?
AUMERLE	For aught I know, my lord, they do.
YORK	You will be there, I know.
AUMERLE	If God prevent it not, I purpose so.
YORK	What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom? Yea, look’st thou pale? Let me see the writing.
AUMERLE	My lord, ’tis nothing.
YORK	No matter, then, who see it. I will be satisfied. Let me see the writing.
AUMERLE	I do beseech your grace to pardon me. It is a matter of small consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
YORK	Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear!
DUCHESS OF YORK	What should you fear? ‘Tis nothing but some bond that he is entered into For gay apparel ’gainst the triumph day.
YORK	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.
AUMERLE	I do beseech you, pardon me. I may not show it.
YORK	I will be satisfied. Let me see it, I say. He plucks it out of Aumerle’s bosom, and reads it Treason, foul treason ! Villain, traitor, slave !
DUCHESS OF YORK	What is the matter, my lord?
YORK	Ho, who is within there? Saddle my horse.— God for his mercy, what treachery is here I
DUCHESS	of YORK Why, what is it, my lord?
YORK	Give me my boots, I say. Saddle my horse.— Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain.
DUCHESS OF YORK	What is the matter?
YORK	Peace, foolish woman.
DUCHESS OF YORK	I will not peace. What is the matter, son?
AUMERLE	Good mother, be content. It is no more Than my poor life must answer.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Thy life answer?
YORK	Bring me my boots. I will unto the King. His man enters with his boots
DUCHESS OF YORK	Strike him, Aumerle! Poor boy, thou art amazed. (To York’s man) Hence, villain! Never more come in my sight.
YORK	Give me my boots, I say.
DUCHESS OF YORK	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?
YORK	Thou fond, mad woman, Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? A dozen of them here have ta’en the sacrament, And interchangeably set down their hands To kill the King at Oxford.
DUCHESS OF YORK	He shall be none. We’ll keep him here, then what is that to him?
YORK	Away, fond woman! Were he twenty times my son I would appeach him.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Hadst thou groaned for him As I have done thou wouldst be more pitiful. But now I know thy mind: thou dost 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.
YORK	Make way, unruly woman.
(didascalia)	Exit with his man
DUCHESS OF YORK	After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse. Spur, post, and get before him to the King, And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse 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 Bolingbroke have pardoned thee. Away, be gone I
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano il duca e la duchessa di York
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Mio signore, mi diceste che avreste raccontato il resto, quando il pianto vi fece interrompere la storia, dell’ingresso dei nostri due cugini a Londra.
YORK	Dove m’ero fermato?
DUCHESSA DI YORK	A quel triste punto, mio signore, in cui rozze mani sfrenate dalle sommità delle finestre gettavano polvere e immondizia sul capo di re Riccardo.
YORK	Allora, come dicevo, il duca, il grande Bolingbroke, montato su un destriero focoso e ardente, che pareva conoscere il suo ambizioso cavaliere, con passo lento ma maestoso proseguiva il suo cammino, mentre tutte le lingue gridavano «Dio ti salvi, Bolingbroke!» Avreste creduto che le finestre stesse parlassero, tanti sguardi avidi di giovani e vecchi dai davanzali dardeggiavano i loro occhi bramosi sul suo volto, e che tutte le mura coi loro affreschi dipinti avessero detto a una voce: «Gesù ti protegga! Benvenuto, Bolingbroke!» Mentre egli, volgendosi da un lato all’altro, a capo scoperto, più basso del collo del suo superbo destriero, così parlava loro: «Vi ringrazio, compatrioti», e così facendo sempre, così passò oltre.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Ahimè, povero Riccardo! Dove cavalcava egli frattanto?
YORK	Come in un teatro gli occhi degli uomini, dopo che un attore ben gradito lascia la scena, si volgono oziosi su colui che entra dopo, giudicando tedioso il suo cicaleccio, proprio così, o con assai maggior disprezzo, gli occhi degli uomini guardavano torvi il gentile Riccardo. Nessuno gridò «Dio lo salvi!» Nessuna lingua gioiosa gli diede il benvenuto a casa; ma polvere fu gettata sul suo capo sacro, ch’egli con sì mite dolore scuoteva via, il suo volto sempre in lotta fra lacrime e sorrisi, le insegne del suo dolore e della sua pazienza, che, se Dio per qualche forte disegno non avesse indurato i cuori degli uomini, essi per forza si sarebbero sciolti, e la barbarie stessa avrebbe avuto pietà di lui. Ma il cielo ha una mano in questi eventi, alla cui alta volontà leghiamo la nostra calma acquiescenza. A Bolingbroke siamo ora sudditi giurati, di cui per sempre riconosco lo stato e l’onore.
(didascalia)	Entra il duca di Aumerle
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Ecco viene mio figlio Aumerle.
YORK	Aumerle che era; ma quello è perduto per essere stato amico di Riccardo, e, signora, dovete chiamarlo «Rutland» adesso. Io sono in Parlamento garante della sua lealtà e della sua duratura fedeltà al re appena fatto.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Benvenuto, figlio mio. Chi sono le violette adesso che cospargono il verde grembo della primavera appena giunta?
AUMERLE	Signora, non lo so, né molto me ne curo. Dio sa che preferirei non essere nessuna di loro che esserne una.
YORK	Ebbene, portatevi bene in questa nuova primavera del tempo, affinché non siate reciso prima di giungere al fiore. Che notizie da Oxford? Si tengono queste giostre e questi trionfi?
AUMERLE	Per quanto ne so, mio signore, sì.
YORK	Voi ci sarete, lo so.
AUMERLE	Se Dio non l’impedisce, così ho intenzione.
YORK	Che sigillo è quello che ti pende fuori dal petto? Sì, impallidisci? Fammi vedere lo scritto.
AUMERLE	Mio signore, non è nulla.
YORK	Non importa, allora, chi lo veda. Voglio esserne sicuro. Fammi vedere lo scritto.
AUMERLE	Supplico vostra grazia di perdonarmi. È cosa di poca importanza, che per certe ragioni non vorrei fosse veduta.
YORK	Che per certe ragioni, signore, io intendo vedere. Ho paura, ho paura!
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Di che dovreste aver paura? Non è che qualche obbligazione in cui è entrato per abiti sfarzosi in vista del giorno del trionfo.
YORK	Obbligato a se stesso? Che se ne fa d’un’obbligazione a cui è obbligato? Moglie, tu sei una sciocca. Ragazzo, fammi vedere lo scritto.
AUMERLE	Vi supplico, perdonatemi. Non posso mostrarlo.
YORK	Voglio esserne sicuro. Fammelo vedere, ti dico. Glielo strappa dal petto ad Aumerle, e lo legge Tradimento, turpe tradimento! Furfante, traditore, schiavo!
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Che c’è, mio signore?
YORK	Ehi, chi c’è là dentro? Sellate il mio cavallo.— Dio per la sua misericordia, che tradimento è mai questo!
DUCHESSA	di YORK Ma insomma, cos’è, mio signore?
YORK	Datemi i miei stivali, vi dico. Sellate il mio cavallo.— Ora per il mio onore, per la mia vita, per la mia fede, io denuncerò il furfante.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Che c’è?
YORK	Taci, donna sciocca.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Non tacerò. Che c’è, figlio?
AUMERLE	Buona madre, calmatevi. Non è più di quanto la mia povera vita debba rispondere.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	La tua vita rispondere?
YORK	Portatemi i miei stivali. Andrò dal re. Entra il suo servo con gli stivali
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Colpiscilo, Aumerle! Povero ragazzo, sei sbigottito. (Al servo di York) Via, furfante! Non venirmi mai più davanti agli occhi.
YORK	Datemi i miei stivali, vi dico.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Ma insomma, York, che vuoi fare? Non vuoi nascondere la colpa del tuo sangue? Abbiamo forse altri figli? O siamo in grado d’averne? Non è forse il mio tempo fecondo prosciugato dal tempo? E vuoi tu strappare il mio bel figlio alla mia vecchiaia, e derubarmi del nome di madre felice? Non ti somiglia? Non è forse tuo?
YORK	Tu, donna insensata e folle, vuoi tu nascondere questa oscura congiura? Una dozzina di loro qui hanno preso il sacramento, e vicendevolmente vi hanno apposto le loro mani per uccidere il re a Oxford.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Egli non sarà dei loro. Lo terremo qui; che gliene importa allora?
YORK	Via, donna insensata! Fosse egli venti volte mio figlio io lo denuncerei.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Se tu avessi gemuto per lui come ho fatto io, saresti più pietoso. Ma ora conosco il tuo pensiero: tu sospetti ch’io sia stata sleale al tuo letto, e ch’egli sia un bastardo, non tuo figlio. Dolce York, dolce marito, non essere di quel pensiero. Egli ti somiglia quanto un uomo può somigliare, non somiglia a me né ad alcuno dei miei, e tuttavia io lo amo.
YORK	Fa’ largo, donna sfrenata.
(didascalia)	Esce col suo servo
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Dietro a lui, Aumerle! Montagli sul cavallo. Sprona, corri, e arriva prima di lui dal re, e implora il tuo perdono prima ch’egli t’accusi. Non tarderò molto a seguirti—benché io sia vecchia, non dubito di cavalcare veloce quanto York— e mai mi rialzerò da terra finché Bolingbroke non t’abbia perdonato. Via, vattene!
(didascalia)	Escono separatamente

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Bolingbroke, crowned King Henry, with Harry Percy, and other nobles
KING HENRY	Can no man tell 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. Enquire at London ’mongst the taverns there, For there, they say, he daily doth frequent With unrestrained loose companions— Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes And beat our watch and rob our passengers— Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, Takes on the point of honour to support So dissolute a crew.
HARRY PERCY	My lord, some two days since, I saw the Prince, And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.
KING HENRY	And what said the gallant?
HARRY PERCY	His answer was he would unto the stews, And from the common’st creature pluck a glove, And wear it as a favour, and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
KING HENRY	As dissolute as desperate. Yet through both I see some sparks of better hope, which elder days May happily bring forth.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Aumerle, amazed
KING HENRY	But who comes here?
AUMERLE	Where is the King?
KING HENRY	What means our cousin that he stares and looks so wildly?
AUMERLE	(kneeling) God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty To have some conference with your grace alone.
KING HENRY	(to lords) Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but King Henry and Aumerle
KING HENRY	What is the matter with our cousin now?
AUMERLE	For ever may my knees grow to the earth, My tongue cleave to the roof within my mouth, Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.
KING HENRY	Intended or committed was this fault? If on the first, how heinous e’er it be, To win thy after-love I pardon thee.
AUMERLE	(rising) Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done.
KING HENRY	Have thy desire. Aumerle locks the door. The Duke of York knocks at the door and crieth
YORK	(within) My liege, beware! Look to thyself! Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. King Henry draws his sword
KING HENRY	(to Aumerle) Villain, I’ll make thee safe.
AUMERLE	Stay thy revengeful hand! Thou hast no cause to fear.
YORK	(knocking 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.
(didascalia)	King Henry opens the door. Enter the Duke of York
KING HENRY	What is the matter, uncle? Speak, Recover breath, tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it.
YORK	Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me show. He gives King Henry the paper
AUMERLE	Remember, as thou read’st, thy promise past. I do repent me. Read not my name there. My heart is not confederate with my hand.
YORK	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 pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
KING HENRY	O, heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy! 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.
YORK	So shall my virtue be his vice’s bawd, And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers’ gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies. Thou kill’st me in his life: giving him breath The traitor lives, the true man’s put to death.
DUCHESS OF YORK	(within) What ho, my liege, for God’s sake let me in!
KING HENRY	What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry?
DUCHESS OF YORK	(within) A woman, and thy aunt, great King; ’tis I. Speak with me, pity me! Open the door! A beggar begs that never begged before.
KING HENRY	Our scene is altered from a serious thing, And now changed to ‘The Beggar and the King’. My dangerous cousin, let your mother in. I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. Aumerle opens the door. Enter the Duchess of York
YORK	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.
DUCHESS OF YORK	(kneeling) O King, believe not this hard-hearted man. Love loving not itself, none other can.
YORK	Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?
DUCHESS OF YORK	Sweet York, be patient.—Hear me, gentle liege.
KING HENRY	Rise up, good aunt.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Not yet, I thee beseech. Forever will I kneel 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.
AUMERLE	(kneeling) Unto my mother’s prayers I bend my knee.
YORK	(kneeling) Against them both my true joints bended be. Ill mayst thou thrive if thou grant any grace.
DUCHESS OF YORK	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; ours 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 shall kneel till to the ground they grow. His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers do outpray his; then let them have That mercy which true prayer ought to have.
(didascalia)	KING HENRY
DUCHESS OF YORK	Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Nay, do not say ‘Stand up’. Say ‘Pardon’ first, and afterwards ‘Stand up’. An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, ‘Pardon’ should be the first word of thy speech. I never longed 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 kings’ mouths so meet.
YORK	Speak it in French, King: say ‘Pardonnez-moi’.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord That sets 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 plaints and prayers do pierce, Pity may move thee ’Pardon’ to rehearse.
KING HENRY	Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS OF YORK	I do not sue to stand. Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
KING HENRY	I pardon him as God shall pardon me.
(didascalia)	York and Aumerle rise
DUCHESS OF YORK	O, happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again. Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong.
KING HENRY	I pardon him With all my heart.
DUCHESS OF YORK	(rising) A god on earth thou art.
KING HENRY	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. Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or where’er 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, so adieu. Your mother well hath prayed; and prove you true.
DUCHESS OF YORK	Come, my old son. I pray God make thee new.
(didascalia)	Exeunt King Henry at one door; York, the Duchess of York, and Aumerle at another door

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra Bolingbroke, incoronato re Enrico, con Harry Percy e altri nobili
RE ENRICO	Nessuno sa dirmi nulla del mio scapestrato figlio? Sono tre mesi interi da quando lo vidi l’ultima volta. Se qualche flagello pende su di noi, è lui. Vorrei a Dio, signori, che lo si potesse trovare. Cercatelo a Londra fra le taverne di là, ché là, dicono, egli si reca ogni giorno con compagni sfrenati e dissoluti— proprio di quelli, dicono, che stanno nei vicoli stretti e battono la nostra ronda e derubano i nostri viandanti— e lui, giovane ragazzo lascivo ed effeminato, si fa un punto d’onore di sostenere una compagnia sì dissoluta.
HARRY PERCY	Mio signore, un due giorni fa, vidi il principe, e gli parlai di questi trionfi tenuti a Oxford.
RE ENRICO	E che disse il galante?
HARRY PERCY	La sua risposta fu che sarebbe andato ai bordelli, e alla più comune delle creature avrebbe strappato un guanto, e l’avrebbe portato come pegno, e con quello avrebbe disarcionato il più gagliardo sfidante.
RE ENRICO	Tanto dissoluto quanto disperato. Pure in entrambi vedo qualche scintilla di speranza migliore, che giorni più maturi potranno felicemente far germogliare.
(didascalia)	Entra il duca di Aumerle, sbigottito
RE ENRICO	Ma chi viene qui?
AUMERLE	Dov’è il re?
RE ENRICO	Che vuol dire nostro cugino che fissa e guarda così stralunato?
AUMERLE	(inginocchiandosi) Dio salvi vostra grazia! Supplico vostra maestà d’avere un colloquio con vostra grazia da solo.
RE ENRICO	(ai signori) Ritiratevi, e lasciateci qui soli.
(didascalia)	Escono tutti tranne re Enrico e Aumerle
RE ENRICO	Che ha ora nostro cugino?
AUMERLE	Per sempre le mie ginocchia crescano attaccate alla terra, la mia lingua s’incolli al palato dentro la mia bocca, se non ottengo un perdono prima ch’io mi alzi o parli.
RE ENRICO	Fu questa colpa intenzione o atto compiuto? Se della prima specie, per quanto atroce sia, per conquistare il tuo futuro amore io ti perdono.
AUMERLE	(alzandosi) Datemi allora licenza di girare la chiave, che nessuno entri finché il mio racconto non sia finito.
RE ENRICO	Sia fatto il tuo desiderio. Aumerle chiude a chiave la porta. Il duca di York bussa alla porta e grida
YORK	(da dentro) Mio sovrano, attento! Bada a te! Hai un traditore lì alla tua presenza. Re Enrico sguaina la spada
RE ENRICO	(ad Aumerle) Furfante, ti renderò innocuo.
AUMERLE	Trattieni la tua mano vendicativa! Non hai motivo di temere.
YORK	(bussando da dentro) Apri la porta, re sicuro e temerario! Devo io per amore dire tradimento in faccia a te? Apri la porta, o la sfonderò.
(didascalia)	Re Enrico apre la porta. Entra il duca di York
RE ENRICO	Che c’è, zio? Parlate, riprendete fiato, diteci quanto vicino è il pericolo, perché possiamo armarci ad affrontarlo.
YORK	Leggete questo scritto qui, e saprete il tradimento che la mia fretta m’impedisce di esporre. Dà a re Enrico il foglio
AUMERLE	Ricordate, mentre leggete, la promessa fatta. Io me ne pento. Non leggete là il mio nome. Il mio cuore non è complice della mia mano.
YORK	Lo era, furfante, prima che la tua mano lo vergasse. Io lo strappai dal petto del traditore, re. La paura, e non l’amore, genera il suo pentimento. Dimenticate d’aver pietà di lui, ché la pietà non si riveli un serpente che vi morda fino al cuore.
RE ENRICO	Oh, atroce, forte e audace congiura! Oh leale padre d’un figlio traditore! Tu pura, immacolata e argentea fonte, donde questo ruscello per fangosi passaggi ha tenuto il suo corso e s’è contaminato, il tuo traboccare di bene si converte in male, e la tua abbondante bontà scuserà questa macchia mortale nel tuo figlio deviato.
YORK	Così la mia virtù sarà mezzana del suo vizio, ed egli spenderà il mio onore con la sua vergogna, come i figli scialacquatori l’oro dei padri parsimoniosi. Il mio onore vive quando il suo disonore muore, o la mia vita svergognata giace nel suo disonore. Voi m’uccidete nella sua vita: dandogli respiro il traditore vive, e l’uomo leale è messo a morte.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	(da dentro) Ehi là, mio sovrano, per amor di Dio lasciatemi entrare!
RE ENRICO	Quale supplice dalla voce stridula leva questo grido ansioso?
DUCHESSA DI YORK	(da dentro) Una donna, e tua zia, gran re; sono io. Parlami, abbi pietà di me! Apri la porta! Una mendicante mendica, che mai mendicò prima.
RE ENRICO	La nostra scena è mutata da cosa seria, e ora cambiata in «La mendicante e il re». Mio pericoloso cugino, fate entrare vostra madre. So ch’è venuta a pregare per il vostro turpe peccato. Aumerle apre la porta. Entra la duchessa di York
YORK	Se tu perdoni, chiunque preghi, più peccati per questo perdono potranno prosperare. Reciso questo membro incancrenito, il resto resta sano. Lasciarlo stare confonderà tutto il resto.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	(inginocchiandosi) Oh re, non credere a quest’uomo dal cuore duro. L’amore che non ama se stesso, non può amare altri.
YORK	Tu, donna forsennata, che vieni a fare qui? Le tue vecchie mammelle allatteranno ancora una volta un traditore?
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Dolce York, sii paziente.—Ascoltatemi, gentile sovrano.
RE ENRICO	Alzatevi, buona zia.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Non ancora, ve ne supplico. Per sempre resterò in ginocchio, e mai vedrò il giorno che vedono i felici, finché tu non mi dia gioia, finché non mi comandi di gioire perdonando Rutland, il mio ragazzo colpevole.
AUMERLE	(inginocchiandosi) Alle preghiere di mia madre piego il ginocchio.
YORK	(inginocchiandosi) Contro entrambi si pieghino le mie fedeli ginocchia. Male tu possa prosperare se concedi alcuna grazia.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Prega egli sul serio? Guardategli la faccia. I suoi occhi non versano lacrime, le sue preghiere sono per burla. Le sue parole vengono dalla bocca; le nostre dal petto. Egli prega solo fiaccamente, e vorrebbe esser rifiutato; noi preghiamo con cuore e anima, e con tutto il resto. Le sue ginocchia stanche s’alzerebbero volentieri, lo so; le nostre resteranno in terra finché non vi mettano radici. Le sue preghiere son piene di falsa ipocrisia; le nostre di vero zelo e profonda integrità. Le nostre preghiere sopravanzano le sue; lasciate dunque ch’esse ottengano quella misericordia che una vera preghiera deve ottenere.
(didascalia)	RE ENRICO
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Buona zia, alzatevi.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	No, non dite «Alzatevi». Dite prima «Perdono», e poi «Alzatevi». E se io fossi la tua nutrice, per insegnare alla tua lingua, «Perdono» sarebbe la prima parola del tuo parlare. Mai ho bramato d’udire una parola come ora. Di’ «Perdono», re. Che la pietà t’insegni come. La parola è breve, ma non tanto breve quanto dolce; nessuna parola come «Perdono» s’addice tanto alla bocca dei re.
YORK	Ditelo in francese, re: dite «Pardonnez-moi».
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Insegni tu al perdono a distruggere il perdono? Ah, mio acre marito, mio signore dal cuore duro, che metti la parola stessa contro la parola! Di’ «Perdono» come corre nella nostra terra; lo scalcagnato francese noi non l’intendiamo. Il tuo occhio comincia a parlare; mettici la lingua; o nel tuo cuore pietoso pianta il tuo orecchio, affinché, udendo come i nostri lamenti e le nostre preghiere trafiggono, la pietà ti muova a ripetere «Perdono».
RE ENRICO	Buona zia, alzatevi.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Non chiedo d’alzarmi. Il perdono è tutta l’istanza che ho per le mani.
RE ENRICO	Io lo perdono come Dio perdonerà me.
(didascalia)	York e Aumerle si alzano
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Oh, felice vantaggio d’un ginocchio piegato! Eppure sono malata di paura. Ditelo di nuovo. Dire due volte perdono non fa due perdoni, ma rende forte un solo perdono.
RE ENRICO	Io lo perdono con tutto il cuore.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	(alzandosi) Un dio in terra tu sei.
RE ENRICO	Ma quanto al nostro fido cognato e all’abate, con tutto il resto di quella masnada consorziata, la distruzione subito starà loro alle calcagna. Buon zio, aiutate a disporre più forze verso Oxford, o dovunque siano questi traditori. Essi non vivranno in questo mondo, lo giuro, ma li avrò, se una volta sappia dove. Zio, addio; e cugino, così a Dio. Vostra madre ha ben pregato; e voi mostratevi leale.
DUCHESSA DI YORK	Vieni, mio vecchio figlio. Prego Dio ti faccia nuovo.
(didascalia)	Escono re Enrico da una porta; York, la duchessa di York e Aumerle da un’altra porta

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Sir Piers Exton, and his Men
EXTON	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?
(didascalia)	FIRST MAN Those were his very words.
EXTON	‘Have I no friend?’ quoth he. He spake it twice, And urged it twice together, did he not?
(didascalia)	SECOND MAN He did.
EXTON	And speaking it, he wishtly 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 Pomfret. Come, let’s go. I am the King’s friend, and will rid his foe.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Sir Piers Exton e i suoi uomini
EXTON	Non notasti tu il re, che parole disse? «Non ho io un amico che mi liberi da questa paura vivente?» Non fu così?
(didascalia)	PRIMO UOMO Furono queste le sue precise parole.
EXTON	«Non ho io un amico?» disse egli. Lo disse due volte, e due volte di seguito insistette, non è vero?
(didascalia)	SECONDO UOMO Sì, lo fece.
EXTON	E dicendolo, mi guardò con occhi bramosi, come chi volesse dire: «Vorrei che tu fossi l’uomo che separasse questo terrore dal mio cuore», intendendo il re a Pomfret. Venite, andiamo. Io sono l’amico del re, e libererò lui dal suo nemico.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Richard, alone
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 sort, As thoughts of things divine, are intermixed With scruples, and do set the faith itself Against the faith, 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.’ 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’s slaves, Nor shall not be the last—like seely beggars, Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame That many have, and others must, set there; And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortunes 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 treason makes 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 Bolingbroke, 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. The music plays
(didascalia)	Music do I hear.
RICHARD	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 lives. 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 numb‘ring clock. My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch Whereto 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 that strike upon my heart, Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans Show minutes, hours, and times. But my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke’s proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his jack of the clock. This music mads me. Let it sound no more, For though it have holp madmen to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
(didascalia)	The music ceases
RICHARD	Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me, For ’tis a sign of love, and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
(didascalia)	Enter
RICHARD	a Groom of the stable
GROOM	Hail, royal Prince!
RICHARD	Thanks, noble peer. The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou, and how com’st thou hither, Where no man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live?
GROOM	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. O, how it erned my heart when I beheld In London streets, that coronation day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, That horse that I so carefully have dressed!
RICHARD	Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him?
GROOM	So proudly as if he disdained the ground.
RICHARD	So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back. That jade hath eat 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 fall—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, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse, And yet I bear a burden like an ass, Spur-galled and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke.
(didascalia)	Enter Keeper to Richard, with meat
KEEPER	(to Groom) Fellow, give place. Here is no longer stay.
RICHARD	(to Groom) If thou love me, ’tis time thou wert away.
GROOM	What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.
(didascalia)	Exit
KEEPER	My lord, will’t please you to fall to?
RICHARD	Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.
KEEPER	My lord, I dare not. Sir Piers of Exton, Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary.
RICHARD	(striking the Keeper) The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee I Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
KEEPER	Help, help, help! Exton and his men rush in
RICHARD	How now! What means death in this rude assault? He seizes a weapon from a man, and kills him Villain, thy own hand yields thy death’s instrument. He kills another Go thou, and fill another room in hell. Here Exton strikes him down
RICHARD	That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the King’s blood stained the King’s own land. Mount, mount, my soul; thy seat is up on high, Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. He dies
EXTON	As full of valour as of royal blood. Both have I spilt. O, would the deed were good I 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.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Exton with Richard’s body at one door, and his men with the other bodies at another door
(didascalia)	5.6 Flourish. Enter King Henry and the Duke of York, with other lords and attendants
KING HENRY	Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consumed with fire Our town of Ci’cester in Gloucestershire; But whether they be ta’en or slain we hear not.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Northumberland
KING HENRY	Welcome, my lord. What is the news?
NORTHUMBERLAND	First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is, I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent. The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. He gives the paper to King Henry
KING HENRY	We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains, And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Fitzwalter
FITZWALTER	My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, Two of the dangerous consorted traitors That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
KING HENRY	Thy pains, Fitzwalter, shall not be forgot. Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
(didascalia)	Enter Harry Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle, guarded
HARRY PERCY	The grand conspirator Abbot 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.
KING HENRY	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 liv’st in peace, die free from strife. For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
(didascalia)	Enter Exton with his men bearing the coffin
EXTON	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.
KING HENRY	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.
EXTON	From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.
KING HENRY	They love not poison that do poison need; Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour. With Cain go wander through the shades of night, And never show thy head by day nor light.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Exton and his men
KING HENRY	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 from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
(didascalia)	Exeunt With the coffin
ADDITIONAL PASSAGES	The following passages of four lines or more appear in the 1597 Quarto but not the Folio; Shakespeare probably deleted them as part of his limited revisions to the text. a. . AFTER 1.3.127 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 sleep, b. AFTER 1.3.235 O, had’t 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. c. AFTER 1.3.256
BOLINGBROKE	Nay, rather every tedious stride I make Will but remember 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?
JOHN OF GAUNT	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 borne. 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 clime. Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com’st. Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread’st the presence strewed, The flowers 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 at it and sets it light. d. AFTER 3.2.28 The means that heavens yield must be embraced And not neglected; else heaven would, And we will not: heaven’s offer we refuse, The proffered means of succour and redress. e. AFTER 4.1.50
ANOTHER LORD	I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle, And spur thee on with full as many lies As may be hollowed in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun. There is my honour’s pawn. Engage it to the trial if thou darest. He throws down his gage
AUMERLE	Who sets me else? By heaven, I’ll throw at all. I have a thousand spirits in one breast To answer twenty thousand such as you.
ON	its first appearance in print, in 1597, Romeo and Juliet was described as ‘An excellent conceited tragedy’ that had ‘been often (with great applause) played publicly’; its popularity is witnessed by the fact that this is a pirated version, put together from actors’ memories as a way of cashing in on its success. A second printing, two years later, offered a greatly superior text apparently printed from Shakespeare’s working papers. Probably he wrote it in 1594 or 1595. The story was already well known, in Italian, French, and English. Shakespeare owes most to Arthur Brooke’s long poem The Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet (1562), which had already supplied hints for The Two Gentlemen of Verona; he may also have looked at some of the other versions. In his address ‘To the Reader’, Brooke says that he has seen ‘the same argument lately set forth on stage with more commendation than I can look for’, but no earlier play survives. Shakespeare’s Prologue neatly sketches the plot of the two star-crossed lovers born of feuding families whose deaths ‘bury their parents’ strife’; and the formal verse structure of the Prologue—a sonnet—is matched by the carefully patterned layout of the action. At the climax of the first scene, Prince Escalus stills a brawl between representatives of the houses of Montague (Romeo’s family) and Capulet (Juliet’s); at the end of Act 3, Scene 1, he passes judgement on another, more serious brawl, banishing Romeo for killing Juliet’s cousin Tybalt after Tybalt had killed Romeo’s friend and the Prince’s kinsman, Mercutio; and at the end of Act 5, the Prince presides over the reconciliation of Montagues and Capulets. Within this framework of public life Romeo and Juliet act out their brief tragedy: in the first act, they meet and declare their love—in another sonnet; in the second, they arrange to marry in secret; in the third, after Romeo’s banishment, they consummate their marriage and part; in the fourth, Juliet drinks a sleeping draught prepared by Friar Laurence so that she may escape marriage to Paris and, after waking in the family tomb, run off with Romeo; in the fifth, after Romeo, believing her to be dead, has taken poison, she stabs herself to death. The play’s structural formality is offset by an astonishing fertility of linguistic invention, showing itself no less in the comic bawdiness of the servants, the Nurse, and (on a more sophisticated level) Mercutio than in the rapt and impassioned poetry of the lovers. Shakespeare’s mastery over a wide range of verbal styles combines with his psychological perceptiveness to create a richer gallery of memorable characters than in any play written up to this time; and his theatrical imagination compresses Brooke’s leisurely narrative into a dramatic masterpiece.
THE PERSONS OF THE	PLAY
ROMEO	MONTAGUE, his father
MONTAGUE’S WIFE	BENVOLIO, Montague’s nephew ABRAHAM, Montague’s servingman BALTHASAR, Romeo’s man
JULIET	CAPULET, her father
CAPULET’S WIFE	TYBALT, her nephew His page
CAPULET’S COUSIN	Juliet’s NURSE Other SERVINGMEN
MUSICIANS	Escalus, PRINCE of Verona
FRIAR JOHN	An APOTHECARY
CHIEF WATCHMAN	Other CITIZENS OF THE WATCH Masquers, guests, gentlewomen, followers of the Montague and Capulet factions

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra Riccardo, solo
RICCARDO	Sono andato studiando come poter paragonare questa prigione in cui vivo al mondo; e poiché il mondo è popoloso, e qui non c’è creatura all’infuori di me, non ci riesco. Pure lo martellerò fino a cavarlo. Del mio cervello farò la femmina alla mia anima, della mia anima il padre, e questi due genereranno una generazione di pensieri che sempre si riproducono; e questi stessi pensieri popolano questo piccolo mondo con umori simili a quelli della gente di questo mondo. Ché nessun pensiero è contento. I migliori, come i pensieri delle cose divine, sono mescolati con scrupoli, e mettono la fede stessa contro la fede, così: «Venite, piccoli miei», e poi di nuovo: «È tanto difficile venire quanto per un cammello infilare la stretta cruna d’un piccolo ago». I pensieri che tendono all’ambizione macchinano prodigi impossibili: come queste vane e deboli unghie possano squarciare un varco fra le costole di selce di questo duro mondo, le scabre mura della mia prigione; e poiché non possono, muoiono nel loro stesso orgoglio. I pensieri che tendono alla rassegnazione lusingano se stessi che non sono i primi schiavi della fortuna, né saranno gli ultimi—come miseri mendicanti, che, seduti alla gogna, rifugiano la loro vergogna nel fatto che molti vi sono stati e altri vi dovranno stare; e in questo pensiero trovano una specie di sollievo, portando le proprie sventure sulla schiena di coloro che prima hanno sopportato le stesse. Così io recito in una sola persona molte persone, e nessuna contenta. Talvolta sono re; poi il tradimento mi fa desiderare d’essere un mendicante, e tale sono. Poi la penuria che schiaccia mi persuade che stavo meglio quand’ero re; poi sono di nuovo fatto re, e subito dopo penso d’essere disfatto re da Bolingbroke, e all’istante non sono nulla. Ma qualunque cosa io sia, né io, né alcun uomo che sia soltanto uomo, sarà contento di nulla finché non sarà quietato dall’essere nulla. Suona la musica
(didascalia)	Musica odo.
RICCARDO	Ah, ah; tenete il tempo! Quanto è acre la dolce musica quando il tempo è rotto e non si tiene proporzione. Così è nella musica delle vite degli uomini. E qui io ho la finezza d’orecchio per cogliere il tempo rotto in una corda scomposta; ma per la concordia del mio stato e del mio tempo non ebbi orecchio a udire rotto il mio vero tempo. Io sciupai il tempo, e ora il tempo sciupa me, ché ora il tempo ha fatto di me il suo orologio che conta. I miei pensieri sono minuti, e con sospiri battono le loro ore fino ai miei occhi, il quadrante esterno verso il quale il mio dito, come la lancetta d’una meridiana, continua a puntare mentre li deterge dalle lacrime. Ora, signore, i suoni che dicono che ora è sono clamorosi gemiti che percuotono il mio cuore, che è la campana. Così sospiri, lacrime e gemiti segnano minuti, ore e tempi. Ma il mio tempo corre in fretta nella superba gioia di Bolingbroke, mentre io sto qui a fare il buffone, il suo automa dell’orologio. Questa musica mi fa impazzire. Non suoni più, ché, sebbene abbia aiutato i pazzi a ritrovare il senno, in me pare che farà impazzire i savi.
(didascalia)	La musica cessa
RICCARDO	Pure sia benedetto il cuore di chi me la dà, ché è segno d’amore, e l’amore per Riccardo è un gioiello strano in questo mondo che tutto odia.
(didascalia)	Entra
RICCARDO	uno stalliere della scuderia
STALLIERE	Salve, regale principe!
RICCARDO	Grazie, nobile pari. Il più vile di noi due è dieci monete troppo caro. Chi sei tu, e come giungi qui, dove non viene mai nessuno se non quel triste cane che mi porta il cibo per far vivere la sventura?
STALLIERE	Ero un povero stalliere della tua scuderia, re, quando eri re; e, viaggiando verso York, a gran fatica ho infine ottenuto licenza di guardare il volto del mio già regale padrone. Oh, come mi si struggeva il cuore quando vidi nelle vie di Londra, quel giorno d’incoronazione, quando Bolingbroke cavalcava il roano Barbary, quel cavallo che tu tanto spesso hai inforcato, quel cavallo ch’io con tanta cura ho bardato!
RICCARDO	Cavalcava egli Barbary? Dimmi, gentile amico, come andava sotto di lui?
STALLIERE	Così fiero come se disdegnasse il suolo.
RICCARDO	Così fiero che Bolingbroke gli stava in groppa. Quel ronzino ha mangiato pane dalla mia regale mano; questa mano l’ha reso fiero accarezzandolo. Non poteva inciampare, non poteva cadere— poiché l’orgoglio deve avere una caduta—e spezzare il collo a quell’uomo superbo che ne usurpò la groppa? Perdono, cavallo! Perché inveisco contro di te, se tu, creato per esser soggiogato dall’uomo, nascesti per portare? Io non fui fatto cavallo, eppure porto un carico come un asino, piagato dagli speroni e sfinito dal caracollante Bolingbroke.
(didascalia)	Entra il carceriere da Riccardo, con il cibo
CARCERIERE	(allo stalliere) Amico, fa’ luogo. Qui non si resta più.
RICCARDO	(allo stalliere) Se tu mi ami, è tempo che tu te ne vada.
STALLIERE	Ciò che la mia lingua non osa, lo dirà il mio cuore.
(didascalia)	Esce
CARCERIERE	Mio signore, vi piace mettervi a mangiare?
RICCARDO	Assaggialo prima tu, come sei solito fare.
CARCERIERE	Mio signore, non oso. Sir Piers di Exton, che è giunto or ora dal re, comanda il contrario.
RICCARDO	(colpendo il carceriere) Il diavolo si prenda Enrico di Lancaster e te! La pazienza è stantia, e io ne sono stanco.
CARCERIERE	Aiuto, aiuto, aiuto! Exton e i suoi uomini irrompono
RICCARDO	E allora! Che vuol dire la morte in questo rozzo assalto? Strappa un’arma a uno degli uomini, e l’uccide Furfante, la tua stessa mano ti porge lo strumento della tua morte. Ne uccide un altro Va’ tu, e riempi un’altra stanza dell’inferno. Qui Exton lo abbatte
RICCARDO	Quella mano brucerà in fuoco che mai si spegne, quella che così abbatte la mia persona. Exton, la tua mano feroce ha col sangue del re macchiato la terra stessa del re. Sali, sali, anima mia; il tuo seggio è lassù in alto, mentre la mia grossa carne sprofonda in basso, qui a morire. Muore
EXTON	Tanto pieno di valore quanto di regale sangue. Entrambi ho versato. Oh, fosse buona l’azione! Ché ora il diavolo che mi disse che facevo bene dice che quest’atto è registrato negli annali dell’inferno. Questo re morto al re vivo porterò. Portate via il resto, e date loro sepoltura qui.
(didascalia)	Escono Exton col corpo di Riccardo da una porta, e i suoi uomini con gli altri corpi da un’altra porta

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Flourish. Enter King Henry and the Duke of York, with other lords and attendants
KING HENRY	Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consumed with fire Our town of Ci’cester in Gloucestershire; But whether they be ta’en or slain we hear not.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Northumberland
KING HENRY	Welcome, my lord. What is the news?
NORTHUMBERLAND	First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is, I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent. The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. He gives the paper to King Henry
KING HENRY	We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains, And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
(didascalia)	Enter Lord Fitzwalter
FITZWALTER	My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, Two of the dangerous consorted traitors That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
KING HENRY	Thy pains, Fitzwalter, shall not be forgot. Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
(didascalia)	Enter Harry Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle, guarded
HARRY PERCY	The grand conspirator Abbot 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.
KING HENRY	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 liv’st in peace, die free from strife. For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
(didascalia)	Enter Exton with his men bearing the coffin
EXTON	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.
KING HENRY	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.
EXTON	From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed.
KING HENRY	They love not poison that do poison need; Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour. With Cain go wander through the shades of night, And never show thy head by day nor light.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Exton and his men
KING HENRY	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 from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
(didascalia)	Exeunt With the coffin
ADDITIONAL PASSAGES	The following passages of four lines or more appear in the 1597 Quarto but not the Folio; Shakespeare probably deleted them as part of his limited revisions to the text. a. . AFTER 1.3.127 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 sleep, b. AFTER 1.3.235 O, had’t 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. c. AFTER 1.3.256
BOLINGBROKE	Nay, rather every tedious stride I make Will but remember 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?
JOHN OF GAUNT	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 borne. 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 clime. Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com’st. Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread’st the presence strewed, The flowers 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 at it and sets it light. d. AFTER 3.2.28 The means that heavens yield must be embraced And not neglected; else heaven would, And we will not: heaven’s offer we refuse, The proffered means of succour and redress. e. AFTER 4.1.50
ANOTHER LORD	I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle, And spur thee on with full as many lies As may be hollowed in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun. There is my honour’s pawn. Engage it to the trial if thou darest. He throws down his gage
AUMERLE	Who sets me else? By heaven, I’ll throw at all. I have a thousand spirits in one breast To answer twenty thousand such as you.

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Squilli. Entrano re Enrico e il duca di York, con altri signori e servitori
RE ENRICO	Buon zio York, l’ultima notizia che udiamo è che i ribelli hanno consumato col fuoco la nostra città di Ci’cester nel Gloucestershire; ma se siano stati presi o uccisi non sappiamo.
(didascalia)	Entra il conte di Northumberland
RE ENRICO	Benvenuto, mio signore. Quali notizie?
NORTHUMBERLAND	Anzitutto, al tuo sacro stato auguro ogni felicità. La notizia seguente è che ho mandato a Londra le teste di Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt e Kent. Il modo della loro cattura può risultare ampiamente esposto in questo foglio qui. Dà il foglio a re Enrico
RE ENRICO	Ti ringraziamo, gentile Percy, per le tue fatiche, e al tuo merito aggiungeremo ben degni guadagni.
(didascalia)	Entra Lord Fitzwalter
FITZWALTER	Mio signore, ho da Oxford mandato a Londra le teste di Brocas e di Sir Bennet Seely, due dei pericolosi traditori consorziati che cercarono a Oxford la tua rovina funesta.
RE ENRICO	Le tue fatiche, Fitzwalter, non saranno dimenticate. Ben nobile è il tuo merito, bene lo so.
(didascalia)	Entra Harry Percy, col vescovo di Carlisle, sotto scorta
HARRY PERCY	Il gran cospiratore abate di Westminster, col ceppo della coscienza e l’acre malinconia, ha reso il suo corpo alla tomba. Ma qui è Carlisle vivo, ad attendere la tua regale condanna e la sentenza del suo orgoglio.
RE ENRICO	Carlisle, questa è la tua condanna. Scegliti qualche luogo segreto, qualche ritiro più devoto di quello che hai, e con esso godi la tua vita. Purché tu viva in pace, muori libero da contesa. Ché, benché mio nemico tu sia sempre stato, alte scintille d’onore ho veduto in te.
(didascalia)	Entra Exton coi suoi uomini che portano la bara
EXTON	Gran re, dentro questa bara io presento la tua paura sepolta. Qui dentro giace senza respiro il più possente dei tuoi più grandi nemici, Riccardo di Bordeaux, da me qui portato.
RE ENRICO	Exton, non ti ringrazio, ché tu hai compiuto un’azione d’infamia con la tua mano fatale sul mio capo e su tutta questa illustre terra.
EXTON	Dalla vostra stessa bocca, mio signore, feci quest’atto.
RE ENRICO	Non amano il veleno coloro che di veleno han bisogno; né io amo te. Benché io lo desiderassi morto, odio l’assassino, e amo lui assassinato. La colpa della coscienza prenditi per la tua fatica, ma né la mia buona parola né il favore del principe. Con Caino va’ errando per le ombre della notte, e non mostrare mai il capo di giorno né alla luce.
(didascalia)	Escono Exton e i suoi uomini
RE ENRICO	Signori, dichiaro che la mia anima è piena di dolore ché il sangue mi debba irrorare per farmi crescere. Venite a piangere con me ciò che io lamento, e vestite all’istante il nero cupo. Farò un viaggio in Terra Santa per lavare questo sangue dalla mia mano colpevole. Marciate tristi dietro a me. Onorate qui il mio lutto piangendo dietro a questo feretro immaturo.
(didascalia)	Escono con la bara
PASSI AGGIUNTIVI	I seguenti passi di quattro o più versi appaiono nel Quarto del 1597 ma non nel Folio; Shakespeare probabilmente li soppresse nel quadro delle sue limitate revisioni al testo. a. . DOPO 1.3.127 E poiché noi pensiamo che l’orgoglio dalle ali d’aquila di pensieri ambiziosi e aspiranti al cielo con invidia che odia i rivali v’abbia spinti a destare la nostra pace, che nella culla del nostro paese trae il dolce respiro infantile d’un gentile sonno, b. DOPO 1.3.235 Oh, se fosse stato un estraneo, non mio figlio, per attenuare la sua colpa sarei stato più mite. Volli evitare un’accusa di parzialità, e con la sentenza ho distrutto la mia stessa vita. c. DOPO 1.3.256
BOLINGBROKE	No, piuttosto ogni tedioso passo ch’io faccia non farà che ricordare quanta parte di mondo mi separa dai gioielli che amo. Non dovrò io servire un lungo apprendistato a contrade straniere, e alla fine, riavuta la mia libertà, vantarmi di null’altro se non d’essere stato garzone del dolore?
JOHN OF GAUNT	Tutti i luoghi che l’occhio del cielo visita sono per un uomo saggio porti e felici approdi. Insegna alla tua necessità a ragionare così: non c’è virtù come la necessità. Non pensare che il re abbia bandito te, ma tu il re. Il dolore siede più greve dove s’accorge d’esser portato fiaccamente. Va’, di’ ch’io t’ho mandato fuori a conquistare onore, e non che il re t’ha esiliato; o supponi che una pestilenza divorante penda nella nostra aria e che tu voli verso un clima più fresco. Guarda: ciò che la tua anima ha caro, immagina che stia dalla parte dove vai, non donde vieni. Supponi gli uccelli canori musicisti, l’erba su cui cammini il pavimento cosparso d’una sala regia, i fiori belle dame, e i tuoi passi non più che una deliziosa misura o una danza; ché il dolore ringhioso ha minor potere di mordere l’uomo che se ne fa beffe e lo tiene in poco conto. d. DOPO 3.2.28 I mezzi che i cieli offrono devono essere abbracciati e non trascurati; altrimenti il cielo vorrebbe, e noi non vogliamo: rifiutiamo l’offerta del cielo, i mezzi offerti di soccorso e di riparo. e. DOPO 4.1.50
UN ALTRO SIGNORE	Io impegno la terra allo stesso modo, spergiuro Aumerle, e ti spronerò con altrettante smentite quante se ne possano gridare nel tuo orecchio traditore da un sole all’altro. Ecco il pegno del mio onore. Impegnalo alla prova se osi. Getta a terra il suo guanto
AUMERLE	Chi altri mi sfida? Per il cielo, tirerò contro tutti. Ho mille spiriti in un solo petto per rispondere a ventimila come voi.