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That, by confessing them, the souls of men
K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out
heaven:Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me, Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, And water cannot wash away your sin. North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these ar
North. My lord,
a sort-) A pack, a company. WARBURTON.
That I have worn so many winters out,
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, Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a lookingglass.
[Exit an Attendant. North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth
come. K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come
to hell. Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumber
land. North. The commons will not then be satisfied.
K. Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's--myself,
Re-enter Attendant, with a Glass. Give me that glass, and therein will I read. No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So
upon this face of mine, And made no deeper wounds?-0, flattering glass Like to my followers in prosperity, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face, That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face, That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies, And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke? A brittle glory shineth in this face:
As brittle as the glory is the face;
[Dashes the Glass against the ground. For there it is, crack’d in a hundred shivers. Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath de
stroy'd The shadow of
face. K. Rich.
Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let's see:'Tis very true, my grief lies all within; And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, That swells with silence in the tortur'd 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?
Boling. Name it, fair cousin.
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.
Boling. Yet ask.
your sights. Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the
K. Rich. O, good! Convey? --Conveyers are you
all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.
(Exeunt K. RICHARD, some Lords, and a guard. Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set
down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.
Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle,
and AUMERLE. Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
Car. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?
Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein, You shall not only take the sacrament To burymine intents, but to effect Whatever I shall happen to devise:I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears; Come home with me to supper; I will lay A plot, shall show us all a merry day. [Exeunt.
SCENE I. London. A Street leading to the Tower.
Enter Queen, and Ladies. Queen. This way the king will come; this is the
Conveyers are you all,] To convey is a term often used in an ill sense, and so Richard understands it here. Pistol
of stealing, convey the wise it call; and to convey is the word for sleight.of hand, which seems to be alluded to here. Ye are all, says the deposed prince, jugglers, who rise with this nimble dexterity by the fall of a good king. Johnson.
* To bury- To conceal, to keep secret.
To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,
Enter King RICHARD, and Guards.
you in pity may dissolve to dew,
K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do
To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,
4 To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower,] The Tower of London is traditionally said to have been the work of Julius Cæsar. By--ill-erected, perhaps, is meant-erected for bad purposes.
5 Join not with grief,] Do not thou unite with grief against me; do not, by thy additional sorrows, enable grief to strike me down at once. My own part of sorrow I can bear, but thy affliction will immediately destroy me. JOHNSON.