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Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. Even like a man new haled from the rack, So fare my limbs with long imprisonment. And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, Nestor-like aged in an age of care, Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent; Weak shoulders, overborne with burthening grief, And pithless arms, like to a wither’d vine That droops his sapless branches to the ground; Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb, Unable to support this lump of clay, Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, As witting I no other comfort have. But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?
Kind jailers of my frail and fading years, Let dying Mortimer rest here. Like a man just dragged from the rack, So feel my limbs after long imprisonment. And these gray hairs, the messengers of death, Like Nestor, aged by years of worry, Show the end of Edmund Mortimer’s life. These eyes, like lamps whose oil is spent, Grow dim, as they near their final purpose; Weak shoulders, burdened with sorrow, And lifeless arms, like a withered vine Drooping its dry branches to the ground; Yet these feet, too weak to support this heavy body, Are swift with the desire to reach a grave, For I know no other comfort. But tell me, jailer, will my nephew come?
Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come: We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber; And answer was return’d that he will come.
Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come: We sent to the Temple, to his chamber; And the reply we got said that he will come.
Enough: my soul shall then be satisfied. Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, Before whose glory I was great in arms, This loathsome sequestration have I had: And even since then hath Richard been obscured, Deprived of honour and inheritance. But now the arbitrator of despairs, Just death, kind umpire of men’s miseries, With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence: I would his troubles likewise were expired, That so he might recover what was lost.
That’s enough: my soul will be at peace. Poor man! his wrongs are just like mine. Since Henry Monmouth began to rule, Before whose glory I was great in arms, I’ve been stuck in this hateful isolation: And ever since then, Richard has been hidden away, Stripped of honor and inheritance. But now the judge of all despair, Just death, the kind referee of man’s miseries, Frees me with a gentle release: I wish his troubles would end too, So he could recover what was taken from him.
My lord, your loving nephew now is come.
My lord, your loving nephew has arrived.
Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come? RICHARD
Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he here? RICHARD
Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used, Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.
Yes, noble uncle, though treated unfairly, Your nephew, once despised Richard, is here.
Direct mine arms I may embrace his neck, And in his bosom spend my latter gasp: O, tell me when my lips do touch his cheeks, That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. And now declare, sweet stem from York’s great stock, Why didst thou say, of late thou wert despised? RICHARD
Let me stretch my arms so I can hug him, And spend my last breath resting on his chest. Oh, tell me when my lips touch his cheek, So I can give him a weak, loving kiss. And now tell me, sweet descendant of York’s great line, Why did you say recently that you were despised? RICHARD
First, lean thine aged back against mine arm; And, in that ease, I’ll tell thee my disease. This day, in argument upon a case, Some words there grew ’twixt Somerset and me; Among which terms he used his lavish tongue And did upbraid me with my father’s death: Which obloquy set bars before my tongue, Else with the like I had requited him. Therefore, good uncle, for my father’s sake, In honour of a true Plantagenet And for alliance sake, declare the cause My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.
First, lean your old back against my arm; And while you rest, I’ll tell you what happened. Today, in a discussion about a case, Some words came up between Somerset and me; Among those words, he used his sharp tongue And insulted me with my father’s death: That insult made it hard for me to speak, Or else I would’ve given him the same in return. So, good uncle, for my father’s sake, In honor of a true Plantagenet And for the sake of family, tell me why My father, the Earl of Cambridge, was executed.
That cause, fair nephew, that imprison’d me And hath detain’d me all my flowering youth Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, Was cursed instrument of his decease. RICHARD
The reason, dear nephew, that imprisoned me And kept me locked away through my youth In a filthy dungeon, wasting away, Was the cursed cause of his death. RICHARD
Discover more at large what cause that was, For I am ignorant and cannot guess.
Tell me more about this cause, Because I don’t understand and can’t guess.
I will, if that my fading breath permit And death approach not ere my tale be done. Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, Deposed his nephew Richard, Edward’s son, The first-begotten and the lawful heir, Of Edward king, the third of that descent: During whose reign the Percies of the north, Finding his usurpation most unjust, Endeavor’d my advancement to the throne: The reason moved these warlike lords to this Was, for that--young King Richard thus removed, Leaving no heir begotten of his body-- I was the next by birth and parentage; For by my mother I derived am From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son To King Edward the Third; whereas he From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, Being but fourth of that heroic line. But mark: as in this haughty attempt They laboured to plant the rightful heir, I lost my liberty and they their lives. Long after this, when Henry the Fifth, Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign, Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then derived From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York, Marrying my sister that thy mother was, Again in pity of my hard distress Levied an army, weening to redeem And have install’d me in the diadem: But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, In whom the tide rested, were suppress’d. RICHARD
I will, if my fading breath allows And death doesn’t come before I finish my story. Henry the Fourth, the grandfather of this king, Deposed his nephew Richard, son of Edward, The first-born and rightful heir, Of Edward the Third, the third of that line: During whose reign, the Percies of the north, Seeing his usurpation was wrong, Tried to help me claim the throne: The reason these powerful lords did this Was because--young King Richard was removed, With no heir born from his body-- I was next in line by birth and family; Through my mother, I’m descended from Lionel, Duke of Clarence, Edward the Third’s third son; While he, Came from John of Gaunt, making him fourth in that great family. But notice: in this bold attempt They worked to place the rightful heir on the throne, I lost my freedom, and they lost their lives. Much later, when Henry the Fifth, Took the throne from his father Bolingbroke, Your father, the Earl of Cambridge, who was descended From the famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York, Married my sister, your mother, And again, out of sympathy for my suffering, Raised an army, thinking he could restore me And place me on the crown: But just like the others, that noble earl fell And was executed. So the Mortimers, The family where the hope once rested, were crushed. RICHARD
Of which, my lord, your honour is the last.
And now, my lord, your honor is the last.
True; and thou seest that I no issue have And that my fainting words do warrant death; Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather: But yet be wary in thy studious care. RICHARD
True; and you see that I have no heirs And that my weak words confirm my death; You are my heir; the rest, I leave for you to figure out: But be careful in your plans. RICHARD
Thy grave admonishments prevail with me: But yet, methinks, my father’s execution Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.
Your serious warnings do affect me: But still, I think my father’s execution Was nothing short of bloody tyranny.
With silence, nephew, be thou politic: Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, And like a mountain, not to be removed. But now thy uncle is removing hence: As princes do their courts, when they are cloy’d With long continuance in a settled place. RICHARD
Be quiet, nephew, and be wise: The house of Lancaster is firmly established, Like a mountain, impossible to move. But now your uncle is leaving this world: Like kings do when they get tired Of staying too long in one place. RICHARD
O, uncle, would some part of my young years Might but redeem the passage of your age!
Oh, uncle, I wish part of my youth Could save you from the troubles of your age!
Thou dost then wrong me, as that slaughterer doth Which giveth many wounds when one will kill. Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good; Only give order for my funeral: And so farewell, and fair be all thy hopes And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!
You wrong me then, as the killer does Who wounds many times when one would suffice. Don’t mourn for me, unless you mourn for my good; Just arrange for my funeral: And so, goodbye, may all your hopes be bright, And may your life be prosperous in peace and war!
RICHARD
RICHARD
And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul! In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage And like a hermit overpass’d thy days. Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast; And what I do imagine let that rest. Keepers, convey him hence, and I myself Will see his burial better than his life.
And may your soul depart in peace, with no war! You’ve spent your life in prison, like a journey, And lived like a monk, passing your days alone. Well, I’ll keep your advice locked inside me; And whatever I think, I’ll keep to myself. Guards, take him away, and I’ll personally Make sure his burial is more fitting than his life.
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, Choked with ambition of the meaner sort: And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, Which Somerset hath offer’d to my house: I doubt not but with honour to redress; And therefore haste I to the parliament, Either to be restored to my blood, Or make my ill the advantage of my good.
Here dies the dark flame of Mortimer, Smothered by his ambition for lower things: And for the wrongs, those painful injuries, That Somerset has done to my family: I have no doubt that I will right these wrongs with honor; And that’s why I’m rushing to the parliament, To either restore my bloodline, Or turn my misfortune into an advantage for my own good.