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Call forth Bagot. Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; What thou dost know of noble Gloucester’s death, Who wrought it with the king, and who perform’d The bloody office of his timeless end.
Call Bagot here. Now, Bagot, speak honestly; What do you know about noble Gloucester’s death, Who was involved with the king in it, and who actually Carried out the bloody act of his untimely death?
Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.
Then bring Lord Aumerle before me.
Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.
Cousin, step forward, and look at this man.
My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver’d. 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.
My Lord Aumerle, I know your bold tongue Would never take back what it’s already said. Back when Gloucester’s death was being planned, I heard you say, ’Isn’t my reach long enough, That it extends from the quiet English court All the way to Calais, to my uncle’s head?’ Amongst a lot of other talk, at that very time, I heard you say that you would rather turn down An offer of a hundred thousand crowns Than see Bolingbroke return to England; And you even added how blessed this country would be If your cousin died.
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 soil’d With the attainder of his slanderous lips. 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.
Princes and noble lords, What should I say to this lowly man? Should I dishonor my good fortune By treating him the same as any common person? I must either do that, or else my honor will be stained By his false accusations. There’s my challenge, the seal of death, That marks you for hell: I say, you’re lying, And I will prove that what you’ve said is false With my own blood, even though you’re too dishonorable To face my knightly sword.
Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up.
Bagot, stop; don’t take it any further.
Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence that hath moved me so.
Except for one person, I wish he were the best In all this group who has angered me so.
If that thy valour stand on sympathy, There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine: By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand’st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest 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.
If your courage depends on sympathy, Here’s my challenge, Aumerle, in exchange for yours: By that bright sun that shows me where you stand, I heard you say, and you said it proudly, That you were the cause of noble Gloucester’s death. If you deny it twenty times, you’re lying; And I’ll prove your lies on your heart, Where they were made, with the point of my sword.
Thou darest not, coward, live to see that day.
You wouldn’t dare, coward, live to see that day.
Now by my soul, I would it were this hour.
By my soul, I wish it were this moment.
Fitzwater, thou art damn’d to hell for this.
Fitzwater, you’re damned to hell for this.
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, To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing: seize it, if thou darest.
Aumerle, you’re lying; his honor is as true In this challenge as you are unjust; And because you’re unjust, I throw down my challenge, To prove it against you to the utmost limit Of life and death: take it, if you dare.
An if I do not, may my hands rot off And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe!
And if I don’t, may my hands rot off And never hold a weapon again To strike my enemy’s shining helmet!
I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle; And spur thee on with full as many lies As may be holloa’d in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun: there is my honour’s pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.
I challenge the earth to do the same, forsworn Aumerle; And push you forward with just as many lies As can be shouted in your treacherous ear From dawn to dusk: that is the price of my honor; Use it to test yourself, if you’re brave enough.
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.
Who else dares to challenge me? By heaven, I’ll fight anyone: I have a thousand spirits in me, To face twenty thousand of you.
My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
My Lord Fitzwater, I clearly remember The exact moment when Aumerle and you spoke.
’Tis very true: you were in presence then; And you can witness with me this is true.
It’s true: you were there at the time; And you can confirm with me that it is true.
As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.
As false as heaven itself is true.
Surrey, thou liest.
Surrey, you’re lying.
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; Engage it to the trial, if thou darest.
Dishonorable boy! That lie will weigh so heavily on my sword, That it will bring punishment and vengeance Until you, the liar, and your lie, are buried In the ground as quietly as your father’s skull: To prove it, here is the price of my honor; Use it to test yourself, if you’re brave enough.
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 banish’d Norfolk say That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble duke at Calais.
How foolishly you urge on a wild horse! If I can eat, drink, breathe, or live, I can face Surrey in a wilderness, And spit on him, while calling him a liar, And liar, and liar: here is my bond of loyalty, To tie you to my strong punishment. As I plan to succeed in this new world, Aumerle is guilty of my true accusation: Besides, I heard the exiled Norfolk say That you, Aumerle, sent two of your men To kill the noble duke in Calais.
Some honest Christian trust me with a gage That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this, If he may be repeal’d, to try his honour.
Some honest Christian, trust me with a pledge That Norfolk is lying: here I throw this down, If he can be restored, to test his honor.
These differences shall all rest under gage Till Norfolk be repeal’d: repeal’d he shall be, And, though mine enemy, restored again To all his lands and signories: when he’s return’d, Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.
These disputes will all be settled with a pledge Until Norfolk is restored: he shall be restored, And, though he is my enemy, given back All his lands and titles: once he’s returned, We will make him face Aumerle’s trial.
That honourable day shall ne’er be seen. Many a time hath banish’d Norfolk fought For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens: And toil’d 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.
That honorable day will never come. Many times, banished Norfolk fought For Jesus Christ in glorious Christian battles, Carrying the flag of the Christian cross Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens: And after enduring many wars, he retired To Italy; and there in Venice gave His body to that pleasant land’s earth, And his pure soul to his captain Christ, Under whose banner he had fought so long.
Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?
Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead?
As surely as I live, my lord.
As surely as I live, my lord.
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.
May sweet peace lead his sweet soul to the embrace Of good old Abraham! Lords who are plaintiffs, Your disputes will all rest under pledge Until we assign you your days of trial.
Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee From plume-pluck’d Richard; who with willing soul Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields To the possession of thy royal hand: Ascend his throne, descending now from him; And long live Henry, fourth of that name!
Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to you From dethroned Richard; who willingly Names you his heir, and gives you his sceptre To hold in your royal hand: Take his throne, since he is no longer on it; And long live Henry, the fourth of that name!
In God’s name, I’ll ascend the regal throne.
In God’s name, I will take the throne.
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, Stirr’d 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 call’d The field of Golgotha and dead men’s skulls. O, if you raise this house against this house, It will the woefullest division prove That ever fell upon this cursed earth. Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so, Lest child, child’s children, cry against you woe!
No! God forbid! The worst thing I could say here But the truest thing I must say. I wish that someone in this noble group Were noble enough to be a fair judge Of noble Richard! then true nobility would Teach him to forgive such a horrible wrong. What subject can judge his king? And who here is not Richard’s subject? Thieves are judged by their peers, Even when their guilt is clear; And should the image of God’s majesty, His leader, steward, and chosen deputy, Anointed, crowned, and in power for many years, Be judged by mere subjects and lesser people, And without even being present himself? Oh, may God prevent it, That in a Christian world, refined souls Would commit such a wicked, disgraceful act! I speak as a subject, and as a subject, I speak, Moved by God, boldly standing for my king: My Lord of Hereford, whom you call king, Is a treacherous traitor to the true king: And if you crown him, let me prophesy: The blood of Englishmen will flood the ground, And future generations will lament this act; Peace will join forces with the Turks and infidels, And in this peaceful land, violent wars Will tear family from family, and kin from kin; Chaos, fear, and rebellion Will take root here, and this land will be known As a place of death, full of skulls and bones. Oh, if you set one house against another, It will cause the worst division This cursed earth has ever seen. Stop it, fight it, don’t let it happen, Or children, and their children, will cry out against you!
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.
You’ve argued well, sir; and for your trouble, We arrest you for capital treason. My Lord of Westminster, it is your duty To keep him safe until his trial. Lords, may we grant the request of the common people?
Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may surrender; so we shall proceed Without suspicion.
Bring Richard here, so that in public view He may surrender; this way we can proceed Without suspicion.
I will be his conduct.
I will escort him.
Lords, you that here are under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer. Little are we beholding to your love, And little look’d for at your helping hands.
Lords, you who are under arrest, Get your bail for your day in court. We owe little to your loyalty, And little will we expect from your help.
Alack, why am I sent for to a king, Before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reign’d? I hardly yet have learn’d To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs: Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me To this submission. Yet I well remember The favours of these men: were they not mine? Did they not sometime cry, ’all hail!’ to me? So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve, Found truth in all but one: I, in twelve thousand, none. God save the king! Will no man say amen? Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. God save the king! although I be not he; And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. To do what service am I sent for hither?
Alas, why am I being called to the king, Before I have shaken off the thoughts of kingship That still linger from my reign? I can hardly Remember how to flatter, bow, and bend my body: Let sorrow teach me how to submit. Yet I do remember The kindness of these men: were they not mine? Didn’t they once cry, “All hail!” to me? Just like Judas did to Christ: but he found truth In all but one of the twelve: I, in twelve thousand, found none. God save the king! Will no one say amen? Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen. God save the king! although I am not him; And yet, amen, if heaven thinks I am him. Why have I been called here to do this service?
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.
To do what you would willingly have done Which tired kingship made you offer, The giving up of your throne and crown To Henry Bolingbroke.
Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown; Here cousin: On this side my hand, and on that side yours. 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.
Give me the crown. Here, cousin, take the crown; Here, cousin: On this side is my hand, and on that side yours. Now this golden crown is like a deep well That has two buckets, filling each other, The empty one always floating in the air, The other down, unseen and full of water: That bucket down, full of tears, is me, Drinking my sorrows, while you rise up high.
I thought you had been willing to resign.
I thought you were willing to give up the crown.
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.
I am my crown; but my sorrows are still mine: You may take my glory and my throne, But not my sorrows; I am still king of them.
Part of your cares you give me with your crown.
Some of your burdens you give me with your crown.
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.
Your burdens are yours, don’t try to take mine. My burden is the loss of worry, from old worries done; Your burden is the gain of new worries, The worries I give away, I still have; They tend the crown, but still, they stay with me.
Are you contented to resign the crown?
Are you willing to give up the crown?
Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be; Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. Now mark me, how I will undo myself; I give this heavy weight from off my head And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; With mine own tears I wash away my balm, With mine own hands I give away my crown, With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, With mine own breath release all duty’s rites: All pomp and majesty I do forswear; My manors, rents, revenues I forego; My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny: God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! God keep all vows unbroke that swear 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 earthly pit! God save King Harry, unking’d Richard says, And send him many years of sunshine days! What more remains?
Yes, no; no, yes; because I must be nothing; Therefore no, no, because I give it up to you. Now watch me as I undo myself; I take this heavy weight off my head And this awkward scepter from my hand, The pride of royal power from my heart; With my own tears, I wash away my crown, With my own hands, I give away my crown, With my own words, I deny my royal state, With my own breath, I release all duties: All glory and power I renounce; My lands, rents, and wealth I give up; My laws, decrees, and rules I deny: God forgive all promises broken to me! God keep all promises unbroken for you! Make me, with nothing, happy with nothing, And you, with everything, pleased with everything! May you live long in Richard’s place, And soon may Richard lie in a grave! God save King Harry, says unkinged Richard, And give him many years of sunny days! What else is there to do?
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.
Nothing more, except that you read These accusations and serious crimes Committed by you and your followers Against the country and the good of this land; That, by admitting them, people may judge That you are justly deposed.
Must I do so? and must I ravel out My weaved-up folly? 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, Mark’d with a blot, damn’d 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 Pilates Have here deliver’d me to my sour cross, And water cannot wash away your sin.
Must I do this? And must I unravel My tangled foolishness? Gentle Northumberland, If your offenses were written down, Wouldn’t you be ashamed in such a fine group To read them out loud? If you would, You would find one terrible charge, The deposing of a king And breaking the strong vow of an oath, Marked with a stain, damned in the book of heaven: No, all of you who stand and watch, While my misery torments me, Even though some of you wash your hands like Pilate, Showing outward sympathy; yet you, Pilate-like, Have handed me over to my bitter punishment, And water can’t wash away your guilt.
My lord, dispatch; read o’er these articles.
My lord, hurry up; read these documents.
Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see: And yet salt water blinds them not so much But they can see a sort of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, I find myself a traitor with the rest; For I have given here my soul’s consent To undeck the pompous body of a king; Made glory base and sovereignty a slave, Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.
My eyes are full of tears, I can’t see: And yet the saltwater doesn’t blind me that much That I can’t still see the kind of traitors here. No, if I look at myself, I see I’m a traitor like the rest; For I’ve given my soul’s consent To strip the glorious body of a king; Made glory cheap and sovereignty a slave, Proud majesty a subject, and the state a peasant.
My lord,--
My lord,--
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 usurp’d: 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.
No lord of yours, you arrogant, insulting man, Nor anyone’s lord; I have no name, no title, Not even the name I was given at baptism, But it’s been taken from me: oh, what a heavy day, That I’ve lived through so many years, And now I don’t know what name to call myself! Oh, I wish I were a mock king of snow, Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, To melt away into water-drops! Good king, great king, and yet not truly good, And if my word still holds any value in England, Let it call for a mirror here immediately, So it can show me what face I have, Since it’s bankrupt of any majesty.
Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.
Some of you go and get a mirror.
Read o’er this paper while the glass doth come.
Read through this paper while the mirror comes.
Fiend, thou torment’st me ere I come to hell!
Devil, you’re tormenting me before I even get to hell!
Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.
Stop it, my Lord Northumberland.
The commons will not then be satisfied.
The common people won’t be satisfied then.
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.
They will be satisfied: I’ll read enough, When I see the very book where all my sins are written, And that book is myself.
Give me the glass, and therein will I read. No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine, And made no deeper wounds? O flattering glass, Like to my followers in prosperity, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? Was this the face that faced so many follies, And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke? A brittle glory shineth in this face: As brittle as the glory is the face;
Give me the mirror, and I’ll look into it. No deeper wrinkles yet? Has sorrow hit So many times on my face, And left no deeper scars? Oh flattering mirror, Just like my followers when I was successful, You deceive me! Was this the face That every day under his roof Could lead ten thousand men? Was this the face That, like the sun, made people squint? Was this the face that faced so many mistakes, And was finally outshone by Bolingbroke? A fragile glory shines in this face: As fragile as the glory is the face;
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.
For now it’s broken into a hundred pieces. Look, silent king, at the lesson in this action, How quickly my sorrow has destroyed my face.
The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy’d The shadow or your face.
The shadow of your sorrow has destroyed The shadow of your face.
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 laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul; There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only givest Me cause to wail but teachest me the way How to lament the cause. I’ll beg one boon, And then be gone and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it?
Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow! Ha! Let me see: It’s very true, my grief is all inside; And these outward signs of sadness Are just shadows of the unseen grief That swells in silence inside the tortured soul; There lies the real pain: and I thank you, king, For your great kindness, that not only gives Me reason to weep but also teaches me how To mourn the cause. I’ll ask one favor, And then I’ll leave and trouble you no more. Will you grant it?
Name it, fair cousin.
Name it, dear cousin.
’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.
‘Dear cousin’? I am greater than a king: Because when I was a king, my flatterers Were only subjects; now, as a subject, I have a king here to flatter me. Being so great, I don’t need to beg.
Yet ask.
Still, ask.
And shall I have?
And will I get it?
You shall.
You will.
Then give me leave to go.
Then let me go.
Whither?
Where to?
Whither you will, so I were from your sights.
Wherever you like, as long as I’m out of your sight.
Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.
Go, some of you take him to the Tower.
O, good! convey? conveyers are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king’s fall.
Oh, good! Escape? Are you all escapees, Who rise so quickly after a true king’s downfall.
On Wednesday next we solemnly set down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.
Next Wednesday, we will officially begin Our coronation: lords, get ready.
A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
We have witnessed a sorrowful spectacle.
The woe’s to come; the children yet unborn. Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
The worst is yet to come; the children not yet born Will feel the pain of this day just as sharply as a thorn.
You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?
You holy men, is there no plan To rid the kingdom of this harmful stain?
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; and I’ll lay A plot shall show us all a merry day.
My lord, Before I speak my mind openly, You must first take the sacrament, To seal my intentions, and also to act On whatever I may come up with. I can see your brows are full of anger, Your hearts are full of grief, and your eyes full of tears: Come home with me for dinner, and I’ll come up with A plan that will bring us all a happier day.