And if you crown him, let me prophecy,— The blood of English shall manure the ground, Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd That ever fell upon this cursed earth: Lest child, child's children, cry against you-woe! North. Well have you argu'd, sir; and, for your pains, Of capital treason we arrest you here: My lord of Westminster, be it your charge May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit? view He may surrender; so we shall proceed Without suspicion. York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. Boling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer:Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle, And little look'd for at your helping hands. G Re-enter York, with King Richard, and Officers bearing the crown, &c. K. Rich. 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 knee:— Give sorrow leave a-while to tutor me To this submission. Yet I well remember The favours of these men: Were they not mine? Found truth in all, but one; I, in twelve thousand, none. God save the king!—Will no man say, amen? 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. K. Rich. Give me the crown:-Here, cousin, seize the crown; Here, on this side, my hand; on that side, thine. Boling. I thought, you had been willing to resign. K. Rich. 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. Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares down. My care is-loss of care, by old care done; Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. Long may'st thou live in Richard's seat to sit, God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, North. No more, but that you read These accusations, and these grievous crimes, K. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record, Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop, And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,— And water cannot wash away your sin. North. My lord, despatch; read o'er these articles. K. Rich. 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, K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insult ing man, Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title,- Good king,-great king,-(and yet not greatly good,) An if my word be sterling yet in England, Boling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking[Exit an Attendant. North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass 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. |