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. Enter RICHARD and Guard.

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?

King 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 thrown down.

Queen

What, is my Richard both in shape and mind

Transformed and weakened? 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?

King 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 takest,

As from my deathbed, 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 good night, to quit their griefs,

Tell thou the lamentable tale of me

And send the hearers weeping to their beds:

For why, 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. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND and others.

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.

King 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 men 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.

King Richard

Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate

A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me,

And then betwixt me and my married wife.

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 wife 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?

King Richard

Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

Queen

Banish us both and send the king with me.

Northumberland

That were some love but little policy.

Queen

Then whither he goes, thither let me go.

King 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 near.

Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.

Queen

So longest way shall have the longest moans.

King 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.

Queen

Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part

To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.

So, now I have mine own again, be gone,

That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

King Richard

We make woe wanton with this fond delay:

Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. Exeunt.