Did they not sometime cry ‘All haill’ 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?

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.

RICHARD (to an attendant)

Give me the crown. (To Bolingbroke) Here, cousin, seize the crown.

Here, cousin. On this side my hand, on that side thine.

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.

BOLINGBROKE

I thought you had been willing to resign.

RICHARD

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.

BOLINGBROKE

Part of your cares you give me with your crown.

RICHARD

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.

BOLINGBROKE

Are you contented to resign the crown?

RICHARD

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,

[Bolingbroke accepts the crown]

And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,

⌈Bolingbroke accepts the sceptre⌉

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 duteous oaths.

All pomp and majesty I do forswear.

My manors, rents, revenues I forgo.

My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny.

God pardon all oaths that are broke to me.

God keep all vows unbroke are made 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 earthy pit.

‘God save King Henry,’ unkinged Richard says,

‘And send him many years of sunshine days.’

What more remains?

NORTHUMBERLAND (giving Richard papers)

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.

RICHARD

Must I do so? And must I ravel out

My weaved-up follies ? 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,

Marked with a blot, damned 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 Pitates

Have here delivered me to my sour cross,

And water cannot wash away your sin.

NORTHUMBERLAND

My lord, dispatch. Read o’er these articles.

RICHARD

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

T’undeck the pompous body of a king,

Made glory base and sovereignty a slave,

Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant.

NORTHUMBERLAND My lord—

RICHARD

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 usurped. 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.

BOLINGBROKE

Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass.

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