Good sometimes Queen, prepare thee hence for France.

Think I am dead, and that even here thou tak’st,

As from my death-bed, 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 goodnight, to quit their griefs

Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,

And send the hearers weeping to their beds;

Forwhy 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 the Earl of Northumberland

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.

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 friends 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.

RICHARD

Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate

A twofold marriage:‘twixt my crown and me,

And then betwixt me and my married wife.

(To the Queen) 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 queen 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?

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.

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 nea’er.

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

QUEEN

So longest way shall have the longest moans.

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.

They kiss

QUEEN

Give me mine own again. ’Twere no good part

To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.

They kiss

So now I have mine own again, be gone,

That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

RICHARD

We make woe wanton with this fond delay.

Once more, adieu. The rest let sorrow say.

Exeunt FRichard, guarded, and Northumberland at one door, the Queen and her Ladies at another door⌉

5.2 Enter the Duke and Duchess of York

DUCHESS OF YORK

My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,

When weeping made you break the story off,

Of our two cousins’ coming into London.

YORK

Where did I leave?

DUCHESS OF YORK At that sad stop, my lord,

Where rude misgoverned hands from windows’ tops

Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard’s head.

YORK

Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,

Which his aspiring rider seemed to know,

With slow but stately pace kept on his course,

Whilst all tongues cried ‘God save thee, Bolingbroke!’

You would have thought the very windows spake,

So many greedy looks of young and old

Through casements darted their desiring eyes

Upon his visage, and that all the walls

With painted imagery had said at once,

‘Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!’

Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,

Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed’s neck,

Bespake them thus: ‘I thank you, countrymen’,

And thus still doing, thus he passed along.

DUCHESS OF YORK

Alack, poor Richard! Where rode he the whilst?

YORK

As in a theatre the eyes of men,

After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,

Are idly bent on him that enters next,

Thinking his prattle to be tedious,

Even so, or with much more contempt, men’s eyes

Did scowl on gentle Richard. No man cried ‘God save him!’

No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;

But dust was thrown upon his sacred head,