THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD THE SECOND

KING RICHARD THE SECOND
JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster - uncle to the King
EDMUND LANGLEY, Duke of York - uncle to the King
HENRY, known as BOLINGBROKE, Duke of Hereford, son of John of Gaunt, later King Henry IV
DUKE OF AUMERLE, son of the Duke of York
THOMAS MOWBRAY, Duke of Norfolk
DUKE OF SURREY
EARL OF SALISBURY
LORD BERKELEY
BUSHY - Servant to King Richard
BAGOT - Servant to King Richard
GREEN - Servant to King Richard
EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND
HARRY PERCY, known as Hotspur, his son
LORD ROSS
LORD WILLOUGHBY
LORD FITZWATER
BISHOP OF CARLISLE
ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER
LORD MARSHAL
SIR PIERCE OF EXTON
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP
Captain of a group of Welshmen

QUEEN TO KING RICHARD
DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER
DUCHESS OF YORK
Lady attending the Queen

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants

Enter King Richard, John of Gaunt, with other nobles and attendants.

KING RICHARD.
Old John of Gaunt, respected Lancaster,
Have you, as you promised,
Brought Henry Hereford, your fearless son,
Here to follow through on the loud recent challenge,
That at the time we couldn’t address,
Against Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

GAUNT.
I have, my lord.

KING RICHARD.
Tell me, have you figured out if he’s accusing the Duke out of old hatred,
Or rightly, as a good subject should,
Based on any known act of betrayal from him?

GAUNT.
As far as I could figure out from that discussion,
About some obvious danger he seems to pose
To your Highness, there’s no deep-seated hatred.

KING RICHARD.
Then bring them to us. Face to face
And with frowning brows, we will listen
To the accuser and the accused speak openly.
They’re both proud and full of anger,
In their rage, deaf as the sea, quick as fire.

Enter Bolingbroke and Mowbray.

BOLINGBROKE.
Many years of joy come to
My gracious ruler, my most beloved king!

MOWBRAY.
Every day continues to enhance each other's joy
Until the heavens, jealous of the happiness on earth,
Bestow an everlasting title upon your crown!

KING RICHARD.
Thank you both. But one of you is just flattering us,
As it's clear from why you’re here,
Specifically, to accuse each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what are your accusations
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?

BOLINGBROKE.
First—may heaven bear witness to what I say!—
In the loyalty of a subject’s love,
Protecting the precious safety of my prince,
And free from any other twisted hatred,
I come here to present my case to this royal gathering.
Now, Thomas Mowbray, I turn to you,
And pay close attention to my greeting; for what I say
My body will prove here on earth,
Or my soul will answer for it in heaven.
You are a traitor and a wicked person,
Too good to be such and too bad to live,
Since the more beautiful and clear the sky,
The uglier the clouds that float in it appear.
Once more, to intensify the accusation,
I shove a foul traitor's name down your throat,
And I hope, if it pleases my sovereign, before I proceed,
That what my mouth says, my drawn sword may confirm.

MOWBRAY.
Don't let my cold words here make you think I lack enthusiasm.
This isn’t a woman’s quarrel,
The bitter shouting of two eager voices,
Can’t settle this issue between us;
The anger is intense that needs to be calmed for this.
Yet I can’t pretend to be so patient
As to stay quiet and say nothing at all.
First, your highness's respected position holds me back
From fully expressing my thoughts,
Which would otherwise have already delivered
These treasonous words right back at him.
Putting aside his noble birth,
And if he’s no relation to my king,
I defy him, and I spit at him,
Call him a lying coward and a villain;
I’d even give him the advantage
And meet him, even if I had to run on foot
All the way to the icy peaks of the Alps,
Or any other place that’s hard to live in
Wherever an Englishman would dare to set foot.
In the meantime, let this show my loyalty:
By all my hopes, he’s lying most deceitfully.

BOLINGBROKE.
Pale, trembling coward, I throw down my challenge,
Rejecting any connection to the King,
And setting aside my royal blood,
Which your fear, not respect, makes you reject.
If guilty fear has left you enough strength
To accept my honor's challenge, then kneel.
By that and all the other codes of knighthood,
I will defend against you, arm to arm,
What I’ve said or whatever you can come up with.

MOWBRAY.
I accept the challenge; and by this sword I swear
Which kindly placed my knighthood on my shoulder,
I’ll respond to you in any fair way
Or honorable challenge of a knightly contest.
And when I ride, may I not survive
If I’m a traitor or fight unfairly!

KING RICHARD.
What does our cousin accuse Mowbray of?
It must be serious to make us think
Even a little bit badly of him.

BOLINGBROKE.
Listen to what I say; my life will prove it true:
Mowbray has received eight thousand nobles
As loans for your soldiers,
But he has kept them for dishonest purposes,
Like a deceitful traitor and harmful villain.
Moreover, I say, and will prove in battle,
Here or anywhere to the farthest extent
That has ever been seen by English eyes,
That all the betrayals over these eighteen years
Conceived and plotted in this land
Start with false Mowbray as their source.
Furthermore, I say, and will keep asserting
Based on his wretched life to support all this,
That he conspired the Duke of Gloucester’s death,
Encouraged his overly trusting enemies,
And as a cowardly traitor,
Shed his innocent blood through streams of murder,
Which blood, like that of sacrificing Abel, cries
Even from the silent caverns of the earth
To me for justice and harsh punishment.
And by the glorious honor of my lineage,
This arm will carry it out, or this life will end.

KING RICHARD.
How high his determination soars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what do you think of this?

MOWBRAY.
Oh! let my king turn away his face
And ask his ears to be deaf for a moment,
Until I expose this slander against his lineage
About how God and honorable men despise such a despicable liar.

KING RICHARD.
Mowbray, our eyes and ears are unbiased.
Even if he were my brother, or the heir to my kingdom,
Since he’s just my father’s brother’s son,
I swear by my scepter’s authority
That this close connection to our royal blood
Should grant him no advantages or favoritism
That would compromise the steadfastness of my honorable spirit.
He is our subject, Mowbray; you are too.
I grant you the freedom to speak openly and without fear.

MOWBRAY.
Then, Bolingbroke, you’re lying through your throat, deep down in your heart.
I received three parts of that payment for Calais,
And I gave it to your highness's soldiers;
I kept the other part with permission,
Because my sovereign was in my debt
From a long-standing obligation
Since the last time I went to France to bring his queen.
Now swallow that lie. As for Gloucester’s death,
I didn’t kill him, but to my own shame,
I neglected my sworn duty in that matter.
For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honorable father of my enemy,
I once set a trap for your life,
A crime that weighs heavily on my soul;
But before I last received the sacrament,
I confessed and sincerely asked
For your Grace’s forgiveness, and I believe I earned it.
This is my fault. As for the other accusations,
They come from the hatred of a coward,
A traitor who has lost all honor,
And I will openly defend myself,
And I’ll boldly throw down my challenge
At the feet of this arrogant traitor,
To prove myself a loyal gentleman
Even in the finest blood running through his veins.
Therefore, I sincerely ask
Your highness to set a date for our trial.

KING RICHARD.
Angry gentlemen, listen to me.
Let’s get rid of this anger without shedding blood.
This is our recommendation, even though we’re not doctors;
Deep-seated hatred causes too much harm.
Forget, forgive, come to an agreement;
Our doctors say this isn’t the right time to bleed.
Good uncle, let’s end this where it started;
We’ll calm the Duke of Norfolk, and you’ll handle your son.

GAUNT.
Being a peacemaker suits my age.
Drop, my son, the Duke of Norfolk’s challenge.

KING RICHARD.
And, Norfolk, drop his down.

GAUNT.
When, Harry, when?
I shouldn't have to ask again.

KING RICHARD.
Norfolk, put it down, we insist; it’s pointless.

MOWBRAY.
I throw myself at your feet, dread sovereign.
You can command my life, but not my shame.
My duty owes you my life; but my good name,
Even in death, which hangs over me,
You will not have for the sake of dark dishonor.
I am disgraced, accused, and defeated here,
Pierced to the core by slander’s toxic words,
The only cure for which is the heart-blood
Of the one who uttered this poison.

KING RICHARD.
Anger must be controlled.
Hand me his pledge. Lions make leopards obedient.

MOWBRAY.
Yeah, but you can't change who he is. Just take my shame,
And I’ll give up my pledge. My dearest lord,
The most valuable thing life offers
Is a flawless reputation; without it,
People are just fancy dirt or painted clay.
A treasure locked away in a chest
Is like a brave spirit in a loyal heart.
My honor is my life; they are one and the same.
Take away my honor, and my life is over.
So, dear my king, let me prove my honor;
In that I live, and for that I will die.

KING RICHARD.
Cousin, raise your challenge; you start.

BOLINGBROKE.
Oh, God, protect my soul from such a deep sin!
Will I seem defeated in my father’s eyes?
Or, filled with the fear of a beggar, lower my status
Before this bold coward? Before my tongue
Can damage my honor with such a weak insult
Or speak such lowly terms, my teeth will rip
The cowardly urge to back down and I’ll spit it out, bleeding,
In his great disgrace,
Where shame resides, even in Mowbray’s face.

[Exit Gaunt.]

KING RICHARD.
We weren’t born to beg, but to lead;
Since we can’t do that to make you friends,
Be prepared, as your lives depend on it,
At Coventry on Saint Lambert’s day.
There, your swords and lances will decide
The growing conflict of your deep-seated hatred.
Since we can’t settle this for you, we will see
Justice determine the victor’s honor.
Lord Marshal, instruct our officers-at-arms
To be ready to handle these urgent matters.

[Exit.]

Enter John of Gaunt with the Duchess of Gloucester.

GAUNT.
Sadly, my involvement in Woodstock’s death
Concerns me more than your shouts
To rise up against the people who took his life.
But since the power to correct lies in the hands
That created the mistake we can’t fix,
Let’s leave our conflict to the will of heaven,
Who, when the time is right on earth,
Will unleash fierce punishment on those who have wronged.

DUCHESS.
Do you find no stronger motivation in brotherhood?
Does love in your old blood have no spark?
Edward’s seven sons, of whom you are one,
Were like seven vials of his sacred blood,
Or seven beautiful branches from one root.
Some of those seven have withered by nature’s course,
Some of those branches have been cut by fate;
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,
One vial full of Edward’s sacred blood,
One thriving branch of his most royal root,
Is cracked, and all the precious liquid spilled,
Is chopped down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By envy’s hand and murder’s bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt! his blood was yours! That bed, that womb,
That metal, that very shape, that made you
Made him a man; and though you live and breathe,
You are nonetheless killed in him. You do agree
In a significant way to your father’s death
In that you see your miserable brother die,
Who was the model of your father’s life.
Don’t call it patience, Gaunt; it is despair.
By allowing your brother to be slaughtered,
You show the clear path to your own life,
Teaching cold-blooded murder how to kill you.
What we call patience in ordinary men
Is pale, cold cowardice in noble hearts.
What should I say? To protect your own life,
The best way is to avenge my Gloucester’s death.

GAUNT.
It's God's fight; because God's representative,
His chosen deputy in His eyes,
Is the one who caused his death. If this was unfair,
Let heaven take action, because I can never raise
An angry hand against His servant.

DUCHESS.
Where can I vent my frustrations, then?

GAUNT.
To God, the protector and defender of the widow.

DUCHESS.
Well then, I will. Goodbye, old Gaunt.
You’re heading to Coventry to watch
Our cousin Hereford and fierce Mowbray fight.
Oh, let my husband’s wrongs ride on Hereford’s spear,
So that it pierces butcher Mowbray’s chest!
And if bad luck misses the first attack,
Let Mowbray’s guilt weigh so heavily on him
That it breaks his foaming horse’s back
And throws the rider headfirst into the arena,
A cowardly traitor to my cousin Hereford!
Goodbye, old Gaunt. Your former brother’s wife
Along with her companion, Grief, must end her life.

GAUNT.
Sister, goodbye; I have to go to Coventry.
May as much good stay with you as goes with me!

DUCHESS.
Just one more thing. Grief settles where it lands,
Not with emptiness, but with weight.
I take my leave before I've really started,
Because sorrow doesn’t end when it seems over.
Please send my regards to your brother, Edmund York.
This is all. No, don't leave so soon!
Even though this is everything, don’t rush off;
I’ll remember more. Tell him—oh, what?—
To visit me at Plashy as soon as he can.
Oh, what will good old York find there
But empty rooms and bare walls,
Deserted offices, untouched stones?
And what will he hear for a welcome but my sighs?
So please tell him; don’t let him come here
To look for sorrow that is everywhere.
I will leave, desolate, and die!
This last goodbye makes my eyes weep.

[Scene ends.]

Enter the Lord Marshal and the Duke of Aumerle.

MARSHAL.
My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford ready for a fight?

AUMERLE.
Yeah, at all levels, and is eager to join in.

MARSHAL.
The Duke of Norfolk, lively and daring,
Is just waiting for the call of the appellant's trumpet.

AUMERLE.
So, the champions are ready and waiting
For nothing but the King to arrive.

Enter King Richard, who takes his seat on his throne; Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Green and others, who take their places. A trumpet sounds, and is answered by another trumpet from within. Then enter Mowbray in armor, the defendant, preceded by a herald.

KING RICHARD.
Marshal, ask that champion over there
Why he's come here armed.
Inquire about his name, and then properly proceed
To swear him in for the justice of his cause.

MARSHAL.
In God’s name and the King’s, tell me who you are,
And why you’re dressed like a knight in armor,
Against whom you come, and what your dispute is.
Speak honestly, on your honor as a knight and your oath,
As heaven and your bravery defend you.

MOWBRAY.
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
I come here bound by my oath—
Which God forbid a knight should break!—
To defend my loyalty and truth
To God, my King, and my future descendants,
Against the Duke of Hereford who accuses me,
And, with God's grace and this arm of mine,
To prove him wrong, defending myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me;
And as I fight honestly, may heaven protect me.

He sits down.

Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke the appellant, in armor, followed by a Herald.

KING RICHARD.
Marshal, ask that knight over there in armor
Who he is and why he comes here
Dressed for battle,
And formally, as our law requires,
Put him under oath for the justice of his case.

MARSHAL.
What is your name? And why have you come here
Before King Richard in his royal tournament?
Who are you here to challenge? And what’s your issue?
Speak like a true knight, and may heaven protect you!

BOLINGBROKE.
I’m Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Standing here armed,
Ready to prove, by God’s grace and my own courage,
In this challenge against Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
That he is a foul and dangerous traitor,
To God in heaven, King Richard, and to me.
And as I fight with honesty, may heaven defend me.

MARSHAL.
No one is allowed to be so bold or daring as to enter the lists, under penalty of death, except for the Marshal and the officers assigned to oversee these events.

BOLINGBROKE.
Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand
And kneel before his Majesty.
For Mowbray and I are like two men
Who promise a long and tiring journey;
So let's say a formal goodbye
And a heartfelt farewell to our friends.

MARSHAL.
The person appealing to you respectfully greets your highness
And asks to kiss your hand and take their leave.

KING RICHARD. [Descends from his throne.]
We will come down and hold him in our arms.
Cousin of Hereford, since your cause is just,
May your luck be good in this royal battle.
Goodbye, my family, and if you bleed today,
We may grieve, but we cannot avenge you when you're gone.

BOLINGBROKE.
Oh, let no noble eye waste a tear
For me if I’m wounded by Mowbray’s spear.
As sure as the falcon’s flight
Is against a bird, I fight Mowbray tonight.
My dear lord, I’m saying goodbye to you.
To you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;
Not sick, though I face death,
But strong, young, and breathing with energy.
Look! Just like at English feasts, I greet
The finest last course to make the end most sweet.
Oh you, the earthly source of my blood,
Whose youthful spirit is renewed in me,
Lifts me up with double strength
To reach for victory high above my head,
Add support to my armor with your prayers,
And with your blessings sharpen my lance’s point,
So it can pierce Mowbray’s protective coat
And revive the name of John o’ Gaunt,
Even in the lively spirit of his son.

GAUNT.
May God help you succeed in your noble cause.
Be as quick as lightning in your actions,
And let your strikes, multiplied and fierce,
Hit like astonishing thunder on the helmet
Of your wicked enemy.
Awaken your youthful spirit, be brave, and thrive.

BOLINGBROKE.
May my innocence and Saint George help me succeed!

He sits down.

MOWBRAY. [Rising.]
No matter how God or fate shapes my future,
There lives or dies, true to King Richard’s throne,
A loyal, fair, and honorable man.
Never has a prisoner felt a freer heart
As they shed their chains and embrace
Their golden, unrestrained freedom,
More than my joyful spirit celebrates
This battle feast with my opponent.
Most mighty lord, and my fellow peers,
Grant me the wish for happy years.
As gentle and cheerful as in jest,
I go to fight. Truth has a calm heart.

KING RICHARD.
Goodbye, my lord. I can clearly see
Courage and virtue shining in your eyes.
Get the trial ready, Marshal, and let’s start.

[The King and the Lords take their seats again.]

MARSHAL.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Take your lance; and may God defend what’s right.

BOLINGBROKE. [Standing up.]
Strong as a tower in hope, I shout “Amen”!

MARSHAL.
[To an officer.] Take this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk.

FIRST HERALD.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Stands here for God, his king, and himself,
Under the threat of being found false and cowardly,
To prove that the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
Is a traitor to his God, his King, and him,
And challenges him to step forward to the fight.

SECOND HERALD.
Here stands Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
Facing the risk of being found false and cowardly,
Here to defend himself and to prove
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his king, and to him disloyal,
Boldly and with a willing spirit,
Just waiting for the signal to start.

MARSHAL.
Sound the trumpets, and move out, fighters.

A charge rang out.

Stay! The King has thrown down his scepter.

KING RICHARD.
Let them put aside their helmets and spears,
And both come back to their seats again.
Join us, and let the trumpets play
While we give these dukes what we've decided.

A grand gesture.

[To the Combatants.] Come closer,
And hear what our council has decided.
We don’t want our kingdom’s land to be stained
With the precious blood it has nurtured;
And we can’t stand the terrible sight
Of civil wounds made by neighbors’ swords;
And we believe the eagle-like pride
Of lofty, ambitious thoughts,
With envy that hates rivals, has pushed you
To disturb our peace, which in our country’s cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep,
Which, if disturbed by loud, uncoordinated drums,
And the terrifying blast of harsh trumpets,
And the clashing of angry weapons,
Could scare away fair peace
And make us wade through the blood of our own kin:
Therefore, we banish you from our lands.
You, cousin Hereford, on pain of death,
Shall not return to our lovely domains
For twenty summers,
But walk the foreign paths of exile.

BOLINGBROKE.
Your will be done. This must be my comfort:
The sun that warms you here will shine on me,
And those golden rays it gives you here
Will shine on me and brighten my exile.

KING RICHARD.
Norfolk, for you there’s a heavier fate,
Which I reluctantly declare:
The sneaky, slow hours won’t decide
The endless span of your beloved exile.
The hopeless phrase of “never to return”
I speak against you, at the risk of my life.

MOWBRAY.
That's a serious sentence, my most gracious king,
And it's completely unexpected coming from you.
I deserve a greater honor, which isn’t as harsh
As being thrown out into the open air,
For the treatment I have received from you.
The language I've learned over these forty years,
My native English, I now have to give up;
And now my ability to speak is to me nothing more
Than an unstrung violin or a harp,
Or like a complex instrument packed away
Or, even if it’s out, handed to someone
Who doesn’t know how to play the notes in harmony.
You’ve trapped my tongue in my mouth,
Doubly secured by my teeth and lips,
And dull, unfeeling ignorance
Has become my jailer, watching over me.
I’m too old to be coddled by a nurse,
Too far along in years to be a student now.
What is your sentence, then, but a silent death,
Which takes away my ability to speak my own language?

KING RICHARD.
It's useless to be compassionate now.
After we've delivered our sentence, it's too late.

MOWBRAY.
So now I turn away from my country’s light,
To live in the serious shadows of endless night.

[Retiring.]

KING RICHARD.
Come back and take an oath with you.
Place your banished hands on our royal sword.
Swear by the responsibility you owe to God—
We'll banish our part along with you—
To keep the promise we make you:
You shall never, so help you truth and God,
Share each other’s love while in banishment;
Nor shall you ever look upon each other’s face;
Nor write, greet, or reconcile
This brewing storm of your home-grown hatred;
Nor by any intention meet
To plot, plan, or scheme any harm
Against us, our state, our subjects, or our land.

Bolingbroke.
I swear.

MOWBRAY.
And I, to hold onto all of this.

BOLINGBROKE.
Norfolk, my enemy:
If the King had allowed us,
One of our souls would have drifted in the air,
Leaving this weak body behind,
Just like our bodies are now exiled from this land.
Admit your betrayals before you leave the country.
Since you have a long way to go, don't carry along
The heavy weight of a guilty conscience.

MOWBRAY.
No, Bolingbroke. If I were ever a traitor,
Let my name be erased from the book of life,
And may I be cast out of heaven just like I am here!
But what you truly are, God, you and I both know;
And I fear that the King will regret it all too soon.
Goodbye, my king. There’s no way I can go wrong now;
Except back to England, the whole world is my path.

[Log out.]

KING RICHARD.
Uncle, even in your eyes
I can see your troubled heart. Your sad expression
Has taken away four years from the count of his banished years.
[To Bolingbroke] Six long winters gone,
Now he returns home after his banishment.

BOLINGBROKE.
How much time is packed into just one little word!
Four slow winters and four carefree springs
Come down to a single word: that’s the way of kings.

GAUNT.
I’m grateful to my king that he’s cut down my son’s exile by four years;
But I won’t get much benefit from it,
Because, before the six years he has left are over
And the moons change to mark his time,
My oil-dried lamp and wasted light
Will be gone, lost in age and endless night;
My tiny candle will be burnt out,
And blind death won’t let me see my son.

KING RICHARD.
Come on, uncle, you have many years ahead of you.

GAUNT.
But not even a minute, king, that you can give.
You can shorten my days with your gloomy sadness,
And take nights away from me, but not grant me tomorrow.
You can help time mark me with age,
But you can't stop any wrinkles on his journey;
Your word holds weight with him for my death,
But once I'm dead, your kingdom can't buy my breath.

KING RICHARD.
Your son has been banished based on sound advice,
To which your words gave a partial decision.
Why then do you appear so grim at our justice?

GAUNT.
Things that taste sweet often turn sour in the stomach.
You wanted me to act as a judge, but I wish
You had asked me to speak like a father instead.
Oh, if it had been a stranger and not my child,
I would have been more lenient in addressing his fault.
I tried to avoid partial slander,
But in passing judgment, I ended up ruining my own life.
Unfortunately, I expected some of you to say
I was too harsh and ended up damaging myself;
Yet you allowed my unwilling tongue
To speak against my own interests.

KING RICHARD.
Cousin, goodbye, and, uncle, please tell him the same.
We banish him for six years, and that's the plan.

[Thrive. Exit King Richard and Train.]

AUMERLE.
Cousin, goodbye. What presence shouldn't know,
From where you’re staying, let the paper reveal.

MARSHAL.
My lord, I won't take my leave, because I will ride,
As far as the land allows me, by your side.

GAUNT.
Oh, why do you hold back your words,
That you don’t greet your friends?

BOLINGBROKE.
I don’t have enough words to say goodbye,
When I should be overflowing
With the sorrow that fills my heart.

GAUNT.
Your grief is just your absence for a while.

BOLINGBROKE.
When joy is gone, grief takes its place.

GAUNT.
What are six winters? They go by in no time.

BOLINGBROKE.
For people who are happy, time flies; but when you're sad, an hour feels like ten.

GAUNT.
Call it a trip that you're taking for fun.

BOLINGBROKE.
My heart will ache when I call it that,
Which sees it as a forced journey.

GAUNT.
The heavy way you walk, feeling exhausted
Is just a backdrop for placing
The precious jewel of your homecoming.

BOLINGBROKE.
No, actually, every exhausting step I take
Just reminds me how far I am
From the treasures that I cherish.
Do I have to spend a long time
Learning about distant places, and in the end,
Once I have my freedom, brag about nothing else
But that I was a worker in sorrow?

GAUNT.
All places that the sun shines on
Are to a wise person safe havens and happy spots.
Teach your need to think this way:
There’s no virtue greater than necessity.
Don’t think the King banished you,
But that you banished the King. Sorrow weighs heavier
When it realizes it is only slightly carried.
Go, say I sent you out to earn honor,
And not that the King exiled you; or imagine
A deadly disease hangs in our air,
And you’re flying to a fresher place.
Look at what your soul cherishes, picture it
To be waiting for you where you’re going, not where you came from.
Imagine the singing birds are musicians,
The grass you walk on is strewn with beauty,
The flowers are lovely ladies, and your steps are nothing
More than a joyful rhythm or a dance;
For gnawing sorrow has less power to hurt
The person who laughs at it and treats it lightly.

BOLINGBROKE.
Oh, who can hold fire in his hand
Just by thinking of the cold Caucasus?
Or satisfy a hungry appetite
With only the thought of a feast?
Or roll around naked in December snow
By imagining the heat of a fantastic summer?
Oh no, the awareness of the good
Only makes the bad feel even worse.
Deep sorrow never hurts more
Than when it bites but doesn't really wound.

GAUNT.
Come on, my son, I’ll help you on your journey.
If I had your youth and reasons, I wouldn’t linger.

BOLINGBROKE.
Then, goodbye, England; sweet land, farewell,
My mother and my caretaker who still holds me!
Wherever I roam, I can proudly say,
Though exiled, I'm still a true-born Englishman.

[Exit.]

Enter King Richard, Green and Bagot from one side; Aumerle from the other.

KING RICHARD.
We saw you. — Cousin Aumerle,
How far did you take high Hereford on his journey?

AUMERLE.
I brought him to high Hereford, if that’s what you want to call him,
But then I took him to the next road, and that’s where I left him.

KING RICHARD.
So, how many tears were shed when we said goodbye?

AUMERLE.
Honestly, I have no belief for myself, except the northeast wind,
Which then blew cold against our faces,
Woke up the lingering tears, and so by chance
Did bless our empty farewell with a tear.

KING RICHARD.
What did our cousin say when you left him?

AUMERLE.
“Goodbye.”
And, because my heart couldn't stand my tongue
Saying something so disrespectful, which taught me how
To fake the pain of such sadness
That words felt buried in my sorrow's grave.
Honestly, if the word “goodbye” could have stretched out time
And added years to his brief banishment,
He would have received a whole book of goodbyes,
But since it didn’t, he got none from me.

KING RICHARD.
He is our cousin, but it’s uncertain,
When the time comes for him to return from exile,
Whether he'll come back to see his friends.
Bushy, Bagot, Green, and I
Noticed how he engaged with the common people,
How he seemed to reach into their hearts
With humble and friendly kindness,
What respect he showed to the lowest of them,
Charming poor workers with smiles
And patiently dealing with his misfortune,
As if to make them forget their troubles with him.
He even takes off his hat for an oyster seller;
A couple of draymen wish him well,
And received the honor of his bow,
With “Thanks, my countrymen, my dear friends,”
As if England were already his,
And he was next in line for our subjects' hopes.

GREEN.
Well, he's gone, and with him, these thoughts are gone too.
Now for the rebels who are still in Ireland,
We need to come up with a plan, my liege,
Before they have more time to gain an advantage
That will hurt you and benefit them.

KING RICHARD.
We will go in person to this war.
And, since our funds are running low
Due to our big court and generous spending,
We have to rent out our royal lands,
The income from which will support us
In our current affairs. If that falls short,
Our representatives at home will have blank contracts
That, once they identify who has money,
They can sign for large amounts of gold,
And send it back to cover our needs;
For we will head to Ireland right away.

Enter Bushy.

What's the news, Bushy?

BUSHY.
Old John of Gaunt is seriously ill, my lord,
He was suddenly taken, and has sent for you
To request your Majesty to visit him.

KING RICHARD.
Where is he buried?

BUSHY.
At Ely House.

KING RICHARD.
Now, God, put it in his doctor’s mind
To help him get to his grave right away!
The money in his coffers will make uniforms
To outfit our soldiers for these Irish wars.
Come on, gentlemen, let’s go see him.
I pray we hurry and arrive just in time!

ALL.
Amen!

[Exit.]

Emaciated is on a couch; the Duke of York and others are standing next to him.

GAUNT.
Will the King come, so I can share my final advice
With his impulsive youth?

YORK.
Don't stress yourself, and don't waste your breath,
Because advice falls on deaf ears anyway.

GAUNT.
Oh, but they say that the final words of dying men
Capture attention like beautiful music.
When words are few, they’re rarely wasted,
Because they express truths spoken in pain.
Those who have nothing left to say are listened to more
Than those who have been taught to flatter by youth and comfort.
People remember the endings of lives more than their beginnings.
The setting sun and music at the end,
Like the last taste of something sweet, is the best part,
Remembered more than things that happened long ago.
Even though Richard wouldn’t listen to my advice in life,
My sad story in death might still reach his ears.

YORK.
No, it’s drowned out by other flattering noises,
Like praises that the wise appreciate;
Sensual rhythms that the young always tune in to;
Talk about trends in flashy Italy,
Whose behaviors our slow, imitative nation
Clumsily follows in a cheap knockoff.
Where in the world does vanity emerge—
As long as it’s new, no matter how trashy—
That isn’t quickly whispered in his ears?
Then, all too late, comes advice to consider,
When willpower clashes with common sense.
Don’t try to guide him when he’s set on his own path.
It’s breath you’re missing, and that’s the breath you’ll waste.

GAUNT.
I feel like I'm a newly inspired prophet,
And as I’m dying, I’m predicting his future:
His reckless, wild blaze of chaos won't last,
Because violent fires burn out quickly;
Light rains last longer, but sudden storms are brief;
He tires out early who rushes too fast;
Overindulging chokes the hungry feeder.
Shallow vanity, insatiable greedy person,
Eating up resources, soon destroys itself.
This royal throne of kings, this sceptered island,
This land of greatness, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, half-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against disease and the threat of war,
This happy group of people, this little world,
This precious gem set in the silver sea,
Which acts as a wall
Or a defensive moat for a house,
Against the jealousy of less fortunate lands;
This blessed plot, this land, this realm, this England,
This mother, this fertile womb of royal kings,
Feared for their lineage, and famous for their heritage,
Renowned for their actions as far from home,
For Christian service and true chivalry,
As is the tomb in stubborn Jewry
Of the world’s savior, blessed Mary’s Son,
This land of such dear souls, this beloved land,
Cherished for her reputation around the world,
Is now leased out—I die saying it—
Like a rental property or a shabby farm.
England, bordered by the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore pushes back the jealous siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment contracts
That England, once known for conquering others,
Has made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, if only the scandal could disappear with my life,
How happy my impending death would be!

Enter King Richard and Queen; Aumerle, Bushy, Green, Bagot, Ross and Willoughby.

YORK.
The King has arrived. Treat his youth gently,
Because young, fiery colts, when provoked, just get angrier.

QUEEN.
How is our noble uncle, Lancaster?

KING RICHARD.
What’s up, man? How’s old Gaunt doing?

GAUNT.
Oh, how that name suits me!
Old Gaunt for sure, and thin from being old.
Grief has made me starve for so long,
And who goes without food and isn't thin?
For a long time, I have watched over England;
Watching makes you thin, and thin is what I am.
The joy that some fathers find
Is my strict fasting—I mean the looks of my children,
And in this fasting, you've made me thin.
I'm thin for the grave, as thin as a grave,
Whose empty womb holds nothing but bones.

KING RICHARD.
Can sick people play so well with their names?

GAUNT.
No, misery enjoys making fun of itself.
Since you want to destroy my reputation,
I make fun of my name, great king, to please you.

KING RICHARD.
Should people close to death flatter those who are still alive?

GAUNT.
No, no, people living praise those who have died.

KING RICHARD.
You, now dying, say that you flatter me.

GAUNT.
Oh no, you’re dying, even though I’m the one who's sick.

KING RICHARD.
I'm healthy, I breathe, and I see that you're unwell.

GAUNT.
Now, the one who created me knows I see you suffering,
Suffering from within and seeing your suffering too.
Your deathbed is no less significant than your land,
Where you lie with a sick reputation;
And you, too careless in your suffering,
Entrust your anointed body to the care
Of those doctors who first harmed you.
A thousand flatterers sit within your crown,
Whose reach is no bigger than your head;
And yet, trapped in such a small space,
The waste is no less than your land.
Oh, if your grandfather had seen with a prophet’s eye
How his grandson would destroy his sons,
He would have cast you out before you claimed the throne,
Which you now own only to abdicate.
Why, cousin, if you were the ruler of the world,
It would be a shame to let this land slip away;
But since your world consists only of this land,
Is it not worse than shame to dishonor it like this?
You are now the landlord of England, not its king.
Your state of law is bound to the law,
And you—

KING RICHARD.
A crazy, foolish idiot,
Thinking he has the right because he’s sick,
Dares to make us pale with your cold warnings,
Driving the royal blood
Out of its rightful place with rage.
Now, by my rightful royal authority,
If you weren’t the brother of great Edward’s son,
This tongue that moves so freely in your head
Should be cutting your head off your disrespectful shoulders.

GAUNT.
Oh! Don’t hold back, my brother Edward’s son,
For I am his father Edward’s son.
That blood already, like the pelican,
You’ve drained out and drunkenly celebrated.
My brother Gloucester, a straightforward well-meaning soul,
May he find peace in heaven among the happy souls!—
He could serve as a good example and witness
That you don’t care about spilling Edward’s blood.
Join this current illness I have,
And your unkindness will be like old age,
To cut down a flower that’s withered too long.
Live in your shame, but don’t let it die with you!
These words will be your tormentors later!
Take me to my bed, then to my grave.
Those who love and honor want to live.

[i]Exit, carried away by his attendants.[/i]

KING RICHARD.
And let those who are old and bitter die,
For you have both, and both lead to the grave.

YORK.
I really urge you, Your Majesty, to consider that his words
Come from his stubborn sickness and old age.
He loves you, believe me, and values you
Just as Harry, Duke of Hereford, would if he were here.

KING RICHARD.
You're right, you speak the truth: Hereford loves as he does;
As they love, so do I; and everything should stay as it is.

Join Northumberland.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
My lord, old Gaunt recommends him to your Majesty.

KING RICHARD.
What does he say?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
No, it's all been said.
His tongue is now like a broken musical instrument;
Words, life, and everything, old Lancaster has used up.

YORK.
Let York be the next to go bankrupt then!
Even though death is cheap, it puts an end to human suffering.

KING RICHARD.
The ripest fruit falls first, and so does he.
His time is up; our journey must continue.
That’s enough of that. Now onto our wars in Ireland:
We need to uproot those rough, wild fighters,
Who thrive like poison in a place where no other poison
Has the right to exist.
And since these important matters require funding,
We are taking over the plate, money, assets, and belongings
That our uncle Gaunt used to own.

YORK.
How much longer do I have to be patient? Oh, how long
Will my sense of duty make me suffer wrong?
Not Gloucester’s death, nor Hereford’s exile,
Nor Gaunt’s criticism, nor England’s private wrongs,
Nor the blocking of poor Bolingbroke
Regarding his marriage, nor my own shame,
Have ever made me spoil my patient demeanor,
Or crease even one line on my sovereign’s face.
I am the last of noble Edward’s sons,
Of whom your father, Prince of Wales, was the first.
In battle, no lion ever raged more fiercely,
In peace, no gentle lamb was ever more mild,
Than that young and princely gentleman.
You have his face, for he looked just like you,
Matched in how you’ve grown;
But when he frowned, it was against the French
And not against his friends. His noble hand
Won what he used, and never wasted
What his triumphant father’s hand had gained.
His hands were not stained with any kin’s blood,
But were bloodied with the enemies of his family.
Oh Richard! York is too far gone in grief,
Or else he would never make such a comparison.

KING RICHARD.
Why, Uncle, what’s up?

YORK.
Oh my lord.
Please forgive me, if you would; if not, I'm fine
Not being forgiven, I accept that.
Are you trying to grab and hold onto
The rights and privileges of banished Hereford?
Is Gaunt not dead? And does Hereford not live?
Wasn't Gaunt just? And isn't Harry true?
Did the one not deserve to have an heir?
Isn't his heir a deserving son?
Take away Hereford’s rights, and take away from Time
His charters and his customary rights;
Let not tomorrow then follow today;
Do not be yourself; for how can you be a king
But by rightful sequence and succession?
Now, before God—God forbid I say this!—
If you wrongfully seize Hereford’s rights,
Revoke the letters patent that he has
Through his attorneys to claim
His inheritance, and deny his offered loyalty,
You bring a thousand dangers upon yourself,
You lose a thousand loyal hearts,
And push my delicate patience to those thoughts
Which honor and loyalty cannot bear.

KING RICHARD.
Whatever you think, we take control of
His possessions, his assets, his cash, and his territory.

YORK.
I won't be around for a while. Goodbye, my lord.
No one can predict what will happen next;
But it's clear from bad choices
That their outcomes can never be good.

[Log out.]

KING RICHARD.
Go, Bushy, straight to the Earl of Wiltshire.
Tell him to come to us at Ely House
to discuss this matter. Tomorrow, we’ll head to Ireland,
and I think it’s about time.
We’re appointing our Uncle York as Lord Governor of England
while we’re away,
because he is fair and has always cared for us.
Come on, our queen. We must leave tomorrow;
let's be cheerful, because our time here is limited.

[Exit King, Queen, Bushy, Aumerle, Green and Bagot.]

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Well, everyone, the Duke of Lancaster has died.

ROSS.
And he’s alive too, because now his son is the Duke.

WILLOUGHBY.
Hardly in name, but not in profits.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Rich in both, if justice were served correctly.

ROSS.
My heart is heavy, but it has to break in silence
Before it can be relieved by an open tongue.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
No, say what you think, and let him never speak again
Who repeats your words to hurt you!

WILLOUGHBY.
Do you want to talk to the Duke of Hereford?
If that's the case, just say it clearly, man.
I'm eager to hear anything positive about him.

ROSS.
There’s nothing I can really do for him,
Unless you consider it good to feel sorry for him,
Stripped of his inheritance and power.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Honestly, it’s shameful that such wrongs are tolerated
In him, a royal prince, and many others
Of noble lineage in this struggling land.
The King isn’t himself but is being poorly influenced
By sycophants; and what they choose to tell him,
Simply out of spite towards any of us,
The King will harshly act on
Against us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.

ROSS.
He's drained the common people with heavy taxes,
And they’ve completely lost their support. He’s fined the nobles
For old disputes and lost their trust too.

WILLOUGHBY.
Every day they come up with new demands,
Like taxes, donations, and who knows what else.
But seriously, what on earth is happening with this?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
It hasn't been ruined by war, because he hasn't fought,
But has shamefully given up through compromise
What his ancestors earned with struggle.
He's spent more in peacetime than they did in battles.

ROSS.
The Earl of Wiltshire is farming the land.

WILLOUGHBY.
The King’s gone broke like a failing man.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Shame and breakup are looming over him.

ROSS.
He doesn't have money for these Irish wars,
Despite the heavy taxes,
But by stealing from the exiled Duke.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
His noble relative. What a disgraceful king!
But, lords, we hear this terrifying storm raging,
Yet we don't look for shelter from the chaos;
We see the wind hitting hard against our sails,
And still we don’t take action, but instead face certain doom.

ROSS.
We face the wreckage that we have to endure;
And the danger is unavoidable now
Because of the causes of our destruction.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Not really. Even through the empty eyes of death
I see life looking back; but I can't say
How close the news of our comfort is.

WILLOUGHBY.
Come on, let us share your thoughts just as you share ours.

ROSS.
Be confident when you speak, Northumberland.
We three are just like you, and by saying this,
Your words are just your thoughts. So be brave.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Then I have received news from Le Port Blanc, a bay
In Brittany, that Harry, Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham,
Who recently broke away from the Duke of Exeter,
His brother, the former Archbishop of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis Coint,
All well-equipped by the Duke of Brittany
With eight strong ships and three thousand soldiers,
Are heading here as quickly as possible,
And intend to reach our northern coast soon.
They might have arrived already, but they are waiting
For the king's first departure for Ireland.
If we are to throw off our oppressive yoke,
Support our struggling country,
Redeem the tarnished crown from its troubles,
Clear the dust that covers our scepter's gold,
And restore the true dignity of our monarchy,
Then let’s hurry to Ravenspurgh.
But if you hesitate, fearing to do so,
Stay hidden, and I will go alone.

ROSS.
Let’s ride, let’s ride! Challenge those who are scared.

WILLOUGHBY.
Help me with my horse, and I'll be there first.

[Exit.]

Enter Queen, Bushy and Bagot.

BUSHY.
Madam, Your Majesty seems too sad.
You promised, when you said goodbye to the King,
To put aside any burdens that weigh you down
And keep a cheerful attitude.

QUEEN.
I did it to please the King; to please myself
I can't do it. Yet I don't see any reason
Why I should welcome a guest like grief,
Except to say goodbye to such a sweet guest
As my dear Richard. Yet again, I feel,
That some unborn sorrow, ready in Fortune’s womb,
Is coming my way, and my inner soul
Trembles with nothing. It grieves
More than parting from my lord the King.

BUSHY.
Every piece of sorrow has twenty shadows,
Which look like grief itself, but aren’t really;
For a sorrowful eye, clouded with blinding tears,
Breaks one complete thing into many forms,
Like perspectives that, when viewed correctly,
Show nothing but confusion; with a misaligned gaze,
They distinguish shape. So, your sweet Majesty,
Looking askew at your lord’s departure,
Finds more shapes of sorrow to lament than just him,
Which, seen for what it truly is, is nothing but shadows
Of what it’s not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,
Don’t weep for anything more than your lord’s departure. There’s nothing more to see,
Or if there is, it’s just through the false tears of sorrow,
Which weeps for imaginary things rather than reality.

QUEEN.
It might be true; but my inner self
Convinces me it's not. Regardless,
I can't help but feel sad—so deeply sad
That simply thinking about nothing
Makes me feel weak and diminished.

BUSHY.
It's just arrogance, my dear lady.

QUEEN.
It's nothing less. Conceit always comes
From some past sorrow. Mine isn't like that,
Because nothing has caused my grief,
Or maybe something has caused the nothing that I mourn.
I have it in potential,
But what it is, I still don't know,
I can't name it. It's nameless pain, I know.

Enter Green.

GREEN.
God save your majesty! And nice to see you, gentlemen.
I hope the King hasn't left for Ireland yet.

QUEEN.
Why are you jumping around so? It’s better to hope he is,
Because his plans need to move quickly, and his quickness brings good hope.
So why do you hope he hasn't set sail?

GREEN.
That he, our hope, might have given up his power,
And crushed the hopes of an enemy
Who has firmly established themselves in this land.
The exiled Bolingbroke returns,
And with arms raised is safely back
At Ravenspurgh.

QUEEN.
God in heaven forbid!

GREEN.
Ah, ma'am, it's sadly true; and what's worse,
Lord Northumberland, his son Harry Percy,
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
Along with all their powerful allies, have escaped to him.

BUSHY.
Why haven't you declared Northumberland
And all the other rebel traitors?

GREEN.
So, the Earl of Worcester
Has broken his staff, given up his position,
And all the household staff ran away with him
To Bolingbroke.

QUEEN.
So, Green, you are the midwife to my misery,
And Bolingbroke is the grim heir to my pain.
Now my soul has given birth to its tragedy,
And I, a breathless new mother,
Have linked woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow.

BUSHY.
Don't despair, ma'am.

QUEEN.
Who can stop me?
I will give in to despair and be at odds
With deceptive hope. It's a flatterer,
A leech, a delay in facing death,
That would softly loosen the ties of life,
Which false hope clings to in dire situations.

Enter York.

GREEN.
Here comes the Duke of York.

QUEEN.
With signs of war around his tired neck.
Oh! his expression is so full of worry!
Uncle, please, for God's sake, say something reassuring.

YORK.
If I do that, I would be lying to myself.
Comfort is in heaven, and we are stuck here on earth,
Where all we have are burdens, worries, and pain.
Your husband has gone away to fight, far off,
While others come here to sabotage him.
I’m left to hold up his land,
Too weak with age to support myself.
Now comes the time of suffering that his excess caused;
Now he will see which of his friends are truly loyal.

Enter a Server.

SERVINGMAN.
My lord, your son left before I arrived.

YORK.
Really? Well, then! It can go however it wants!
The nobles have run away, the common people are indifferent
And I’m afraid they will side with Hereford.
Hey, go to Plashy, to my sister in Gloucester;
Tell her to send me a thousand pounds right away.
Here, take my ring.

SERVINGMAN.
My lord, I forgot to mention:
Today, as I passed by, I stopped there—
But I’ll upset you if I share what happened next.

YORK.
What is it, fool?

SERVINGMAN.
An hour before I arrived, the Duchess passed away.

YORK.
God, what a flood of troubles
Is crashing down on this miserable land all at once!
I don’t know what to do. I wish to God,
That my dishonesty hadn’t caused this,
The King would’ve taken my head along with my brother’s.
What, are there no messengers sent to Ireland?
How will we manage to pay for these wars?
Come on, sister—sorry, I meant cousin, please forgive me.
You, go home; get some carts
And bring back the armor that’s there.

[Exit Server.]

Gentlemen, will you go gather the men?
If I know how or which way to handle these affairs
That have been thrown into my lap so chaotically,
Never believe me. Both are my family.
One is my king, whom both my oath
And duty compel me to defend; the other again
Is my relative, whom the King has wronged,
Whom my conscience and my family say I should help.
Well, we must do something. Come, cousin,
I’ll figure it out for you. Gentlemen, go gather your men,
And meet me right away at Berkeley Castle.
I should go to Plashy too,
But time won’t allow it. Everything is chaotic,
And everything is left in disarray.

[Exit York and Queen.]

BUSHY.
The wind is right for news to head to Ireland,
But nobody is coming back. To gather strength
Equal to the enemy
Is completely impossible.

GREEN.
Also, our closeness to the King in love
Is close to the hatred of those who don't love the King.

BAGOT.
And that's the indecisive common people, because their affection
Is tied to their wallets; and whoever empties them,
Fills their hearts with deep resentment.

BUSHY.
Where the King is generally condemned.

BAGOT.
If the judgment is in them, then it is in us too,
Because we have always been close to the King.

GREEN.
Well, I’ll head straight to Bristol Castle for safety.
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

BUSHY.
I will go with you, because the common people
Will do nothing for us,
Except act like dogs and tear us apart.
Will you come with us?

BAGOT.
No, I will go to Ireland for the King.
Goodbye. If my feelings are not misleading,
We three here will part and never meet again.

BUSHY.
That's how York struggles to take down Bolingbroke.

GREEN.
Oh, poor Duke! The job he has taken on
Is counting grains of sand and draining oceans.
Where one person stands by him, thousands will run away.
Goodbye all at once, for once, for all, and forever.

BUSHY.
Well, maybe we'll meet again.

BAGOT.
I don’t think so, never.

[Exit.]

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland with troops.

BOLINGBROKE.
How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Believe me, noble lord,
I’m a stranger here in Gloucestershire.
These high, wild hills and rough, uneven roads
Stretch out our miles and make them exhausting.
And yet your pleasant conversation has been like sugar,
Making the tough journey sweet and enjoyable.
But I can imagine how tiring the road
From Ravenspurgh to Cotshall will feel
Without your company, which, I swear, has greatly eased
The monotony and strain of my travel.
But theirs is sweetened with the hope of enjoying
The benefit I have right now;
And hope for joy is almost as good as joy itself.
With this, the weary lords
Will find their journey seems as short as mine has felt
With the delight of having you, my noble companions.

BOLINGBROKE.
My company is worth a lot less
Than your kind words. But who's coming here?

Enter Harry Percy.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
It's my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, wherever that may be.
Harry, how is your uncle doing?

PERCY.
I had hoped, my lord, to find out about his health from you.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Why isn’t he with the Queen?

PERCY.
No, my good lord. He has abandoned the court,
Broken his staff of office, and scattered
The household of the King.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
What was his reason?
He wasn’t as determined the last time we spoke.

PERCY.
Because you were declared a traitor.
But he, my lord, has gone to Ravenspurgh
To offer his services to the Duke of Hereford,
And sent me via Berkeley to find out
What forces the Duke of York has gathered there,
Then with instructions to head to Ravenspurgh.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Have you forgotten about the Duke of Hereford, kid?

PERCY.
No, my good lord; because I can’t forget
What I never actually remembered. As far as I know,
I have never seen him in my life.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
So get to know him now. This is the Duke.

PERCY.
My gracious lord, I offer you my service,
As it stands, being inexperienced, unrefined, and new,
Which time will mature and solidify
Into more recognized service and merit.

BOLINGBROKE.
Thank you, kind Percy; and I want you to know
I consider myself happiest
When I'm thinking of my good friends;
And as my fortune grows with your love,
It will always be a true reward for your love.
My heart makes this promise, and my hand seals it.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
How far is it to Berkeley, and what's going on
With good old York and his soldiers there?

PERCY.
The castle over there by that group of trees
is guarded by three hundred men, or so I've heard.
And inside are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour,
no one else of any notable name or status.

Enter Ross and Willoughby.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby,
Bloody from spurring, fiery-red with urgency.

BOLINGBROKE.
Welcome, my lords. I know your love seeks
A banished traitor. All my wealth
Is just unrecognized gratitude, which, when increased,
Will be the reward for your love and efforts.

ROSS.
Having you here makes us feel wealthy, most honorable lord.

WILLOUGHBY.
And it greatly exceeds our efforts to achieve it.

BOLINGBROKE.
Thanks forever, the source of support for the less fortunate;
Which, until my young fortune matures,
Represents my generosity. But who is coming here?

Enter Berkeley.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
I think it's my Lord of Berkeley.

BERKELEY.
My Lord of Hereford, I have a message for you.

BOLINGBROKE.
My lord, my answer is—“Lancaster”,
And I have come to look for that name in England;
And I must find that title in your words
Before I respond to anything you say.

BERKELEY.
Don’t get me wrong, my lord, I don’t mean
To take away any part of your honor.
I come to you, my lord, whoever you are,
From the most gracious regent of this land,
The Duke of York, to find out what drives you
To take advantage of this absent moment,
And disturb our peace with arms you carry yourself.

Enter York, is present.

BOLINGBROKE.
I won’t need to convey my words through you.
Here comes his Grace himself. My noble uncle!

Kneels.

YORK.
Show me your humble heart, not just your knee,
Which can be misleading and insincere.

BOLINGBROKE.
My kind uncle—

YORK.
Tsk, tsk!
Don't try to flatter me, nor act like I'm your uncle.
I’m not the uncle of a traitor, and that word “grace”
From someone who’s ungracious is just disrespectful.
Why have those banished and forbidden legs
Dared to step on a bit of England’s ground?
But even more, why have they dared to march
So many miles across her peaceful land,
Scaring her pale-faced villages with a show of war
And the display of hated weapons?
Are you here because the anointed king is gone?
Well, silly boy, the King is left behind,
And in my loyal heart lies his power.
If I were just as young and hot-headed
As when brave Gaunt, your father, and I
Rescued the Black Prince, that young warrior,
From the ranks of thousands of French,
Oh, then how quickly my now weak arm
Would punish you and correct your mistake!

BOLINGBROKE.
My dear uncle, please tell me what I did wrong.
What are its terms and what exactly is the issue?

YORK.
Even in the worst situation,
In outright rebellion and hated treason.
You are a banished man, and you’ve come here,
Before your time is up,
Challenging your king with weapons.

BOLINGBROKE.
Since I was exiled, I was exiled as Hereford;
But now that I’m back, I come for Lancaster.
And, noble uncle, I ask you to
Look at my wrongs with an unbiased view.
You are like a father to me; in you
I see old Gaunt alive. Oh then, my father,
Will you let me be condemned
To a wandering life, with my rights and titles
Taken from me against my will and given away
To upstart losers? Why was I even born?
If my cousin, the king, is King in England,
It must be acknowledged that I am Duke of Lancaster.
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin.
If you had died first and he had been treated this way,
He would have found his uncle Gaunt as a father
To defend his rights and pursue justice.
I am forbidden to claim my inheritance here,
And yet my letters patent allow me to.
My father’s possessions are all seized and sold,
And these, and all of it, are all wrongly handled.
What do you want me to do? I am a subject,
And I demand my rights. I’m denied attorneys,
So I personally lay my claim
To my inheritance by right of descent.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
The noble Duke has been treated unfairly.

ROSS.
It's your Grace's duty to do him right.

WILLOUGHBY.
Lowly people become great because of his gifts.

YORK.
My lords of England, listen to this:
I feel deeply about my cousin’s wrongs
And I’ve tried everything I can to make it right for him.
But to come here, boldly armed,
To carve out his own path to find justice through wrongdoing, just won’t work.
And those of you who support him in this way
Are encouraging rebellion and are all rebels.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
The noble Duke has sworn he’s coming only for himself; and for that reason, we’ve all firmly sworn to help him; and may he never find happiness if he breaks that oath!

YORK.
Well, I see the problem with these arms.
I can’t fix it, I have to admit,
Because my power is weak and everything's a mess;
But if I could, by the one who gave me life,
I would bind you all and make you submit
To the king's sovereign mercy.
But since I can’t, know this
I remain neutral. So, take care—
Unless you’d like to come into the castle
And rest there for the night.

BOLINGBROKE.
An offer, uncle, that we’ll take;
But we need your Grace to join us
To Bristol Castle, which they say is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their friends,
The pests of the community,
Which I have vowed to remove and get rid of.

YORK.
I might go with you, but I’ll think it over first,
Because I’m reluctant to break our country's laws.
Neither friends nor enemies are welcome to me.
What’s done is done, and I no longer care.

[Exit.]

Enter Earl of Salisbury and a Welsh Captain.

CAPTAIN.
My Lord of Salisbury, we’ve been waiting for ten days
And we can barely keep our men together,
And still we haven’t heard anything from the King.
So we’re going to break up the group. Goodbye.

SALISBURY.
Stay one more day, you loyal Welshman.
The King trusts you completely.

CAPTAIN.
It’s thought that the King is dead. We won’t stay.
The bay trees in our country are all wilted,
And meteors scare the fixed stars in the sky;
The pale-faced moon looks bloody over the earth,
And skinny prophets whisper of scary changes;
Rich people look sad, and thugs dance and jump,
The former in fear of losing what they have,
The latter to enjoy chaos and war.
These signs predict the death or downfall of kings.
Goodbye. Our countrymen have run away,
Sure that Richard, their king, is dead.

[Log out.]

SALISBURY.
Ah, Richard! With a troubled mind,
I see your glory like a shooting star
Falling to the ground from the sky.
Your sun sets, shedding tears in the lowly west,
Foreseeing storms ahead, sorrow, and turmoil.
Your friends have fled, waiting on your enemies,
And sadly, all fortune is turning against you.

[Leave.]

Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Harry Percy, Willoughby, Ross; Officers behind, with Bushy hair and Green, prisoners.

BOLINGBROKE.
Bring these guys out.
Bushy and Green, I won't torment you—
Since soon your souls will leave your bodies—
With too much pushing, your wicked lives,
Because it wouldn’t be kind; yet to wash your blood
Off my hands here in front of everyone
I will reveal some reasons for your deaths:
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A fortunate man in blood and looks,
By you unhappy and completely disfigured.
You have, in a way, with your sinful hours
Separated him from his queen,
Broken the sacredness of a royal bed,
And stained the beauty of a fair queen’s cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes by your terrible wrongs.
I, a prince by the luck of my birth,
Close to the King in blood and in affection,
Until you made him misunderstand me,
Have bent my neck under your wrongs
And sighed my English breath in foreign lands,
Eating the bitter bread of exile,
While you have feasted on my lands,
Taken down my parks and cut down my forests,
From my own windows ripped my family coat,
Erased my emblem, leaving me no sign
Except people’s opinions and my own blood
To show the world I am a gentleman.
This and much more, far more than all this,
Condemns you to death. See them taken away
To execution and the hands of death.

BUSHY.
Death is more welcome to me
Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, goodbye.

GREEN.
My comfort is that heaven will take our souls
And punish injustice with the pains of hell.

BOLINGBROKE.
My Lord Northumberland, please take care of them.

[Exit Northumberland and Others, with Bushy and Green.]

Uncle, you say the Queen is at your place;
For God’s sake, please make sure she’s treated well.
Tell her I send my warm regards;
Make sure my greetings are delivered properly.

YORK.
I sent one of my guys
With your love letters to her.

BOLINGBROKE.
Thanks, dear uncle. Come on, lords, let's go,
To battle Glendower and his allies.
We'll work for a bit, and then we can celebrate.

[Leave the stage.]

Flourish: drums and trumpets. Enter King Richard, the Bishop Aumerle of Carlisle and soldiers.

KING RICHARD.
Is this Barkloughly Castle they’re talking about?

AUMERLE.
Yeah, my lord. How do you feel about the air
after your recent ordeal on the rough seas?

KING RICHARD.
I must say, I really do like this. I cry tears of joy
To be back on my kingdom again.
Dear earth, I greet you with my hand,
Even though rebels hurt you with their horses' hooves.
Like a mother who's been away from her child
Looks at them fondly with tears and smiles upon reuniting,
So I weep and smile as I greet you, my earth,
And show you kindness with my royal hands.
Don’t feed my enemy, my gentle earth,
Or comfort his greedy senses with your sweetness,
But let your spiders, that suck up your poison,
And clumsy toads lie in their path,
Causing trouble for the treacherous feet
That trample on you with usurping steps.
Give stinging nettles to my foes;
And when they pick a flower from your embrace,
Protect it, I ask you, with a hidden adder
Whose double tongue could with a deadly touch
Bring death to your sovereign's enemies.
Don’t mock my pointless conjuring, lords.
This earth will feel, and these stones
Will act like armed soldiers before her rightful king
Will falter under the arms of wicked rebellion.

CARLISLE.
Don't worry, my lord. The Power that made you king
Has the ability to keep you king no matter what.
We must embrace the help that heaven offers
And not ignore it; otherwise, if heaven is willing,
And we are not. If we reject heaven’s offer,
We turn away from the help and solutions provided.

AUMERLE.
He means, my lord, that we are being too careless,
While Bolingbroke, taking advantage of our complacency,
Is becoming stronger and more powerful.

KING RICHARD.
Unpleasant cousin, don’t you know
That when the watchful eye of heaven is hidden
Behind the globe that lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers roam unseen
Committing murders and acts of outrage boldly here;
But when the sun rises from behind this earthly ball
And shines on the proud tops of the eastern pines
And sends its light into every guilty spot,
Then murders, betrayals, and horrible sins,
The cover of night removed from their backs,
Stand exposed and trembling at their own actions?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
Who has been enjoying the darkness all this time
While we wandered with the Antipodes,
Sees us rising on our throne in the east,
His betrayals will make him blush,
Unable to face the light of day,
But terrified, he will tremble at his own sin.
Not all the water in the rough, wild sea
Can wash away the blessing from an anointed king;
The words of worldly men cannot remove
The representative chosen by the Lord.
For every man that Bolingbroke has rallied
To raise sharp steel against our golden crown,
God has a glorious angel in heaven
Ready to defend Richard. Then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall, for heaven still protects the righteous.

Enter Salisbury.

Welcome, my lord. How far away is your power?

SALISBURY.
Not closer or farther away than my weak arm, my gracious lord,
Discomfort makes me speak and forces me to talk only about despair.
I fear, noble lord, that one day too late
Has overshadowed all your happy days on earth.
Oh, if only we could turn back time, if only we could bring yesterday back,
Then you would have twelve thousand fighting men!
Today, today, unfortunate day, too late,
Destroys your joy, friends, fortune, and your position;
For all the Welshmen, hearing that you were dead,
Have gone to Bolingbroke, scattered and fled.

AUMERLE.
Don't worry, my lord. Why do you look so pale?

KING RICHARD.
But now, the blood of twenty thousand men
has triumphed in my face, and they have fled;
And until so much blood comes here again
do I not have reason to look pale and dead?
All souls that want to be safe, flee from my side,
For time has put a stain on my pride.

AUMERLE.
Stay strong, my lord. Don't forget who you are.

KING RICHARD.
I lost track of myself. Am I not the king?
Wake up, you cowardly majesty! You're asleep!
Isn’t the King’s name worth twenty thousand names?
Get ready, my name! A weak subject attacks
Your great glory. Don’t look down,
You favorites of the king. Are we not above this?
Let our thoughts be high. I know my uncle York
Has enough power to help us. But who is this coming?

Enter Sir Stephen Scroop.

SCROOP.
I wish more health and happiness for my king
Than my thoughtful words can express.

KING RICHARD.
My ears are open and my heart is ready.
The worst thing you can tell me is about losing worldly things.
So, is my kingdom lost? Well, that was my concern,
And what’s the loss of getting rid of worry?
Is Bolingbroke trying to be as great as we are?
He won’t be greater. If he serves God,
We’ll serve Him too and be His partner.
Can we fix our subjects revolting? That’s something we can’t change.
They’re breaking their faith to God just like they are to us.
Shout sorrow, destruction, ruin, loss, decay.
The worst is death, and death will come in due time.

SCROOP.
I'm glad your highness is ready
To deliver the news of disaster.
Like an unexpected stormy day
That causes silver rivers to flood their banks
As if the world has turned to tears,
So the fury of Bolingbroke rises high
Over your fearful land
With hard steel and hearts even harder than steel.
Elderly men have put on armor over their thin, bald heads
Against your majesty; boys with feminine voices
Try to sound tough and clumsily wield
Heavy, unwieldy weapons against your crown;
Even your oldest supporters learn to draw their bows
Of deadly yew against your rule;
Yes, even women spinning at home manage rusty weapons
Against your authority. Both young and old rebel,
And everything is worse than I can express.

KING RICHARD.
You tell a terrible story all too well.
Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?
What happened to Bushy? Where is Green?
How could they allow the dangerous enemy
to approach us so calmly?
If we win, they’ll pay with their lives.
I’m sure they've made peace with Bolingbroke.

SCROOP.
They've really made peace with him, my lord.

KING RICHARD.
Oh, you villains, snakes, completely beyond redemption!
You’re like dogs, quick to beg from anyone!
Snakes, in my own blood that warms me, that stab my heart!
Three Judases, each one three times worse than Judas!
Would they make peace? May horrible hell
Declare war on their tainted souls for this!

SCROOP.
Sweet love, I see, turning his property,
Becomes the sourest and most deadly hate.
Once again, lift the curse from their souls. Their peace is made
With words, not with actions. Those you curse
Have experienced the worst of death’s destructive blow
And lie low, buried in the empty ground.

AUMERLE.
Are Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead?

SCROOP.
Yeah, all of them in Bristol completely lost their minds.

AUMERLE.
Where is my father the Duke with his strength?

KING RICHARD.
No matter where. Nobody speaks of comfort!
Let’s discuss graves, worms, and epitaphs,
Make dust our paper, and with tearful eyes
Write sorrow on the earth’s surface.
Let’s choose executors and discuss wills.
And yet, not really, because what can we leave behind
Except our dethroned bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and everything is Bolingbroke’s,
And the only thing we can truly claim is death
And that small piece of barren earth
That acts as paste and cover for our bones.
For God’s sake, let us sit on the ground
And tell sad stories about the deaths of kings—
How some have been overthrown, some killed in battle,
Some haunted by the ghosts of those they dethroned,
Some poisoned by their wives, some killed in their sleep,
All murdered. For within the hollow crown
That encircles the mortal heads of a king
Death holds court; and there the jester sits,
Mocking his state and grinning at his grandeur,
Allowing him a breath, a small scene,
To rule, be feared, and kill with his gaze,
Filling him with pride and foolish arrogance,
As if this flesh surrounding our lives
Were indestructible; and, indulged like this,
Eventually comes Death, and with a small pin
Breaks through his castle wall, and goodbye, king!
Cover your heads, and don’t mock flesh and blood
With solemn respect. Discard respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonial duty,
Because you’ve misunderstood me all this time.
I live on bread like you, feel need,
Experience grief, and need friends. Given this,
How can you call me a king?

CARLISLE.
My lord, wise people never just sit and complain about their troubles,
But instead take action to avoid them.
Fearing the enemy, since fear weakens strength,
Gives your enemy an advantage over you,
And thus your own mistakes turn against you.
Fear and you'll be killed—nothing worse can happen in battle;
And to fight and die is to end death with death,
While fearing death means a cowardly breath before dying.

AUMERLE.
My dad has authority. Ask him,
And find out how to create a body from a limb.

KING RICHARD.
You’re scolding me well. Proud Bolingbroke, I'm here
To fight you for our day of reckoning.
This fit of fear is overblown;
It's a simple task to reclaim what’s ours.
Say, Scroop, where is our uncle with his forces?
Speak nicely, man, even if you look grumpy.

SCROOP.
People read the mood of the day
By looking at the color of the sky;
You can do the same by my dull, heavy eyes.
My words carry an even heavier story to tell.
I torture you slowly
To stretch out the worst news that needs to be shared:
Your uncle York has teamed up with Bolingbroke,
And all your northern castles have surrendered,
And all your southern gentlemen are armed
On his side.

KING RICHARD.
You've said enough.
[To Aumerle.] Damn you, cousin, for leading me away
From that sweet path I was on into despair.
What do you say now? What comfort do we have?
By heaven, I’ll hate him forever
Who tells me to find comfort ever again.
Go to Flint Castle. There I’ll waste away;
A king, a slave to sorrow, must obey his royal grief.
That power I have, discharge, and let them go
To cultivate the land that has some hope to thrive,
For I have none. Let no one speak again
To change this, for advice is pointless.

AUMERLE.
My lord, just one word.

KING RICHARD.
He does me double wrong
That hurts me with the flattery of his words.
Send my followers away. Let them leave,
From Richard’s dark night to Bolingbroke’s bright day.

[Leave the stage.]

Enter, with drums and banners, Bolingbroke and his forces; Northumberland and others.

BOLINGBROKE.
So from this news, we find out
The Welshmen are scattered, and Salisbury
Has gone to meet the King, who recently landed
With just a few close friends on this coast.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
The news is quite good, my lord:
Richard is not far from here and has gone into hiding.

YORK.
It would be fitting for Lord Northumberland
To say “King Richard.” What a sad day
When such a holy king has to hide his face!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Your Grace is mistaken; just to keep it short
I left out his title.

YORK.
There was a time,
If you had been that short with him, he would
Have cut you short in return,
For being so above yourself, your whole ego’s length.

BOLINGBROKE.
Don't misunderstand, uncle, beyond what you should.

YORK.
Don't go too far, good cousin, beyond what you should,
Lest you get it wrong. The skies are above us.

BOLINGBROKE.
I get it, uncle, and I'm not going to stand in their way
Against their wishes. But who is coming here?

Enter Harry Percy.

Welcome, Harry. What, will this castle not give way?

PERCY.
The castle is heavily guarded, my lord,
To prevent your entry.

BOLINGBROKE.
Seriously?
Why, it has no king?

PERCY.
Yes, my good lord,
It contains a king. King Richard lies
Within the boundaries of that lime and stone,
And with him are Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop, along with a clergyman
Of holy reverence—whom I cannot identify.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Oh, it’s probably the Bishop of Carlisle.

BOLINGBROKE.
[To Northumberland.] Noble lord,
Go to the rough edges of that old castle;
Through a loud trumpet send the message
Into his broken ears, and deliver this:
Henry Bolingbroke
On both his knees kisses King Richard’s hand
And offers loyalty and true faith of heart
To his most royal person, here to lay
My arms and power at his feet,
Provided that my banishment is repealed
And my lands are restored freely.
If not, I'll use my power
And turn the summer dust into rivers of blood
Rained down from the wounds of slaughtered Englishmen—
How far from the mind of Bolingbroke
Is it that such a bloody storm should drench
The fresh green land of fair King Richard?
My humble duty will show it tenderly.
Go tell him this, while we march
On the grassy carpet of this plain.
Let’s march without the sound of threatening drums,
So that from this castle’s crumbling battlements
Our fine arrangements can be clearly seen.
I think King Richard and I should meet
With no less fear than the forces
Of fire and water, when their thunderous clash
At meeting tears apart the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
Let him be the fire, I’ll be the yielding water;
Let the rage be his, while I rain down
My waters on the earth, and not on him.
March on, and watch how King Richard looks.

A negotiation was announced, and a trumpet responded from inside. Flourish. Enter on the Walls, the King, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop and Salisbury

Look, look, King Richard is coming out,
Like the blushing, unhappy sun
Emerging from the fiery gateway of the east,
When he sees the jealous clouds are set
To dull his shine and to tarnish the path
Of his bright journey to the west.

YORK.
Yet he looks like a king. Look at his eye,
As bright as an eagle’s, shining with
Commanding majesty. Oh, it’s such a pity
That any harm should tarnish such a beautiful display!

KING RICHARD.
[To Northumberland.] We are shocked, and we've been standing here for a long time
To witness the fearful way you kneel
Because we thought we were your rightful king.
And if we are, how can you forget
To show the proper respect to us?
If we aren't, show us God's hand
That has removed us from our authority;
For we know no one made of blood and bone
Can grasp the sacred handle of our scepter,
Unless they have dishonored, stolen, or taken it without permission.
And even if you think, as you have done,
That everyone has abandoned their loyalty to us,
And we are alone and without friends,
Remember: my master, God Almighty,
Is gathering forces in the clouds on our side
Armies of disease, and they shall strike
Your unborn children and those yet to be conceived,
If they raise their hands against me
And threaten the glory of my precious crown.
Tell Bolingbroke—for there he stands, I believe—
That every step he takes on my land
Is an act of dangerous treason. He has come to bring
The bloody promise of war;
But before the crown he seeks can enjoy peace,
Thousands of bloody crowns of dead sons
Will ruin the beauty of England’s face,
Turning her pale serenity
Into scarlet anger, and drenching
Her pastures with the blood of loyal Englishmen.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Heaven forbid that our lord the King
Should be attacked with civil and uncivil arms!
Your noble cousin,
Harry Bolingbroke, humbly kisses your hand;
And by the honorable tomb that rests
On your royal grandfather’s bones,
And by the royal blood in both your families,
Descended from one gracious crown,
And by the buried hand of the warrior Gaunt,
And by his own worth and honor,
Comprising everything that can be sworn or said,
His presence here has no other purpose
Than to claim his royal rights and to plead
For immediate pardon on his knees;
Once granted by your royal consent,
He’ll let his shining armor gather dust,
His battle-ready horses will stay in stables, and his heart
Will serve your Majesty faithfully.
He swears this, as he is a prince and just;
And as I am a gentleman, I believe him.

KING RICHARD.
Northumberland, tell him the King is back:
His noble cousin is very welcome here,
And all his fair requests
Will be fulfilled without question.
With all the kind words you can muster,
Speak to him with gentle praises.

[Northumberland returns to Bolingbroke.]

[To Aumerle.] We really are lowering ourselves, cousin, aren’t we,
By looking so shabby and speaking so nicely?
Should we bring Northumberland back and send
A challenge to the traitor, and just accept our fate?

AUMERLE.
No, my lord. Let’s settle this with kind words
Until time brings allies, and allies bring their swords to help.

KING RICHARD.
Oh God, oh God, that ever this tongue of mine
That sentenced that arrogant man to dreadful banishment
Could take it back again with honest words! Oh, that I were as great
As my grief, or smaller than my name,
Or that I could forget who I’ve been,
Or not remember who I must be now.
Do you swell with pride, heart? I’ll let you express yourself,
Since enemies have the freedom to strike both you and me.

AUMERLE.
Northumberland returns from Bolingbroke.

KING RICHARD.
What should the King do now? Should he give in?
The King will do it. Should he be removed?
The King will accept it. Should he lose
The title of King? For God’s sake, let it go.
I’ll trade my jewels for a set of beads,
My beautiful palace for a simple home,
My fancy clothes for a beggar’s gown,
My ornate goblets for a wooden bowl,
My scepter for a pilgrim’s walking stick,
My subjects for a pair of carved saints,
And my vast kingdom for a small grave,
A tiny, tiny grave, an unremarkable grave;
Or I’ll be buried on the King’s highway,
Some main road where people’s feet
May daily trample on their sovereign’s head;
For they tread on my heart now while I live,
And once buried, why not on my head?
Aumerle, you’re crying, my sensitive cousin!
We’ll make a storm with our rejected tears;
Our sighs will rest in the summer grain
And cause a shortage in this rebellious land.
Or should we mess around with our sorrows
And make a little game out of shedding tears?
Like this, dropping them steadily in one spot
Until they create two graves for us
In the ground; and there, laid to rest, lie
Two relatives who dug their graves with weeping eyes.
Wouldn’t that be bad? Well, well, I see
I’m just talking nonsense, and you’re laughing at me.
Most powerful prince, my Lord Northumberland,
What does King Bolingbroke say? Will his Majesty
Allow Richard to live until Richard dies?
You bow, and Bolingbroke says yes.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
My lord, he is in the lower court waiting
To speak with you. Would you please come down?

KING RICHARD.
Here I come, like shining Phaëthon,
Struggling to control wild horses.
In the low court? Low court, where kings act low,
To answer traitors’ calls, and do them a favor.
In the low court? Come down? Down, court! down, king!
For night-owls scream where rising larks should sing.

[Exit from above.]

BOLINGBROKE.
What does his Majesty say?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Heartache and sadness
Make him talk affectionately like a crazy person.
But he has arrived.

Enter King Richard and his entourage.

BOLINGBROKE.
Everyone step aside,
And show proper respect to his Majesty. [Kneeling.]
My noble lord.

KING RICHARD.
Fair cousin, you're lowering your noble self
To make the ground proud by kissing it.
I would much rather feel your love in my heart
Than see your courtesy with my dissatisfied eyes.
Get up, cousin, get up. I know your heart is high,
At least this high, even if your knee is low.

BOLINGBROKE.
My gracious lord, I’m here just for my own interests.

KING RICHARD.
What’s yours is yours, and I am yours, and everything else.

BOLINGBROKE.
I hope, my esteemed lord,
That my genuine service will earn your affection.

KING RICHARD.
Well, you deserve it. They definitely deserve to have
The strongest and surest way to get it.
Uncle, give me your hands. No, dry your eyes.
Tears show their love, but need a solution.
Cousin, I’m too young to be your father,
Even though you’re old enough to be my heir.
Whatever you want, I’ll give it willingly;
For we must do what we’re forced to do.
Let’s head towards London, cousin, is that right?

BOLINGBROKE.
Yes, my lord.

KING RICHARD.
Then I can't say no.

[Thrive. Exit.]

Enter the Queen and two Ladies.

QUEEN.
What game shall we create here in this garden
To chase away the heavy burden of our worries?

Madam, we’ll play bowling.

QUEEN.
It makes me think the world is full of obstacles
And that my luck is running contrary to what I want.

Lady.
Madam, let’s dance.

QUEEN.
I can’t control my legs with all this joy
When my poor heart can’t handle this grief.
So no dancing, girl; let’s do something else.

LADY.
Madam, we’ll share stories.

QUEEN.
Of sadness or of happiness?

LADY.
Either one, ma'am.

QUEEN.
Neither, girl.
For if it's joy, lacking completely,
It just reminds me more of sorrow;
Or if it's grief, being fully present,
It adds more sorrow to my lack of joy.
For what I have I don’t need to repeat,
And what I want doesn't help to complain.

Ma'am, I’ll sing.

QUEEN.
It’s good that you have a reason;
But you would please me more if you cried.

LADY.
I might cry, ma'am, if it would help you.

QUEEN.
If I could sing, it would help me feel better,
And I wouldn’t need to borrow any tears from you.
But wait, here come the gardeners.
Let’s move into the shade of these trees.
My misery pinned down like a row of pins,
They'll discuss politics, because that's what everyone does
When change is coming; sadness often precedes sorrow.

[Queen and Ladies exit.]

Enter a Gardener and two Servants.

GARDENER.
Go, tie up those young dangling apricots,
Which, like unruly kids, make their parent
Bend under the weight of their excess.
Give some support to the bending branches.
Go ahead, and like an executioner
Cut off the heads of the sprays that grow too fast
And look too ambitious in our community.
Everything must be balanced in our governance.
While you do that, I will go pull out
The nasty weeds that uselessly drain
The soil's nutrients from the healthy flowers.

SERVANT.
Why should we limit ourselves to a small space
and follow rules and proper order,
presenting our solid state like a model,
when our sea-walled garden, the entire land,
is overrun with weeds, its finest flowers choked,
its fruit trees untrimmed, its hedges falling apart,
its flower beds messy, and its healthy herbs
swarming with caterpillars?

GARDENER.
Be quiet.
The one who has endured this chaotic spring
Has now experienced the falling of the leaves himself.
The weeds that his wide, spreading leaves protected,
Which seemed to support him while they consumed him,
Have been completely uprooted by Bolingbroke—
I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

SERVANT.
What, are they gone?

GARDENER.
They really are. And Bolingbroke
Has taken control of the reckless King. Oh, how unfortunate it is
That he didn't tend to his land
Like we do this garden! At this time of year,
We cut into the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,
So that, being overconfident in sap and strength,
They won't overwhelm themselves with too much growth.
If he had done the same for powerful and ambitious men,
They might have lived to produce and he to enjoy
Their fruits of duty. We trim away the excess branches
So that the fruitful ones can thrive.
If he had done this, he would still wear the crown,
Which the waste of idle hours has completely lost.

SERVANT.
What, do you think the King will be overthrown?

GARDENER.
He’s already feeling down, and he's out of favor
It's uncertain what will happen next. Letters arrived last night
For a close friend of the good Duke of York
That bring terrible news.

QUEEN.
Oh, I feel like I'm suffocating because I can't express myself!

Stepping up.

You, old Adam’s likeness, here to tend this garden,
How dare your harsh, rude tongue bring this unpleasant news?
What Eve, what serpent, suggested this
To cause another fall of cursed man?
Why do you say King Richard is deposed?
Do you dare, you little better than dirt,
Proclaim his downfall? Tell me, where, when, and how,
Did you come by this bad news? Speak, you wretch!

GARDENER.
Excuse me, ma'am. I don't take joy in
Sharing this news; but what I'm saying is true.
King Richard is trapped in Bolingbroke's stronghold.
Their fortunes are being measured.
Your lord has nothing but himself,
And a few trivial things that make him lighter;
But in the weighing scale of great Bolingbroke,
Along with himself are all the English nobles,
And with that advantage, he outweighs King Richard.
Head to London, and you’ll see it’s true.
I’m just saying what everyone already knows.

QUEEN.
Oh, swift misfortune, you are so light on your feet,
Is this message not meant for me?
Am I really the last to know? Oh, you think
You can keep me last so I’ll carry
Your sorrow in my heart the longest. Come on, ladies, let’s
Go meet London’s king in his grief.
What, was I meant for this, that my sorrowful face
Should be part of Bolingbroke’s great triumph?
Gardener, for bringing me this news of sorrow,
I pray that the plants you graft may never thrive!

[Queen and Ladies exit.]

GARDENER.
Poor Queen, if only my skills could help your situation,
I would willingly accept your curse.
She shed a tear here. Right in this spot,
I'll plant a bed of rue, a bitter herb of grace.
Rue for compassion will soon be found here,
In memory of a queen who weeps.

[Exit.]

The Lords spiritual are on the right side of the throne; the Lords temporal are on the left; the Commons are below. Enter Bolingbroke, Aumerle, Surrey, Northumberland, Harry Percy, Fitzwater, another Lord, the Carlisle Bishop, the Westminster Abbot and attendants.

BOLINGBROKE.
Bring in Bagot.

Enter Officers with Bagot.

Now, Bagot, speak your mind openly,
What do you know about noble Gloucester’s death,
Who was involved with the King, and who carried out
The bloody act of his untimely end.

BAGOT.
Then present Lord Aumerle to me.

BOLINGBROKE.
Cousin, step forward and look at that man.

BAGOT.
My Lord Aumerle, I know your bold words
Refuse to take back what you've said before.
In that dark moment when Gloucester’s murder was planned,
I heard you say, “Is my arm not long enough,
That it reaches from the peaceful English Court
All the way to Calais, to my uncle’s head?”
Amongst a lot of other talk at that time,
I heard you say that you’d rather turn down
The offer of a hundred thousand crowns
Than let Bolingbroke come back to England,
Also saying how blessed this country would be
If your cousin were dead.

AUMERLE.
Princes and noble lords,
How should I respond to this lowly man?
Should I dishonor my shining stars
By treating him as an equal and punishing him?
Either I must, or my honor will be tarnished
By the stain of his slanderous words.
Here is my challenge, the mark of death
That designates you for hell. I say you lie,
And I will prove that what you’ve said is false
With your blood, even though it’s too lowly
To dirty the quality of my knightly sword.

BOLINGBROKE.
Bagot, hold on. You shouldn't get involved.

AUMERLE.
Aside from one, I wish he were the best
In all this crowd that has affected me so.

FITZWATER.
If your bravery relies on sympathy,
Here’s my challenge, Aumerle, against yours.
By that bright sun that shows me where you stand,
I heard you say, and you boasted it,
That you were responsible for noble Gloucester’s death.
If you deny it twenty times, you’re lying!
And I will drive your falsehood into your heart,
Where it was created, with the point of my sword.

AUMERLE.
You’re too scared to live to see that day.

FITZWATER.
Honestly, I wish it were this hour.

AUMERLE.
Fitzwater, you’re going to hell for this.

HARRY PERCY.
Aumerle, you're lying. His honor is just as real
In this challenge as you are unfair;
And since you are, I throw down my challenge,
To prove it against you to the very end
Of life itself. Take it if you dare.

AUMERLE.
And if I don’t, may my hands rot off
And never wield revengeful steel
Over the shining helmet of my enemy!

ANOTHER LORD.
I challenge the earth just like you, traitor Aumerle,
And I’ll push you on with just as many lies
As can be shouted in your deceitful ear
From morning to night. There is my honor at stake.
Put it to the test if you dare.

AUMERLE.
Who else would challenge me? I swear, I’ll take on anyone.
I have a thousand feelings inside me
To respond to twenty thousand like you.

SURREY.
My Lord Fitzwater, I remember clearly
The exact time you and Aumerle were talking.

FITZWATER.
It’s very true. You were there,
And you can confirm with me that this is true.

SURREY.
As false, by God, as heaven itself is true.

FITZWATER.
Surrey, you're lying.

SURREY.
Dishonorable boy!
That lie will weigh so heavily on my sword
That it will demand vengeance and revenge
Until you, the liar, and that lie are at rest
In the ground as peacefully as your father’s skull.
To prove this, here’s my honor’s token.
Put it to the test if you dare.

FITZWATER.
How eagerly you urge a horse forward!
If I can eat, drink, breathe, or live,
I can face Surrey in the wilderness
And spit on him while I say he lies,
And lies, and lies. That's my pledge to you
To hold you accountable for your actions.
As I plan to succeed in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my honest accusation.
Plus, I heard the exiled Norfolk say
That you, Aumerle, sent two of your men
To carry out the noble duke in Calais.

AUMERLE.
Some honest Christian trust me with a pledge.
That Norfolk is lying, so I throw this down,
If he can be called back to prove his honor.

BOLINGBROKE.
All these disputes will be put on hold
Until Norfolk is reinstated. He will be reinstated,
And, even though he’s my enemy, he will get back
All his land and titles. Once he’s back,
We will push for Aumerle’s trial.

CARLISLE.
That honorable day will never be seen.
Many times, banished Norfolk fought
For Jesus Christ in glorious Christian battles,
Waving the banner of the Christian cross
Against dark pagans, Turks, and Saracens;
And, after toiling in war, he retired
To Italy, and there in Venice gave
His body to that beautiful country's ground
And his pure soul to his captain, Christ,
Under whose colors he had fought for so long.

BOLINGBROKE.
Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?

CARLISLE.
I swear, my lord.

BOLINGBROKE.
May sweet peace lead his sweet soul to the embrace
Of good old Abraham! Lords appealing,
Your disagreements will all be on hold
Until we set your trial dates.

Enter York, present.

YORK.
Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to you
From plume-plucked Richard, who wholeheartedly
Names you his heir and hands over his high sceptre
To your royal hand.
Take his throne, stepping down from him,
And long live Henry, the fourth of that name!

BOLINGBROKE.
In God's name, I'm going to take the throne.

CARLISLE.
God forbid!
In this royal presence, I may speak the worst,
But it's best for me to speak the truth.
I wish that anyone in this noble gathering
Were noble enough to be a fair judge
Of noble Richard! Then true nobility would
Teach him to endure such a terrible wrong.
What subject can judge his king?
And who here isn’t a subject of Richard?
Thieves aren’t judged unless they’re present to hear,
Even if their guilt is clear;
And should the representation of God’s majesty,
His captain, steward, and chosen deputy,
Anointed, crowned, rooted here for many years,
Be judged by subjects and lesser voices,
And he himself not be present? Oh, forbid it, God,
That in a Christian land, refined souls
Should commit such a heinous, disgraceful act!
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
Moved by God, thus boldly for his king.
My Lord of Hereford, whom you call king,
Is a treacherous traitor to proud Hereford’s king.
And if you crown him, let me predict
The blood of the English will soak the ground
And future generations will mourn this wicked act.
Peace will take a rest with Turks and infidels,
And in this place of peace, chaotic wars
Shall mix kin with kin and kind with kind.
Disorder, horror, fear, and rebellion
Shall dwell here, and this land will be called
The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls.
Oh, if you pit this house against this house,
It will prove to be the most tragic division
That ever fell upon this cursed earth.
Prevent it, resist it, let it not happen,
Lest children and their children cry against you, “woe!”

NORTHUMBERLAND.
You've made a strong argument, sir, and for your efforts,
We’re arresting you for serious treason here.
My Lord of Westminster, it’s your responsibility
To keep him secure until his trial date.
May it please you, lords, to approve the request from the commons?

BOLINGBROKE.
Bring Richard here so he can publicly surrender.
That way, we can move forward without raising any suspicion.

YORK.
I will guide him.

[Log out.]

BOLINGBROKE.
Lords, you who are here under our arrest,
Get your guarantees for your days of response.
We owe you very little for your affection,
And we expect very little from your helping hands.

Enter York with King Rich and Officers carrying the Crown, &c.

KING RICHARD.
Oh no, why am I being called to a king
Before I've fully let go of my royal thoughts
That I ruled with? I can hardly yet have learned
To flatter, bow, and kneel.
Give me a moment to grieve and teach me
This humility. Yet I clearly remember
The favors of these men. Weren't they mine?
Did they not once shout "All hail!" to me?
Just like Judas did to Christ, but He found truth
In all but one of the twelve; I, out of twelve thousand, none.
God save the King! Will no one say, "Amen"?
Am I both priest and altar boy? Well then, amen.
God save the King, even if I'm not him,
And yet, Amen, if heaven thinks of me as him.
What service am I being called for here?

YORK.
To fulfill that task out of your own goodwill
Which exhausted kingship made you propose:
The resignation of your realm and crown
To Henry Bolingbroke.

KING RICHARD.
Give me the crown. Here, cousin, take the crown.
Here, cousin,
With my hand on this side, and yours on that side.
Now this golden crown is like a deep well
That has two buckets, filling each other,
The emptier always rising into the air,
The other down, hidden, and full of water.
That bucket down and full of tears is me,
Drinking my sorrows while you rise up high.

BOLINGBROKE.
I thought you were ready to step down.

KING RICHARD.
I wear the crown, but my sorrows are my own.
You may take away my glory and my power,
But not my sorrows; I am still the king of them.

BOLINGBROKE.
Some of your worries you share with me by giving me your crown.

KING RICHARD.
Your worries don’t take away from my worries.
My worry is the loss of worry, from worry that’s old;
Your worry is the gain of worry, from new concerns that arise.
The worries I share are still mine, even when I give them away;
They’re for the crown, yet they still stay with me.

BOLINGBROKE.
Are you happy to give up the crown?

KING RICHARD.
Yes, no; no, yes; because I must not exist at all.
So no “no,” because I give everything to you.
Now listen to how I will destroy myself:
I take this heavy burden off my head,
And this cumbersome scepter from my hand,
The pride of being a king out of my heart;
With my own tears I wash away my healing,
With my own hands I give up my crown,
With my own voice I deny my royal status,
With my own breath I release all solemn oaths.
I forsake all pomp and majesty;
I give up my estates, rents, and income;
My actions, decrees, and laws, I reject.
God forgive all oaths that have been broken to me;
God keep all vows unbroken that are made to you.
Make me, who has nothing, not grieve over it,
And you, who have everything, be pleased with all you’ve achieved.
May you long sit in Richard’s place,
And soon let Richard lie in an earthly grave!
God save King Henry, unkinged Richard says,
And grant him many years of sunny days!
What else is there?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
[Offering a paper.] Just read
These accusations and serious crimes
Committed by you and your followers
Against the state and the welfare of this land;
So that, by admitting them, people
Can see that you are rightfully removed.

KING RICHARD.
Do I really have to? And do I have to unravel
My tangled mistakes? Gentle Northumberland,
If your misdeeds were written down,
Wouldn't it humiliate you in such a fine group
To stand and read them out loud? If you dared,
You would find one terrible act
Involving the overthrowing of a king
And breaking a solemn oath,
Stained and condemned in the eyes of heaven.
No, all of you who stand and watch me
While my misery torments me,
Though some of you, like Pilate, wash your hands,
Showing fake compassion, yet you Pilate’s
Have handed me over to my bitter fate,
And no amount of water can wash away your guilt.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
My lord, please take care of this. Go over these documents.

KING RICHARD.
My eyes are filled with tears; I can’t see:
And yet the saltwater doesn’t blind them that much
That I can’t see some kind of traitors here.
No, if I look at myself,
I find I’m a traitor like the rest;
Because I’ve given my soul’s consent
To strip away the grand exterior of a king,
Turning glory into something lowly and sovereignty into a servant,
Proud majesty into a subject, state into a commoner.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
My lord—

KING RICHARD.
You’re not a lord to me, you arrogant, insulting man,
And you’re nobody’s lord! I have no name, no title,
Not even the name given to me at baptism,
It's been taken from me. Oh, what a heavy day!
That I’ve spent so many years
And still don’t know what to call myself.
Oh, if only I were a mock king made of snow,
Standing before Bolingbroke’s sun,
To just melt away into drops of water!
Good king, great king, but not really that good,
If my word still carries weight in England,
Then let it summon a mirror here quickly,
So I can see what my face looks like,
Since it's lost its royal quality.

BOLINGBROKE.
Go, some of you, and get a mirror.

[Leave an Attendant.]

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Read this paper while the time runs out.

KING RICHARD.
Demon, you torture me before I even reach hell!

BOLINGBROKE.
Don’t push it further, my Lord Northumberland.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
The common people won’t be satisfied then.

KING RICHARD.
They will be satisfied. I’ll read enough
When I actually see the book
That has all my sins in it, and that’s me.

Re-enter Attendant with a glass.

Give me that mirror, and I'll see what it reveals.
No deeper wrinkles yet? Has sorrow struck
So many times on this face of mine
And left no deeper scars? Oh, deceptive mirror,
Just like my fair-weather friends in good times,
You lead me to believe. Was this the face
That every day under his roof
Kept ten thousand men? Was this the face
That, like the sun, made people squint?
Is this the face that faced so many foolishness,
That was finally outshone by Bolingbroke?
A fragile glory shines in this face.
As fragile as the glory is this face!

[i]Throws the glass on the ground.[/i]

For there it is, broken into a hundred pieces.
Notice, quiet king, the lesson in this game,
How quickly my sadness has ruined my appearance.

BOLINGBROKE.
The weight of your sadness has taken away
The light from your face.

KING RICHARD.
Say that again.
The shadow of my sorrow? Ha, let’s see.
It’s very true, my grief is all internal;
And these outward expressions of sadness
Are just shadows of the unseen pain
That builds silently in the tortured soul.
That’s where the real pain is. And I thank you, king,
For your generosity, that not only gives
Me a reason to cry, but also teaches me
How to mourn for the reason. I’ll ask one favor,
And then I’ll leave and won’t bother you anymore.
Can I have it?

BOLINGBROKE.
Name it, dear cousin.

KING RICHARD.
“Dear cousin”? I’m more than a king;
Because when I was a king, my admirers
Were just my subjects. Now, as a subject,
I have a king here who's trying to flatter me.
Being this important, I don’t need to beg.

BOLINGBROKE.
But ask.

KING RICHARD.
And will I get?

BOLINGBROKE.
You will.

KING RICHARD.
Then let me leave.

BOLINGBROKE.
Where to?

KING RICHARD.
Wherever you go, I just want to be out of your sight.

BOLINGBROKE.
Go, some of you, take him to the Tower.

KING RICHARD.
Oh, great! “Convey”? You all are conveyors,
Who rise so quickly by the fall of a true king.

[King Richard and Guard exit.]

BOLINGBROKE.
Next Wednesday, we will officially hold
Our coronation. Lords, get ready.

[Everyone leaves except the Bishop of Carlisle, the Westminster Abbot, and Aumerle.]

ABBOT.
We have witnessed a sorrowful spectacle here.

CARLISLE.
The sorrow that's coming. The children yet to be born
Will feel this day as sharply as a thorn.

AUMERLE.
You holy clergymen, isn't there any scheme
To free the kingdom from this harmful stain?

ABBOT.
My lord,
Before I share my thoughts openly,
You won’t just take the sacrament
To mask my intentions, but also to make
Whatever plans I might come up with.
I notice you look unhappy,
Your hearts are heavy, and your eyes are wet with tears.
Come home with me for dinner. I’ll come up
With a scheme that will give us all a joyful day.

[Exit.]

Enter the Queen and her ladies.

QUEEN.
This way, the King will come. This is the way
To Julius Caesar’s poorly built tower,
To whose stone heart my condemned lord
Is doomed a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke.
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Has any rest for her true king’s queen.

Enter King Richard and Guard.

But wait, look, or actually, don’t look
At my beautiful rose fading; still, look up, see,
So that out of compassion, you can turn to tears
And refresh him again with true-love tears.
Ah, you, the place where old Troy used to be,
You are a symbol of honor, you King Richard’s tomb,
And not King Richard! You most beautiful inn,
Why should sorrow take up residence in you,
When victory has become a regular here?

KING RICHARD.
Don't join me in grief, dear woman, please don't,
As it would make my end come too soon. Understand, good soul,
To see our past state as a happy dream,
From which waking up reveals what we truly are.
I am bound to grim Necessity, sweet,
And he and I
Will stick together until death. Hurry to France,
And hide yourself in some religious house.
Our holy lives must strive to earn the crown of a new world,
Which our sinful moments here have cast aside.

QUEEN.
What, is my Richard both in body and mind
Changed and weakened! Has Bolingbroke
Taken away your intellect? Has he invaded your heart?
The dying lion strikes out with his paw
And wounds the ground, if only out of rage
At being overpowered; and will you, like a student,
Take the punishment quietly, kiss the rod,
And fawn on anger with lowly submission,
When you are a lion and the king of beasts?

KING RICHARD.
A king of beasts, for sure! If not for the beasts,
I could have still been a happy king among men.
Good sometimes queen, get ready to leave for France.
Think of me as dead, and here you take,
As if from my deathbed, your final farewell.
In the long winter nights, sit by the fire
With wise old folks, and let them share stories
Of sorrowful times from long ago;
And before you say goodnight, to ease their pain,
Tell them the sad story of me,
And send the listeners off to bed in tears.
Because, even the lifeless logs will feel
The deep pain in your expressive voice,
And out of sympathy, weep the fire out;
Some will mourn in ashes, some in dark coal,
For the overthrow of a rightful king.

Enter Northumberland, present.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
My lord, Bolingbroke has had a change of heart.
You must go to Pomfret, not to the Tower.
And, madam, arrangements have been made for you:
You must leave for France immediately.

KING RICHARD.
Northumberland, you’re the stepping stone
That helps Bolingbroke climb to my throne.
It won’t be long before,
As sin gathers strength,
Everything falls apart. You’ll think,
Even if he divides the kingdom and gives you half,
It’s not enough, since you’ll be helping him with all of it.
And he’ll believe that you, who know how
To place unworthy kings, will also find a way,
With just a little push, to drag him down
From the stolen throne.
The loyalty of wicked men turns into fear,
That fear morphs into hate, and hate leads one or both
To face worthy danger and deserved death.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
It's my responsibility to bear this guilt, and that's the end of it.
Say your goodbyes and leave, because you have to go immediately.

KING RICHARD.
Divorced twice! You bad men, you've broken
A double bond, between my crown and me,
And between me and my wife.
Let me take back the vow we made;
But then again, it was sealed with a kiss.
Separate us, Northumberland: I’ll head north,
Where the bitter cold and illness torment the land;
My wife goes to France, where she left in splendor,
Arriving here like lovely May,
Now sent back like Halloween or the shortest day.

QUEEN.
Do we really have to be separated? Do we have to leave?

KING RICHARD.
Yes, hand in hand, my love, and heart to heart.

QUEEN.
Exile us both, and send the King with me.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
That was quite a love, but not much strategy.

QUEEN.
Then wherever he goes, that’s where I want to go.

KING RICHARD.
So two people crying together share one sorrow.
You weep for me in France, and I weep for you here;
It’s better to be far away than close, never the closer.
Go, count your troubles with sighs, and I'll count mine with groans.

QUEEN.
So the longest journey will have the longest complaints.

KING RICHARD.
I’ll groan twice for each step, since the path is short,
And I’ll make my way with a heavy heart.
Come on, let’s keep our sorrow brief,
Because once we’re married, the grief will be long.
One kiss will seal our lips, and we’ll part in silence;
So here’s my kiss, and this is how I take your heart.

They kiss.

QUEEN.
Give me back what’s mine; it’s not right
To keep it and break your heart.

They kiss once more.

So, now I have my own back, go away,
So I can try to fight it off with a groan.

KING RICHARD.
We make sorrow playful with this foolish delay:
Goodbye once more. Let the rest be spoken by grief.

[Exit.]

Enter York and his Duchess.

DUCHESS.
My Lord, you said you would finish the story,
When your tears made you stop talking
About our two cousins arriving in London.

YORK.
Where did I leave it?

DUCHESS.
At that unfortunate moment, my lord,
Where disrespectful hands from the tops of windows
Threw dust and trash on King Richard’s head.

YORK.
Then, as I mentioned, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,
Riding a hot and fiery horse,
Which his ambitious rider seemed to know,
At a slow but impressive pace continued on his way,
While everyone shouted, “God save you, Bolingbroke!”
You would have thought the very windows spoke,
With so many eager looks from young and old
Through the windows sending their longing eyes
Toward his face, and that all the walls
With painted images had shouted together
“Jesus protect you! Welcome, Bolingbroke!”
As he, turning from one side to the other,
Bareheaded, lower than his proud horse’s neck,
Spoke to them, “I thank you, fellow countrymen.”
And while still doing this, he passed by.

DUCHESS.
Oh no, poor Richard! Where was he riding all this time?

YORK.
Just like in a theater, when a well-liked actor exits the stage,
All eyes turn to the one who comes on next,
Finding his chatter to be dull,
In the same way, or even with more disdain, people’s gazes
Scowled at gentle Richard. No one shouted “God save him!”
No happy voice welcomed him back,
Instead, dirt was thrown on his sacred head,
Which he shook off with such gentle sorrow,
His face still struggling with tears and smiles,
The signs of his grief and patience,
If God hadn’t hardened men’s hearts for some strong reason,
They surely would have softened,
And even the most barbaric would have shown him pity.
But heaven is involved in these happenings,
To whose higher will we submit our calm acceptance.
Now we are loyal subjects of Bolingbroke,
Whose state and honor I will always support.

Enter Aumerle.

DUCHESS.
Here comes my son Aumerle.

YORK.
That was Aumerle;
But that's gone since he's Richard’s friend,
And, ma'am, you have to call him Rutland now.
I am in Parliament vouching for his loyalty
And lasting commitment to the new king.

DUCHESS.
Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now
That scatter across the green landscape of the new spring?

AUMERLE.
Ma'am, I don't really know, and honestly, I don't care much either.
God knows I’d just as soon be nobody as be someone.

YORK.
Well, take care in this new spring season,
So you don’t get cut down before you reach your peak.
What’s the news from Oxford? Are these tournaments and celebrations happening?

AUMERLE.
As far as I know, my lord, they do.

YORK.
I know you'll be there.

AUMERLE.
If God doesn't stop me, I plan to do so.

YORK.
What seal is that hanging outside your shirt?
Yeah, are you looking pale? Let me see the writing.

AUMERLE.
My lord, it's nothing.

YORK.
It doesn’t matter who sees it.
I’ll be satisfied. Let me see the writing.

AUMERLE.
I seriously ask for your Grace's forgiveness.
It’s not a big deal,
But for some reasons, I’d rather not have witnessed it.

YORK.
For some reason, sir, I really want to see it.
I'm worried, I'm worried—

DUCHESS.
What do you have to be afraid of?
It’s just a contract he’s made
For fancy clothes for the big celebration.