K. Rich. Give me the Crown.Here, coufin, feize the Crown,

Here, on this fide, my hand; on that fide, thine.
Now is this golden Crown like a deep well,
That owes two buckets, filling one another;
The emptier ever dancing in the air,

8

The other down, unfeen and full of water;
That bucket down, and full of tears, am I;
Drinking my griefs, whilft you mount up on high.
Boling. I thought you had been willing to refign.
K. Rich. My Crown, I am; but ftill my griefs are
mine;

You may my Glories and my State depofe,
But not my griefs; ftill am I King of those.
i

Boling. Part of your Cares you give me with your
Crown.

K. Rich. Your cares fet up, do not pluck my cares down.

My care, is loft of care, by old care done';
Your care, is gain of care, by new care won.
The cares I give, I have, though given away;
They tend the Crown, yet ftill with me they ftay.
Boling. Are you contented to refign the Crown?
K. Rich. Ay, no;-no, ay;-for I muft nothing be;
Therefore no no; for I refign to thee.

Now, mark me how I will undo myself;
I give this heavy weight from off my head;
And this unwieldy Scepter from my hand;
The pride of kingly fway from out my heart;

The emptier ever dancing, This is a comparifon not eafily accommodated to the fubject, nor very naturally introduced. The belt part is this line, in which he makes the ufurper the empty bucket. VISK BO

My care, is loft of care, by old care done;] Shakespeare often obfcures his meaning by

With mine own tears I wash away my Balm;
With mine own hands I give away my Crown;
With mine own tongue deny my facred State;
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths;
All pomp and Majefty I do forswear;
My manors, rents, revenues, I forego;
My acts, decrees, and ftatutes I deny;
God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me!
God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee!
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd,
And thou with all pleas'd, that haft all atchiev'd!
Long may'st thou live in Richard's Seat to fit,
And foon lye Richard in an earthy pit!
God fave King Henry, unking'd Richard fays,
And fend him many years of fun-fhine days!
What more remains?

North. No more; but that you read
Thefe accufations, and thefe grievous crimes
Committed by your perfon, and your followers,
Against the State and Profit of this Land:
That, by confeffing them, the fouls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.

K. Rich. Muft I do fo? and muft I ravel out
My weav'd-up follies? Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record,

Would it not fhame thee, in fo fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them? if thou would'ft,
There fhould'ft thou find one heinous article,
Containing the depofing of a King;
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath,
Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heav'n.
Nay, all of you, that ftand and look upon me,
Whilft that my wretchednefs doth bait myself,
Though fome of you with Pilate wash your hands,
Shewing an outward pity; yet you Pilates

My Balm.] The oil of confecration. He has mentioned it before.

2 If thou would't. That is, if thou would't read over a lift of thy own deeds.

Have here deliver'd me to my fow'r Crofs,
And water cannot wash away your fin.

North. My lord, difpatch; read o'er thefe articles.
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot fee;
And yet falt-water blinds them not fo much,
But they can see a Sort of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myfelf,
I find myself a traitor with the rest;
For I have given here my foul's confent,
T'undeck the pompous body of a King;
Made Glory bafe, a Sovereign a flave
Proud Majefty, a fubject; State, a peafant.
North. My lord-

K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught-infulting

man;

Nor no man's lord, I have no Name, no Title;
No, not that Name was giv'n me at the Font,
But 'tis ufurp'd. Alack, the heavy day,
That I have worn fo many winters out,
And know not now, what name to call myself!
Oh, that I were a mockery-King of fnow,
Standing before the Sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops!

Good King,-great King, and yet not greatly good,
An if my word be fterling yet in England, [To Boling.
Let it command a mirror hither straight,
That it may fhew me what a face I have,

Since it is bankrupt of his Majefty.

Boling. Go fome of you, and fetch a looking-glafs. North. Read o'er this paper, while the glafs doth

come.

K. Rich. Fiend, thou torment'ft me, ere I come to hell.

Boling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland.

3 A Sort] A pack, a company.
WARBURTON.
The last who ufed the word
VOL. IV.

fort in this fenfe was, perhaps, Waller.

G

A fort of lufty fhepherds ftrive.
North.

North. The Commons will not then be fatisfy'd K. Rich. They fhall be fatisfy'd; I'll read enough, When I do fee the very Book, indeed,

.

Where all my fins are writ, and that's myfelf.

Enter One, with a Glass.

Give me that Glafs, and therein will I read.
-No deeper wrinkles yet? hath Sorrow ftruck
So many blows upon this face of mine,

And made no deeper wounds? oh, flatt'ring Glafs,
Like to my Followers in profperity,

Thou doft beguile me. Was this face, the face.
That every day under his houfhold roof
Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face,
That, like the Sun, did make beholders wink?
Is this the face, which fac'd fo many follies,
That was at laft out-fac'd by Bolingbroke?
A brittle Glory fhineth in this face;

[Dafbes the Glafs against the Ground. As brittle, as the glory, is the face;

For there it is, crackt in an hundred fhivers.
Mark, filent King, the Moral of this fport;
How foon my forrow hath destroy'd my face.
Boling. The fhadow of your forrow hath destroy'd
The fhadow of your face.

K. Rich. Say that again.

The fhadow of my forrow! ha, let's fee;
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within;

And these external manners of laments
Are merely fhadows to the unfeen grief,
That fwells with filence in the tortur'd foul;
There lies the fubftance. And I thank thee, King,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv❜ft
Me caufe to wail, but teacheft me the way
How to lament the caufe. I'll beg one boon;
And then be gone, and trouble you no more..
Shall I obtain it?

Boling.

Boling. Name it, fair Coufin.

K. Rich. Fair Coufin! I am greater than a King: For when I was a King, my flatterers

Were then but Subjects; being now a Subject,
I have a King here to my flatterer:
Being fo great, I have no need to beg.
Boling. Yet afk.

K. Rich. And fhall I have?

Boling. You fhall.

K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Boling. Whither?

K. Rich. Whither you will, fo I were from your fight. Boling. Go fome of you, convey him to the Tower. K. Rich. Oh, good! convey:

you all.

. Conveyers are

That rife thus nimbly by a true King's fall.

[Exit. Boling. On Wednesday next we folemnly fet down Our Coronation lords, prepare yourselves. Let it be fo, and lo be ready all.

[Ex. all but Abbot, Bishop of Carlisle and Aumerle.

Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Carl. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as fharp to them as thorn 3. Aum. You holy Clergy-men, is there no Plot, To rid the Realm of this pernicious blot. Abbot. Before I freely fpeak my mind herein, You fhall not only take the Sacrament,

4 Conveyers are ye all.] To convey is a term often used in an ill fenfe, and fo Richard underftands it here. Piftol fays of Healing, convey the wife it call; and to convey is the word for flight of hand, which feems to be alluded to here. Ye are all,

fays the depofed Prince, jugglers who rife with this nimble dexterity by the fall of a good king.

As fharp as thorn.] This pathetick denunciation fhews that Shakespeare intended to imprefs his auditors with diflike of the depofal of Richard.