SCENE II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view. The Life and Death of Richard the Second  Shakespeare homepage  |  Richard II  | Act 3, Scene 2 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE II. The coast of Wales. A castle in view. 

 Drums; flourish and colours. Enter KING RICHARD II, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, DUKE OF AUMERLE, and Soldiers  KING RICHARD II  Barkloughly castle call they this at hand? 

 DUKE OF AUMERLE  Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air, 

 After your late tossing on the breaking seas? 

 KING RICHARD II  Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy 

 To stand upon my kingdom once again. 

 Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, 

 Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs: 

 As a long-parted mother with her child 

 Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting, 

 So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, 

 And do thee favours with my royal hands. 

 Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, 

 Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense; 

 But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, 

 And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way, 

 Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet 

 Which with usurping steps do trample thee: 

 Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; 

 And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, 

 Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder 

 Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 

 Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. 

 Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords: 

 This earth shall have a feeling and these stones 

 Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 

 Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. 

 BISHOP OF CARLISLE  Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you king 

 Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. 

 The means that heaven yields must be embraced, 

 And not neglected; else, if heaven would, 

 And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse, 

 The proffer'd means of succor and redress. 

 DUKE OF AUMERLE  He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; 

 Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, 

 Grows strong and great in substance and in power. 

 KING RICHARD II  Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not 

 That when the searching eye of heaven is hid, 

 Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, 

 Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen 

 In murders and in outrage, boldly here; 

 But when from under this terrestrial ball 

 He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines 

 And darts his light through every guilty hole, 

 Then murders, treasons and detested sins, 

 The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, 

 Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? 

 So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, 

 Who all this while hath revell'd in the night 

 Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, 

 Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, 

 His treasons will sit blushing in his face, 

 Not able to endure the sight of day, 

 But self-affrighted tremble at his sin. 

 Not all the water in the rough rude sea 

 Can wash the balm off from an anointed king; 

 The breath of worldly men cannot depose 

 The deputy elected by the Lord: 

 For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd 

 To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 

 God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 

 A glorious angel: then, if angels fight, 

 Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right. 



 Enter EARL OF SALISBURY  Welcome, my lord	how far off lies your power? 

 EARL OF SALISBURY  Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord, 

 Than this weak arm: discomfort guides my tongue 

 And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 

 One day too late, I fear me, noble lord, 

 Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: 

 O, call back yesterday, bid time return, 

 And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! 

 To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, 

 O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy state: 

 For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead. 

 Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled. 

 DUKE OF AUMERLE  Comfort, my liege; why looks your grace so pale? 

 KING RICHARD II  But now the blood of twenty thousand men 

 Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; 

 And, till so much blood thither come again, 

 Have I not reason to look pale and dead? 

 All souls that will be safe fly from my side, 

 For time hath set a blot upon my pride. 

 DUKE OF AUMERLE  Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. 

 KING RICHARD II  I had forgot myself; am I not king? 

 Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest. 

 Is not the king's name twenty thousand names? 

 Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes 

 At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, 

 Ye favourites of a king: are we not high? 

 High be our thoughts: I know my uncle York 

 Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here? 



 Enter SIR STEPHEN SCROOP  SIR STEPHEN SCROOP  More health and happiness betide my liege 

 Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him! 

 KING RICHARD II  Mine ear is open and my heart prepared; 

 The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. 

 Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care 

 And what loss is it to be rid of care? 

 Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? 

 Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, 

 We'll serve Him too and be his fellow so: 

 Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend; 

 They break their faith to God as well as us: 

 Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay: 

 The worst is death, and death will have his day. 

 SIR STEPHEN SCROOP  Glad am I that your highness is so arm'd 

 To bear the tidings of calamity. 

 Like an unseasonable stormy day, 

 Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, 

 As if the world were all dissolved to tears, 

 So high above his limits swells the rage 

 Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land 

 With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel. 

 White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps 

 Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices, 

 Strive to speak big and clap their female joints 

 In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown: 

 The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 

 Of double-fatal yew against thy state; 

 Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills 

 Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, 

 And all goes worse than I have power to tell. 

 KING RICHARD II  Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill. 

 Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? 

 What is become of Bushy? where is Green? 

 That they have let the dangerous enemy 

 Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? 

 If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it: 

 I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. 

 SIR STEPHEN SCROOP  Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord. 

 KING RICHARD II  O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption! 

 Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! 

 Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart! 

 Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! 

 Would they make peace? terrible hell make war 

 Upon their spotted souls for this offence! 

 SIR STEPHEN SCROOP  Sweet love, I see, changing his property, 

 Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate: 

 Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made 

 With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse 

 Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound 

 And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground. 

 DUKE OF AUMERLE  Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead? 

 SIR STEPHEN SCROOP  Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. 

 DUKE OF AUMERLE  Where is the duke my father with his power? 

 KING RICHARD II  No matter where; of comfort no man speak: 

 Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; 

 Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes 

 Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth, 

 Let's choose executors and talk of wills: 

 And yet not so, for what can we bequeath 

 Save our deposed bodies to the ground? 

 Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's, 

 And nothing can we call our own but death 

 And that small model of the barren earth 

 Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 

 For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground 

 And tell sad stories of the death of kings; 

 How some have been deposed; some slain in war, 

 Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed; 

 Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd; 

 All murder'd: for within the hollow crown 

 That rounds the mortal temples of a king 

 Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, 

 Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, 

 Allowing him a breath, a little scene, 

 To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks, 

 Infusing him with self and vain conceit, 

 As if this flesh which walls about our life, 

 Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus 

 Comes at the last and with a little pin 

 Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king! 

 Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood 

 With solemn reverence: throw away respect, 

 Tradition, form and ceremonious duty, 

 For you have but mistook me all this while: 

 I live with bread like you, feel want, 

 Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, 

 How can you say to me, I am a king? 

 BISHOP OF CARLISLE  My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, 

 But presently prevent the ways to wail. 

 To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, 

 Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe, 

 And so your follies fight against yourself. 

 Fear and be slain; no worse can come to fight: 

 And fight and die is death destroying death; 

 Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. 

 DUKE OF AUMERLE  My father hath a power; inquire of him 

 And learn to make a body of a limb. 

 KING RICHARD II  Thou chidest me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come 

 To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 

 This ague fit of fear is over-blown; 

 An easy task it is to win our own. 

 Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? 

 Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 

 SIR STEPHEN SCROOP  Men judge by the complexion of the sky 

 The state and inclination of the day: 

 So may you by my dull and heavy eye, 

 My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 

 I play the torturer, by small and small 

 To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken: 

 Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke, 

 And all your northern castles yielded up, 

 And all your southern gentlemen in arms 

 Upon his party. 

 KING RICHARD II  Thou hast said enough. 

 Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth 



 To DUKE OF AUMERLE  Of that sweet way I was in to despair! 

 What say you now? what comfort have we now? 

 By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly 

 That bids me be of comfort any more. 

 Go to Flint castle: there I'll pine away; 

 A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 

 That power I have, discharge; and let them go 

 To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, 

 For I have none: let no man speak again 

 To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 

 DUKE OF AUMERLE  My liege, one word. 

 KING RICHARD II  He does me double wrong 

 That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. 

 Discharge my followers: let them hence away, 

 From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. 



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