Old John of Gaunt , time-honoured Lancaster , Hast thou , according to thy oath and band , Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son , Here to make good the boisterous late appeal , Which then our leisure would not let us hear , Against the Duke of Norfolk , Thomas Mowbray ? Tell me , moreover , hast thou sounded him If he appeal the Duke on ancient malice , Or worthily , as a good subject should , On some known ground of treachery in him ? Then call them to our presence : face to face And frowning brow to brow , ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak . High-stomach 'd are they both and full of ire , In rage , deaf as the sea , hasty as fire . We thank you both ; yet one but flatters us , As well appeareth by the cause you come ; Namely , to appeal each other of high treason . Cousin of Hereford , what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk , Thomas Mowbray ? What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray 's charge ? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him . How high a pitch his resolution soars ! Thomas of Norfolk , what say'st thou to this ? Mowbray , impartial are our eyes and ears : Were he my brother , nay , my kingdom 's heir ,— As he is but my father 's brother 's son ,— Now , by my sceptre 's awe I make a vow , Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul . He is our subject , Mowbray ; so art thou : Free speech and fearless I to thee allow . Wrath-kindled gentlemen , be rul 'd by me ; Let 's purge this choler without letting blood : This we prescribe , though no physician ; Deep malice makes too deep incision : Forget , forgive ; conclude and be agreed , Our doctors say this is no month to bleed . Good uncle , let this end where it begun ; We 'll calm the Duke of Norfolk , you your son . And , Norfolk , throw down his . Norfolk , throw down ; we bid ; There is no boot . Rage must be withstood : Give me his gage : lions make leopards tame . Cousin , throw down your gage : do you begin . We were not born to sue , but to command : Which since we cannot do to make you friends , Be ready , as your lives shall answer it , At Coventry , upon Saint Lambert 's day : There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate : Since we can not atone you , we shall see Justice design the victor 's chivalry . Lord Marshal , command our officers-at-arms Be ready to direct these home alarms . Marshal , demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms : Ask him his name , and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause . Marshal , ask yonder knight in arms , Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war ; And formally , according to our law , Depose him in the justice of his cause . We will descend and fold him in our arms . Cousin of Hereford , as thy cause is right , So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! Farewell , my blood ; which if to-day thou shed , Lament we may , but not revenge thee dead . Farewell , my lord : securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye . Order the trial , Marshal , and begin . Let them lay by their helmets and their spears , And both return back to their chairs again : Withdraw with us ; and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree . Norfolk , for thee remains a heavier doom , Which I with some unwillingness pronounce : The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile ; The hopeless word of ‘ never to return ’ Breathe I against thee , upon pain of life . It boots thee not to be compassionate : After our sentence plaining comes too late . Return again , and take an oath with thee . Lay on our royal sword your banish 'd hands ; Swear by the duty that you owe to God ,— Our part therein we banish with yourselves — To keep the oath that we administer : You never shall , so help you truth and God !— Embrace each other 's love in banishment ; Nor never look upon each other 's face ; Nor never write , regreet , nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate ; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot , contrive , or complot any ill ‘ Gainst us , our state , our subjects , or our land . Uncle , even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart : thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish 'd years Pluck 'd four away .— Six frozen winters spent , Return with welcome home from banishment . Why , uncle , thou hast many years to live . Thy son is banish 'd upon good advice , Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave . Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower ? Cousin , farewell ; and , uncle , bid him so : Six years we banish him , and he shall go . We did observe . Cousin Aumerle , How far brought you high Hereford on his way ? And say , what store of parting tears were shed ? What said our cousin when you parted with him ? He is our cousin , cousin ; but ‘ tis doubt , When time shall call him home from banishment , Whether our kinsman come to see his friends . Ourself , and Bushy , Bagot here and Green , Observ 'd his courtship to the common people , How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy , What reverence he did throw away on slaves , Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune , As ‘ twere to banish their affects with him . Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench ; A brace of draymen bid God speed him well , And had the tribute of his supple knee , With ‘ Thanks , my countrymen , my loving friends ’ ; As were our England in reversion his , And he our subjects ’ next degree in hope . We will ourself in person to this war . And , for our coffers , with too great a court And liberal largess , are grown somewhat light , We are enforc 'd to farm our royal realm ; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand . If that come short , Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters ; Whereto , when they shall know what men are rich , They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold , And send them after to supply our wants ; For we will make for Ireland presently . Bushy , what news ? Where lies he ? Now put it , God , in his physician 's mind To help him to his grave immediately ! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars . Come , gentlemen , let 's all go visit him : Pray God we may make haste , and come too late ! What comfort , man ? How is't with aged Gaunt ? Can sick men play so nicely with their names ? Should dying men flatter with those that live ? Thou , now a-dying , sayest thou flatterest me . I am in health , I breathe , and see thee ill . And thou a lunatic lean-witted fool , Presuming on an ague 's privilege , Dar'st with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek , chasing the royal blood With fury from his native residence . Now by my seat 's right royal majesty , Wert thou not brother to great Edward 's son ,— This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders . And let them die that age and sullens have ; For both hast thou , and both become the grave . Right , you say true : as Hereford 's love , so his ; As theirs , so mine ; and all be as it is . What says he ? The ripest fruit first falls , and so doth he : His time is spent ; our pilgrimage must be . So much for that . Now for our Irish wars . We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns , Which live like venom where no venom else But only they have privilege to live . And for these great affairs do ask some charge , Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate , coin , revenues , and moveables , Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess 'd . Why , uncle , what 's the matter ? Think what you will : we seize into our hands His plate , his goods , his money , and his lands . Go , Bushy , to the Earl of Wiltshire straight : Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business . To-morrow next We will for Ireland ; and ‘ tis time , I trow : And we create , in absence of ourself , Our Uncle York lord governor of England ; For he is just , and always lov 'd us well . Come on , our queen : to-morrow must we part ; Be merry , for our time of stay is short . Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand ? 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 . 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 . Welcome , my lord . How far off lies your power ? 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 . 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 ? Mine ear is open and my heart prepar 'd : 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 , loss , decay ; The worst is death , and death will have his day . 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 . 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 ! 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 can 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 depos 'd , 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 antick 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 ? Thou chid'st 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 . Thou hast said enough . Beshrew thee , cousin , which didst lead me forth 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 . 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 . We are amaz 'd ; and thus long have we stood To watch the fearful bending of thy knee , Because we thought ourself thy lawful king ; And if we be , how dare thy joints forget To pay their awful duty to our presence ? If we be not , show us the hand of God That hath dismiss 'd us from our stewardship ; For well we know no hand of blood and bone Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre , Unless he do profane , steal , or usurp . And though you think that all , as you have done , Have torn their souls by turning them from us , And we are barren and bereft of friends , Yet know-my master , God omnipotent , Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf Armies of pestilence ; and they shall strike Your children yet unborn and unbegot , That lift your vassal hands against my head And threat the glory of my precious crown . Tell Bolingbroke ,— for yond methinks he stands ,— That every stride he makes upon my land Is dangerous treason ; he is come to open The purple testament of bleeding war ; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace , Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers ’ sons Shall ill become the flower of England 's face , Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace To scarlet indignation , and bedew Her pastures ’ grass with faithful English blood . Northumberland , say , thus the king returns : His noble cousin is right welcome hither ; And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish 'd without contradiction . With all the gracious utterance thou hast Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends . O God , O God ! that e'er this tongue of mine That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yond proud man should take it off again With words of sooth ! O ! that I were as great As is my grief , or lesser than my name , Or that I could forget what I have been , Or not remember what I must be now . Swell'st thou , proud heart ? I 'll give thee scope to beat , Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me . What must the King do now ? Must he submit ? The king shall do it : must he be depos 'd ? The king shall be contented : must he lose The name of king ? A God 's name , let it go : I 'll give my jewels for a set of beads , My gorgeous palace for a hermitage , My gay apparel for an almsman 's gown , My figur 'd goblets for a dish of wood , My sceptre for a palmer 's walking-staff , My subjects for a pair of carved saints , And my large kingdom for a little grave , A little little grave , an obscure grave ; Or I 'll be buried in the king 's highway , Some way of common trade , where subjects ’ feet May hourly trample on their sovereign 's head ; For on my heart they tread now whilst I live ; And buried once , why not upon my head ? Aumerle , thou weep'st , my tender-hearted cousin ! We 'll make foul weather with despised tears ; Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn And make a dearth in this revolting land . Or shall we play the wantons with our woes And make some pretty match with shedding tears ? As thus : to drop them still upon one place Till they have fretted us a pair of graves Within the earth ; and , there inlaid : ‘ There lies Two kinsmen digg 'd their graves with weeping eyes . ’ Would not this ill do well ? Well , well , I see I talk but idly , and you laugh at me . Most mighty prince , my Lord Northumberland , What says King Bolingbroke ? will his Majesty Give Richard leave to live till Richard die ? You make a leg , and Bolingbroke says ay . Down , down I come ; like glist'ring Phaethon , Wanting the manage of unruly jades . In the base court ? Base court , where kings grow base , To come at traitors ’ calls , and do them grace . In the base court ? Come down ? Down , court ! down , king ! For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing . Fair cousin , you debase your princely knee To make the base earth proud with kissing it : Me rather had my heart might feel your love Than my unpleas 'd eye see your courtesy . Up , cousin , up ; your heart is up , I know , Thus high at least , although your knee be low . Your own is yours , and I am yours , and all . Well you deserve : they well deserve to have That know the strong'st and surest way to get . Uncle , give me your hand : nay , dry your eyes : Tears show their love , but want their remedies . Cousin , I am too young to be your father , Though you are old enough to be my heir . What you will have , I 'll give , and willing too ; For do we must what force will have us do . Set on towards London . Cousin , is it so ? Then I must not say no . Alack ! why am I sent for to a king Before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reign 'd ? I hardly yet have learn 'd To insinuate , flatter , bow , and bend my knee . Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me To this submission . Yet I well remember The favours of these men : were they not mine ? Did they not sometime cry ‘ All hail ! ’ to me ? So Judas did to Christ : but he , in twelve , Found truth in all but one ; I , in twelve thousand , none . God save the King ! Will no man say , amen ? Am I both priest and clerk ? Well then , amen . God save the King ! although I be not he ; And yet , amen , if heaven do think him me . To do what service am I sent for hither ? Give me the crown . Here , cousin , seize the crown . Here , cousin , On this side my hand , and on that side thine . Now is this golden crown like a deep well That owes two buckets , filling one another ; The emptier ever dancing in the air , The other down , unseen , and full of water . That bucket down and full of tears am I , Drinking my griefs , whilst you mount up on high . My crown I am ; but still my griefs are mine . You may my glories and my state depose , But not my griefs ; still am I king of those . Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down . My care is loss of care , by old care done ; Your care is gain of care , by new care won . The cares I give I have , though given away ; They tend the crown , yet still with me they stay . Ay , no ; no , ay ; for I must nothing be ; Therefore no no , for I resign to thee . Now mark me how I will undo myself : I give this heavy weight from off my head , And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand , The pride of kingly sway from out my heart ; With mine own tears I wash away my balm , With mine own hands I give away my crown , With mine own tongue deny my sacred state , With mine own breath release all duteous rites : All pomp and majesty I do forswear ; My manors , rents , revenues , I forgo ; My acts , decrees , and statutes , I deny : God pardon all oaths that are broke to me ! God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee ! Make me , that nothing have , with nothing griev 'd , And thou with all pleas 'd , that hast an achiev 'd ! Long mayst thou live in Richard 's seat to sit , And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit ! God save King Henry , unking 'd Richard says , And send him many years of sunshine days ! What more remains ? Must I do so ? And must I ravel out My weav'dhYpppHeNup follies ? Gentle Northumberland , If thy offences were upon record , Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop To read a lecture of them ? If thou wouldst , There shouldst thou find one heinous article , Containing the deposing of a king And cracking the strong warrant of an oath , Mark 'd with a blot , damn 'd in the book of heaven . Nay , all of you that stand and look upon me Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself , Though some of you , with Pilate , wash your hands , Showing an outward pity ; yet you Pilates Have here deliver 'd me to my sour cross , And water cannot wash away your sin . Mine eyes are full of tears ; I cannot see : And yet salt water blinds them not so much But they can see a sort of traitors here . Nay , if I turn mine eyes upon myself , I find myself a traitor with the rest ; For I have given here my soul 's consent T'undeck the pompous body of a king ; Made glory base , and sovereignty a slave , Proud majesty a subject , state a peasant . No lord of thine , thou haught insulting man , Nor no man 's lord ; I have no name , no title , No , not that name was given me at the font , But ‘ tis usurp 'd : alack the heavy day ! That I have worn so many winters out , And know not now what name to call myself ! O ! that I were a mockery king of snow , Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke To melt myself away in water-drops ! Good king , great king ,— and yet not greatly good , An if my word be sterling yet in England , Let it command a mirror hither straight , That it may show me what a face I have , Since it is bankrupt of his majesty . Fiend ! thou torments me ere I come to hell . They shall be satisfied ; I 'll read enough , When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ , and that 's myself . Give me that glass , and therein will I read . No deeper wrinkles yet ? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds ? O flatt'ring glass ! Like to my followers in prosperity , Thou dost beguile me . Was this face the face That every day under his household 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 so many follies That was at last out-fac 'd by Bolingbroke ? A brittle glory shineth in this face : As brittle as the glory is the face ; For there it is , crack 'd in a hundred shivers . Mark , silent king , the moral of this sport , How soon my sorrow hath destroy 'd my face . Say that again . The shadow of my sorrow ! Ha ! let 's see : ‘ Tis very true : my grief lies all within ; And these external manner of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortur 'd soul . There lies the substance : and I thank thee , king , For thy great bounty , that not only givest Me cause to wail , but teachest me the way How to lament the cause . I 'll beg one boon , And then be gone and trouble you no more . Shall I obtain it ? ‘ Fair cousin ’ ! 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 so great , I have no need to beg . And shall I have ? Then give me leave to go . Whither you will , so I were from your sights . O , good ! convey ? conveyers are you all , That rise thus nimbly by a true king 's fall . Join not with grief , fair woman , do not so , To make my end too sudden : learn , good soul , To think our former state a happy dream ; From which awak 'd , the truth of what we are Shows us but this . I am sworn brother , sweet , To grim Necessity ; and he and Will keep a league till death . Hie thee to France , And cloister thee in some religious house : Our holy lives must win a new world 's crown , Which our profane hours here have thrown down . A king of beasts , indeed ; if aught but beasts , I had been still a happy king of men . Good sometimes queen , prepare thee hence for France . Think I am dead , and that even here thou tak'st , As from my death-bed , thy last living leave . In winter 's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks , and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages long ago betid ; And ere thou bid good night , to quit their griefs Tell thou the lamentable tale of me , And send the hearers weeping to their beds ; For why , the senseless brands will sympathize The heavy accent of thy moving tongue , And in compassion weep the fire out ; And some will mourn in ashes , some coal-black , For the deposing of a rightful king . Northumberland , thou ladder wherewithal The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne , The time shall not be many hours of age More than it is , ere foul sin gathering head Shall break into corruption . Thou shalt think , Though he divide the realm and give thee half It is too little , helping him to all ; And he shall think that thou , which know'st the way To plant unrightful kings , wilt know again , Being ne'er so little urg 'd , another way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne . The love of wicked men converts to fear ; That fear to hate ; and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death . Doubly divorc 'd ! Bad men , ye violate A twofold marriage ; ‘ twixt my crown and me , And then betwixt me and my married wife . Let me unkiss the oath ‘ twixt thee and me ; And yet not so , for with a kiss ‘ twas made . Part us , Northumberland : I towards the north , Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime ; My wife to France , from whence set forth in pomp , She came adorned hither like sweet May , Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day . Ay , hand from hand , my love , and heart from heart . So two , together weeping , make one woe . Weep thou for me in France , I for thee here ; Better far off than near , be ne'er the near . Go , count thy way with sighs ; I mine with groans . Twice for one step I 'll groan , the way being short , And piece the way out with a heavy heart . Come , come , in wooing sorrow let 's be brief , Since , wedding it , there is such length in grief . One kiss shall stop our mouths , and dumbly part ; Thus give I mine , and thus take I thy heart . We make woe wanton with this fond delay : Once more , adieu ; the rest let sorrow say . I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world And for because the world is populous , And here is not a creature but myself , I cannot do it ; yet I 'll hammer it out . My brain I 'll prove the female to my soul ; My soul the father : and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts , And these same thoughts people this little world , In humours like the people of this world , For no thought is contented . The better sort , As thoughts of things divine , are intermix 'd With scruples , and do set the word itself Against the word : As thus : ‘ Come , little ones ’ ; and then again , ‘ It is as hard to come as for a camel To thread the postern of a needle 's eye . ’ Thoughts tending to ambition , they do plot Unlikely wonders ; how these vain weak nails May tear a passage through the flinty ribs Of this hard world , my ragged prison walls ; And , for they cannot , die in their own pride . Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves That they are not the first of fortune 's slaves , Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame , That many have and others must sit there : And in this thought they find a kind of ease , Bearing their own misfortunes on the back Of such as have before endur 'd the like . Thus play I in one person many people , And none contented : sometimes am I king ; Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar , And so I am : then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king ; Then am I king 'd again ; and by and by Think that I am unking 'd by Bolingbroke , And straight am nothing : but whate'er I be , Nor I , nor any man that but man is With nothing shall be pleas 'd till he be eas 'd With being nothing . Music do I hear ? Ha , ha ! keep time . How sour sweet music is When time is broke and no proportion kept ! So is it in the music of men 's lives . And here have I the daintiness of ear To check time broke in a disorder 'd string ; But , for the concord of my state and time , Had not an ear to hear my true time broke . I wasted time , and now doth time waste me ; For now hath time made me his numbering clock : My thoughts are minutes ; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes , the outward watch , Whereto my finger , like a dial 's point , Is pointing still , in cleansing them from tears . Now sir , the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans , which strike upon my heart , Which is the bell : so sighs and tears and groans Show minutes , times , and hours ; but my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke 's proud joy , While I stand fooling here , his Jack o ’ the clock . This music mads me ; let it sound no more ; For though it have holp madmen to their wits , In me it seems it will make wise men mad . Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me ! For ‘ tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world . Thanks , noble peer ; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear . What art thou ? and how comest thou hither , man , Where no man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live ? Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me , gentle friend , How went he under him ? So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back ! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him . Would he not stumble ? would he not fall down ,— Since pride must have a fall ,— and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back ? Forgiveness , horse ! Why do I rail on thee , Since thou , created to be aw 'd by man , Wast born to bear ? I was not made a horse ; And yet I bear a burden like an ass , Spur-gall 'd and tir 'd by jauncing Bolingbroke . If thou love me , ‘ tis time thou wert away . Taste of it first as thou art wont to do . The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee ! Patience is stale , and I am weary of it . How now ! What means death in this rude assault ? Villain , thy own hand yields thy death 's instrument . Go thou and fill another room in hell . That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person . Exton , thy fierce hand Hath with the king 's blood stain 'd the king 's own land . Mount , mount , my soul ! thy seat is up on high ; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward , here to die .