The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd
The shadow of your 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?
Name it, fair cousin.
'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.
Go, some of you convey him to the Tower.
O, good! convey? conveyers are you all,
That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall.
[Exeunt KING RICHARD and Guard.]
On Wednesday next we solemnly set down
Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves.
[Exeunt all but the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER,
A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
The woe's to come; the children yet unborn
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
You holy clergymen, is there no plot
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot?
Before I freely speak my mind herein,
You shall not only take the sacrament
To bury mine intents, but also to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devise.
I see your brows are full of discontent,
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears:
Come home with me to supper; I will lay
A plot shall show us all a merry day.