ACT IV
SCENE I. Westminster Hall.
Call forth Bagot.
Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind, What thou dost know of noble Gloucester’s death, Who wrought it with the King, and who performed The bloody office of his timeless end.
Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle.
Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man.
Bagot, forbear. Thou shalt not take it up.
Thou dar’st not, coward, live to see that day.
Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.
Fitzwater, thou art damned to hell for this.
As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.
Surrey, thou liest.
Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead?
As surely as I live, my lord.
In God’s name, I’ll ascend the regal throne.
I will be his conduct.
I thought you had been willing to resign.
Part of your cares you give me with your crown.
Are you contented to resign the crown?
My lord, dispatch. Read o’er these articles.
My lord—
Go, some of you, and fetch a looking-glass.
Read o’er this paper while the glass doth come.
Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell!
Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.
The commons will not then be satisfied.
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 faced so many follies, That was at last outfaced by Bolingbroke? A brittle glory shineth in this face. As brittle as the glory is the face!
For there it is, cracked in an hundred shivers. Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, How soon my sorrow hath destroyed my face.
Name it, fair cousin.
Yet ask.
And shall I have?
You shall.
Then give me leave to go.
Whither?
Whither you will, so I were from your sights.
Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower.
A woeful pageant have we here beheld.