[Dashes the glass against the ground.]

 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. 

 BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyed The shadow of your face. 

 KING RICHARD. 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 tortured soul. There lies the substance. And I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only giv’st 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? 

 BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin. 

 KING RICHARD. “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. 

 BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask. 

 KING RICHARD. And shall I have? 

 BOLINGBROKE. You shall. 

 KING RICHARD. Then give me leave to go. 

 BOLINGBROKE. Whither? 

 KING RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. 

 BOLINGBROKE. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower. 

 KING RICHARD. O, good! “Convey”? Conveyers are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king’s fall. 

 [Exeunt King Richard and Guard.]

King Richard

 BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves. 

 [Exeunt all but the Bishop of Carlisle, the Abbot of Westminster and Aumerle.]

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