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Monologues for Men


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 high way,

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, therein laid—there lies

Two kinsmen digg’d their graves with weeping eyes.

Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see

I talk but idlely, and you laugh at me.

Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland,

What says King Bullingbrook? Will his Majesty

Give Richard leave to live till Richard die?

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