The Lord Marshal speaks in the formal cadences of ceremonial procedure — he's the MC of the jousting ground, reciting the legal formulas. His lines are almost entirely technical. Watch for the moment when the ceremony he presides over is abruptly canceled.
My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed?
Speak, my lord.
Go ahead, speak.
speak.
Aumerle (Richard's cousin, York's son) is an elegant courtier whose loyalty to Richard is absolute — at least for now. He speaks in the clipped, slightly languid tones of someone who's been at court all his life. Watch how his certainty about Richard eventually costs him everything.
Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in.
In God's name, I begin my oath.
In God's name, I swear my oath.
in god's name i swear.
The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold,
Stays but the summons of the appelant’s trumpet.
Now take your oath upon this sword of state.
Put your hand on the sword and swear.
swear on the sword.
Why then, the champions are prepared and stay
For nothing but his Majesty’s approach.
I swear.
I swear.
i swear.
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, demand from that challenger Why he has come here armed. Ask his name, and proceed formally To swear him in the justice of his cause.
Marshal, ask that man why he's here. Get his name and have him swear That his cause is just.
marshal. ask him why he's here. get his name. have him swear.
In God’s name and the King’s, say who thou art,
And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms,
Against what man thou com’st, and what thy quarrel.
Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath,
As so defend thee heaven and thy valour.
In God's name and the king's, state your purpose, Speak your name, your title, and your cause For coming armed to this field.
In God's name and the king's, tell us: Who are you? What's your rank? Why are you here armed?
who are you? what's your rank? why are you armed?
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
Who hither come engaged by my oath—
Which God defend a knight should violate!—
Both to defend my loyalty and truth
To God, my King, and my succeeding issue,
Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me,
And, by the grace of God and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me;
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.
My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, Who comes here bound by oath— May God forbid a knight should break such an oath!— To defend both my loyalty and truth Against Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, Derby, To God, the king, and my good name. I come in armed battle to defend My honor against his challenge.
I am Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. I'm bound by oath—and God protect any knight who breaks an oath— To defend my loyalty and truth Against Henry of Hereford. I'm here to defend my honor.
i'm thomas mowbray duke of norfolk. i'm bound by oath. god protect knights who break oaths. i'm here to defend my honor.
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.
Marshal, demand likewise of the other That same state and charge.
Marshal, do the same for the other one.
marshal ask him too.
What is thy name? And wherefore com’st thou hither
Before King Richard in his royal lists?
Against whom comest thou? and what’s thy quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven!
Defender of God's faith, state your name, Your rank, and your cause in this battle.
Tell us your name, your rank, and why you're here to fight.
your name. your rank. why you're fighting.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Am I, who ready here do stand in arms
To prove by God’s grace and my body’s valour,
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
That he’s a traitor foul and dangerous,
To God of heaven, King Richard, and to me.
And as I truly fight, defend me heaven.
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, I am, and I stand here armed To prove, by God's grace and my body's strength, In lists, against Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor to our sovereign lord the king.
I am Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby. I'm standing here to prove, by God's grace, That Thomas Mowbray is a traitor To our king.
i'm henry of hereford. i'm here to prove mowbray is a traitor. to our king.
On pain of death, no person be so bold
Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists,
Except the Marshal and such officers
Appointed to direct these fair designs.
Hereford, throw down your gage, And swear by God's name that your cause is just.
Throw down your glove and swear.
throw down your glove. swear.
Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign’s hand
And bow my knee before his Majesty.
For Mowbray and myself are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave
And loving farewell of our several friends.
Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand And kneel before his Majesty. Mowbray and I are like two men Who take a long and weary pilgrimage; My tongue must speak my thoughts of him in the grave, Or here live mute forever.
Let me kiss the king's hand And kneel to him. Mowbray and I are like two men Going on a long, hard journey. If I don't speak my truth now, I'll be silent forever.
let me kiss the king. mowbray and i are on a journey i have to speak now or forever be silent.
The appellant in all duty greets your highness
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.
KING RICHARD. [_Descends from his throne_.]
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 today thou shed,
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
Hereford, upon your life take heed For as we will to do, it must be done; Either you or Norfolk shall be here maimed And lost forever from the sun. Take leave of him with honor and respect.
Henry, understand this: One of you will die or be crippled here. One of you will never see the sun again. Say your goodbyes with honor.
one of you won't survive. say goodbye with honor.
O, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gored with Mowbray’s spear.
As confident as is the falcon’s flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My loving lord, I take my leave of you.
Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle;
Not sick, although I have to do with death,
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath.
Lo! as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
O thou, the earthly author of my blood,
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up
To reach at victory above my head,
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers,
And with thy blessings steel my lance’s point,
That it may enter Mowbray’s waxen coat
And furbish new the name of John o’ Gaunt,
Even in the lusty haviour of his son.
O, let no noble eye shed a tear for me If I am pierced by Mowbray's spear. I fight him with the confidence of a falcon Flying against a bird. O God, protect my right, as I know thou dost! Ten times more hot than the sun itself, My love to you and to this royal throne, Burns in my breast. Fifteen times sharpened is my sword Against the frost of fear. My prayer before I draw my sword: Either let me die with honor, Or live to show the world my truth. As I am a knight and Bolingbroke, I take my leave of life, here in this royal presence, To stain the earth, if need be, with my blood, As witness to my loyalty and truth.
Don't waste tears on me if I fall. I'm as confident as a hawk diving at prey. God, I know you protect the righteous. My love for this throne burns hotter than the sun. My sword is sharp and ready. All I ask is to die with honor Or to live and prove my truth. I'm ready to stain this earth with my blood To show my loyalty.
don't waste tears on me. i'm ready. god protects the righteous. my love for this throne burns hot. i'm ready to bleed for it.
God in thy good cause make thee prosperous.
Be swift like lightning in the execution,
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy.
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.
May God keep you safe, my son. When you stand before the Lord, May you stand clear of guilt. However heaven sends you victory or defeat, May God be in your heart. Farewell.
God keep you safe, my son. Stand before God with a clear heart. Whatever happens in this fight, May God be with you. Goodbye.
god keep you safe. stand clear before god. goodbye.
Mine innocence and Saint George to thrive!
Noble father, I commend you to God.
I thank you, father.
thank you father.
Richard's decision to stop the combat at the last second is the play's first major display of his brand of political intelligence — which is real, even if it ultimately fails him. If Bolingbroke wins, the combat proves Mowbray guilty of Gloucester's murder — and since Richard ordered it, that implicates the king. If Mowbray wins, Bolingbroke is publicly disgraced, which might make him more dangerous (martyrdom has its uses) and would also leave the popular Bolingbroke humiliated and angry. By stopping the fight and banishing both men, Richard solves the immediate problem: Mowbray can't testify about Gloucester, and Bolingbroke can't stay in England building his popular power base. What Richard doesn't calculate — can't calculate — is what exile does to a man like Bolingbroke. It turns a grievance into a cause.
Farewell, my lord. Securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.
Let them lay down their helmets and spears, And both return to their chairs. Withdraw with us while the trumpets sound While we announce our decree on these dukes.
Have them put down their weapons And come back inside. Everyone leave while we decide What we're going to do.
weapons down. everyone inside. we're deciding.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Receive thy lance; and God defend the right.
BOLINGBROKE. [_Rising_.]
Strong as a tower in hope, I cry “Amen”!
Richard, summoner of the duels, Hath told the court the time and place of combat. What says the court?
The duels are set. We have the time and place. What does the court say?
duels are set.
Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, his King, and him,
And dares him to set forward to the fight.
Oyez! The king declares That Henry of Hereford and Thomas Mowbray Shall meet in mortal combat At Coventry on Saint Lambert's Day, At the hour of the morning prime.
Hear ye! The king says: Henry of Hereford and Thomas Mowbray Will fight at Coventry On Saint Lambert's Day At dawn.
hear ye! hereford and mowbray fight. coventry. saint lambert's day. dawn.
Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,
On pain to be found false and recreant,
Both to defend himself and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal,
Courageously and with a free desire,
Attending but the signal to begin.
And proclamation made that every man Shall strictly keep the lists without the tilt, And the two champions only shall be allowed Within the barrier. All must be ready at the dawn.
And notice is given: Everyone must stay outside the arena. Only the two fighters are allowed inside. Everyone be ready at dawn.
stay outside the arena. only the fighters inside. be ready at dawn.
Stay! the King hath thrown his warder down.
Stop! The King has thrown down his marshal's baton.
Hold it! The King just dropped his baton — everything stops now!
wait— the king threw it down stop right there everything freezes
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.
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.
Put down the weapons. Both come back inside. Everyone out. The trumpets sound. We're announcing our decision.
weapons down. inside. we're deciding.
Your will be done. This must my comfort be:
That sun that warms you here shall shine on me,
And those his golden beams to you here lent
Shall point on me and gild my banishment.
Your will is done. This is my only comfort: That sun warming you here will shine on me, And those golden beams you receive Will shine on me in my banishment.
I accept, your majesty. At least the same sun that shines on you here Will shine on me in exile. That's my only comfort.
i accept. the same sun will shine on me in exile. that's my comfort.
The exchange between Gaunt and Bolingbroke after Richard leaves is one of Shakespeare's finest short dialogues on the subject of consolation — and why it doesn't work. Gaunt offers every philosophical resource available: Stoic acceptance, cognitive reframing, making necessity a virtue. Bolingbroke demolishes each one with a simple physical image. You can't hold fire by thinking of cold mountains. You can't feed hunger by imagining food. The mind cannot deceive the body, and the body cannot deceive the heart. What's devastating about the scene is that both men are right: Gaunt is right that suffering is easier when you refuse to take it seriously; Bolingbroke is right that refusing to take real pain seriously is a lie. Shakespeare gives neither man the last word philosophically. But he gives Bolingbroke the more memorable lines.
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.
Mowbray, for you remains a heavier doom, Which I pronounce with some reluctance: The slow-moving hours will never end Your exile from your native land forever.
Mowbray, your sentence is worse. And I'm sorry to say it: You are banished forever. You will never come home.
mowbray your sentence is worse. you're banished forever. never coming home.
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlooked for from your highness’ mouth.
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your highness’ hands.
The language I have learnt these forty years,
My native English, now I must forgo;
And now my tongue’s use is to me no more
Than an unstringed viol or a harp,
Or like a cunning instrument cased up
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Within my mouth you have engaoled my tongue,
Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips,
And dull unfeeling, barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,
Too far in years to be a pupil now.
What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath?
A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlooked for from your majesty. I would have deserved better from your hands Than to be cast out like common air. I have learned English these forty years, My native language, and now I must abandon it. My tongue is now useless to me— Like an unstrung viol or harp, Or like a fine instrument locked in a chest, Or put into hands that cannot tune it. You have imprisoned my tongue within my mouth, Locked behind my teeth and lips. Ignorance will be my jailer. I am too old to learn a new language, Too old to be a student again. Is not endless silent exile worse than death? For it robs me of my native tongue.
This is harsh, your majesty, And I didn't expect it from you. I deserved better than to be cast out. I've spoken English my whole life. It's the only language I know. And now I have to leave it behind. Without it, I'm like a broken instrument. You've locked my tongue in my own mouth. I'm too old to learn a new language. So what's exile but a slow death? A death where I can't speak.
harsh sentence your majesty. i didn't expect this. i've spoken english my whole life. it's all i have. now i'm silent. exile is worse than death. i can't speak.
It boots thee not to be compassionate.
After our sentence plaining comes too late.
It boots not to appeal against the doom.
There's no use appealing the sentence.
no appeal.
Then thus I turn me from my country’s light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night.
Then thus I turn me from my country's light.
Then I leave my country and never return.
i'm leaving forever.
Return again, and take an oath with thee.
Lay on our royal sword your banished 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.
Come back both of you, and swear an oath. Place your banished hands upon my royal sword. Swear by God—the oath that binds all men— And by the crown of England— That which you both revere— By all the rights of knighthood I bestow— By this sword and all it stands for— That neither of you will plot against the other, And you will not return to England Without my royal approval. If you break this oath, Let all the world know you are false, And may God strike you down.
Both of you come back. Put your hands on my sword and swear. Swear by God and by the crown of England By everything sacred to a knight— That you won't plot against each other, And you won't come back to England Without my permission. Break this oath and the world will know You are false men. God will punish you.
swear on my sword. swear by god and the crown. don't plot against each other. don't come back without permission. break this oath god strikes you down.
I swear.
I swear.
I swear.
i swear.
And I, to keep all this.
And I.
And I.
and i.
Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:
By this time, had the King permitted us,
One of our souls had wandered in the air,
Banished this frail sepulchre of our flesh,
As now our flesh is banished from this land.
Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm.
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burden of a guilty soul.
Hereford, your exile is for ten winters. The time flies fast. Keep it well. After ten years, you may return home. Now go, and God keep you.
Henry, you're banished for ten years. That will pass quickly. After ten years, you can come home. Go now. God be with you.
henry ten years banishment. after that you can come home. go now.
No, Bolingbroke. If ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banished as from hence!
But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know;
And all too soon, I fear, the King shall rue.
Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray;
Save back to England, all the world’s my way.
How long a time lies in one little word! Four winters cannot wash away these tears, But every autumn brings my own death home. Suppose I travel those ten winters. Suppose I number off the days and hours, That time is yet unspent. Oh, yet, Time is so short to joy, and long to pain. I thank you, liege.
Ten years! That's forever. Even four years won't wash away these tears. Every year that passes is a kind of death. I'll count the days, but time moves slow. It's short when you're happy, but it's long when you're in pain. Thank you for the sentence, my liege.
ten years! forever! every year is a kind of death. time moves slow. thank you.
Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart. Thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banished years
Plucked four away. [_To Bolingbroke_.] Six frozen winters spent,
Return with welcome home from banishment.
Go, bear him hence to the French coast, And send him now hence to his native France. He may not linger in our royal realm.
Take him to France immediately. He cannot stay in England.
take him to france now.
How long a time lies in one little word!
Four lagging winters and four wanton springs
End in a word: such is the breath of kings.
My liege, I take my leave of you. My kinsman York will see me off.
Goodbye, your majesty. My uncle York will take me to the ship.
goodbye. uncle york takes me.
I thank my liege that in regard of me
He shortens four years of my son’s exile;
But little vantage shall I reap thereby,
For, ere the six years that he hath to spend
Can change their moons and bring their times about,
My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light
Shall be extinct with age and endless night;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done,
And blindfold death not let me see my son.
Uncle, even for God I cannot weep. But, dry your tears. I am not worth The dust upon your tears, I say. As the more precious the thing, The greater the pain when lost. Go, say thy last farewells to those thee love, And thou shalt have thy nephew's prayers. The last thing I beseech thee, Let not my sadness follow thee into exile.
Uncle, I cannot even cry. But don't you cry either. I'm not worth your tears. The more precious something is, The deeper the pain when you lose it. Go say goodbye to those you love. You'll have my prayers with you. Just don't let my sadness come with you into exile.
uncle i can't cry. don't you cry either. i'm not worth it. my sadness can't go with you.
Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.
I go. Farewell.
Goodbye.
goodbye.
But not a minute, king, that thou canst give.
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow.
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage;
Thy word is current with him for my death,
But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
You bid me to my sorrow, Henry. But to thy sorrow I will add increase Unless the good old King came in some way To comfort thee, and all thy woes assuage. What's left in life for old men like myself? A kingdom without a son! O, Harry, how my blood grows cold When I look at that dull season Where thou must leave me friendless, still alone! My dying eyes shall not see thee again.
You're sending me to sorrow, Henry, And I have nothing left to comfort you. What do I have at my age? A son who's leaving! Harry, my blood runs cold When I think of the long years ahead When you're gone and I'm alone. I'll never see you again before I die.
harry you're leaving me. my blood runs cold. i'll die before i see you again.
Thy son is banished upon good advice,
Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave.
Why at our justice seem’st thou then to lour?
But be it as it may, I here entail The kingdom to thee and to thine heirs. Come, my son, embrace me.
No matter what happens, I promise you The kingdom will be yours and your children's. Come, let me hold you.
the kingdom is yours. come.
Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour.
You urged me as a judge, but I had rather
You would have bid me argue like a father.
O, had it been a stranger, not my child,
To smooth his fault I should have been more mild.
A partial slander sought I to avoid,
And in the sentence my own life destroyed.
Alas, I looked when some of you should say
I was too strict to make mine own away;
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue
Against my will to do myself this wrong.
O, Harry, England nay, old Gaunt, doth speak Through me and cannot say what thou must hear: Yet something speaks within my breast Which nothing else can open but a woman's tears. Pray thee go not forth without this blessing: God make thee prosperous wherever thou art bound. Thy father's prayers go with thee to strange lands. Be thou as iron and steel whilst abroad, But soft as silk with those who love thee dear. And when thou comest home to England again— And thou shalt—mark me, Harry, thou shalt come— My heart shall lean upon thy constancy.
Harry, your old father is broken And I don't know what to say. But I will say this with my whole heart: May God make you prosper wherever you go. My prayers go with you. Be strong and hard while you're away, But gentle with those who love you. And when you come back to England— And you will come back, I know it— My heart will rest on your loyalty.
my blessings go with you. may god help you. be strong and hard. but gentle with those who love you. you'll come home. and i'll be waiting.
Cousin, farewell, and, uncle, bid him so.
Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
Thank you, my father, and my gracious liege. I will be constant and be strong.
Thank you, father, and my king. I will be true and strong.
thank you. i'll be strong.
Cousin, farewell. What presence must not know,
From where you do remain let paper show.
Your sorrow makes you thus infirm. Come away.
Grief is overwhelming you. Come, let's go.
come let's go.
My lord, no leave take I, for I will ride,
As far as land will let me, by your side.
Our officers at arms, see it be done.
Make sure everything is done properly.
make it right.
O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words,
That thou return’st no greeting to thy friends?
Farewell, my liege. Now let me go. My sorrow outweighs my speech.
Goodbye, your majesty. I cannot speak anymore.
goodbye. i can't speak.
I have too few to take my leave of you,
When the tongue’s office should be prodigal
To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart.
My lord, I'll bring him to the sea, And faithfully will see him off.
I'll take him to the ship and make sure he leaves.
i'll take him to the ship.
Thy grief is but thy absence for a time.
Fare thee well, my son.
Goodbye, my son.
goodbye son.
Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
And I thank thee for 't.
Thank you.
thank you.
What is six winters? They are quickly gone.
Come, come away.
Let's go.
let's go.
To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten.
We have done.
We're done.
done.
Call it a travel that thou tak’st for pleasure.
Come on.
Let's go.
let's go.
My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.
Go. Your duty done. England remains firm while the throne is here.
Go. You've done your duty. England is safe.
go. england is safe.
The sullen passage of thy weary steps
Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home return.
So my old body shall embrace the earth Before the sun could light another day.
My old body will be in the earth Before the next sunrise.
i'll be dead soon.
Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
Will but remember me what a deal of world
I wander from the jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages, and in the end,
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
But that I was a journeyman to grief?
I thank you for your kindness. When God shall call me from this exile, I shall return to England. Let me depart in peace.
Thank you for your kindness. When God calls me, I'll come home. Let me go in peace.
let me go. thank you.
All places that the eye of heaven visits
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
Teach thy necessity to reason thus:
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not the King did banish thee,
But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not the King exiled thee; or suppose
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou com’st.
Suppose the singing birds musicians,
The grass whereon thou tread’st the presence strewed,
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance;
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
Uncle, when comes the hour I shall be old, And my young limbs shall crumble into dust, And this old world shall crumble to decay, I think of England then and of thy face, And of the kindness that we had before. But when at last I come to England's shore, Shall I find thee sleeping under stone? Or shall I kneel beside thy silent tomb And speak thy name when all the world is mute? I leave thee now and know not when to come, Nor if thou shalt be waiting when I do. Therefore receive my parting prayer, my Lord: That heaven shall grant thee peace till we meet again. But whether I shall see thee living or dead, I go this day, and all my hope lies there. Farewell, my uncle and my gentle king. I shall remember all thy kindness well. And when I stand again on English soil, I'll think of thee and of this bitter hour.
Uncle, when I'm old and gray, And I've spent years in exile, I'll think of England and your face. But will you still be alive when I return? Or will I find you in your grave? Will I have to speak your name to empty air? I leave you now and don't know when I'll return. I don't know if you'll be waiting. So I ask heaven to protect you Until we meet again. I leave now, and all my hope goes with me. Goodbye, uncle, my kind king. I'll remember your kindness forever. And when I come home, I'll remember this bitter day.
when i'm old will you still be alive? or will you be dead? i don't know if we'll meet again. i go now. all my hope goes with me. goodbye uncle. i'll remember you.
O, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer’s heat?
O no, the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse.
Fell sorrow’s tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites but lanceth not the sore.
How is it that the younger generation Makes the old weak in the knees? Methinks I hear a voice from heaven speaking, Telling me thy son shall be revenged, And that the time shall come when he returns To shake the pillars of this dying throne. But no, I cannot speak it. Mine old age doth forbid me. Yet something in my heart tells me That Harry shall triumph in this dark hour. But first must be thy death, old Gaunt, farewell. And let the young man take his way. Go, Harry. Go and meet thy fate. For God is with thee, and thy father's ghost Shall walk beside thee on thy path of pain.
Why does youth break an old man's heart? It feels like heaven is speaking, Telling me my son will return And shake this dying throne. But I can't say that. I'm too old. But something tells me My son will win. But first I must die. Go, Harry. Go meet your fate. God is with you. My ghost will walk beside you.
why does youth break old men? i feel it. my son will return. will shake this throne. but i'll be dead. go harry. god is with you. my ghost walks with you.
Come, come, my son, I’ll bring thee on thy way.
Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.
Come, Gaunt, go with me. We have heard enough of sorrow for today.
Come, Gaunt. Let's go. We've heard enough sadness.
come gaunt. let's go.
Then, England’s ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu,
My mother and my nurse that bears me yet!
Where’er I wander, boast of this I can,
Though banished, yet a true-born Englishman.
Come, my lord, I shall attend. My lord the king, my soul is grieved For what I've seen and heard in this sad place. But I shall go and bear this pain with patience.
I'm coming, my lord. My heart is broken By all I've seen and heard. But I'll bear it with patience.
i'll bear it with patience.
The Reckoning
This scene is a masterclass in Richard's genius for using ceremony to avoid accountability — and in how that genius ultimately makes everything worse. He stages the most elaborate public event in the play, lets both men prepare to die, then stops it at the last possible second and banishes both. Everyone is left humiliated: Mowbray loses everything, Bolingbroke loses six years of his life, and Gaunt loses his son. The private grief in the scene's second half — Gaunt and Bolingbroke's farewell — is heartbreaking precisely because it's so clipped, so inadequate to the loss. Gaunt tries to philosophize the pain away and Bolingbroke politely demolishes every comfort he offers.
If this happened today…
A tech founder calls a formal all-hands to resolve an internal dispute between two executives, complete with the full presentation setup and seating chart. Everyone prepares their case. At the last moment — just before testimony begins — he announces he's putting both executives on involuntary leave, citing 'cultural fit' and 'company stability.' One is gone for good. The other is told to come back in six years. The founder returns to his meetings. In the parking lot, the exiled executive's father tries to talk him through it with mindfulness advice. The son says: you can't think your way out of a six-year exile.