NORTHUMBERLAND.
Read o’er this paper while the glass doth come.
KING RICHARD.
Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell!
BOLINGBROKE.
Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
The commons will not then be satisfied.
KING RICHARD.
They shall be satisfied. I’ll read enough
When I do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that’s myself.
Re-enter Attendant with glass.
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!
[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.