DUKE OF YORK.
As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious;
Even so, or with much more contempt, men’s eyes
Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried ‘God save him!’
For God's sake let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings: How some have been deposed, some slain in war, Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd, Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd; All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Then call them to our presence:
face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser and the accused freely speak
The appellant in all duty greets your highness,
And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave.
KING RICHARD II.
We will descend and fold him in our arms.