Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

And all too soon, I fear,
Helping him to all;
My loving lord, I take my leave of you.
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay.
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
With mine own tongue
This must my comfort be,
That laid the sentence of dread banishment on yon proud man,
Are we not high?
Look not to the ground, ye favourites of a king.
Oh, God. Oh, God!
YORK SOBS
What subject can give sentence on his king?
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Both who they are and why they come hither
Hither come, even at his feet, to lay my arms and power,
And what loss is it to be rid of care?
Eating the bitter bread of banishment,
And to Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now.
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head
Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!
The sun that warms you here shall shine on me
Thou shalt think,
Since thou hast far to go,
Six frozen winters spent,
But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
'Tis well that thou hast cause.
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Madam, we'll tell tales.
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech,
A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
I will unfold some causes of your deaths.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold of Bolingbroke
And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
So Judas did to Christ
With all swift speed you must away to France.
Descending now from him;
No, no,
Where's the Duke, my father, with his power?
Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come.
Hath from the number of his banished years
Darest with thy frozen admonition
To execution and the hand of death.
To breathe this news;
Our part therein we banish with yourselves
How high a pitch his resolution soars!
The noble Duke hath sworn his coming is
Though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer,
I find myself a traitor with the rest;
Stay and be secret, and myself will go.
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
Set on towards London, cousin, is it so?
And do thee favours with my royal hands.
Madam, 'tis too true. Despair not, madam.
Whilst, on the earth, I rain my waters.
[SE] Is Spotless Reputation
As in a theatre,
Deep malice makes too deep incision.
Wert thou not my father's father's son,
O belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle.
We will ourself in person to this war,
A deed of slander
We at time of year
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Alas, poor Duke!
What words he spake.
And thy aunt, great king; 'tis I.
Cut off the heads of too-fast growing sprays,
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Both of them at Lancaster lost their heads.
Of sorrow or of joy?
Besides a clergyman of holy reverence - who, I cannot learn.
My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.
The next news is, I have to London brought
Would not this ill do well?
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
To insinuate,
And, cousin too, adieu:
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
God save your grace.
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
In London streets, that coronation-day,
HE LAUGHS
Of this hard world,
Are Bushy and Green dead?
No, Bolingbroke.
That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous,
More welcome is the stroke of death to me
And thou with all pleased,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?
That lift your vassal hands against my head
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
And you that do abet him in this kind
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see:
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves within the earth.
And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay.
Is now bound in with shame!
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp
Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry.