Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

My native English, now I must forego.

Though some of you with Pilate wash your hands

Shall ill become

Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.

I die pronouncing it -

Their fruits of duty.

I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,

What, think you then the king shall be deposed?

The resignation of thy state and crown

And these same thoughts people this little world,

Discharge my followers.

Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?

Of fair King Richard's land,

Although I be not he;

Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace

Must he submit?

Or lesser than my name!

Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood

How is't with aged Gaunt?

Whose duty is deceivable and false.

Come, lady, go,

For heaven still guards the right.

Lay on our royal sword your banished hands.

Armies of pestilence!

Now he that made me knows I see thee ill.

High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.

Good aunt, stand up.

When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, is full of weeds,

You holy clergymen,

Condemns you to the death.

Found truth in all but one

Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench.

Good mother, be content;

The treason that my haste forbid me show.

How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now?

The appellant in all duty greets your highness

And all this famous land.

To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour,

Some way of common trade,

Cousin, farewell, and uncle, bid him so.

My ragged prison walls,

But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep.

Whom you call king,

And entertain a cheerful disposition.

This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

Did I this deed.

But since I cannot,

O that I were as great as is my grief,

In gross rebellion and detested treason.

By that dear blood which it hath fostered

Let me prophesy

Which live like venom where no venom else

How to lament the cause.

But, ere the crown he looks for live in peace,

The flower of England's face,

You shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,

And that he is a bastard, not thy son

Whilst others come to make him lose at home.

Come I appellant to this princely presence.

Because my power is weak and all ill-left

I do beseech your grace to pardon me

Alack, poor Richard!

Say, is my kingdom lost?

Are idly bent on him who enters next,

What you will have, I'll give, and willing, too;

Well you deserve.

And yet we hear no tidings from the King.

Thou dost beguile me!

Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords.

Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord.

The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent.

From plume-plucked Richard;

And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars

If judgment lie in them, then so do we,

Say, pardon first, and afterwards stand up.

But who comes here?

Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,

Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,

let me see the writing.

Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.

For there it is, cracked in a hundred shivers.

We will for Ireland, and 'tis time.

I do not sue to stand;

With too much urging your pernicious lives

But then, more why - why have they dared to march

My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!

So weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,

Doth humbly kiss thy hand,

As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself

For on my heart they tread now whilst I live.

Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting,

First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me

To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.

ROSS: And living, too, for now his son is duke.

And we are barren and bereft of friends,

All must be even in our government.

The heads of Bagot and Sir Stephen Scroop.

Cousin, I am too young to be your father,

To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul,

Peruse this writing here,

I never long'd to hear a word till now;

Lies in their purses and whoso empties them,

Thither will I with you,

This dear, dear land,

Comfort, my liege.