Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

My heart is great, but it must break with silence

And long live Henry, fourth of that name!

A little, little grave.

Go signify as much.

Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself,

My Lord of Hereford here,

Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.

We see the very wreck that we must suffer,

Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord, than this weak arm.

I mock my name, great King, to flatter thee.

Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,

No, it is stopped with other, flattering sounds.

Revolt, our subjects? That we cannot mend.

So we shall proceed

The shadow of your sorrow hath destroyed

It stands your grace upon to do him right.

Yet I'll hammer it out.

Nor friends nor foes to me welcome you are.

'To come at traitors' calls and do them grace.

As theirs, so mine and all be as it is.

I am greater than a king

My lord, one word.

Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.

What?! Are they dead?! They are.

Ere her native king shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.

That horse that I so carefully have dressed!

The friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,

Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,

To show the world I am a gentleman.

In him, a royal prince, and many more

You have misled a prince,

For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,

I have had feelings of my cousin's wrongs

This we prescribe, though no physician;

Unkinged Richard says,

Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe,

So, when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke -

And all your northern castles yielded up,

Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet,

I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.

Plucked from my arms perforce and given away

The task he undertakes

Of such as have before endured the like.

And that small model of the barren earth

Now mark me, how I will undo myself;

Then I must not say no.

Than the elements of fire and water,

Were I but now the lord of such hot youth

Hadst thou groan'd for him

Had you first died and he been thus trod down,

His treasons will sit blushing in his face,

Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies,

This way the king will come;

To change blows with thee for our day of doom.

What say you now?!

But if I could, by Him that gave me life,

We thank thee for thy pains.

Welcome, my lord. What news?

Whilst you have fed upon my signories,

When I do see the very book indeed

Depressed he is already, and deposed he will be.

Let's all go visit him.

For Time hath set a blot upon my pride.

Think that I am unkinged by Bolingbroke,

A prince by fortune of my birth,

That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.

Little joy have I

To reach at victory above my head,

Order the trial, Marshal, and begin.

Saddle my horse! Give me my boots I say!

To my inheritance of free descent.

He shall be none;

Of neither, girl.

Nor never by advised purpose meet

The noble Duke hath been much abused.

DISTANT MUSIC PLAYS

Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.

With mine own tears I wash away my balm,

Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up

The state and inclination of the day.

And therein fasting hast thou made me gaunt.

Your heart is up, I know.

Which since we cannot do to make you friends,

Covering your fearful land with hard, bright steel

I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,

A puny subject strikes at thy great glory.

Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs,

Or worthily, as a good subject should,

Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground?

Dogs easily won to fawn on any man!

Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips,

Digged their graves with weeping eyes.

And thy steps no more

The plate, coin, revenues and moveables

Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,

In God's name, let it go.

It will the woefullest division prove

Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me.

And these external manners of laments

To stand upon my kingdom once again.

They shall not live within this world,

We'll keep him here, then what is that to him?

The King is not himself, but basely led

For that our kingdom's earth should not be soiled

And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in arms.

Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,

To do what service am I sent for hither?

Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.

Let pity teach thee how:

In God's name and the King's, say who thou art

No deeper wrinkles yet?

And hardly kept our countrymen together,

Is made my gaoler to attend on me.

That not only givest

So, fare you well.

And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs,

Thy life answer! I will unto the king.

The eyes of men,

O who can hold a fire in his hand

Take Hereford's rights away and take from time

When time is broke and no proportion kept!

My heart was not confederate with my hand.

Thus plated in habiliments of war.

But for our trusty Bishop and the Abbot,

I'll be the yielding water.

Hath Bolingbroke deposed thine intellect?