Madam, your Majesty is too much sad.
You promised, when you parted with the King,
To lay aside life-harming heaviness
And entertain a cheerful disposition.
Madam, your Majesty is too much sad. When you left the King, you promised to put aside this life-destroying sorrow and entertain a cheerful manner.
My lady, you're too sad. Remember when the King left? You said you'd be happier. You promised to cheer up.
dont be so sad you promised to cheer up when richard left
To please the King I did; to please myself
I cannot do it. Yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard. Yet again methinks,
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in Fortune’s womb,
Is coming towards me, and my inward soul
With nothing trembles. At something it grieves
More than with parting from my lord the King.
I pretended cheerfulness to please the King, but I cannot do it for myself. I don't know why grief is here at all—except that I just said goodbye to someone as sweet as Richard. Yet I sense something else: some unborn sorrow, heavy in Fortune's womb, is coming toward me. My inner soul trembles at nothing, yet it grieves more than at parting from the King.
I did it for Richard, but I can't do it for myself. I don't know why grief is here—except missing him. But there's something else. I feel something coming. Something not born yet, but ready. Something worse than him leaving. My whole inside is shaking, and it's not about him being gone. It's something I can't even name.
i feel something coming nothing i can name worst than him leaving its pulling at me from inside
Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,
Which shows like grief itself, but is not so;
For sorrow’s eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects,
Like perspectives which, rightly gazed upon,
Show nothing but confusion; eyed awry,
Distinguish form. So your sweet Majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord’s departure,
Find shapes of grief more than himself to wail,
Which, looked on as it is, is naught but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious Queen,
More than your lord’s departure weep not. More is not seen,
Or if it be, ’tis with false sorrow’s eye,
Which for things true weeps things imaginary.
Grief has many shadows that look like grief but are not. When eyes are blinded by tears, one thing divides into many objects—like pictures that look confused straight on but show clear form when viewed at an angle. So your Majesty, looking sideways at the King's departure, sees many shapes of grief beyond the man himself. Viewed directly, it's nothing but shadows of what's not there. Don't cry more than his departure. More is not seen, or if it is, you're using false sorrow's eye that weeps for imaginary things instead of real ones.
Look, grief makes copies of itself. Your eyes are full of tears, so they turn one thing into many things. You know how some pictures look blurry straight on but clear when you look at them from an angle? That's you right now. You're seeing a hundred reasons to cry when really there's just one. If you look straight, it's nothing but shadows. Stop crying more than what actually happened. Either there's nothing more, or you're crying about things that aren't real.
youre making it bigger your tears multiplying one thing into many things if you look straight theres just one thing
It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me it is otherwise. Howe’er it be,
I cannot but be sad—so heavy sad
As thought, in thinking, on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
It may be as you say, but my inward soul tells me otherwise. No matter, I cannot but be sad—so heavy sad that thinking on nothing makes me faint and shrink with the weight of that nothing.
Maybe you're right. But something inside me knows different. I can't help being sad. I'm so heavy with it that even empty thoughts exhaust me. The weight of nothing is crushing me.
i know something you dont understand im heavy nothing crushes me i cant shake it
’Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
It's just imagination, Your Majesty.
It's all in your head, ma'am.
it's just in your mind
’Tis nothing less. Conceit is still derived
From some forefather grief. Mine is not so,
For nothing hath begot my something grief,
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve.
’Tis in reversion that I do possess,
But what it is, that is not yet known what,
I cannot name. ’Tis nameless woe, I wot.
It is not imaginary. Imaginary sadness always comes from some past grief. Mine does not come from the past. Nothing has caused my sadness, or something has caused a sadness I cannot identify. It is like an inheritance I will receive, but I do not know what it is yet. I cannot name it. It is sadness without a name, I know.
No, this is real. Normal sadness comes from something that happened before. But mine is different. Nothing caused it, and yet I grieve. It is like I am waiting to inherit something, but I do not know what. I cannot even name this sadness.
it's not imagination no clear cause sadness with no name
God save your majesty! And well met, gentlemen.
I hope the King is not yet shipped for Ireland.
God protect your majesty! I am glad to see you all. I hope the King has not yet sailed to Ireland.
God bless you, your majesty! Good to see you. I hope the King has not left for Ireland yet.
god bless you hope the king hasn't left for ireland
The Queen of Richard II doesn't appear in the major historical sources as a significant figure — she was in fact a twelve-year-old girl when the events of the play took place. Shakespeare ages her up and gives her something unusual in this play full of political operators: a purely emotional form of knowledge. Before she has any information, she knows. Bushy tries to explain it away with a sophisticated optical metaphor — anamorphic pictures, distorted vision — and he is completely wrong. The Queen's 'nameless woe' is accurate. This is a structural gambit: by showing us her premonition being fulfilled almost immediately, Shakespeare signals that the play will operate partly on an emotional logic that precedes and sometimes exceeds political logic. The Queen can see what's coming not because she's better informed but because she's more honest with herself than everyone else in the scene. It's also, quietly, one of the more feminist moves in the history plays: the woman who isn't allowed to act politically turns out to have better political intelligence than the men who are.
Why hop’st thou so? ’Tis better hope he is,
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope.
Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipped?
Why are you hoping for that? It's better that he has already sailed, because his plans require speed and his sailing shows good intention. So why would you hope he hasn't sailed yet?
Why do you hope he hasn't sailed? He needs to move fast for this to work, so it's good he's already gone. So why are you hoping he hasn't left?
why do you hope he hasn't sailed? his plan needs him to move fast, so it's good he's already there
That he, our hope, might have retired his power,
And driven into despair an enemy’s hope
Who strongly hath set footing in this land.
The banished Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arrived
At Ravenspurgh.
If the King had returned home with his forces, he could have destroyed the enemy who has established himself here. But instead, the banished Bolingbroke has returned to England and has safely landed at Ravenspurgh with his army ready.
The King could have come back and crushed the enemy gaining power here. But Bolingbroke, who was banished, has returned and landed safely at Ravenspurgh with his forces.
king could've crushed the threat instead bolingbroke landed at ravenspurgh
Now God in heaven forbid!
Now may God in heaven forbid this!
May God in heaven prevent this!
god forbid no
Ah, madam, ’tis too true; and that is worse,
The Lord Northumberland, his son young Harry Percy,
The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
Yes, madam, it is sadly true. And what makes it worse is that Lord Northumberland, his son Harry Percy, the Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, along with all their powerful supporters, have joined Bolingbroke.
Yes, madam, it is true. And it gets worse—Northumberland, his son Harry Percy, the Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, plus all their allies, have gone over to Bolingbroke.
it's true all the nobles defected to bolingbroke
Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland
And all the rest revolted faction traitors?
Why have you not announced that Northumberland and all the other rebels are traitors?
Why have you not declared Northumberland and his allies as traitors?
why haven't you proclaimed them traitors
We have, whereupon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broken his staff, resigned his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him
To Bolingbroke.
We have proclaimed them traitors, and the Earl of Worcester has broken his staff of office, resigned his position, and all his household servants have fled with him to Bolingbroke.
Yes, we have, and the Earl of Worcester has broken his staff and quit his job, and everyone who worked for him has run off to Bolingbroke.
yeah we did, and worcester just broke his staff and quit - all his people went to bolingbroke
So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,
And Bolingbroke my sorrow’s dismal heir.
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,
And I, a gasping new-delivered mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow joined.
So, Green, you are the midwife to my sorrow, and Bolingbroke is sorrow's terrible heir. My soul has now brought forth her monstrous child, and I, like a mother gasping after labor, have sorrow piled upon sorrow, loss joined to loss.
So you're the one delivering my pain, Green. And Bolingbroke is the monster being born. My soul just gave birth, and I'm left gasping, drowning in layer after layer of loss. It's like sorrow on top of sorrow, pain on top of pain.
youre delivering my pain bolingbroke is whats born my soul gave birth to this sorrow on sorrow my inside is torn
Despair not, madam.
Do not despair, madam.
Don't give up, my lady.
dont give up
Who shall hinder me?
I will despair and be at enmity
With cozening hope. He is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false hope lingers in extremity.
Who will stop me? I will despair. I will make myself the enemy of false hope. Hope is a flatterer, a parasite, a death-postponer that gently dissolves the bonds of life. False hope lingers when you are at the edge, keeping you alive to suffer more.
Who's going to stop me? I'm choosing despair. Hope is a liar, a parasite, a thing that keeps you alive just so you can suffer longer. It dissolves the ties that hold your life together. False hope sits there at the edge and won't let you go.
im choosing despair hope is a liar keeping me alive to hurt more false hope wont let go
The scene gives us York at his most characteristic and most pitiable: a man of genuine intelligence and genuine loyalty who cannot, even in a crisis, decide what to do. He understands the constitutional argument (he made it in 2-1). He loves Richard. He knows Richard is wrong. He acknowledges Bolingbroke has been wronged. He talks to himself — 'the one is my sovereign... the other is my kinsman' — in circles that arrive at 'well, somewhat we must do.' His solution is to muster men for Richard while privately acknowledging he won't be able to stop Bolingbroke. York's paralysis is not stupidity or cowardice — it's the genuine impossibility of the situation Richard created. By violating succession law, Richard made it impossible for a man of principle to remain loyal. York can't choose because both choices betray something real. He will spend the rest of the play in this bind, eventually siding with Bolingbroke and then discovering new reasons for loyalty that are equally unstable.
Here comes the Duke of York.
The Duke of York is arriving.
That is York coming now.
york arrives
With signs of war about his aged neck.
O! full of careful business are his looks!
Uncle, for God’s sake, speak comfortable words.
He carries signs of war around his aged neck. His face is full of careful worry. Uncle, for God's sake, speak some word of comfort.
He's got the weight of war on his old shoulders. His face is all anxiety. Uncle, please, just say something that doesn't break us.
war marks his old neck his face is all worry uncle please say something good
Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts.
Comfort’s in heaven, and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief.
Your husband, he is gone to save far off,
Whilst others come to make him lose at home.
Here am I left to underprop his land,
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends that flattered him.
If I did, I would be lying. Comfort lives in heaven; we are here on earth, where nothing exists but hardship, worry, and sorrow. Your husband is far away trying to save the kingdom, while others plot to take it from him. I am left here to prop up his land with these weak old bones. I cannot even support myself. The reckoning for his past pleasures is coming due. He will now discover which of his friends were true and which were false.
If I said that, I'd be lying to you. Comfort is somewhere in heaven. We're down here on earth with nothing but trouble and pain. Richard's gone trying to save things overseas, and meanwhile people are stealing his throne. I'm supposed to hold this kingdom up with an old man's body. I can barely hold myself up. Now he's going to find out who his real friends are—and they won't be the ones who pretended.
i cant lie to you comfort is in heaven we are in hell richard away people stealing im old i cant hold this up he'll learn who was fake
My lord, your son was gone before I came.
My lord, your son had already left before I arrived.
My lord, your son left. He's gone.
your son already gone
He was? Why, so! Go all which way it will!
The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford’s side.
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester;
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound.
Hold, take my ring.
He was? So be it then. Everything will happen as it happens. The nobles have fled, the commons have gone cold, and I fear they will go over to Bolingbroke's side. Servant, go to Plashy, to my sister the Duchess of Gloucester. Tell her to send me a thousand pounds immediately. Here, take my ring as proof.
Already? Fine. So that's how it is. Let it go the way it's going. The nobles are running, the common people don't care, and they're going to side with Bolingbroke. Listen—go to my sister at Plashy. Tell her I need a thousand pounds right now. Take my ring. Show her.
gone everything falls nobles fled people dont care going to bolingbroke i need money now take my ring go to plashy
My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship:
Today, as I came by, I called there—
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
My lord, I had forgotten to tell you something. I visited there today on my way here, but I'm afraid what comes next will grieve you.
My lord, I forgot to mention something. I stopped there on the way. But this will hurt to hear.
i went there today forgot to tell you this will hurt
What is’t, knave?
What is it, man?
Tell me.
what is it?
Bushy, Green, and Bagot are usually played as villains — Richard's parasites, the 'caterpillars of the commonwealth' that Bolingbroke will later accuse of ruining England. But this scene gives them something more nuanced. They know exactly what is happening and why, they assess the situation with more accuracy than anyone else in the scene, and then they make rational survival decisions. Bushy and Green go to Bristol; Bagot goes to Ireland. None of them is delusional. What they share is the knowledge that proximity to a fallen king is lethal — and that their safety depends entirely on Richard's return. Green's final farewell — 'once, for all, and ever' — has the weight of a gravestone inscription. Bagot's premonition that they'll never meet again is literally correct: he will be the only one to survive and will appear again in 4-1 as a witness rather than a friend. Shakespeare uses their dispersal to show us the political physics of regime collapse: everyone around the king runs simultaneously, which is why no one is left to help him.
An hour before I came, the Duchess died.
An hour before I arrived, the Duchess died.
The Duchess died an hour before I got there.
duchess died an hour ago
God for his mercy, what a tide of woes
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
I know not what to do. I would to God,
So my untruth had not provoked him to it,
The King had cut off my head with my brother’s.
What, are there no posts dispatched for Ireland?
How shall we do for money for these wars?
Come, sister—cousin, I would say, pray, pardon me.
Go, fellow, get thee home; provide some carts
And bring away the armour that is there.
God, have mercy—what a flood of sorrows comes rushing on this sorrowful land all at once! I don't know what to do. I wish to God, if my disloyalty had not provoked him to it, the King had cut off my head with my brother's. Are there no messengers sent to Ireland? How will we get money for these wars? Come, sister—cousin, I mean to say, forgive me. Go, fellow, get yourself home; get some carts ready and bring away the armor that is there.
God have mercy—what a flood of troubles pours down on this sad land all at once! I don't know what to do. I wish to God that if my betrayal hadn't pushed him to this, the King had killed me along with my brother. Are there no messengers going to Ireland? Where are we going to get money for these wars? Come here, sister—I mean cousin, sorry. Go, fellow, get yourself home. Get some carts together and bring back the armor that's there.
god have mercy a flood of sorrow hits this land i don't know what to do i wish the king had killed me with my brother if my disloyalty hadn't caused this where are the messengers to ireland? where's the money for these wars? come here sister—i mean cousin sorry go get carts bring back the armor
Gentlemen, will you go muster men?
If I know how or which way to order these affairs
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen.
Th’ one is my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th’ other again
Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged,
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin,
I’ll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkeley Castle.
I should to Plashy too,
But time will not permit. All is uneven,
And everything is left at six and seven.
Gentlemen, will you go raise troops? If I truly know how to manage these chaotic affairs thrust upon me, then believe me. Both are my kinsmen—one is my sovereign, whom oath and duty require me to defend, and the other is my relative, whom the king has wronged, and whom my conscience and kinship compel me to aid. Well, something must be done. Come, cousin, I will assign your duties. Gentlemen, gather your men and meet me promptly at Berkeley Castle. I should go to Plashy as well, but time does not allow. All is in chaos, and everything lies in complete disorder.
Gentlemen, will you gather some troops? If I know how to sort out all this chaos dumped on my shoulders, then trust me. I've got relatives on both sides—one is the king I'm sworn to protect, and the other is my cousin who the king has wronged and who I feel I should help too. Look, we need to do something about this. Come on, cousin, I'll organize things. Men, round up your soldiers and meet me at Berkeley Castle right now. I should go to Plashy as well, but there's just no time. Everything is a complete mess and in total confusion.
gather troops asap torn between king & wronged cousin both my duty & my conscience everything's chaos meet at berkeley castle now no time for plashy
The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,
But none returns. For us to levy power
Proportionable to the enemy
Is all unpossible.
The wind is favorable for news to reach Ireland, but none comes back. For us to raise an army equal to the enemy is completely impossible.
Messages can get to Richard, but nothing comes back. We can't raise enough soldiers to fight what's coming.
wind goes to ireland nothing returns we cant raise an army to match what comes
Besides, our nearness to the King in love
Is near the hate of those love not the King.
Besides, we are close to the King's heart in favor, which means we are close to the hatred of those who don't love him.
And the people who love Richard hate everyone who's close to him. Including us.
we are close to richard so we are hated by everyone who loves him
Bagot is Richard's most politically perceptive flatterer — he knows which way things are going before the others do, and his instinct is always to run toward the king rather than away. Watch for his one-line assessments that turn out to be exactly right.
And that is the wavering commons, for their love
Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
And that's the fickle common people, whose love lives in their wallets. Whoever empties those wallets fills their hearts with murderous hate.
And that's the crowd. Their love is money. Whoever gives them money wins their hearts. Whoever takes it away makes them want to kill.
the commons their love is cash whoever pays them they love whoever takes they kill
Wherein the King stands generally condemned.
That's exactly what the King is condemned for everywhere.
And that's why Richard is hated everywhere.
thats why richard is hated
Scene 2-2 is bordered by two deaths. Gaunt died in 2-1; the Duchess of Gloucester dies offstage during this scene. Together they represent the last of the old order — the generation of Edward III that knew what England was and what it could be. Gaunt's final accusation to Richard and the Duchess's grief (back in 1-2) both pointed toward Gloucester's murder and England's moral corruption. With both of them gone, there is no one left to speak that kind of truth to power. The generation that might have constrained Richard is gone. What replaces them is Northumberland's pragmatism, Bolingbroke's ambition, and York's ineffectual anxiety. The scene's news of the Duchess's death lands in a single line — 'an hour before I came, the Duchess died' — and York's response mixes grief with a request for her armor. Shakespeare is being exact about the way catastrophe collapses everything: there's no time to mourn because the crisis won't pause.
If judgment lie in them, then so do we,
Because we ever have been near the King.
If the people's judgment counts, then our judgment is also against us, because we have always been close to the King.
If the mob decides things, then we're guilty too. Because we've always been with Richard.
if they judge we are guilty for being close to richard
Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol Castle.
The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
Well, I'll go straight to Bristol Castle for shelter. The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.
I'm going to Bristol Castle. Wiltshire is already there. That's safe.
bristol castle safety wiltshire is there
Thither will I with you, for little office
Will the hateful commons perform for us,
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
Will you go along with us?
I'll go with you. The hateful common people will never help us—their only action will be to tear us apart like dogs. Will you go with us?
I'm coming too. The mob won't help us. They'll just rip us to pieces. Come with us?
im coming the mob will tear us apart come with us?
No, I will to Ireland to his Majesty.
Farewell. If heart’s presages be not vain,
We three here part that ne’er shall meet again.
No, I'm going to Ireland to his Majesty. Goodbye. If my instinct is right, we three will part here and never meet again.
No. I'm going to Ireland. To Richard. Goodbye. If I'm right—and I think I am—we're never going to see each other again.
im going to ireland to richard goodbye if im right we three will never meet again
That’s as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.
That all depends on whether York can stop Bolingbroke.
Only if York can beat Bolingbroke.
only if york beats bolingbroke
Alas, poor Duke! The task he undertakes
Is numb’ring sands and drinking oceans dry.
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever.
Alas, poor Duke! What he's trying to do is like counting sand and drinking the oceans dry. Where one man on his side fights, thousands will run away. Goodbye. This is goodbye—once and for all, forever.
Poor York. He's trying to do something impossible—like counting sand or drinking the ocean. For every one soldier he has, thousands will desert. This is it. Final goodbye. Forever.
poor york impossible task one fights thousands flee this is goodbye forever for all
Well, we may meet again.
Well, we might meet again.
Maybe we'll see each other again.
maybe we meet again
I fear me, never.
I'm afraid we won't.
I don't think we will.
i dont think so
The Reckoning
Everything the audience feared in 2-1 arrives at speed. The Queen's nameless grief turns out to have been accurate all along — she sensed the invasion before she knew it. York, left to govern, discovers he has no army, no money, and a dead wife, and still cannot decide which kinsman to betray. By the scene's end, even Richard's closest supporters are running. The regime is already over; it just doesn't know it yet.
If this happened today…
The CEO's wife texts a friend: 'I can't explain it, but something terrible is coming — I can feel it before it happens.' Then the head of communications bursts in: 'It's live. The disgruntled VP posted everything. It's everywhere.' The COO arrives — frantic, wearing his emergency preparedness vest — to report that the board chair resigned, the PR firm dropped them, and the company's biggest critic just raised $50M. He can't decide whether to defend the CEO or call the VP back. His lawyer texts him that his own wife just died. He gives three contradictory orders and leaves. The remaining staff immediately start updating their LinkedIn profiles.