How now, how now? What say the citizens?
What news? What did the citizens say?
So what happened? What did people say?
what did the citizens say?
Now, by the holy mother of our Lord,
The citizens are mum, say not a word.
By God's grace, my lord, the citizens said nothing—not a word.
I swear, they didn't say anything. Not a word.
they were silent completely silent not a word
Touched you the bastardy of Edward’s children?
Did you address the question of Edward's children being illegitimate?
Did you make the case about Edward's kids being bastards?
did you present the bastardy argument?
I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy,
And his contract by deputy in France;
Th’ insatiate greediness of his desire,
And his enforcement of the city wives;
His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy,
As being got, your father then in France,
And his resemblance, being not like the Duke.
Withal, I did infer your lineaments,
Being the right idea of your father,
Both in your form and nobleness of mind;
Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace,
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility;
Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose
Untouched or slightly handled in discourse.
And when mine oratory drew toward end,
I bid them that did love their country’s good
Cry “God save Richard, England’s royal King!”
I did—Edward's pre-contract with Lady Lucy made his later marriage invalid. His contract through an ambassador to Bona of France made it worse. I covered his insatiable appetite, his predation on the city wives, his tyranny over trifles. I brought up the question of Edward's own bastardy—that when your father was in France, Edward didn't resemble him. I showed how your lineage, your appearance and character, embody your father's nobility. I recounted your victories in Scotland, your wisdom in war and peace, your generosity and virtue. I left nothing undone that served your cause. When I neared the end, I called on those who loved the country to shout 'God save Richard, England's royal King!'
Yeah. I covered Edward's first promise to Lucy—that made his real marriage a sham. Then the French betrothal made it even worse. I talked about how he couldn't keep his hands off women, preyed on ordinary citizens' wives, was brutal over nothing. I hinted—carefully—that Edward himself might not even be legitimate, since your father was out of the country when he was born and he didn't look like him. I talked about you—how you look like your father, how noble you are, how you won in Scotland, how you understand both war and peace, how generous you are. I covered everything. Then I called for people to shout for you as king.
i covered it all his first marriage was invalid his sexual crimes his possible illegitimacy your nobility your victories i left nothing out
And did they so?
And did they respond?
Did they react?
did they respond?
No, so God help me, they spake not a word,
But, like dumb statues or breathing stones,
Stared each on other, and looked deadly pale.
Which when I saw, I reprehended them,
And asked the Mayor what meant this wilful silence.
His answer was, the people were not used
To be spoke to but by the Recorder.
Then he was urged to tell my tale again:
“Thus saith the Duke, thus hath the Duke inferred”
But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.
When he had done, some followers of mine own,
At lower end of the hall, hurled up their caps,
And some ten voices cried, “God save King Richard!”
And thus I took the vantage of those few.
“Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,” quoth I;
“This general applause and cheerful shout
Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard.”
And even here brake off and came away.
God help me, not a word. They stood like statues or stones that breathe—staring at each other, deadly pale. When I saw this, I tried to shake them: 'Why this silence?' The Mayor said the citizens aren't used to being addressed except through the Recorder. So I had him relay my words: 'The Duke says thus, the Duke reasons thus'—but he added nothing from himself. When he finished, some of my supporters at the back of the hall threw up their caps and ten voices shouted 'God save King Richard!' I seized on that moment: 'Thank you, loyal citizens and friends—your applause and cheers show your wisdom and love for Richard.' Then I left before they could think about what just happened.
Not a word, I swear. They just stood there like stone statues—pale, staring at each other. So I tried to push back: 'What's with the silence?' The Mayor said they're not used to anyone talking to them except the city's recorder. So he repeated my points: 'The Duke says this, the Duke thinks that'—but he didn't add anything himself. When he was done, a few of my people in the back yelled and threw their caps up—maybe ten voices shouting for you. I jumped on it: 'Thanks, citizens and friends—this applause and shouting proves how much you love Richard.' And I got out of there.
they said nothing stood like statues pale and silent i tried to provoke them mayor just repeated my words a few planted supporters shouted i called it general applause and left
What, tongueless blocks were they! Would they not speak?
Will not the Mayor then and his brethren, come?
What, they wouldn't even speak? Will the Mayor and the aldermen come anyway?
So they're speechless? Will the Mayor bring the aldermen here anyway?
they wouldn't speak will the mayor come here?
The mayor is here at hand. Intend some fear;
Be not you spoke with but by mighty suit.
And look you get a prayer-book in your hand,
And stand between two churchmen, good my lord,
For on that ground I’ll make a holy descant.
And be not easily won to our requests.
Play the maid’s part: still answer nay, and take it.
The Mayor is coming. Listen carefully: look reluctant, don't let them speak to you unless they beg very hard. Get a prayer book in your hand. Stand between two bishops—that ground will let me build a sermon about your piety. Don't accept their offer easily. Play shy like a maiden: keep saying no and then yield.
He's on his way. Here's what you do: act like you don't want any of this, make them really push to talk to you. Get a book of prayers. Stand between two bishops—I'll use that to make a whole religious argument. Don't say yes right away. Act like a shy girl: say no, then say no again, then give in.
play reluctant hold a prayer book stand with bishops make them beg keep saying no then yield
I go, and if you plead as well for them
As I can say nay to thee for myself,
No doubt we bring it to a happy issue.
I'll go. If you plead for them as well as I can plead with you to accept, we'll succeed.
I'll do it. If you argue for the Mayor as well as I argue against you, we'll pull this off.
i'll go if you argue well for them we'll succeed
Go, go, up to the leads, the Lord Mayor knocks.
Go now—the Mayor is knocking at the door. Up to the leads.
Go. The Mayor's at the door. Get up on the roof.
go mayor's here to the leads
He doth entreat your Grace, my noble lord,
To visit him tomorrow or next day.
He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
Divinely bent to meditation;
And in no worldly suits would he be moved
To draw him from his holy exercise.
He asks that you visit him tomorrow or the next day, my lord. He's inside with two reverend bishops, devoted to prayer. Nothing in this world can move him from his holy meditation.
He says come back tomorrow or the day after. He's with two bishops right now, in deep prayer. He won't leave his spiritual practice for anything worldly.
he's at prayer with two bishops completely devoted holy meditation can't be disturbed
Scene 3-7 is Shakespeare's most sustained examination of political performance as theatre. The scene opens with Buckingham reporting the failure at Guildhall — itself a performance that failed — and immediately designing a new, better-scripted performance. He specifies: the prop (prayer book), the blocking (between two bishops), the emotional arc (apprehension, reluctance, second refusal, theatrical walk-out, recall, yielding), and the character note ('play the maid's part'). The scene then enacts the script with precision. Richard is 'interrupted' in his 'devotions,' performs three levels of refusal, and accepts in a speech specifically designed to transfer moral responsibility to the delegation. The final 'Farewell, gentle friends' is the closing line of a production, not a real goodbye. What makes the scene extraordinary is that Shakespeare shows us both the rehearsal and the performance — the backstage direction and the onstage delivery — without concealing either from the audience. The Mayor is the only person who doesn't know he's watching a play.
Return, good Catesby, to the gracious Duke;
Tell him myself, the Mayor and aldermen,
In deep designs, in matter of great moment,
No less importing than our general good,
Are come to have some conference with his Grace.
Go back to the Duke. Tell him that I, the Mayor, and the aldermen have come on matters of great importance—nothing less than the nation's welfare—and we must have an audience with his Grace.
Tell him that I, the Mayor, and the aldermen are here about something critical—the whole country's at stake. We need to talk to him.
tell him we're here about the nation it's urgent we must see him
I’ll signify so much unto him straight.
I'll deliver your message right away.
I'll tell him immediately.
i'll tell him now
Ah ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward!
He is not lolling on a lewd love-bed,
But on his knees at meditation;
Not dallying with a brace of courtesans,
But meditating with two deep divines;
Not sleeping, to engross his idle body,
But praying, to enrich his watchful soul.
Happy were England would this virtuous prince
Take on his Grace the sovereignty thereof.
But sure I fear we shall not win him to it.
Look at this—here's a prince who is nothing like Edward! Not sprawled on a lover's bed, but on his knees in prayer. Not dallying with prostitutes, but meditating with holy bishops. Not sleeping to exhaust his body, but praying to enrich his soul. England would be blessed if this virtuous prince would accept the crown. But I fear he'll refuse.
Look at him—completely different from Edward. Edward was wallowing in beds with women. This man is on his knees praying. Edward was chasing courtesans. This man is deep in meditation with bishops. Edward was sleeping his life away. This man is praying. If only this virtuous prince would take the crown, England would be saved. But I'm scared he'll say no.
he's not like edward not in bed with women praying instead meditating with bishops if only he'd accept the crown
Marry, God defend his Grace should say us nay!
God forbid his Grace should refuse us!
God help us if he says no!
he can't refuse god forbid
I fear he will. Here Catesby comes again.
But I'm afraid he will. Here comes Catesby again.
But I think he might. There's Catesby.
i'm worried he will refuse here comes catesby
He wonders to what end you have assembled
Such troops of citizens to come to him,
His Grace not being warned thereof before.
He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.
He asks what you mean by bringing such crowds of citizens to him without warning. He fears you mean him no good.
He wants to know why you brought all these citizens here without telling him. He's worried you're up to something.
why so many people? without warning? he's worried you mean harm
Sorry I am my noble cousin should
Suspect me that I mean no good to him.
By heaven, we come to him in perfect love,
And so once more return and tell his Grace.
I'm hurt that my noble cousin would suspect me of treachery. By heaven, we come to him with perfect love, and I ask you to tell him so again.
It hurts that he'd think that about me. I swear we're here with nothing but good intentions. Tell him that.
i'm hurt he suspects me we come in perfect love tell him
See where his Grace stands ’tween two clergymen!
Look—his Grace stands between two clergymen!
There he is—standing with two priests!
look he stands between two bishops
Two props of virtue for a Christian prince,
To stay him from the fall of vanity;
And, see, a book of prayer in his hand,
True ornaments to know a holy man.
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious Prince,
Lend favourable ear to our requests,
And pardon us the interruption
Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal.
Two pillars of virtue to keep a Christian prince from falling into vanity. And look—he holds a prayer book, the true marks of a holy man. Your Grace, Plantagenet noble prince, lend your favorable attention to our request. Forgive us for interrupting your devotion and your pious works.
Two spiritual guides supporting a Christian prince against worldly temptation. See the prayer book in his hand—the mark of a holy life. Prince Richard, noble sir, please listen to what we have to say. Forgive us for breaking in on your prayer and your spiritual work.
two bishops virtue and support prayer book holy man forgive us for interrupting your devotion
My lord, there needs no such apology.
I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,
Who, earnest in the service of my God,
Deferred the visitation of my friends.
But, leaving this, what is your Grace’s pleasure?
My lord, you need not apologize. I ask your pardon for my distraction—I was so engaged in God's service that I neglected to greet my friends. But enough of that. What do you wish to say to me?
No need to apologize. I'm the one who should apologize—I was so absorbed in prayer that I've been rude to you. But never mind that. What did you want to talk about?
no apology needed i was at prayer my mistake what's the matter?
In 3-7, Buckingham is at the peak of his usefulness to Richard and the beginning of his vulnerability. He has just run a failed propaganda campaign at Guildhall — ten planted voices didn't make a crowd — and he has scripted and directed the Baynard's Castle performance with consummate skill. His 'holy descant' speech is his oratorical masterpiece. He will be saluted as a partner in Richard's accession. And yet: in this scene, Buckingham asks for his Hereford reward ('As if the golden fee for which I plead were for myself') without receiving it. The Hereford payment is the hinge of their partnership. Richard has promised it; Richard will delay it; Buckingham will interpret the delay as betrayal. The Buckingham of Act 4 who defects and raises an army is already implicit in the Buckingham of Act 3 who serves without yet being paid. He is the classic case of the fellow conspirator who misunderstands his principal: he thinks they're partners; Richard thinks he's a tool. When the tool is no longer needed, Richard discards it.
Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above,
And all good men of this ungoverned isle.
We hope for what God in heaven desires and what all good people of this troubled kingdom wish.
We hope for what God wants and what's best for this country and its people.
god's will for this kingdom for all good people
I do suspect I have done some offence
That seems disgracious in the city’s eye,
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.
I suspect I've somehow offended the city's opinion and that you're here to reproach me for something I don't understand.
I think I've somehow done something wrong in the city's eyes, and you're here to tell me about it.
did i offend the city? i must have done something wrong
You have, my lord. Would it might please your Grace,
On our entreaties, to amend your fault.
You have, my lord. We ask your Grace to amend that fault.
You have. And we're asking you to fix it.
yes you have please amend it
Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land?
Why would I live in a Christian land if I refused to serve it?
What kind of Christian would I be if I didn't help my country?
what christian would refuse to serve the land?
Know then, it is your fault that you resign
The supreme seat, the throne majestical,
The sceptered office of your ancestors,
Your state of fortune, and your due of birth,
The lineal glory of your royal house,
To the corruption of a blemished stock;
Whiles in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
Which here we waken to our country’s good,
The noble isle doth want her proper limbs;
Her face defaced with scars of infamy,
Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
And almost shouldered in the swallowing gulf
Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion;
Which to recure, we heartily solicit
Your gracious self to take on you the charge
And kingly government of this your land,
Not as Protector, steward, substitute,
Or lowly factor for another’s gain,
But as successively, from blood to blood,
Your right of birth, your empery, your own.
For this, consorted with the citizens,
Your very worshipful and loving friends,
And by their vehement instigation,
In this just cause come I to move your Grace.
Your fault is this: you refuse the throne—the supreme seat, the scepter of your ancestors, your rightful inheritance—and let it pass to corruption through a tainted bloodline. While you sit here absorbed in thought, the noble kingdom itself is dying. England's face is scarred with infamy, her royal blood corrupted by inferior blood, nearly drowned in the abyss of forgetfulness. To remedy this, we ask you in all sincerity to take command and govern this land—not as Protector or steward for someone else's profit, but as your rightful sovereign, descended through your proper blood-line. We come as your people—citizens and aldermen—moved by the strongest conviction, and beg you to accept the kingship.
Your problem is that you're refusing the crown—your birthright, your throne, your scepter—and letting it go to a corrupted, inferior bloodline. While you're thinking and praying, the kingdom itself is dying. England is scarred and shamed. Her royal blood is mixed with inferior blood. She's sinking into obscurity and will be forgotten. We need you to stop this. We're asking you to take control and rule this land—not as a regent for someone else, but as your rightful king, by your own blood and inheritance. We come as your people and your citizens, completely serious, and we're begging you to take the crown.
you refuse the crown your birthright the kingdom is dying england is shamed her blood corrupted we beg you take the throne as your right
I cannot tell if to depart in silence
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof
Best fitteth my degree or your condition.
If not to answer, you might haply think
Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty,
Which fondly you would here impose on me;
If to reprove you for this suit of yours,
So seasoned with your faithful love to me,
Then, on the other side, I checked my friends.
Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first,
And then, in speaking, not to incur the last,
Definitively thus I answer you:
Your love deserves my thanks, but my desert
Unmeritable shuns your high request.
First, if all obstacles were cut away,
And that my path were even to the crown
As the ripe revenue and due of birth,
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,
So mighty and so many my defects,
That I would rather hide me from my greatness,
Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,
Than in my greatness covet to be hid,
And in the vapour of my glory smothered.
But, God be thanked, there is no need of me,
And much I need to help you, were there need.
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
Which, mellowed by the stealing hours of time,
Will well become the seat of majesty,
And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.
On him I lay that you would lay on me,
The right and fortune of his happy stars,
Which God defend that I should wring from him.
I don't know whether silence or reply serves me better. Staying silent might make you think ambition prevented my answer—that I wanted the crown but wouldn't admit it. Speaking might seem to criticize you for this sincere request. So to avoid both extremes: Your love deserves gratitude, but I'm unworthy of your offer. Even if there were no obstacles, and the crown was my natural right by birth, I lack the spirit to wear it—I'm a small vessel for such a vast sea. I'd rather hide from greatness than suffocate in my own glory. But God is thanked, I'm not needed. The royal bloodline left us his son, who by time's natural working will become a fit king. I give to him what you would give to me—his rightful fortune and happy future. May God forbid I take that from him.
I don't know what to say. If I'm silent, you'll think I'm just pretending not to want it. If I speak, I'll sound like I'm criticizing you for asking. So here's the truth: Your offer honors me, but I'm not good enough. And even if this crown was truly mine by right, I don't have the strength to hold it. I'm too small for it—I'd just get crushed under it. God knows we don't need me. The royal family has a son who'll grow into the role naturally. Whatever you were asking of me, ask it of him instead. His right to rule is his destiny, not mine. I won't take that from him.
i cannot say yes or no i'm not worthy i'm too small for such greatness the young prince is the rightful heir not me never me
My lord, this argues conscience in your Grace;
But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,
All circumstances well considered.
You say that Edward is your brother’s son;
So say we too, but not by Edward’s wife.
For first was he contract to Lady Lucy
Your mother lives a witness to his vow,
And afterward by substitute betrothed
To Bona, sister to the King of France.
These both put off, a poor petitioner,
A care-crazed mother to a many sons,
A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
Even in the afternoon of her best days,
Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,
Seduced the pitch and height of his degree
To base declension and loathed bigamy.
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
This Edward, whom our manners call the Prince.
More bitterly could I expostulate,
Save that, for reverence to some alive,
I give a sparing limit to my tongue.
Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
This proffered benefit of dignity,
If not to bless us and the land withal,
Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry
From the corruption of abusing times
Unto a lineal true-derived course.
Your Grace shows conscience, but these doubts are irrelevant. Edward was not your brother's legitimate son—not by Edward's rightful wife. Edward was first promised to Lady Lucy. Your mother witnessed his vow. Then he was contracted to Bona of France. Both broken. He then seduced a poor widow—Elizabeth Woodville—past her beauty, into bigamy. This Edward from that unlawful bed has no legitimate claim. We could say more against him, but we respect those still living. Take the crown yourself, my lord—either to bless us all or at least to save your noble line from corruption and restore it to its rightful course.
You're showing your conscience, but honestly these problems are minor compared to the real issue. Edward wasn't legitimately your brother's son—not by his real wife. Edward had already promised himself to Lucy. Your mother knows this. He was also contracted to marry the French king's sister. Both of those were broken. Then he forced himself on a widow—Elizabeth—and married her anyway, which is bigamy. Their son Edward has no legal right to the throne. We could say worse things about Edward, but some of the people involved are still alive and we respect them. So you take the throne—help your country or at least clean up your own bloodline and put it back on the right path.
edward was illegitimate first marriage was invalid second marriage invalid bigamy the prince has no right you must take the crown
Do, good my lord. Your citizens entreat you.
Please, my lord. Your citizens beg you.
Sir, the city is asking you to do this.
please your citizens beg you
Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffered love.
Don't refuse this freely offered love, my lord.
Please don't turn down this gift of love.
don't refuse this love
O, make them joyful; grant their lawful suit.
Make them happy, sir. Grant their request.
Make them joyful, your Highness. Give them what they want.
grant their lawful suit
Alas, why would you heap those cares on me?
I am unfit for state and majesty.
I do beseech you, take it not amiss;
I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you.
Why do you burden me with these cares? I'm unfit for power and dignity. Please, don't be hurt—I cannot, I will not, yield to you.
Why are you putting all this on me? I'm not good enough for this. I'm sorry, but I can't—I won't—accept.
why you're burdening me i am unfit i cannot i will not
If you refuse it, as in love and zeal
Loath to depose the child, your brother’s son—
As well we know your tenderness of heart
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
Which we have noted in you to your kindred,
And equally indeed to all estates—
Yet know, whe’er you accept our suit or no,
Your brother’s son shall never reign our king,
But we will plant some other in the throne,
To the disgrace and downfall of your house.
And in this resolution here we leave you.
Come, citizens; zounds, I’ll entreat no more.
If you refuse—moved by tender love for your brother's son, as we know from your kindness to your family—then know this: your brother's son will never be our king. We will place another in the throne, to the ruin of your house. And we leave you here with that choice. Citizens, I'll beg no further.
If you say no—because you love your nephew too much, because we all know how you care about your family—then listen: your nephew will never be king. We'll put someone else on the throne, and that will destroy your family's honor. We're done begging. Citizens, let's go.
if you refuse we'll crown someone else your house will fall we're leaving
Call him again, sweet Prince; accept their suit.
If you deny them, all the land will rue it.
Call him back, my Lord. Accept what they're offering. If you refuse, the entire kingdom will be destroyed.
Go after him, sir. Take what they're offering. If you say no, the whole country will suffer.
call him back accept if you refuse all land will rue it
Will you enforce me to a world of cares?
Call them again. I am not made of stones,
But penetrable to your kind entreaties,
Albeit against my conscience and my soul.
Will you drive me to accept such heavy burdens? Call them back. I'm not stone—I can be moved by sincere appeals, even against my conscience and my soul.
Are you making me do this? Call them back. I'm not made of stone. Your genuine pleading moves me, even though it goes against everything I believe in.
you force me i'm not stone i can be moved by appeals against my will call them back
Shakespeare's Guildhall scene — with its silent crowd, its planted applause, its Recorder re-reading the speech 'but nothing spoke in warrant from himself' — is based on historical accounts written by Tudor partisans, principally More and Hall. The scene captures what was, for Tudor historians, the essential illegitimacy of Richard's accession: that it was not popular, not spontaneous, not genuinely acclaimed. The 'breathing stones' image is Shakespeare's invention, but the historical claim — that the citizens refused to shout, that Buckingham's planted supporters provided the only noise — appears in More's account. Richard's coronation did proceed, was done with full ceremony, and was accepted by Parliament in the form of Titulus Regius. Whether the London populace really stayed silent is unknowable. But the silence serves the Tudor narrative perfectly: an accession without genuine popular support, staged by a tyrant for his own purposes, with only coerced or manufactured consent. Shakespeare inherits this narrative and dramatizes it with a precision that makes it feel like documentary theater.
God bless your Grace! We see it, and will say it.
God bless your Grace. We see your reluctance and will testify to it.
God's blessing on you, sir. We can see how unwilling you were, and we'll tell everyone.
god bless you we see and will say your reluctance
In saying so, you shall but say the truth.
By saying so, you only speak the truth.
Then you're just speaking the facts.
saying the truth
Then I salute you with this royal title:
Long live King Richard, England’s worthy King!
Then I greet you with this royal title: Long live King Richard, England's worthy King!
Then I proclaim you king: Long live King Richard, England's worthy King!
long live king richard engl and's worthy king
Amen.
So be it.
Amen.
amen
Tomorrow may it please you to be crowned?
Will you be crowned tomorrow?
Can we crown you tomorrow?
tomorrow be crowned?
Even when you please, for you will have it so.
Whenever you wish, since you have determined it.
Whenever you want. You've already decided.
whenever you please you have willed it
Tomorrow, then, we will attend your Grace;
And so most joyfully we take our leave.
Tomorrow, then, we'll attend upon your Grace, and so with joy we take our leave.
Tomorrow we'll come to you, and we leave now very happy.
tomorrow we attend joyfully we take our leave
Farewell, my cousin, farewell, gentle friends.
Farewell, my cousin. Farewell, dear friends.
Goodbye, Buckingham. Goodbye, everyone.
farewell cousin gentle friends
The Reckoning
[object Object]
If this happened today…
A corporate coup's closing ceremony. The new CEO has already cleared out the board. His communications director tried to get the investors to applaud but they just stared. A few planted employees clapped from the back. The director texted: 'General enthusiasm.' Now the new CEO appears on the executive floor's balcony in a cardigan, holding a Bible — clearly in the middle of 'personal reflection.' He's dragged away from his quiet time by the delegation below. He asks why they're here. They explain they need him to take over the company. He declines eloquently for ten minutes, then declines again, then says — fine, but if anything goes wrong, remember I didn't want this. They crown him. He tells them he'll see them tomorrow. He waves warmly as they leave.