The Life and Death of King Richard II

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A jewel in a ten-times-barr’d up chest
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
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Let him not come there
To seek out sorrow that dwells everywhere.
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Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live.
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Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen.
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O thou, the earthly author of my blood, —
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There is no virtue like necessity.
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So, weeping-smiling greet I thee, my earth,
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Like an unseasonable stormy day,
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all dissolv’d to tears
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I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,
Need friends: — Subjected thus,
How can you say to me, I am a king?
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A king, woe’s slave, shall kingly woe obey.
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You may my glories and my state depose,
But not my griefs, still am I king of those.
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A brittle glory shineth in this face:
As brittle as the glory is the face;
[Dashes the glass against the ground]
For there it is, crack’d in a hundred shivers.
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Our holy lives must win a new world’s crown,
Which our profane hours have stricken down.
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With nothing shall be pleas’d till he be eas’d
With being nothing.
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I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.