Michael:
Almost all of the first act is spoken in ceremonious and formal language, augmented by a large amount of rhyme. The final scene breaks the tone, as if the veil is being drawn back to reveal what the king really thinks and to hint at the reality behind all the formal charges and counter charges. We did begin to get something of this reality in 1.2 in Gaunt’s dialogue with the Duchess of Gloucester, widow of the murdered duke.

The first scene creates something of mystery that’s cloaked in all the formal and legal language. All we can tell initially is that quarrel between Bolingbroke and Mowbray involves in part the payment of money the king had entrusted to Mowbray, some portion of which Mowbray kept in repayment owed, apparently, by the king. Mowbray confesses that he once lay in ambush to slay Gaunt, but he insists he has repented and confessed the sin and appealed to Gaunt for forgiveness. Beyond this we’re in the dark about the quarrel. But gages have been thrown down and picked up in the formal engagement of a trial by combat. Richard presides over all this, but perhaps with some uneasiness as he urges them to “forget, forgive” and makes what appears a small witticism: doctors say this is not a good month to let blood. He orders Mowbray to throw down Bolingbroke’s gage and encourages Gaunt to order Bolingbroke to do the same with Mowbray’s. Richard may make another small joke when he suggests that the lion, himself,
should rule over a leopard. Who is the “leopard”? But neither appellant is inclined to obey, and Richard is obliged to schedule their trial by combat.

If there’s more here than meets the eye, we learn some of it in the scene with Gaunt and the Duchess of Gloucester. Gaunt speaks of his part in Gloucester’s blood as his brother, and this would suggest he should avenge his murder. But in the way it’s phrased, we might wonder initially if he means he has had some part in the death. This is not the case, but Gaunt indicates that correction of the murderer lies in the hands that caused the death, by which he must mean Richard. But in that case, vengeance is not possible without the grave sin of regicide. This does not appease the duchess, who appeals to Gaunt in terms of his brotherhood to Gloucester and his filial piety to their mutual father, Edward III. But the ultimate responsibility, Gaunt insists, is beyond his reach; vengeance must be God’s, since no mortal may raise his hand against God’s deputy, the king. The duchess seems despairing in her grief. Gaunt’s dilemma may also be the king’s, though we’re not yet aware of this. But 1.3 is the lists prepared at Coventry where the trial by combat will occur. Richard apparently is allowing the combat to go forward, and much is made of the formalities. But just as it is about to start, Richard ceremoniously drops his warder down to stop the combat. In this he may appear to benevolently save the life of one of the combatants. But if the idea of a trial by combat is that the guilty one is slain by the innocent, then Richard may in some way be exposed. So supposed benevolence is also self-preservation? In this the unequal sentences may indicate Richard’s real motive is self-preservation: Bolingbroke is sentenced to ten years’ banishment, quickly commuted to six, and Mowbray to permanent banishment; if the latter was Richard’s agent in the killing of Gloucester, then this is a way to hide Richard’s guilt. The speeches of both indicate a poignant acceptance of the sentences, though Mowbray hints at the injustice of his, especially since his lack of another language will confine him also to silence. It’s only after Mowbray departs that Richard reduces Bolingbroke’s banishment to six years, which may suggest Richard’s sense of Bolingbroke’s comparative innocence. In any case, Gaunt appears the wise philosopher in his acceptance of the banishment, even though, we later learn, he doubts of his own survival of its length.

In the final scene of the act, Richard’s true sentiments are evident in the discussion with Aumerle, Bagot, Green, and eventually Bushy. The king call Bolingbroke “high Hereford,” presumably characterizing his pride. Aumerle is rather ironic in his description of his parting from Bolingbroke, which seems to elicit Richard’s approval. The king also notes his courtship of the common people. At the end Bushy brings in news of Gaunt’s sickness, which Richard hopes is mortal and will enable him to seize his wealth for the Irish war. Richard’s attitude toward Gaunt comes in the final line of the scene, “Pray God we may make haste, and come too late!”

Dusty:
Does it signify that the play is called in the quarto “The Tragedy of King Richard the Second” and in the Folio “The Life and Death of Richard the Second”? Are we to regard Richard as a tragic figure? The play is set in 1399, the year Gaunt dies and Richard is deposed. Much is made of Richard’s “youth,” and indeed he was crowned in 1377 at age ten. But in 1399 he is 32, the same age as Bolingbroke. I too noticed the prominence of rhyme in the first act, and thought your suggestion of ceremony/rhyme vs. realpolitik/blank verse a good way to account for it. But it turns out that there is a lot of rhyme in the second act too, and out of the mouths of several of the characters.

It does not seem to me that the link between formal ceremony and rhyme continues. Sometimes there is rhyme in the middle of a speech It seemed to me that in the first act, until the final scene, Richard was appropriately firm and regal. You may be right to suspect him as complicit in the murder of Gloucester, but I did not see it. In 1.2 the Duchess of Gloucester, in calling for revenge, wants Gaunt to kill Mowbray,
not Richard. Maybe it’s a sign of Richard’s weakness that he is not able to get Bolingbroke and Mowbray to back off. It seems odd that Richard orders the trial at 1.3.199 and then breaks if off just twenty lines later. He says he has spoken with his “Council,” but that conference must have taken place earlier, unless it is a hurried huddle during those twenty lines.

I thought it interesting that Mowbray laments losing the English language. Maybe the play celebrates not only “this England” but also “this English.” That Bolinbroke claims to be a “true-born Englishman” suggests that we should keep our eye on him. (Maybe he means to imply that he stands in contrast to Italianate Richard.) 1.4 is a short but important scene because, as you say, it pulls the curtain back. Bolinbroke is going to cultivate the people — we will hear about this again in 1 Henry IV. And Richard gives two signs of misrule: he has been spending recklessly and will raise money unscrupulously, and
hopes for Gaunt’s early death so that he can seize his goods.

Dusty:

2.1 gives prominence to Gaunt, who now meets with his brother York (is this the last time a York and a Lancaster will be allied?). Gaunt wants to advise young Richard but York assures him that Richard won’t listen. They complain first about Richard’s taste for “lascivious metres” and Italian “fashions” and only later about fiscal mismanagement (taxing, spending, and leasing.)  I suspect that many who remember Gaunt’s famous speech about “this England” forget the larger context, and the direction in which the speech goes: “this England” is celebrated, but at the height of the speech it is called “that England,” which is no more. Richard is no longer a true king, but only the “Landlord of England.” (Antony later dismissively calls Augustus the “universal landlord’). He has, so Gaunt says, been “leasing” England out, which seems to mean both tax-farming and making land grants to favorites. But Gaunt, who was “sick” at the beginning of the scene, is carried off at l. 138, and less than ten lines later word is brought in that he is dead. With him, perhaps, dies “this England.”

Richard  doesn’t grieve long: “The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he.” And he doesn’t miss a beat:” So much for that. Now for our Irish wars . . .” For him, Gaunt is ripe for picking, and he says he will seize Gaunt’s goods to pay for the war. York advises Richard against seizing Gaunt’s wealth, so why should Richard then make him governor of England in his absence?

In 2.2 the Queen, saddened at Richard’s absence in Ireland, fears for the future. (We have already heard Gaunt’s prophecy of a dark future, and we will hear it again in 2.4 from the Welsh captain.)

In 2.3 Bolingbroke, having already landed at Ravenspurgh, has now marched into Gloucestershire. He has technically violated the terms of his banishment, but he finesses that by saying he was banished as Hereford and has returned as Lancaster, in order to claim his dukedom. We meet Northumberland and young Harry Percy, whom we will see more of in 1 Henry IV. York plays a curious role. Like Richard, he finds that he cannot impose his will — in this case on the rebels. He would arrest them if he could, but since he cannot, he will remain “neuter” and might even join Bolingbroke, to oppose the “caterpillars of the commonwealth.”

2.4 is set in Wales. Richard is rumored dead and the Welsh forces have deserted him. The Welsh captain (like Glendower after him) believes in portents and in “signs” foretelling “the death or fall of kings.” If this is a tragedy, we are about to witness Richard’s fall from “glory.” If this is a history play, we have seen Richard’s  “life” and now expect to see his “death.”

Michael:

I doubt there’s much to distinguish the two titles. Richard does seem a tragic figure, one who seems to bring his tragedy on himself. So the play seems both history and tragedy.

The Duchess does see Mowbray as the formal murderer of Gloucester, but Gaunt’s insistence on the impossibility of true vengeance suggests the involvement of Richard. And Richard’s otherwise inexplicable lifelong banishment of Mowbray suggests the same; Mowbray in permanent exile cannot return and implicate Richard.

The scene of Bolingbroke’s return seems to give us some sympathy with him: Richard — illegally? — has seized Gaunt’s possessions and land, and if Bolingbroke does not return and intervene, he stands to lose everything that should come to him as Lancaster. Richard as “landlord of England” lowers his royal dignity and convicts him as the despoiler of Gaunt’s possessions and aristocratic dignity. But of course he’s king and therefore seemingly protected. York’s speech in 2.1 puts the dilemma to Richard rather precisely: how are you king but by the same process of time and succession that you violate in sequestering Gaunt/Duke of Lancaster’s possession. Ross puts it in terms of realpolitik, Richard has lost the support of the commons by his taxation and of the aristocracy by his “fining” for ancient quarrels. York too expresses the dilemma in his duty (2.2).

Can we suspect flattery in Northumberland’s praise of Bolingbroke’s “fair discourse” that will bring irony in the future plays? Similar irony of course in the mutual vows of loyalty and friendship between Percy and Bolingbroke. And in spite of himself and his loyalty to Richard and kingship, York is stymied by events and he can do nothing but throw up his hands.

Michael:

Act 3 begins with what looks like a darkening of Bolingbroke’s image, his peremptory execution of Bushy and Green. Amid his charges is the strange one of having made “a divorce betwixt his queen and him” and having broken possession of the royal bed. Richard was without issue, so is Bolingbroke alluding to a homosexual relationship between them and the king? They’re also accused of having dispoiled B’s own property. Or does it in fact darken?

In the following scene Richard veers back and forth between understanding his kingship in mystic, divinely protected terms and despair at his current circumstances. The language is florid, but not rhyming except in a closing couplet. Carlisle encourages him to see his kingship protected by God, but Richard then quickly loses the confidence when he hears of more setbacks. The poetic high point may be his speech in which he seems to revel in an acceptance of death, “Of comfort no man speak . . .” On the one hand it seems a speech of wisdom and renunciation of the pretensions of kingship, but perhaps a premature embrace of his loss. Carlisle now chides him for his defeatism, and Richard momentarily revives, but only to collapse at more bad news.

This clearly draws on the skill of the actor playing Richard, but the result must be an undercutting of the very idea of divinely protected kingship, especially in the scene that follows at Flint castle. York chides Northumberland for omitting Richard’s title, but clearly the tide has turned against the sonorous language we heard at the opening. Still, Bolingbroke performs the ritual obeisance and speaks the language of submission to divine kingship. Northumberland delivers B’s demands. Richard accedes to these, but then seemingly deposes himself in what he says when N. returns. What was the effect of this on the Elizabethan stage. We do know that the deposition scene that follows was not allowed to be played, but Richard seems to speak it himself here.

The scene that follows between the queen and her ladies and the supportive gardener seem designed to surround Richard’s defeat with poignant but ineffective sympathy.

The play seems to enact a kind of poetic contest between the language of divinely ordained kingship and an undercutting of any idea of its reality.

Dusty:

It would seem that Bolingbroke is indeed accusing the favorites Bushy and Green of some kind of homosexual relationship. I don’t think it darkens Bolingbroke’s reputation, but does suggest that he will impose his rule ruthlessly.

The reference to Glendower has apparently puzzled editors, but it makes sense that he is the same as the Welsh “captain” in the previous scene, especially since the captain believes in portents, as does Glendower in 1 Henry IV. At this point Bolingbroke does not yet know that the Welsh have deserted Richard.

Richard gets some good speeches in 3.2, both the address to “Dear [English] earth” and his  reassuring comfort in “the searching eye of heaven.” He has confidence in the divine election and protection of “an anointed king.” But as you say he waffles when bad news arrives: the Welsh desertion, the subjects revolting, the death of his favorites. (I wonder why Richard initially suspects the favorites of deserting him. Does this suggest his paranoia and unsteadiness?) He pales, and seems ready to submit to the will of Bolingbroke and falls into what he later calls “an ague fit of fear.” Then comes his famous speech about telling sad stories of the death of kings. Any good actor could presumably speak these lines in such a way as to draw the audience’s sympathy.

Richard rallies under the chiding of Carlisle. The news of York’s desertion has been withheld, presumably so that Shakespeare can show yet another of Richard’s mood swings, this time to despair, and by the end of the scene he basically gives up.

It’s hard to figure out York in 3.3. On the one hand, he has joined forces with Bolingbroke, but on the other he still reveres Richard as divinely appointed king. Again we get Richard swerving from high to low, defiant when he is pumped up by York, but quickly agreeing to terms with Bolingbroke when Northumberland tells him that all Bolingbroke wants is his title and lands, but then doubts himself for being too ready to yield. And then he is ready to abdicate, even though Bolingbroke has not pressed him to do so. (This seems to support the argument that the king abdicated and not that he was “deposed.”)

3.4 makes interesting use of common people, here represented by the Gardener, who compares England to an unweeded garden, and passes on a rumor that Richard will be deposed. (This bookends the rumor at the beginning of the act that Richard had been killed.) Apart from the widowed Duchess of Gloucester, the Queen is the only woman in the play who gets to say more than a few lines. The Henry IV plays, and even Henry V, make more room for women. Is it significant that Bolingbroke does not have a wife? Does this make him more like Richard, who though married seems to have abandoned  his Queen?

Dusty:

Act 4 consists of one long scene of 334 lines. Although we are told at the end of Act 3 that Richard and Bolingbroke will meet in London, at first we do not get that meeting. Instead it’s a scene in which Bolingbroke is present, and presumably presiding, when Bagot accuses York’s son Aumerle of persuading Richard to approve the murder of Gloucester, and then of carrying it out. Aumerle denies it, and Fitzwater, Percy, and an unnamed “Lord”  take Bagot’s side while Surrey takes Aumerle’s. And the banished Norfolk is reported to have said that Aumerle is guilty. As Richard did in Act 1, Bolingbroke, acting a king-like role, judiciously declares there will be a trial — when Norfolk returns. This has the effect of postponing the trial. And it makes Bolingbroke look good, since he does not rush to judgment (as he did with Bushy and Green).

This sets up the big scene between Richard and Bolingbroke. It’s notable that before Richard comes in, we get a report from York that Richard  “with willing soul/ Adopts [Bolingbroke] heir, and his high sceptre yields/ To the possession of thy royal hand.” Shakespeare is here apparently simplifying Holinshed, who had said that Richard “renounced and voluntarilie was deposed” — there’s a paradox there: if it’s voluntary, then presumably you say he “resigned” or “abdicated.”  York has consistently respected Richard’s royal status, but he also sides with Bolingbroke, and he apparently wants to avoid saying anything about the king being deposed. But he does say that Richard is “plume-pluck’d,” as if his royal plume was seized by Bolingbroke. And is it possible that this is just another rumor, which may prove to be false (as two earlier rumors were)?

Then comes Carlisle’s renewed defense of Richard as God’s anointed, whereupon he is accused of treason by Northumberland, who arrests him. But on whose authority does he act, his own or Bolingbroke’s? Bolingbroke then refers to “our arrest,” suggesting that, already using the royal we,  it was his authority. Maybe he deliberately fudges, and says that it is the joint authority of himself and Northumberland.

I’m not sure why we get the report of the resignation/deposing and then get it again when Richard comes on stage. Maybe, as you suggest, it was because Shakespeare knew that the on-stage resignation might be censored, and he needed to include reference to Richard’s yielding. In any case, this time we get an ambiguous resignation (as in Holinshed). Richard literally “resigns” and “gives” the crown to Bolingbroke, in a theatrically stunning moment, then declines to answer whether or not he is “contented” to do so, but then formally and even ritually “gives.” But he says he retains the “cares” of a monarch. His emphasis on “care” looks ahead to Henry IV’s “uneasy . . . head.” It also looks back to Richard’s speech about the “sad stories of the death of kings.” In that speech, all kings die, and all suffer want and grief. Now in Act 4 he says that it’s not just reigning kings: deposed kings do not escape care or grief.

Again Northumberland plays the heavy by demanding that Richard confess to crimes. By what authority does he do this? Maybe again by prior agreement with Bolingbroke, but when Richard resists, Bolingbroke eventually tells Northumberland to back off. I suppose this is designed to make him look more reasonable than the vengeful Northumberland.

And then follows the “mirror” scene. It’s not clear to me why Richard calls for a mirror and then “reads” his face in the mirror. This leads to a quite theatrical effect when he breaks the mirror, and symbolically shatters his regal status.

Bolingbroke sends Richard to the Tower, though it’s not clear whether it’s for Richard’s safekeeping (as in Holinshed) or to hold him for punishment. And the final part of the scene serves to postpone any resolution until Act 5: Carlisle and Westminster are plotting some kind of resistance, and that resistance must be overcome before Richard can die and Bolingbroke can ascend the throne.

Michael:

Act 4 seems to begin with almost comic confusion, charges of lies and counter lies, one gage thrown down in response to another. Bolingbroke forbids Bagot from picking up Aumerle’s, but then Fitzwater throws down his, then Percy on Fitzwater’s side, then “another lord,” then Aumerle asks if anyone can lend him a gage to challenge Norfolk, who is I think Mowbray. But that’s futile, as the bishop of Carlisle reports that Norfolk/Mowbray is dead and describes him in holy and heroic terms as a crusader. Even his old foe Bolingbroke blesses him and wishes his soul to the bosom of “good old Abraham.” So all these confusing challenges will rest “under gage” in Bolingbroke’s charge. Why Bolingbroke? As if to answer, York comes in with the news that Richard is willing to abdicate and adopt Bolingbroke as his heir. (Was John of Gaunt the next brother in line for the throne after Edward, Prince of Wales? No, but Gaunt was the only royal uncle with a male heir, I think.) Carlisle objects and makes the case for the illegality of Richard’s deposition and predicts the Wars of the Roses. Northumberland plays the heavy, as he always seems to do, and arrests Carlisle, whose position as a clergyman seems to protect him from execution.

When Bolingbroke orders Richard brought it, Richard appears to become a more sympathetic character than he has previously, as he seems to garner more sympathy in defeat. And he also appears a more effective enacter of royalty that he was as king. I imagine him holding out the crown to Bolingbroke as if to give it to him, then as the latter puts his hand on it, drawing it back and saying, “Here, cousin, seize the crown,” as if to create a visual image of what’s taking place. Bolingbroke is reduced to a somewhat lame, “I thought you had been willing to resign.” As you say, it’s theatrically stunning. As Richard renounces all the elements of his kingship, the poignancy of his human loss emerges. And his demonstration with the looking glass continues this. And Northumberland continues his role as political heavy. And the short exchange between Aumerle, the abbot, and Carlisle, lets us know it’s not entirely over.

Michael:

Act 5 continues the tilting of sympathy to Richard. The scene between Richard and his queen doesn’t address what I assume is the real reason for their separation, so that they cannot conceive a child who would be a legitimate contender for the throne, but it does link their marriage and its vows to his kingship. And again Northumberland plays his part, now sending Richard to Pomfret, seemingly farther from where the queen will be.

The scene between York and his duchess, describing the humiliation of Richard, seems to extend sympathy, but it leads to the apparent absurdity of York’s necessary change of loyalty. The quarrel between the duchess and duke comes almost comic as he calls for his boots and his horse.

Scene 3 begins with a prequel of 1 Henry 4 in Henry’s query about his unnamed son. But that’s not developed as Aumerle comes in with anticipation of his father’s charge of his treason. Whether or not the scene in which the duchess and York continue their quarrel before the king is comic — and I tend to think it is — it certainly points to the problematic matter of loyalty. York’s position has always been difficult, and now he must betray his son, even though the son repents his loyalty to Richard, because he must now support Henry. The duchess’s loyalty is to her flesh and blood, irrespective of who’s king. I think we tend to favor the duchess and her stubborn loyalty since we understand the shift that York has had to make.

Richard’s soliloquy solidifies our interest in him, as he becomes poetically thoughtful in his musing about his life and status. He even notes the ways in which sacred texts conflict and contradict, which becomes almost philosophical. It’s as if Richard, finally and fully separated from the burdens of kingship has become interestingly human. He hears and critiques the music that is played for him. The keeper’s loyalty seems to support Richard, and the disloyalty of his horse Barbary gives him more to consider. When the attempt to poison him fails and leads to swords and bloodshed, Richard’s dignity seems to be confirmed. He dies, but with more spirit (or manliness?) than we’ve seen before.  And even Exton must extol this.

In the final scene, the number of heads of presumed traitors being sent to London seems a dark completion of the change of kingship. None of these names have figured in the play. The abbot of Westminster seems to have died of his disloyal grief, and the bishop of Carlisle is sent to some remote hermitage. And now Exton brings in the coffin of “the mightiest of thy greatest enemies,” called now simply “Richard of Bordeaux.” It seems a moment that is both historical and tragic. The dilemma of Bolingbroke/Henry 4 is expressed in his condemnation of Exton, to wander like Cain and never show his face again. So the play ends with the same sense of banishment that it began with. Henry needed Richard’s death, but regrets and laments it nonetheless.

I think the strength of the play lies both in its development of the character of Richard and the sense throughout of the dilemmas both of loyalty and of competence in relation to legitimacy. It seems a fitting overture to the three Henry plays.

Dusty:

I am not sure about the comedy that you found in Act 5. All seemed pretty dark and dreadful. And I heard lots of echoes of the beginning of the play.

In 5.1 Richard has reverted to his claim that he has not resigned or abdicated but has been “deposed.” Inviting his Queen to “tell the tales/ Of woeful ages long ago” recalls his famous lines about “tell sad stories of the death of kings.” Richard objects that he is being separated from his Queen, which in Act 1 was a charge made against Richard’s favorites. We also look forward, as Richard predicts Northumberland and Bolingbroke will fall out, as they do in 1 Henry IV. Lots of rhyme in this scene, as Richard and the Queen part. As you say, Richard is something of a poet — but his interlocutors also speak in rhyme. And there is no prose in the play. That means the only way Shakespeare can “heighten” a scene is to shift from blank verse to  rhyme.

In 5.2 York discovers his son’s part in the Oxford conspiracy. (It’s to take place at a joust in Oxford, but is halted, an echo of the trial by combat in Act I which is also halted.) York had by now already thrown in with Bolingbroke. I don’t know why it takes him so long to leave the room. You suggest that the business with the boots is comic. But that would seem to shatter the general mood. But I don’t know why else he needs help putting on his boots.

In 5.3. maybe Bolingbroke indulgently mentions his errant son here (another reference ahead to 1H4) so as to serve as a contrast to York, who denounces and disowns his own son. (It’s odd that in this play with two prominent father-son pairs — Northumberland and Percy, York and Aumerle — Bolingbroke’s son doesn’t appear at all. Maybe Shakespeare was saving him for later plays.) I wonder why York seems so determined to sacrifice his son. Could he not acknowledge Aumerle’s guilt and nonetheless plead for his son’s life? Family ties don’t seem to count for much in this play.

The explicit reference to a stage comedy at l. 80 supports your idea that there is something comic in this act. There are at least two other theatrical references in this act, one at 5.2.23 (“as in a theatre . . .”) and 5.5.41 (“Thus play I in one person many people.”) Lots of rhyme in this scene, and maybe some implicit comedy in the successive entrances of Aumerle, his father, and his mother.

The short 5.4 reminded me of Henry II’s words about Becket in A Man for All Seasons: “will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?” Did Robert Bolt take the words from Shakespeare?

In 5.5 I was surprised that Richard had the physical strength to kill two men — I imagined him as physically frail, even slightly effeminate. I guess not.

5.6 makes a strange finale. It opens with “the latest news” that the conspirators have burned Cirencester, though it is not known yet whether they were taken or slain. Then we get a rapid succession of entrances of Henry’s allies. The conspirators have been both taken and slain, and one set of heads has been sent to London, and then another entrance and another set of heads, then a third entrance but this time Henry commutes the sentence of Carlisle to banishment. (An echo of Act  1, in which Mowbray was banished.) And finally a fourth entrance — can you stage this without falling into comedy, almost into farce? This time it’s Exton, who brings a coffin with him! But this time Henry disowns the murderer: “Though I did wish him dead,/ I hate the murtherer, love [Richard] murthered.” This recalls the earlier report in Act 1 that Gloucester was murdered at the instruction or at least the implicit OK from Richard, though Richard disclaims responsibility. And Exton is banished, another echo of Act 1.

Henry does not explicitly concede his responsibility for Richard’s murder. On the one hand he “mourns” and “laments” Richard’s death. On the other he admits “guilt,” promising a trip to the Holy Land (which was Mowbray’s destination in Act 1) “To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.” That makes a very downbeat ending for the play: a king is dead, and his successor acknowledges some role in his death. Do all these echoes of Act 1 suggest that England is in for another cycle of violence and rebellion?

Michael:

I suppose I mean something different from real comedy in my “almost comic,” more like something absurd, darkly so, when they run out of gages to throw down; the fact the it’s “another lord” who participates in the gage throwing seems to add to the absurdity. Similarly, the quarrel of the Yorks has the dark side both of Aumerle’s filial relation and the duke’s former loyalty to Richard behind it, as they both insist on kneeling before Bolingbroke.

I think the line that comes in A Man for All Seasons was originally attributed, in some form, perhaps not so cogently phrased, to Henry II by a biographer, perhaps of Becket. It seems to have a long history.

Dusty:

Yes, I was also thinking “absurd” or “black comedy.” Are there similar Elizabethan plays?