RICHARD        So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke,

Who all this while hath revelled in the night

Whilst we were wandering in th’antipodes,

Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,

His treasons will sit blushing in his face,

Not able to endure the sight of day

But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.        (3.2.47-53)

Richard doesn’t use the word sun at all in this passage, which is all about the sun. Rather, he allows it to remain gloriously, arrogantly self-evident, that he is the sun himself. And when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke (this is the first time that name has passed Richard’s lips in this scene)—he’s been revelling in the night, like the thieves and murderers, he’s been taking advantage of our absence, whilst we were wandering in the antipodes, that is, while the sun was on the other side of the earth, leaving this land in darkness (although, to a modern ear, it does rather unavoidably sound as if Richard has been off on an incredibly posh gap yah; he’s only been in Ireland, of course, rather than Australia and New Zealand via Thailand…). But when he sees me, us, his sovereign, his sun again, rising in our throne, the east—then he’ll be sorry. Then he’ll feel the magnitude of what he’s done, the terrible crime that he’s committed. His treasons will sit blushing in his face, as if he is illuminated, even reddened by the sun’s rays, but in fact blushing in shame, not able to stand this public and personal revelation, frightened both by the realisation of what he’s done, and by its exposure, in the sight of day. Bolingbroke will tremble at his sin—and it is significant that Richard casts it emphatically as a sin, not merely the crime of treason. (In early modern terms, treason was sinful as well as criminal, because it would almost inevitably encompass disobedience, oath-breaking, false witness and so on.) Here, that last word, sin, perhaps even half-gestures, neatly, at the unheard but still-heard sun. Richard is really revving up…