RICHARD Make me that nothing have with nothing grieved,
And thou with all pleased that thou hast achieved.
Long mayst thou live in Richard’s seat to sit
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit.
God save King Henry, unkinged Richard says,
And send him many years of sunshine days.
What more remains?
NORTHUMBERLAND No more, but that you read
These accusations and these grievous crimes
Committed by your person and your followers
Against the state and profit of this land,
That by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily deposed. (4.1.216-227)
A final riff on nothing, at least in this movement of the scene: make me that nothing have with nothing grieved, suggesting either that now Richard ‘has’ nothing there is nothing that will cause him sorrow, or that, paradoxically, having nothing will still bring him pain and grief. (Probably both, it’s usually both with Richard.) And thou with all pleased that thou hast achieved; well, I hope you’re proud of yourself, make the most of it while it lasts, enjoy! (No one combines trauma, existential crisis, and snark like Richard.) Long mayst thou live in Richard’s seat to sit and soon lie Richard in an earthy pit. Histrionic? A bit, but also bitterly realistic; he must know that his death is a real and imminent possibility. Bolingbroke will be on the throne, raised up; Richard will be down, mortal, dead and buried. God save King Henry—the first time that precise title has been used, and it’s Richard spitting it out with bitter defiance, or perhaps articulating it wonderingly, tentatively—unkinged Richard, one of the earliest appearances of the word unkinged, a reminder that he is not simply not a king, but that he—apparently—used to be, his identity and status altered by others, against his will. Send King Henry many years of sunshine days, the sun with which Richard has so often identified himself, and his sovereign power. What more remains?—as if the fight’s gone out of him, at least temporarily; I’m bored, tired, over all this. Do I have to do anything else? Can I go yet?
Northumberland, brutal, with one eye on the optics and the other on the law; this is where it sounds like a show trial, a staged confession. You need to read these accusations—apparently aloud?—this charge sheet, admitting your crimes and those committed in your name, convicting yourself and your followers. Against the state and profit of this land: to modern ears this suggests a crime against the state, treason, and some kind of financial misdemeanour, embezzlement, although in early modern usage it’s about having damaged the wellbeing of the nation, its reputation, its status. If you make this confession, here, now, in public, then the lords assembled here, and the commons, and the people of this land, will accept that your deposition is legal, right, and just. That you are worthily deposed. This has to look right; we have to have the correct paperwork, too. If you’ll just sign here?
