In the first alarm of his pride, on hearing of
Bolingbroke's rebellion, before his presumption has met with any
check, he exclaims:
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords:
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under proud rebellious arms.
. . . . .
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king;
The breath of worldly man cannot depose
The Deputy elected by the Lord.
For every man that Bolingbroke hath prest,
To lift sharp steel against our golden crown,
Heaven for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel; then if angels fight,
Weak men must fall; for Heaven still guards the right.
Yet, notwithstanding this royal confession of faith, on the very
first news of actual disaster, all his conceit of himself as the
peculiar favourite of Providence vanishes into air.
But now the blood of twenty thousand men
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled.
All souls that will be safe fly from my side;
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.
Immediately after, however, recollecting that 'cheap defence' of the
divinity of kings which is to be found in opinion, he is for arming
his name against his enemies.
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