Richard II was wrongfooted by Bolingbroke, and lost his crown as a result. In one sudden moment, his allies and his army melted away like butter in the sun. And today, as we look at the sudden, unexpected, unanticipated, unpredicted storming of Iraq’s presidential palace, and a helicopter evacuation of the U.S. embassy a la Vietnam in 1975, we have to wonder if President Biden isn’t feeling a bit like RII. (It also gives us a chance to review one of the most beautiful speeches in the play.)

Let’s set the stage for Richard II’s mishap. Richard after a bit of time overseas lands back in England and says he’s certain God will protect him from Bolingbroke/Al Sadr/Iran. The CIA says there’s nothing to worry about. Iran won’t capitalize on American weakness to exert dominance over Iraq.

Richard then learns that the Welsh troops have dispersed, that his friends have been executed, and that York and Richard’s other supporters have joined Bolingbroke. Oops. Richard orders his army discharged and retreats to Flint Castle. (That would be the helicopter evacuation of our embassy.) Richard II rallies his majesty and his strength to…no, just kidding. Here’s what Biden/Richard II says:

RII: “Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let’s choose executors and talk of wills.
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposèd bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke’s,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings—
How some have been deposed, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed,
All murdered. For within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,
Comes at the last and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell, king!”