1. The Problem of Sympathy

Question: Does Shakespeare want us to sympathize with Richard? The play's most beautiful poetry belongs to a man who is, by any practical measure, a disastrous king. Is Richard's eloquence meant to redeem him, or does it expose the narcissism of his self-pity?

Richard's suffering generates the play's finest language, which creates an automatic pull toward sympathy — we tend to admire characters who can articulate their pain with precision. Focus on the "death of kings" soliloquy (III.ii), the deposition scene (IV.i), and the prison meditation (V.v). Track how Richard's speeches become more personally insightful as his political situation deteriorates, and ask whether insight counts as a form of moral growth. A strong thesis might argue that Shakespeare sympathizes with Richard the artist while condemning Richard the king, creating a protagonist who is both deeply compelling and deeply irresponsible.

Detailed Analysis

A more sophisticated approach would resist the binary of sympathy versus condemnation and examine how Shakespeare structures the audience's emotional response through dramatic placement. Richard's worst acts — the seizure of Gaunt's estate, the probable murder of Gloucester — happen early, before the audience has invested emotionally. His greatest speeches come later, after the damage is done. This sequencing matters. By the time Richard is sitting on the ground talking about the death of kings, the audience has partially forgotten the political abuses that made his fall inevitable. A strong essay might compare this technique to other Shakespearean tragedies (Macbeth's "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow" creates similar late-play sympathy for a murderer) and argue that Shakespeare deliberately exploits the audience's tendency to sympathize with eloquent suffering regardless of its moral context. The counter-argument — that Richard's self-awareness constitutes genuine transformation — should be addressed by examining whether any of Richard's insights lead to changed behavior.

2. Bolingbroke's Ambiguity

Question: Does Bolingbroke intend to seize the crown from the beginning, or does he genuinely return only for his stolen inheritance? Shakespeare never gives Bolingbroke a soliloquy — we never see his private thoughts. Is this silence a deliberate artistic choice, and what does it reveal about the nature of political ambition?

Start with Bolingbroke's explicit claims: he says he has come only "for Lancaster" (II.iii) and "for mine own" (III.iii). Then track the gap between these stated intentions and his actions — executing Richard's favorites, marching on Flint Castle, accepting the crown. A solid essay would argue either that Bolingbroke is a skillful liar who always planned to take the throne, or that he is a man swept along by events and opportunity, with the crown falling to him because no one else can hold it. Use York's paralysis and Richard's capitulation as evidence for the second reading — if everyone around Bolingbroke is weak or corrupt, he doesn't need to scheme.

Detailed Analysis

The strongest version of this essay would avoid a definitive answer and instead argue that Shakespeare's refusal to give Bolingbroke a soliloquy is itself the point. Every other major character reveals their inner life through speech: Richard has multiple soliloquies, Gaunt has his deathbed confession, York has his agonized deliberations, even the Gardener shares his analysis openly. Bolingbroke alone remains opaque. This could be read as Shakespeare acknowledging that political power operates through strategic ambiguity — a leader who never commits to a position can never be accused of betraying one. Compare Bolingbroke's rhetorical restraint to Richard's rhetorical excess: if Richard's problem is that he says too much, Bolingbroke's corresponding strength is that he says too little. A truly ambitious essay might bring in Machiavelli's The Prince (written 1513, widely known in Elizabethan England) and its argument that successful rulers must master the art of appearing virtuous while acting pragmatically. Bolingbroke never claims to want the crown — he simply takes it while insisting he's doing something else.

3. The Garden Scene as Political Theory

Question: The garden scene (III.iv) uses the metaphor of tending a garden to critique Richard's governance. Why does Shakespeare give the play's clearest political analysis to a gardener — a character who has no political power and no role in the plot?

Analyze the Gardener's specific comparisons: the untrimmed garden as England, the weeds as Richard's favorites, the act of pruning as proper governance. Then consider who is absent from the scene — all of the play's political actors are elsewhere. An effective thesis might argue that Shakespeare locates genuine political wisdom in the working class because the nobility is too invested in the power struggle to see it clearly.

Detailed Analysis

A more nuanced approach would consider the garden scene alongside the play's other moments where ordinary people comment on political events — the Welsh Captain's omen-reading in II.iv, York's description of the London crowd in V.ii, the Groom's visit to Richard in prison. Shakespeare consistently places political perception outside the political class. The Gardener understands what Richard should have done because his daily work teaches him the principles Richard ignored: tend what's growing, prune what's overgrown, root out what's parasitic. His metaphor is not merely decorative — it articulates a theory of governance grounded in practical skill rather than divine right. An essay could argue that the garden scene is Shakespeare's most republican moment: it implies that governing well is a craft, like gardening, that anyone with the right knowledge can perform — which undermines the entire basis of hereditary monarchy. The Queen's furious reaction to the Gardener supports this reading: she curses him not because he's wrong but because his being right is intolerable.

4. Divine Right as a Failed Guarantee

Question: Richard II builds the strongest possible case for divine right — and then watches it fail. Is the play arguing that divine right is a legitimate principle that cannot survive political reality, or that it was always a self-serving fiction invented by kings to justify their power?

Map the divine right argument through its key advocates: Gaunt (I.ii), Richard (III.ii), the Bishop of Carlisle (IV.i). Each invokes God's protection for the anointed king with apparent sincerity. Then track what actually happens — God's protection doesn't materialize. Richard is deposed, imprisoned, and murdered. Does the play suggest that divine right is true but powerless, or false and exposed?

Detailed Analysis

The most interesting version of this essay would argue that the play holds divine right in suspension — neither endorsing nor rejecting it. Carlisle's prophecy that the deposition will lead to civil war comes true across the next three history plays, which could be read as God punishing England for violating his anointed king's rights. But it could equally be read as a natural political consequence of destabilizing the succession. Shakespeare keeps both readings available simultaneously. An ambitious argument might note that the play presents divine right as a belief that has real political effects regardless of whether it's theologically true. Richard's faith in his anointing makes him complacent; Carlisle's faith makes him brave enough to oppose Bolingbroke publicly; the commons' lingering belief in the old king's legitimacy will fuel rebellions against Henry. The essay could conclude that Shakespeare treats divine right not as a metaphysical claim to be verified but as a political technology — a tool that shapes behavior, maintains order, and generates chaos when it breaks down.