There is a scene in an Elizabethan play on the reign of Richard II – the play, anonymous and without title, of uncertain date and theatrical provenance, now commonly called Woodstock or Thomas of Woodstock – in which one of the caterpillars of the commonwealth enters the royal presence poring over a book. ‘How now, what readst thou, Bushy?’, asks the King. To which his favourite replies:

This book – is it Holinshed (a bit large for the purpose) or Stow evoked in a kind of surreal flash-forward? – holds examples, strange and wonderful, of treason and conquest applicable to Richard's own predicament. The information on which he eagerly seizes, however, is more prosaic. Bushy reads: ‘Upon the 3rd of April 1365 was Lord Richard, son to the Black Prince, born at Bordeaux.’ ‘1365 …’, muses the King. ‘What year is this?’ (This is one of those plays in which characters ask the year, presumably more for the spectators' benefit than their own; it is not dramaturgy of a Shakespearian order.) The year, it turns out, is 1387. Thus does it dawn on Richard that he has reached his majority. He can now claim his birthright, the throne of England, and set in motion the catastrophic sequence of events which will lead to his fall.