| ACT V SCENE II | The DUKE OF YORK's palace. | |
| [Enter DUKE OF YORK and DUCHESS OF YORK] |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | My lord, you told me you would tell the rest, |
| When weeping made you break the story off, |
| of our two cousins coming into London. |
| DUKE OF YORK | Where did I leave? |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | At that sad stop, my lord, | 5 |
| Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops |
| Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head. |
| DUKE OF YORK | Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, |
| Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed |
| Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, | 10 |
| With slow but stately pace kept on his course, |
| Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, |
| Bolingbroke!' |
| You would have thought the very windows spake, |
| So many greedy looks of young and old | 15 |
| Through casements darted their desiring eyes |
| Upon his visage, and that all the walls |
| With painted imagery had said at once |
| 'Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!' |
| Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning, | 20 |
| Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, |
| Bespake them thus: 'I thank you, countrymen:' |
| And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst? |
| DUKE OF YORK | As in a theatre, the eyes of men, | 25 |
| After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, |
| Are idly bent on him that enters next, |
| Thinking his prattle to be tedious; |
| Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes |
| Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him!' | 30 |
| No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: |
| But dust was thrown upon his sacred head: |
| Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, |
| His face still combating with tears and smiles, |
| The badges of his grief and patience, | 35 |
| That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd |
| The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted |
| And barbarism itself have pitied him. |
| But heaven hath a hand in these events, |
| To whose high will we bound our calm contents. | 40 |
| To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, |
| Whose state and honour I for aye allow. |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | Here comes my son Aumerle. |
| DUKE OF YORK | Aumerle that was; |
| But that is lost for being Richard's friend, | 45 |
| And, madam, you must call him Rutland now: |
| I am in parliament pledge for his truth |
| And lasting fealty to the new-made king. |
| [Enter DUKE OF AUMERLE] |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | Welcome, my son: who are the violets now |
| That strew the green lap of the new come spring? | 50 |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: |
| God knows I had as lief be none as one. |
| DUKE OF YORK | Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, |
| Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. |
| What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs? | 55 |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | For aught I know, my lord, they do. |
| DUKE OF YORK | You will be there, I know. |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | If God prevent not, I purpose so. |
| DUKE OF YORK | What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom? |
| Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing. | 60 |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | My lord, 'tis nothing. |
| DUKE OF YORK | No matter, then, who see it; |
| I will be satisfied; let me see the writing. |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | I do beseech your grace to pardon me: |
| It is a matter of small consequence, | 65 |
| Which for some reasons I would not have seen. |
| DUKE OF YORK | Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. |
| I fear, I fear,-- |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | What should you fear? |
| 'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into | 70 |
| For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day. |
| DUKE OF YORK | Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond |
| That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. |
| Boy, let me see the writing. |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it. | 75 |
| DUKE OF YORK | I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. |
[He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it] |
| Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave! |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | What is the matter, my lord? |
| DUKE OF YORK | Ho! who is within there? |
[Enter a Servant] |
| Saddle my horse. | 80 |
| God for his mercy, what treachery is here! |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | Why, what is it, my lord? |
| DUKE OF YORK | Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse. |
| Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth, |
| I will appeach the villain. | 85 |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | What is the matter? |
| DUKE OF YORK | Peace, foolish woman. |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle. |
| DUKE OF AUMERLE | Good mother, be content; it is no more |
| Than my poor life must answer. | 90 |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | Thy life answer! |
| DUKE OF YORK | Bring me my boots: I will unto the king. |
| [Re-enter Servant with boots] |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed. |
| Hence, villain! never more come in my sight. |
| DUKE OF YORK | Give me my boots, I say. | 95 |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | Why, York, what wilt thou do? |
| Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? |
| Have we more sons? or are we like to have? |
| Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? |
| And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, | 100 |
| And rob me of a happy mother's name? |
| Is he not like thee? is he not thine own? |
| DUKE OF YORK | Thou fond mad woman, |
| Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? |
| A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, | 105 |
| And interchangeably set down their hands, |
| To kill the king at Oxford. |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | He shall be none; |
| We'll keep him here: then what is that to him? |
| DUKE OF YORK | Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son, | 110 |
| I would appeach him. |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | Hadst thou groan'd for him |
| As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. |
| But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect |
| That I have been disloyal to thy bed, | 115 |
| And that he is a bastard, not thy son: |
| Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind: |
| He is as like thee as a man may be, |
| Not like to me, or any of my kin, |
| And yet I love him. | 120 |
| DUKE OF YORK | Make way, unruly woman! |
| [Exit] |
| DUCHESS OF YORK | After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse; |
| Spur post, and get before him to the king, |
| And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. |
| I'll not be long behind; though I be old, | 125 |
| I doubt not but to ride as fast as York: |
| And never will I rise up from the ground |
| Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone! |
| [Exeunt] |
