DUCHESS
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.
YORK
Where did I leave?
DUCHESS
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgoverned hands from windows’ tops
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard’s head.
YORK
Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
Which his aspiring rider seemed to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
Whilst all tongues cried “God save , Bolingbroke!”
You would have thought the very windows spake,
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage, and that all the walls
With painted imagery had said at once
“Jesu preserve ! Welcome, Bolingbroke!”
Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed’s neck,
Bespake them thus, “I thank you, countrymen.”
And thus still doing, thus he passed along.
DUCHESS
, poor Richard! Where rode he the whilst?
YORK
As in a theatre the eyes of men
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!”
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,
That had not God for some strong purpose, steeled
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven a hand in these events,
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
DUCHESS
Here comes my son Aumerle.
YORK
Aumerle that was;
But that is lost for being Richard’s friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now.
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
DUCHESS
Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?
AUMERLE
Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.
God knows I had as lief be none as one.
YORK
Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
Lest you be cropped before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford? Do these jousts and triumphs hold?
AUMERLE
For I know, my lord, they do.
YORK
You will be there, I know.
AUMERLE
If God prevent not, I purpose so.
YORK
What seal is that that hangs without bosom?
Yea, look’st pale? Let me see the writing.
AUMERLE
My lord, nothing.
YORK
No matter, then, who see it.
I will be satisfied. Let me see the writing.
AUMERLE
I do beseech your Grace to pardon me.
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
YORK
Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear—
DUCHESS
What should you fear?
nothing but some bond that he is entered into
For gay apparel ’gainst the triumph day.
YORK
Bound to himself? What he with a bond
That he is bound to? Wife, art a fool.
Boy, let me see the writing.
AUMERLE
I do beseech you, pardon me. I may not show it.
YORK
I will be satisfied. Let me see it, I say.
YORK
Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!
DUCHESS
What is the matter, my lord?
YORK
Ho! who is within there?
YORK
Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy, what treachery is here!
DUCHESS
Why, what is it, my lord?
YORK
Give me my boots, I say. Saddle my horse.
Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain.
DUCHESS
What is the matter?
YORK
Peace, foolish woman.
DUCHESS
I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?
AUMERLE
Good mother, be content. It is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
DUCHESS
life answer?
YORK
Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.
DUCHESS
Strike him, Aumerle! Poor boy, art amazed.
, villain! Never more come in my sight.
YORK
Give me my boots, I say.
DUCHESS
Why, York, what wilt do?
Wilt not hide the trespass of own?
Have we more sons? Or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilt pluck my fair son from mine age
And rob me of a happy mother’s name?
Is he not like ? Is he not own?
YORK
fond mad woman,
Wilt conceal this dark conspiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta’en the sacrament
And interchangeably set down their hands
To kill the King at Oxford.
DUCHESS
He shall be none;
We’ll keep him here. Then what is that to him?
YORK
Away, fond woman! Were he twenty times my son,
I would appeach him.
DUCHESS
Hadst groaned for him
As I have done, be more pitiful.
But now I know mind: suspect
That I have been disloyal to bed
And that he is a bastard, not son.
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind.
He is as like as a man may be,
Not like to me, or any of my kin,
And yet I love him.
YORK
Make way, unruly woman!
DUCHESS
After, Aumerle! Mount upon his horse!
Spur post, and get before him to the King,
And beg pardon he do accuse .
I’ll not be long behind. Though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York.
And never will I rise up from the ground
Till Bolingbroke have pardoned . Away, be gone!