KING RICHARD THE SECOND

Act 5 Scene 2

(Enter the Duke and Duchess of York)
l1l	Duchess Of York	My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
l2l		When weeping made you break the story off,
l3l		Of our two cousins’ coming into London.
l4l	York	Where did I leave?
	Duchess Of York	At that sad stop, my lord,
l5l		Where rude misgoverned hands from windows’ tops
l6l		Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard’s head.
l7l	York	Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,
l8l		Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
l9l		Which his aspiring rider seemed to know,
l10l		With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
l11l		Whilst all tongues cried “God save thee, Bolingbroke!”
l12l		You would have thought the very windows spake,
l13l		So many greedy looks of young and old
l14l		Through casements darted their desiring eyes
l15l		Upon his visage, and that all the walls
l16l		With painted imagery had said at once,
l17l		“Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!”
l18l		Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,
l19l		Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed’s neck,
l20l		Bespake them thus: “I thank you, countrymen”,
l21l		And thus still doing, thus he passed along.
l22l	Duchess Of York	Alack, poor Richard! Where rode he the whilst?
l23l	York	As in a theatre the eyes of men,
l24l		After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
l25l		Are idly bent on him that enters next,
l26l		Thinking his prattle to be tedious,
l27l		Even so, or with much more contempt, men’s eyes
l28l		Did scowl on gentle Richard. No man cried “God save him!”
l29l		No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home#
l30l		But dust was thrown upon his sacred head,
l31l		Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
l32l		His face still combating with tears and smiles,
l33l		The badges of his grief and patience,
l34l		That had not God for some strong purpose steeled
l35l		The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
l36l		And barbarism itself have pitied him.
l37l		But heaven hath a hand in these events,
l38l		To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
l39l		To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
l40l		Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
		(Enter the Duke of Aumerle)
l41l	Duchess Of York	Here comes my son Aumerle.
	York	Aumerle that was#
l42l		But that is lost for being Richard’s friend,
l43l		And, madam, you must call him “Rutland” now.
l44l		I am in Parliament pledge for his truth
l45l		And lasting fealty to the new-made King.
l46l	Duchess Of York	Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now
l47l		That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?
l48l	Aumerle	Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.
l49l		God knows I had as lief be none as one.
l50l	York	Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
l51l		Lest you be cropped before you come to prime.
l52l		What news from Oxford? Hold these jousts and triumphs?
l53l	Aumerle	For aught I know, my lord, they do.
l54l	York	You will be there, I know.
l55l	Aumerle	If God prevent it not, I purpose so.
l56l	York	What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom?
l57l		Yea, look’st thou pale? Let me see the writing.
l58l	Aumerle	My lord, ’tis nothing.
	York	No matter, then, who see it.
l59l		I will be satisfied. Let me see the writing.
l60l	Aumerle	I do beseech your grace to pardon me.
l61l		It is a matter of small consequence,
l62l		Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
l63l	York	Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
l64l		I fear, I fear!
	Duchess Of York	What should you fear?
l65l		’Tis nothing but some bond that he is entered into
l66l		For gay apparel ’gainst the triumph day.
l67l	York	Bound to himself? What doth he with a bond
l68l		That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.
l69l		Boy, let me see the writing.
l70l	Aumerle	I do beseech you, pardon me. I may not show it.
l71l	York	I will be satisfied. Let me see it, I say.
		(He plucks it out of Aumerle's bosom, and reads it)
l72l		Treason, foul treason! Villain, traitor, slave!
l73l	Duchess Of York	What is the matter, my lord?
l74l	York	Ho, who is within there? Saddle my horse.—
l75l		God for his mercy, what treachery is here!
l76l	Duchess Of York	Why, what is it, my lord?
l77l	York	Give me my boots, I say. Saddle my horse.—
l78l		Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
l79l		I will appeach the villain.
l80l	Duchess Of York	What is the matter?
l81l	York	Peace, foolish woman.
l82l	Duchess Of York	I will not peace. What is the matter, son?
l83l	Aumerle	Good mother, be content. It is no more
l84l		Than my poor life must answer.
	Duchess Of York	Thy life answer?
l85l	York	Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.
		(His man enters with his boots)
l86l	Duchess Of York	Strike him, Aumerle! Poor boy, thou art amazed.
l87l		(To York's man)
		 Hence, villain! Never more come in my sight.
l88l	York	Give me my boots, I say.
	Duchess Of York	Why, York, what wilt thou do?
l89l		Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
l90l		Have we more sons? Or are we like to have?
l91l		Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
l92l		And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
l93l		And rob me of a happy mother’s name?
l94l		Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own?
l95l	York	Thou fond, mad woman,
l96l		Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
l97l		A dozen of them here have ta’en the sacrament,
l98l		And interchangeably set down their hands
l99l		To kill the King at Oxford.
	Duchess Of York	He shall be none.
l100l		We’ll keep him here, then what is that to him?
l101l	York	Away, fond woman! Were he twenty times my son
l102l		I would appeach him.
	Duchess Of York	Hadst thou groaned for him
l103l		As I have done thou wouldst be more pitiful.
l104l		But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect
l105l		That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
l106l		And that he is a bastard, not thy son.
l107l		Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind.
l108l		He is as like thee as a man may be,
l109l		Not like to me or any of my kin,
l110l		And yet I love him.
	York	Make way, unruly woman.
		(Exit with his man)
l111l	Duchess Of York	After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse.
l112l		Spur, post, and get before him to the King,
l113l		And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
l114l		I’ll not be long behind—though I be old,
l115l		I doubt not but to ride as fast as York—
l116l		And never will I rise up from the ground
l117l		Till Bolingbroke have pardoned thee. Away, be gone!
		(Exeunt severally)