Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Life and Death of King Richard the Second/Act 5 Scene 2

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Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)
William Shakespeare
The Life and Death of King Richard the Second: Act V, Scene II.
3603403Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910) — The Life and Death of King Richard the Second: Act V, Scene II.William Shakespeare

Scæna Secunda.

Enter Yorke, and his Duchesse.

My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you breake the story off,
Of our two Cousins comming into London.

Where did I leaue?

At that sad stoppe, my Lord,
Where rude mis-gouern'd hands, from Windowes tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richards head.

Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bullingbrooke,
Mounted vpon a hot and fierie Steed,
Which his aspiring Rider seem'd to know,
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course:
While all tongues cride, God saue thee Bullingbrooke.
You would haue thought the very windowes spake,
So many greedy lookes of yong and old,
Through Casements darted their desiring eyes
Vpon his visage: and that all the walles,
With painted Imagery had said at once,
Iesu preserue thee, welcom Bullingbrooke.
Whil'st he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower then his proud Steeds necke,
Bespake them thus: I thanke you Countrimen:
And thus still doing, thus he past along.

Alas poore Richard, where rides he the whilst?

As in a Theater, the eyes of men
After a well grac'd Actor leaues the Stage,
Are idlely bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
Euen so, or with much more contempt, mens eyes
Did scowle on Richard: no man cride, God saue him:
No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home,
But dust was throwne vpon his Sacred head,
Which with such gentle sorrow he shooke off,
His face still combating with teares and smiles
(The badges of his greefe and patience)
That had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce haue melted,
And Barbarisme it selfe haue pittied him.
But heauen hath a hand in these euents,
To whose high will we bound our calme contents.
To Bullingbrooke, are we sworne Subiects now,
Whose State, and Honor, I for aye allow.

Enter Aumerle.

Heere comes my sonne Aumerle.

Aumerle that was,
But that is lost, for being Richards Friend.
And Madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealtie to the new-made King.

Welcome my sonne: who are the Violets now,
That strew the greene lap of the new-come Spring?

Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not,
God knowes, I had as liefe be none, as one.

Well, beare you well in this new-spring of time
Least you be cropt before you come to prime.
What newes from Oxford? Hold those Iusts & Triumphs?

For ought I know my Lord, they do.

You will be there I know.

If God preuent not, I purpose so.

What Seale is that that hangs without thy bosom?
Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the Writing.

My Lord, 'tis nothing.

No matter then who sees it,
I will be satisfied, let me see the Writing.

I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not haue seene.

Which for some reasons sir, I meane to see:
I feare, I feare.

What should you feare?
'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
For gay apparrell, against the Triumph.

Bound to himselfe? What doth he with a Bond
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a foole.
Boy, let me see the Writing.

I do beseech you pardon me, I may not shew it.

Snatches itI will be satisfied: let me see it I say.
Treason, foule Treason, Villaine, Traitor, Slaue.

What's the matter, my Lord?

Hoa, who's within there? Saddle my horse.
Heauen for his mercy: what treachery is heere?

Why, what is't my Lord?

Giue me my boots, I say: Saddle my horse:
Now by my Honor, my life, my troth,
I will appeach the Villaine.

What is the matter?

Peace foolish Woman.

I will not peace. What is the matter Sonne?

Good Mother be content, it is no more
Then my poore life must answer.

Thy life answer?

Enter Seruant with Boots.

Bring me my Boots, I will vnto the King.

Strike him Aumerle. Poore boy, thou art amaz'd,
Hence Villaine, neuer more come in my sight.

Giue me my Boots, I say.

Why Yorke, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the Trespasse of thine owne?
Haue we more Sonnes? Or are we like to haue?
Is not my teeming date drunke vp with time?
And wilt thou plucke my faire Sonne from mine Age,
And rob me of a happy Mothers name?
Is he not like thee? Is he not thine owne?

Thou fond mad woman:
Wilt thou conceale this darke Conspiracy?
A dozen of them heere haue tane the Sacrament,
And interchangeably set downe their hands
To kill the King at Oxford.

He shall be none:
Wee'l keepe him heere: then what is that to him?

Away fond woman: were hee twenty times my
Son, I would appeach him.

Hadst thou groan'd for him as I haue done,
Thou wouldest be more pittifull:
But now I know thy minde; thou do'st suspect
That I haue bene disloyall to thy bed,
And that he is a Bastard, not thy Sonne:
Sweet Yorke, sweet husband, be not of that minde:
He is as like thee, as a man may bee,
Not like to me, nor any of my Kin,
And yet I loue him.

Exit.Make way, vnruly Woman.

After Aumerle. Mount thee vpon his horse,
Spurre post, and get before him to the King,
And begge thy pardon, ere he do accuse thee,
Ile not be long behind: though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as Yorke:
And neuer will I rise vp from the ground,
Till Bullingbrooke haue pardon'd thee: Away be gone.