Imatges de pÓgina
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K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from

heart.
Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me.
North. That were some love, but little policy.
Queen. Then whither he goes thither let me go.

K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe.
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
Better far off than near, be ne'er the near.
Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans.

Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans.
Ř. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being

short,
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief,
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. [They kiss.

Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. [They kiss again. So, now I have mine own again, be gone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay: Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [E.ceunt.

SCENE II.-The same. A Room in the DUKE OF

YORK's Palace.

Enter YORK and his DUCHESS.
Duch. 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?
Duch.

At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd 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 seem'd to know,With slow but stately pace kept on his course, While all tongues cried God save thee, 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 thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from 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 pass'd along.

Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rode he the whilst?

York. As in a theatre the eyes of men,
After a well-grac'd 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 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, 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.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

Duch. 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.

Enter AUMERLE.
Duch. Welcome, my son: who are the violets now
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?

Aum. 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 cropp'd before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs?

Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do.
York. You will be there, I know.
Aum. If God prevent it not, I purpose so.

York. What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom? Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.

Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

York.

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

Aum. 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,—

Duch. What should you fear?
'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into
For gay apparel against the triumph-day.

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.

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.
York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say.

[Snatches it, and reads. Treason! foul treason !-villain! traitor! slave!

Duch. What's the matter, my lord ?
York. Ho! who's within there?

Enter a Servant.

Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy, what treachery is here !

Duch. Why, what is ’t, 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.

[Exit Servant. Duch.

What's the matter?
York. Peace, foolish woman.
Duch. I will not peace.—What is the matter, son ?

Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
Duch.

Thy life answer !
York. Bring me my boots :-I will unto the king.

Re-enter Servant with boots.
Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. -Poor boy, thou art amaz'd.
Hence, villain ! never morecome in my sight. [To the Servant.

York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duch. 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,
And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?

York. Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou 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.
Duch.

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.
Duch.

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,
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, nor any of my kin,
And yet I love him.
York.

Make way, unruly woman! [Exit.
Duch. 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,
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.

SCENE III.-WINDSOR. A Room in the Castle. Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and other Lords.

Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son?
'Tis full three months since I did see him last:
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.
I would to God, my lords, he might be found:
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loose companions,
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour to support
So dissolute a crew.

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince, And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.

Boling. And what said the gallant?

Percy. His answer was,--he would unto the stews,
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

Boling. As dissolute as desperate: yet through both
I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Which elder days may happily bring forth.--
But who comes here?

Aum.

Enter AUMERLE hastily.

Where is the king? Boling.

What means Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly?

Aum. God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty, To have some conference with

your grace

alone. Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.

[Exeunt PERCY and Lords. What is the matter with our cousin now?

Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, [Kneels.
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

Boling. Intended or committed was this fault?
If but the first, how heinous e'er it be,
To win thy after-love I pardon thee.

Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,
That no man enter till my tale be done.
Boling. Have thy desire. [AUMERLE locks the door.

York. [within.] My liege, beware; look to thyself;
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe.

[Drawing. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; Thou hast no cause to fear.

York. [within.] Open the door, secure, foolhardy king: Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face? Open the door, or I will break it open.

[BOLING. opens the door and locks it again.

Enter YORK.
Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak;
Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
The treason that my haste forbids me show.

Aum. Remember, as thou read’st, thy promise passid:

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