1    My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
2    When weeping made you break the story off,
3    of our two cousins coming into London.

4    Where did I leave?

5    At that sad stop, my lord,
6    Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops
7    Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

8    Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
9    Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed
10   Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
11   With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
12   Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee,
13   Bolingbroke!'
14   You would have thought the very windows spake,
15   So many greedy looks of young and old
16   Through casements darted their desiring eyes
17   Upon his visage, and that all the walls
18   With painted imagery had said at once
19   'Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!'
20   Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,
21   Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,
22   Bespake them thus: 'I thank you, countrymen:'
23   And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

24   Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?

25   As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
26   After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
27   Are idly bent on him that enters next,
28   Thinking his prattle to be tedious;
29   Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
30   Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him!'
31   No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:
32   But dust was thrown upon his sacred head:
33   Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
34   His face still combating with tears and smiles,
35   The badges of his grief and patience,
36   That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
37   The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted
38   And barbarism itself have pitied him.
39   But heaven hath a hand in these events,
40   To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
41   To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
42   Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

43   Here comes my son Aumerle.

44   Aumerle that was;
45   But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
46   And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
47   I am in parliament pledge for his truth
48   And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

49   Welcome, my son: who are the violets now
50   That strew the green lap of the new come spring?

51   Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not:
52   God knows I had as lief be none as one.

53   Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
54   Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
55   What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs?

56   For aught I know, my lord, they do.

57   You will be there, I know.

58   If God prevent not, I purpose so.

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

61   My lord, 'tis nothing.

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

64   I do beseech your grace to pardon me:
65   It is a matter of small consequence,
66   Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

67   Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
68   I fear, I fear,--

69   What should you fear?
70   'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
71   For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.

72   Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond
73   That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.
74   Boy, let me see the writing.

75   I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.

76   I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.
He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it
77   Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!

78   What is the matter, my lord?

79   Ho! who is within there?
Enter a Servant
80   Saddle my horse.
81   God for his mercy, what treachery is here!

82   Why, what is it, my lord?

83   Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.
84   Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth,
85   I will appeach the villain.

86   What is the matter?

87   Peace, foolish woman.

88   I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle.

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

91   Thy life answer!

92   Bring me my boots: I will unto the king.

93   Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed.
94   Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.

95   Give me my boots, I say.

96   Why, York, what wilt thou do?
97   Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
98   Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
99   Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
100  And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
101  And rob me of a happy mother's name?
102  Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?

103  Thou fond mad woman,
104  Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
105  A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
106  And interchangeably set down their hands,
107  To kill the king at Oxford.

108  He shall be none;
109  We'll keep him here: then what is that to him?

110  Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
111  I would appeach him.

112  Hadst thou groan'd for him
113  As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.
114  But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect
115  That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
116  And that he is a bastard, not thy son:
117  Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
118  He is as like thee as a man may be,
119  Not like to me, or any of my kin,
120  And yet I love him.

121  Make way, unruly woman!

122  After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse;
123  Spur post, and get before him to the king,
124  And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
125  I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
126  I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
127  And never will I rise up from the ground
128  Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone!