Aum.
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?

Aum.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands, from window-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 cry'd—God save thee, Bolingbroke!
You wou'd 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—
Heav'n preserve thee! Welcome Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus—I thank you, countrymen.
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

Aum.
Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the while?

York.
As in the 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 scoul on Richard: no man cry'd, 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 heav'n, from some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself, have pity'd him.

Aum.
Ah! gracious lord, these days are dangerous!
Virtue is choak'd with foul ambition,
And charity chac'd hence by rancour's hand.
Foul subornation is predominant,
And equity exil'd this once happy land.

York.
To Bolingbroke are we now sworn subjects,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
Therefore let's hence;—what cannot be avoided,
'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear.

Aum.
Would that my fear were false! Oh, that it were,
For, good king Richard, thy decay I fear.

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