Dut.
My lord, you told me, you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you break the story off ^note
Of our two cousins coming into London.

Yor.
Where did I leave?

Dut.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude mis-govern'd hands, from window ^note tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.

Yor.
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 ^note all tongues cry'd—God save thee, Bolingbroke ^note!

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 imag'ry, had said at once,—
Jesu preserve thee! welcome ^note, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one ^note 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.

Dut.
Alas ^note, poor Richard! where rides he the while ^note?

Yor.
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 scoul on Richard ^note; 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 God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pity'd him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events;
To whose high will we bind ^note our calm contents:
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow. Enter Aumerle.

Dut.
Here comes my son Aumerle.

Yor.
Aumerle that was;

But that is lost, for being Richard's friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:14Q0599
I am in parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealty to the ^note new-made king.

Dut.
Welcome, my son: Who are ^note 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.

Yor.
Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
Lest you be cropt before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs ^note?

Aum.
For aught I know, my lord. ^note

Yor.
You will be there? ^note

Aum.
If God prevent it not; I purpose so.

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

Aum.
My lord, 'tis nothing.

Yor.
No matter then who sees it ^note:
I will be satisfy'd, 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.

Yor.
Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear,—

Dut.
You fear! what should you fear?
'Tis nothing but some bond ^note, that he is enter'd into
For gay apparel 'gainst ^note the triumph day ^note.

Yor.
Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.— [pushing her away.
Boy, let me see the writing.

Aum.
'Beseech ^note you, pardon me; I may not shew it.

Yor.
I will be satisfy'd; let me see't, I say:— [snatches it from his Bosom, and reads.
Treason! foul treason!—villain! traitor! slave!

Dut.
What is ^note the matter, my lord?

Yor.
Ho! who is ^note within there? [Servant appears.] Saddle my horse.—
God for ^note his mercy! what treachery is here!

Dut.
Why, what is it ^note, my lord?

Yor.
Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse:— [Exit Servant.
Now by mine honour, by my ^note life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain.

Dut.
What's the matter?

Yor.
Peace, foolish woman.

Dut.
I will not peace:—What is the matter, son? ^note

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

Dut.
Thy life answer! Re-enter Servant, with Boots.

Yor.
Bring me ^note my boots, I will unto the king.

Dut.
Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz'd:—
Hence, villain; never more come in my sight. [to the Servant, driving him out.

Yor.
Give me my boots, I say.

Dut.
Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not ^note 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?

Yor.
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 ^note hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.

Dut.
He shall be none;
We'll keep him here; Then what is that to him?

Yor.
Away, fond woman! were ^note he twenty times
My son, I would appeach him.

Dut.
Hadst thou groan'd for him,
As I have done, thou'dst 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 ^note me, or any of my kin,
And yet I love him.

Yor.
Make way, unruly woman. [Exit.

Dut.
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. ^note [Exeunt.

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