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  • Title: Richard II (Quarto 1, 1597)
  • Editor: Catherine Lisak
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-436-3

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Catherine Lisak
    Peer Reviewed

    Richard II (Quarto 1, 1597)

    Enter Duke of Yorke and the Dutchesse.
    Du. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
    When weeping made you breake the storie of
    Of our two cousins comming into London.
    2370Yorke Where did I leaue?
    Du. At that sad stop my Lord,
    Where rude misgouerned hands from windowes tops,
    Threw dust and rubbish on king Richards head.
    Yorke Then (as I said) the Duke great Bullingbrooke
    2375Mounted vpon a hote and fierie steede,
    Which his aspiring rider seemd to know,
    With slow, but stately pase kept on his course,
    Whilst all tongues cried, God saue the Bullingbrooke,
    You would haue thought the very windows spake:
    2380So many greedy lookes of yong and old
    Through casements darted their desiring eies
    Vpon his visage, and that all the walles
    With painted imagery had said at once,
    Iesu preserue the welcome Bullingbrooke,
    2385Whilst he from the one side to the other turning
    Bare-headed, lower than his prowd steedes necke
    Bespake them thus; I thanke you countrymen:
    And thus still doing, thus he passt along.
    Du. Alac poore Richard, where rode he the whilst?
    2390Yorke As in a Theater the eies of men,
    After a well-graced Actor leaues the stage,
    Are ydly bent on him that enters next,
    Thinking his prattle to be tedious;
    Euen so, or with much more contempt mens eies
    2395Did scowle on gentle Ric. no man cried, God saue him,
    No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home,
    But dust was throwen vpon his sacred head:
    Which with such gentle sorrow he shooke off,
    His face still combating with teares and smiles,
    2400The badges of his griefe and patience,
    That had not God for some strong purpose steeld
    The hearts of men, they must perforce haue melted,
    And Barbarisme it selfe haue pittied him:
    But heauen hath a hand in these euents,
    2405To whose high will we bound our calme contents.
    To Bullingbrooke are we sworne subiects now,
    Whose state and honour I for ay allow.
    Du. Here comes my sonne Aumerle.
    2410Yorke Aumerle that was,
    But that is lost, for being Richards friend:
    And Madam, you must call him Rutland now:
    I am in parleament pledge for his truth
    And lasting fealtie to the new made king.
    2415Du. Welcome my sonne, who are the violets now
    That strew the greene lap of the new come spring.
    Au. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not,
    God knowes I had as leife be none as one.
    Yorke Well, beare you wel in this new spring of time,
    2420Lest you be cropt before you come to prime.
    What newes from Oxford, do these iusts & triumphs hold?
    Aum. For aught I know (my Lord) they do.
    Yorke you will be there I know.
    Aum. If God preuent not, I purpose so.
    2425Yorke What seale is that that hangs without thy bosome?
    yea lookst thou pale? let me see the writing,
    Aum. My Lord, tis nothing.
    Yorke No matter then who see it,
    I will be satisfied, let me see the writing.
    2430Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me;
    It is a matter of small consequence,
    Which for some reasons I would not haue seene.
    Yorke Which for some reasons sir I meane to see.
    I feare I feare.
    2435Du. What should you feare?
    Tis nothing but some band that he is entred into
    For gay apparell gainst the triumph day.
    Yorke Bound to himselfe; what doth he with a bond
    That he is bound to. Wife, thou art a foole:
    2440Boy, let me see the writing.
    Aum. I do beseech you pardon me, I may not shew it.
    Yorke I will be satisfied, let me see it I say:
    He pluckes it out of his bosome and reades it.
    Yorke Treason, foule treason, villaine, traitor, slaue,
    Du. What is the matter my lord?
    2445Yorke Ho, who is within there? saddle my horse,
    God sor his mercy! what treachery is here?
    Du. Why what is it my Lord?
    Yorke Giue me my bootes I say, saddle my horse,
    Now by mine honour, by my life, by my troth
    2450I will appeach the villaine.
    Du. What is the matter?
    Yorke Peace foolish woman.
    Du. I wil not peace, what is the matter Aumerle?
    Au. Good mother be content, it is no more
    2455Then my poore life must answere.
    Du. Thy life answere?
    yor. Bring me my bootes, I will vnto the King.
    2458.1His man enters with his bootes.
    Du. Strike him Aumerle, poore boy thou art amazd,
    2460Hence vilaine neuer more come in my sight.
    Yor. Giue me my bootes I say.
    Du. Why Yorke what wilt thou doe?
    Wilt thou not hide the trespasse of thine owne?
    Haue we more sons? or are we like to haue?
    2465Is not my teeming date drunke vp with time?
    And wilt thou plucke my faire sonne from mine age?
    And rob me of a happie mothers name,
    Is he not like the? is he not thine owne?
    Yor. Thou fond mad woman,
    2470Wilt thou conceale this darke conspiracie?
    A doozen of them here haue tane the sacrament,
    And interchaungeably set downe there hands,
    To kill the king at Oxford.
    Du. He shal be none, weele keepe him heere,
    2475Then what is that to him?
    Yor. Away fond woman, were he twentie times my sonne,
    I would appeach him.
    Du. Hadst thou groand for him as I haue done,
    Thou wouldst bee more pittifull.
    2480But nowe I knowe rhy minde, thou doest suspect
    That I haue been disloiall to thy bed,
    And that he is a bastard, not thy sonne:
    Sweete Yorke, sweete husband, be not of that mind,
    He is as like thee as a man may be,
    2485Not like to me, or any of my kinne,
    And yet I loue him.
    Yor. Make way vnrulie woman. Exit.
    Du. After Aumerle: mount thee vpon his horse,
    Spur, post, and get before him to the King,
    2490And beg 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 Bullingbroke haue pardoned thee: away, be gone.