K. 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, [They kiss. Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part, To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. [Kiss again. So, now I have mine own again, begone, K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay : Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt. 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 window's 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, Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while? Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd But heaven hath a hand in these events; To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 4 Tapestry hung from the windows. 5 Carelessly turned. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, Enter AUMERLE. Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. York. Aumerle that was; But that is lost, for being Richard's friend, 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 justs7 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. 6 Ever. 7 Tilts and tournaments. 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, 'gainst 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 is the matter, my lord? York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a Servant.] Saddle my horse. God for his mercy! what treachery is here! Duch. Why, what is it, 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. Duch. [Exit Servant. 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! Re-enter Servant, with Boots. York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art amaz'd:8 Perplexed, confounded. [To the Servant. Hence, villain; never more come in my sight. York. Give me my boots, I say. Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? Is he not like thee? is he not thine own? Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, 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, thoud'st 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, or any And yet I love him. of my kin, York. |