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Richard II

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima

Enter Queene, and Ladies.

 
  Qu. This way the King will come: this is the way
To Iulius Cćsars ill-erected Tower:
To whose flint Bosome, my condemned Lord
Is doom'd a Prisoner, by prowd Bullingbrooke.
Here let vs rest, if this rebellious Earth
Haue any resting for her true Kings Queene.
Enter Richard, and Guard.
 
 
But soft, but see, or rather doe not see,
My faire Rose wither: yet looke vp; behold,
That you in pittie may dissolue to dew,
And wash him fresh againe with true-loue Teares.
Ah thou, the Modell where old Troy did stand,
Thou Mappe of Honor, thou King Richards Tombe,
And not King Richard: thou most beauteous Inne,
Why should hard-fauor'd Griefe be lodg'd in thee,
When Triumph is become an Ale-house Guest
 
 
   Rich. Ioyne not with griefe, faire Woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden: learne good Soule,
To thinke our former State a happie Dreame,
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are,
Shewes vs but this. I am sworne Brother (Sweet)
To grim Necessitie; and hee and I
Will keepe a League till Death. High thee to France,
And Cloyster thee in some Religious House:
Our holy liues must winne a new Worlds Crowne,
Which our prophane houres here haue stricken downe
 
 
   Qu. What, is my Richard both in shape and minde
Transform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bullingbrooke
Depos'd thine Intellect? hath he beene in thy Heart?
The Lyon dying, thrusteth forth his Paw,
And wounds the Earth, if nothing else, with rage
To be o're-powr'd: and wilt thou, Pupill-like,
Take thy Correction mildly, kisse the Rodde,
And fawne on Rage with base Humilitie,
Which art a Lyon, and a King of Beasts?
  Rich. A King of Beasts indeed: if aught but Beasts,
I had beene still a happy King of Men.
Good (sometime Queene) prepare thee hence for France:
Thinke I am dead, and that euen here thou tak'st,
As from my Death-bed, my last liuing leaue.
In Winters tedious Nights sit by the fire
With good old folkes, and let them tell thee Tales
Of wofull Ages, long agoe betide:
And ere thou bid good-night, to quit their griefe,
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their Beds:
For why? the sencelesse Brands will sympathize
The heauie accent of thy mouing Tongue,
And in compassion, weepe the fire out:
And some will mourne in ashes, some coale-black,
For the deposing of a rightfull King.
Enter Northumberland.
 
 
  North. My Lord, the mind of Bullingbrooke is chang'd.
You must to Pomfret, not vnto the Tower.
And Madame, there is order ta'ne for you:
With all swift speed, you must away to France
 
 
   Rich. Northumberland, thou Ladder wherewithall
The mounting Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne,
The time shall not be many houres of age,
More then it is, ere foule sinne, gathering head,
Shall breake into corruption: thou shalt thinke,
Though he diuide the Realme, and giue thee halfe,
It is too little, helping him to all:
He shall thinke, that thou which know'st the way
To plant vnrightfull Kings, wilt know againe,
Being ne're so little vrg'd another way,
To pluck him headlong from the vsurped Throne.
The Loue of wicked friends conuerts to Feare;
That Feare, to Hate; and Hate turnes one, or both,
To worthie Danger, and deserued Death
 
 
   North. My guilt be on my Head, and there an end:
Take leaue, and part, for you must part forthwith
 
 
   Rich. Doubly diuorc'd? (bad men) ye violate
A two-fold Marriage; 'twixt my Crowne, and me.
And then betwixt me, and my marryed Wife.
Let me vn-kisse the Oath 'twixt thee, and me;
And yet not so, for with a Kisse 'twas made.
Part vs, Northumberland: I, towards the North,
Where shiuering Cold and Sicknesse pines the Clyme:
My Queene to France: from whence, set forth in pompe,
She came adorned hither like sweet May;
Sent back like Hollowmas, or short'st of day
 
 
   Qu. And must we be diuided? must we part?
  Rich. I, hand from hand (my Loue) and heart fro[m] heart
 
 
Qu. Banish vs both, and send the King with me
 
 
North. That were some Loue, but little Pollicy
 
 
Qu. Then whither he goes, thither let me goe
 
 
   Rich. So two together weeping, make one Woe.
Weepe thou for me in France; I, for thee heere:
Better farre off, then neere, be ne're the neere.
Goe, count thy Way with Sighes; I, mine with Groanes
 
 
Qu. So longest Way shall haue the longest Moanes
 
 
   Rich. Twice for one step Ile groane, y Way being short,
And peece the Way out with a heauie heart.
Come, come, in wooing Sorrow let's be briefe,
Since wedding it, there is such length in Griefe:
One Kisse shall stop our mouthes, and dumbely part;
Thus giue I mine, and thus take I thy heart
 
 
   Qu. Giue me mine owne againe: 'twere no good part,
To take on me to keepe, and kill thy heart.
So, now I haue mine owne againe, be gone,
That I may striue to kill it with a groane
 
 
   Rich. We make Woe wanton with this fond delay:
Once more adieu; the rest, let Sorrow say.
 

Exeunt.

Scoena Secunda

Enter Yorke, and his Duchesse.

 
  Duch. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you breake the story off,
Of our two Cousins comming into London
 
 
   Yorke. Where did I leaue?
  Duch. At that sad stoppe, my Lord,
Where rude mis-gouern'd hands, from Windowes tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richards head
 
 
   Yorke. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bullingbrooke,
Mounted vpon a hot and fierie Steed,
Which his aspiring Rider seem'd to know,
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course:
While all tongues cride, God saue thee Bullingbrooke.
You would haue thought the very windowes spake,
So many greedy lookes of yong and old,
Through Casements darted their desiring eyes
Vpon his visage: and that all the walles,
With painted Imagery had said at once,
Iesu preserue thee, welcom Bullingbrooke.
Whil'st he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower then his proud Steeds necke,
Bespake them thus: I thanke you Countrimen:
And thus still doing, thus he past along
 
 
   Dutch. Alas poore Richard, where rides he the whilst?
  Yorke. As in a Theater, the eyes of men
After a well grac'd Actor leaues the Stage,
Are idlely bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
Euen so, or with much more contempt, mens eyes
Did scowle on Richard: no man cride, God saue him:
No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home,
But dust was throwne vpon his Sacred head,
Which with such gentle sorrow he shooke off,
His face still combating with teares and smiles
(The badges of his greefe and patience)
That had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce haue melted,
And Barbarisme it selfe haue pittied him.
But heauen hath a hand in these euents,
To whose high will we bound our calme contents.
To Bullingbrooke, are we sworne Subiects now,
Whose State, and Honor, I for aye allow.
Enter Aumerle
 
 
Dut. Heere comes my sonne Aumerle
 
 
   Yor. Aumerle that was,
But that is lost, for being Richards Friend.
And Madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealtie to the new-made King
 
 
   Dut. Welcome my sonne: who are the Violets now,
That strew the greene lap of the new-come Spring?
  Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not,
God knowes, I had as liefe be none, as one
 
 
   Yorke. Well, beare you well in this new-spring of time
Least you be cropt before you come to prime.
What newes from Oxford? Hold those Iusts & Triumphs?
  Aum. For ought I know my Lord, they do
 
 
Yorke. You will be there I know
 
 
Aum. If God preuent not, I purpose so
 
 
   Yor. What Seale is that that hangs without thy bosom?
Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the Writing
 
 
Aum. My Lord, 'tis nothing
 
 
   Yorke. 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 haue seene
 
 
   Yorke. Which for some reasons sir, I meane to see:
I feare, I feare
 
 
   Dut. What should you feare?
'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
For gay apparrell, against the Triumph
 
 
   Yorke. Bound to himselfe? What doth he with a Bond
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a foole.
Boy, let me see the Writing
 
 
Aum. I do beseech you pardon me, I may not shew it
 
 
Yor. I will be satisfied: let me see it I say.
 
 
Snatches it
 
 
Treason, foule Treason, Villaine, Traitor, Slaue
 
 
   Dut. What's the matter, my Lord?
  Yorke. Hoa, who's within there? Saddle my horse.
Heauen for his mercy: what treachery is heere?
  Dut. Why, what is't my Lord?
  Yorke. Giue me my boots, I say: Saddle my horse:
Now by my Honor, my life, my troth,
I will appeach the Villaine
 
 
   Dut. What is the matter?
  Yorke. Peace foolish Woman
 
 
   Dut. I will not peace. What is the matter Sonne?
  Aum. Good Mother be content, it is no more
Then my poore life must answer
 
 
   Dut. Thy life answer?
Enter Seruant with Boots.
 
 
Yor. Bring me my Boots, I will vnto the King
 
 
   Dut. Strike him Aumerle. Poore boy, y art amaz'd,
Hence Villaine, neuer more come in my sight
 
 
Yor. Giue me my Boots, I say
 
 
   Dut. Why Yorke, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the Trespasse of thine owne?
Haue we more Sonnes? Or are we like to haue?
Is not my teeming date drunke vp with time?
And wilt thou plucke my faire Sonne from mine Age,
And rob me of a happy Mothers name?
Is he not like thee? Is he not thine owne?
  Yor. Thou fond mad woman:
Wilt thou conceale this darke Conspiracy?
A dozen of them heere haue tane the Sacrament,
And interchangeably set downe their hands
To kill the King at Oxford
 
 
   Dut. He shall be none:
Wee'l keepe him heere: then what is that to him?
  Yor. Away fond woman: were hee twenty times my
Son, I would appeach him
 
 
   Dut. Hadst thou groan'd for him as I haue done,
Thou wouldest be more pittifull:
But now I know thy minde; thou do'st suspect
That I haue bene disloyall to thy bed,
And that he is a Bastard, not thy Sonne:
Sweet Yorke, sweet husband, be not of that minde:
He is as like thee, as a man may bee,
Not like to me, nor any of my Kin,
And yet I loue him
 
 
Yorke. Make way, vnruly Woman.
 

Exit

 
  Dut. After Aumerle. Mount thee vpon his horse,
Spurre post, and get before him to the King,
And begge 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 Bullingbrooke haue pardon'd thee: Away be gone.
 

Exit

Scoena Tertia

Enter Bullingbrooke, Percie, and other Lords.

 
  Bul. Can no man tell of my vnthriftie Sonne?
'Tis full three monthes since I did see him last.
If any plague hang ouer vs, 'tis he,
I would to heauen (my Lords) he might be found:
Enquire at London, 'mongst the Tauernes there:
For there (they say) he dayly doth frequent,
With vnrestrained loose Companions,
Euen such (they say) as stand in narrow Lanes,
And rob our Watch, and beate our passengers,
Which he, yong wanton, and effeminate Boy
Takes on the point of Honor, to support
So dissolute a crew
 
 
   Per. My Lord, some two dayes since I saw the Prince,
And told him of these Triumphes held at Oxford
 
 
   Bul. And what said the Gallant?
  Per. His answer was: he would vnto the Stewes,
And from the common'st creature plucke a Gloue
And weare it as a fauour, and with that
He would vnhorse the lustiest Challenger
 
 
   Bul. As dissolute as desp'rate, yet through both,
I see some sparkes of better hope: which elder dayes
May happily bring forth. But who comes heere?
Enter Aumerle.
 
 
  Aum. Where is the King?
  Bul. What meanes our Cosin, that hee stares
And lookes so wildely?
  Aum. God saue your Grace. I do beseech your Maiesty
To haue some conference with your Grace alone
 
 
   Bul. Withdraw your selues, and leaue vs here alone:
What is the matter with our Cosin now?
  Aum. For euer may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleaue to my roofe within my mouth,
Vnlesse a Pardon, ere I rise, or speake
 
 
   Bul. Intended, or committed was this fault?
If on the first, how heynous ere it bee,
To win thy after loue, I pardon thee
 
 
   Aum. Then giue me leaue, that I may turne the key,
That no man enter, till my tale be done
 
 
Bul. Haue thy desire.
 
 
Yorke within.
 
 
  Yor. My Liege beware, looke to thy selfe,
Thou hast a Traitor in thy presence there
 
 
Bul. Villaine, Ile make thee safe
 
 
   Aum. Stay thy reuengefull hand, thou hast no cause
to feare
 
 
   Yorke. Open the doore, secure foole-hardy King:
Shall I for loue speake treason to thy face?
Open the doore, or I will breake it open.
Enter Yorke.
 
 
  Bul. What is the matter (Vnkle) speak, recouer breath,
Tell vs how neere is danger,
That we may arme vs to encounter it
 
 
   Yor. Peruse this writing heere, and thou shalt know
The reason that my haste forbids me show
 
 
   Aum. Remember as thou read'st, thy promise past:
I do repent me, reade not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand
 
 
   Yor. It was (villaine) ere thy hand did set it downe.
I tore it from the Traitors bosome, King.
Feare, and not Loue, begets his penitence;
Forget to pitty him, least thy pitty proue
A Serpent, that will sting thee to the heart
 
 
   Bul. Oh heinous, strong, and bold Conspiracie,
O loyall Father of a treacherous Sonne:
Thou sheere, immaculate, and siluer fountaine,
From whence this streame, through muddy passages
Hath had his current, and defil'd himselfe.
Thy ouerflow of good, conuerts to bad,
And thy abundant goodnesse shall excuse
This deadly blot, in thy digressing sonne
 
 
   Yorke. So shall my Vertue be his Vices bawd,
And he shall spend mine Honour, with his Shame;
As thriftlesse Sonnes, their scraping Fathers Gold.
Mine honor liues, when his dishonor dies,
Or my sham'd life, in his dishonor lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life, giuing him breath,
The Traitor liues, the true man's put to death.
 
 
Dutchesse within.
 
 
Dut. What hoa (my Liege) for heauens sake let me in
 
 
   Bul. What shrill-voic'd Suppliant, makes this eager cry?
  Dut. A woman, and thine Aunt (great King) 'tis I.
Speake with me, pitty me, open the dore,
A Begger begs, that neuer begg'd before
 
 
   Bul. Our Scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
And now chang'd to the Begger, and the King.
My dangerous Cosin, let your Mother in,
I know she's come, to pray for your foule sin
 
 
   Yorke. If thou do pardon, whosoeuer pray,
More sinnes for this forgiuenesse, prosper may.
This fester'd ioynt cut off, the rest rests sound,
This let alone, will all the rest confound.
Enter Dutchesse.
 
 
  Dut. O King, beleeue not this hard-hearted man,
Loue, louing not it selfe, none other can
 
 
   Yor. Thou franticke woman, what dost y make here,
Shall thy old dugges, once more a Traitor reare?
  Dut. Sweet Yorke be patient, heare me gentle Liege
 
 
Bul. Rise vp good Aunt
 
 
   Dut. Not yet, I thee beseech.
For euer will I kneele vpon my knees,
And neuer see day, that the happy sees,
Till thou giue ioy: vntill thou bid me ioy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing Boy
 
 
Aum. Vnto my mothers prayres, I bend my knee
 
 
Yorke. Against them both, my true ioynts bended be
 
 
   Dut. Pleades he in earnest? Looke vpon his Face,
His eyes do drop no teares: his prayres are in iest:
His words come from his mouth, ours from our brest.
He prayes but faintly, and would be denide,
We pray with heart, and soule, and all beside:
His weary ioynts would gladly rise, I know,
Our knees shall kneele, till to the ground they grow:
His prayers are full of false hypocrisie,
Ours of true zeale, and deepe integritie:
Our prayers do out-pray his, then let them haue
That mercy, which true prayers ought to haue
 
 
Bul. Good Aunt stand vp
 
 
   Dut. Nay, do not say stand vp.
But Pardon first, and afterwards stand vp.
And if I were thy Nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon should be the first word of thy speach.
I neuer long'd to heare a word till now:
Say Pardon (King,) let pitty teach thee how.
The word is short: but not so short as sweet,
No word like Pardon, for Kings mouth's so meet
 
 
Yorke. Speake it in French (King) say Pardon'ne moy
 
 
   Dut. Dost thou teach pardon, Pardon to destroy?
Ah my sowre husband, my hard-hearted Lord,
That set's the word it selfe, against the word.
Speake Pardon, as 'tis currant in our Land,
The chopping French we do not vnderstand.
Thine eye begins to speake, set thy tongue there,
Or in thy pitteous heart, plant thou thine eare,
That hearing how our plaints and prayres do pearce,
Pitty may moue thee, Pardon to rehearse
 
 
Bul. Good Aunt, stand vp
 
 
   Dut. I do not sue to stand,
Pardon is all the suite I haue in hand
 
 
Bul. I pardon him, as heauen shall pardon mee
 
 
   Dut. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee?
Yet am I sicke for feare: Speake it againe,
Twice saying Pardon, doth not pardon twaine,
But makes one pardon strong
 
 
Bul. I pardon him with all my hart
 
 
Dut. A God on earth thou art
 
 
   Bul. But for our trusty brother-in-Law, the Abbot,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction straight shall dogge them at the heeles:
Good Vnckle helpe to order seuerall powres
To Oxford, or where ere these Traitors are:
They shall not liue within this world I sweare,
But I will haue them, if I once know where.
Vnckle farewell, and Cosin adieu:
Your mother well hath praid, and proue you true
 
 
Dut. Come my old son, I pray heauen make thee new.
 

Exeunt.

Enter Exton and Seruants.

 
  Ext. Didst thou not marke the King what words hee
spake?
Haue I no friend will rid me of this liuing feare:
Was it not so?
  Ser. Those were his very words.
 

Ex.

 
Haue I no Friend? (quoth he:) he spake it twice,
And vrg'd it twice together, did he not?
  Ser. He did.
 

Ex.

 
And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me,
As who should say, I would thou wer't the man
That would diuorce this terror from my heart,
Meaning the King at Pomfret: Come, let's goe;
I am the Kings Friend, and will rid his Foe.
 

Enter.