Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot I see your brows are full of discontent, [Exeunt. ACT V. ' SCENE I. London. A Street leading to the Tower. Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way To Julius Cæsar's ill-erected tower, To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Enter KING RICHARD, and Guards. But soft, but see, or rather do not see, K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To think our former state a happy dream; Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France; In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, And send the hearers weeping to their beds. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed; You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. And, madam, there is order ta'en for you; K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way Being ne'er so little urged, another way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both, North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day. Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. North. That were some love, but little policy. Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. And piece the way out with a heavy heart. [They kiss. Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part, To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. [Kiss again. K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. SCENE II. The same. [Exeunt. 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, misgoverned hands, from windows' 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 seemed to know,- 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, steeled But Heaven hath a hand in these events; To whose high will we bound our calm contents. Whose state and honor I for aye allow. Enter AUMERLE. Duch. Here comes my son, Aumerle. Aumerle that was; York. 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 cropped before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? Hold those jousts 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. 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 entered 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 honor, 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? |