The Tragedy of King Richard II, William Shakespeare [most inspirational books of all time TXT] 📗

me go.

KING RICHARD.
So two, together weeping, make one woe.
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
Better far off than near, be ne'er the near.
Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.

QUEEN.
So longest way shall have the longest moans.

KING RICHARD.
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,
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part;
Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart.

[They kiss.]

QUEEN.
Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.

[They kiss again.]

So, now I have mine own again, be gone.
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

KING RICHARD.
We make woe wanton with this fond delay:
Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say.

[Exeunt.]


SCENE II. The same. A roomin the DUKE OF YORK's palace.

[Enter YORK and his DUCHESS.]

DUCHESS.
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?

DUCHESS.
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 seem'd to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, Bolingbroke!'
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 imagery had said at once
'Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!'
Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus, 'I thank you, countrymen:'
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.

DUCHESS.
Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?

YORK.
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 scowl on Richard: no man cried '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 pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events,
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

DUCHESS.
Here comes my son Aumerle.

YORK.
Aumerle that was;
But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
And madam, you must call him Rutland now.
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

[Enter AUMERLE.]

DUCHESS.
Welcome, my son: who are the violets now
That strew the green lap of the new come spring?

AUMERLE.
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 justs and triumphs?

AUMERLE.
For aught I know, my lord, they do.

YORK.
You will be there, I know.

AUMERLE.
If God prevent not, I purpose so.

YORK.
What seal is that that without thy bosom?
Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.

AUMERLE.
My lord, 'tis nothing.

YORK.
No matter, then, who see it.
I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.

AUMERLE.
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 -

DUCHESS.
What should you fear?
'Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent'red 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.

AUMERLE.
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!

DUCHESS.
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!

DUCHESS.
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.

[Exit Servant.]

DUCHESS.
What is the matter?

YORK.
Peace, foolish woman.

DUCHESS.
I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?

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

DUCHESS.
Thy life answer!

YORK.
Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.

[Re-enter Servant with boots.]

DUCHESS.
Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz'd.
[To Servant.]
Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.

[Exit Servant.]

YORK.
Give me my boots, I say.

DUCHESS.
Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not 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?

YORK.
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 hands
To kill the King at Oxford.

DUCHESS.
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.

DUCHESS.
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 me, or any of my kin,
And yet I love him.

YORK.
Make way, unruly woman!

[Exit.]

DUCHESS.
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! be gone.

[Exeunt.]


SCENE III. Windsor. A room in the Castle.

[Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, HENRY PERCY, and other LORDS.]

BOLINGBROKE.
Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son?
'Tis full three months since I did see him last.
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.
I would to God, my lords, he might be found.
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent
With unrestrained loose companions,
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes
And beat our watch and rob our passengers;
Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour to support
So dissolute a crew.

PERCY.
My lord, some two days since I saw the prince,
And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford.

BOLINGBROKE.
And what said the gallant?

PERCY.
His answer was: he would unto the stews,
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove
And wear it as a favour; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

BOLINGBROKE.
As dissolute as desperate; yet through both
I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years
May happily bring forth. But who comes here?

[Enter AUMERLE.]

AUMERLE.
Where is the King?

BOLINGBROKE.
What means our cousin that he stares and looks
So wildly?

AUMERLE.
God save your Grace! I do beseech your majesty,
To have some conference with your Grace alone.

BOLINGBROKE.
Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.

[Exeunt HENRY PERCY and LORDS.]

What is the matter with our cousin now?

AUMERLE.
[Kneels.] For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

BOLINGBROKE.
Intended or committed was this fault?
If on the first, how heinous e'er it be,
To win thy after-love I pardon thee.

AUMERLE.
Then give me leave that I may turn the key,
That no man enter till my tale be done.

BOLINGBROKE.
Have thy desire.

[AUMERLE locks the door.]

YORK.
[Within.] My liege, beware! look to thyself;
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

BOLINGBROKE.
[Drawing.] Villain, I'll make thee safe.

AUMERLE.
Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear.

YORK.
[Within.] Open the door, secure, foolhardy king:
Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?
Open the door, or I will break it open.

[BOLINGBROKE unlocks the door; and afterwards, relocks it.]

[Enter YORK.]

BOLINGBROKE.
What is the matter, uncle? speak;
Recover breath; tell us how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.

YORK.
Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
The treason that my haste forbids me show.

AUMERLE.
Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd:
I do repent me; read not my name there;
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

YORK.
It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king;
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence.
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.

BOLINGBROKE.
O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!
O loyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy passages
Hath held his current and defil'd himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

YORK.
So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd,
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.

DUCHESS.
[Within.] What ho! my liege, for God's sake, let me in.

BOLINGBROKE.
What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry?

DUCHESS.
[Within.] A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I.
Speak with me, pity me, open the door:
A beggar begs that never begg'd before.

BOLINGBROKE.
Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
And now chang'd to 'The Beggar and the King.'
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in: