The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

part; for you must part forthwith.

KING RICHARD. Doubly divorc’d! Bad men, you violate A twofold marriage-‘twixt my crown and me, And then betwixt me and my married wife.

Let me unkiss the oath ‘twixt thee and me; And yet not so, for with a kiss ‘twas made.

Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north, Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp, She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas or short’st of day.

QUEEN. And must we be divided? Must we part?

KING RICHARD. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the King with me.

NORTHUMBERLAND. That were some love, but little policy.

QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let 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.

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

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 2.

The DUKE OF YORK’s palace

 

Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the 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 gentle 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 Rudand 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? Do these justs and triumphs hold?

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.

[He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it]

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, York, what is it, my lord?

YORK. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.

Exit servant Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain.

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.

 

His man enters with his boots DUCHESS. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz’d.

Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.

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 wouldst 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 3.

Windsor Castle

 

Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, 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 amazed

 

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 PERCY and LORDS

What is the matter with our cousin now?

AUMERLE. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, [Kneels]

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.

[The DUKE OF YORK knocks at the door and crieth]

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.

 

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] I 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.