London. A Room in the Duke of York's Palace.
 Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS.

Duchess of York	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.

Duke of York		Where did I leave?

Duchess of York					At that sad stop, my lord,
		Where rude misgoverned hands from windows' tops
		Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

Duke of York		Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,
		Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
		Which his aspiring rider seemed 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 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 passed along.

Duchess of York	Alack, poor Richard! Where rode he the whilst?

Duke of York		As in a theatre the eyes of men,
		After a well-graced 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 steeled
		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.

                              Enter AUMERLE.

Duchess of York	Here comes my son, Aumerle.

Duke of 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.

Duchess of York	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.

Duke of 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 these jousts and triumphs?

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

Duke of York		You will be there, I know.

Aumerle		If God prevent it not, I purpose so.

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

Aumerle		My lord, 'tis nothing.

Duke of 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.

Duke of York		Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
		I fear, I fear-

Duchess of York						What should you fear?
		'Tis nothing but some bond that he is entered into
		For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.

Duke of 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.

Duke of 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 of York	What is the matter, my lord?

Duke of York		Ho, who is within there? Saddle my horse!
		God for his mercy, what treachery is here!

Duchess of York	Why, what is it, my lord?

Duke of York		Give me my boots, I say! Saddle my horse!
		Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
		I will appeach the villain.

Duchess of York								What is the matter?

Duke of York		Peace, foolish woman.

Duchess of York	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 of York								Thy life answer?

Duke of York		Bring me my boots! I will unto the king.

                      His MAN enters with his boots.

Duchess of York	Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed.
		[To SERVANT.]
		Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.

Duke of York		Give me my boots, I say.

Duchess of York	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?

Duke of 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 of York								He shall be none;
		We'll keep him here, then what is that to him?

Duke of York		Away, fond woman! Were he twenty times my son
		I would appeach him.

Duchess of York						Hadst thou groaned 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.

Duke of York							Make way, unruly woman!
													[Exit.
Duchess of York	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 pardoned thee. Away, be gone!
													[Exeunt.
