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My wife to France; from whence, set forth in pomp,
Queen. And must we be divided ? must we part?
from heart. Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with North. That were some love, but little policy. Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go?
K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one 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 K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll
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 I take thy 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. So, now I have mine own again, begone, That I may strive to kill it with a groan. K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond
delay : Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say.
2 Allhallows, i.e. All-saints, Nov. 1.
A Room in the Duke of York's Palace.
Enter York, and his Duchess. Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the
York. Where did I leave ?
At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops, Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling
broke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, While all tongues cried — God save thee Boling
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
Aumerle that was ;
now, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ?
Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: Heaven knows, I had as lief be none, as one. York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of
you be cropp'd before you come to prime, What news from Oxford ? hold those justs 3 and
triumphs? Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. York. You will be there, I know. Aum. I purpose so. York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy
3 Tilts and tournaments.
Yea, look'st thou pale ? let me see the writing.
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.
No matter then who sees it : I will be satisfied, let me see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me;
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
fear ? 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a
[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
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ?
[Exit Servant. Duch.
What's the matter ?
What is the matter,
Thy life answer!
Re-enter Servant, with Boots. York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. Duch. Strike him, Aumerle, - Poor boy, thou
art amaz’d: Hence, villain ; never more come in my sight. —
[To the Servant. York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
York. Thou fond mad woman,
He shall be none; We'll keep him here: Then what is that to him ?
Hadst thou groan’d for him, As I have done, thou’dst be more pitiful.
York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit. Duch. After, Aumerle ; mount thee upon his
Spur, post; and get before him to the king,