Chapter: Scoena Secunda.

Enter Yorke, and his Duchesse.

  Duch. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you breake the story off,
Of our two Cousins comming into London

   Yorke. Where did I leaue?
  Duch. At that sad stoppe, my Lord,
Where rude mis-gouern'd hands, from Windowes tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richards head

   Yorke. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bullingbrooke,
Mounted vpon a hot and fierie Steed,
Which his aspiring Rider seem'd to know,
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course:
While all tongues cride, God saue thee Bullingbrooke.
You would haue thought the very windowes spake,
So many greedy lookes of yong and old,
Through Casements darted their desiring eyes
Vpon his visage: and that all the walles,
With painted Imagery had said at once,
Iesu preserue thee, welcom Bullingbrooke.
Whil'st he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower then his proud Steeds necke,
Bespake them thus: I thanke you Countrimen:
And thus still doing, thus he past along

   Dutch. Alas poore Richard, where rides he the whilst?
  Yorke. As in a Theater, the eyes of men
After a well grac'd Actor leaues the Stage,
Are idlely bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
Euen so, or with much more contempt, mens eyes
Did scowle on Richard: no man cride, God saue him:
No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home,
But dust was throwne vpon his Sacred head,
Which with such gentle sorrow he shooke off,
His face still combating with teares and smiles
(The badges of his greefe and patience)
That had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce haue melted,
And Barbarisme it selfe haue pittied him.
But heauen hath a hand in these euents,
To whose high will we bound our calme contents.
To Bullingbrooke, are we sworne Subiects now,
Whose State, and Honor, I for aye allow.
Enter Aumerle

   Dut. Heere comes my sonne Aumerle

   Yor. Aumerle that was,
But that is lost, for being Richards Friend.
And Madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealtie to the new-made King

   Dut. Welcome my sonne: who are the Violets now,
That strew the greene lap of the new-come Spring?
  Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not,
God knowes, I had as liefe be none, as one

   Yorke. Well, beare you well in this new-spring of time
Least you be cropt before you come to prime.
What newes from Oxford? Hold those Iusts & Triumphs?
  Aum. For ought I know my Lord, they do

   Yorke. You will be there I know

   Aum. If God preuent not, I purpose so

   Yor. What Seale is that that hangs without thy bosom?
Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the Writing

   Aum. My Lord, 'tis nothing

   Yorke. 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 haue seene

   Yorke. Which for some reasons sir, I meane to see:
I feare, I feare

   Dut. What should you feare?
'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
For gay apparrell, against the Triumph

   Yorke. Bound to himselfe? What doth he with a Bond
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a foole.
Boy, let me see the Writing

   Aum. I do beseech you pardon me, I may not shew it

   Yor. I will be satisfied: let me see it I say.

Snatches it

Treason, foule Treason, Villaine, Traitor, Slaue

   Dut. What's the matter, my Lord?
  Yorke. Hoa, who's within there? Saddle my horse.
Heauen for his mercy: what treachery is heere?
  Dut. Why, what is't my Lord?
  Yorke. Giue me my boots, I say: Saddle my horse:
Now by my Honor, my life, my troth,
I will appeach the Villaine

   Dut. What is the matter?
  Yorke. Peace foolish Woman

   Dut. I will not peace. What is the matter Sonne?
  Aum. Good Mother be content, it is no more
Then my poore life must answer

   Dut. Thy life answer?
Enter Seruant with Boots.

  Yor. Bring me my Boots, I will vnto the King

   Dut. Strike him Aumerle. Poore boy, y art amaz'd,
Hence Villaine, neuer more come in my sight

   Yor. Giue me my Boots, I say

   Dut. Why Yorke, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the Trespasse of thine owne?
Haue we more Sonnes? Or are we like to haue?
Is not my teeming date drunke vp with time?
And wilt thou plucke my faire Sonne from mine Age,
And rob me of a happy Mothers name?
Is he not like thee? Is he not thine owne?
  Yor. Thou fond mad woman:
Wilt thou conceale this darke Conspiracy?
A dozen of them heere haue tane the Sacrament,
And interchangeably set downe their hands
To kill the King at Oxford

   Dut. He shall be none:
Wee'l keepe him heere: then what is that to him?
  Yor. Away fond woman: were hee twenty times my
Son, I would appeach him

   Dut. Hadst thou groan'd for him as I haue done,
Thou wouldest be more pittifull:
But now I know thy minde; thou do'st suspect
That I haue bene disloyall to thy bed,
And that he is a Bastard, not thy Sonne:
Sweet Yorke, sweet husband, be not of that minde:
He is as like thee, as a man may bee,
Not like to me, nor any of my Kin,
And yet I loue him

   Yorke. Make way, vnruly Woman.

Exit

  Dut. After Aumerle. Mount thee vpon his horse,
Spurre post, and get before him to the King,
And begge thy pardon, ere he do accuse thee,
Ile not be long behind: though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as Yorke:
And neuer will I rise vp from the ground,
Till Bullingbrooke haue pardon'd thee: Away be gone.

Exit



Scoena Tertia.

Enter Bullingbrooke, Percie, and other Lords.

  Bul. Can no man tell of my vnthriftie Sonne?
'Tis full three monthes since I did see him last.
If any plague hang ouer vs, 'tis he,
I would to heauen (my Lords) he might be found:
Enquire at London, 'mongst the Tauernes there:
For there (they say) he dayly doth frequent,
With vnrestrained loose Companions,
Euen such (they say) as stand in narrow Lanes,
And rob our Watch, and beate our passengers,
Which he, yong wanton, and effeminate Boy
Takes on the point of Honor, to support
So dissolute a crew

   Per. My Lord, some two dayes since I saw the Prince,
And told him of these Triumphes held at Oxford

   Bul. And what said the Gallant?
  Per. His answer was: he would vnto the Stewes,
And from the common'st creature plucke a Gloue
And weare it as a fauour, and with that
He would vnhorse the lustiest Challenger

   Bul. As dissolute as desp'rate, yet through both,
I see some sparkes of better hope: which elder dayes
May happily bring forth. But who comes heere?
Enter Aumerle.

  Aum. Where is the King?
  Bul. What meanes our Cosin, that hee stares
And lookes so wildely?
  Aum. God saue your Grace. I do beseech your Maiesty
To haue some conference with your Grace alone

   Bul. Withdraw your selues, and leaue vs here alone:
What is the matter with our Cosin now?
  Aum. For euer may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleaue to my roofe within my mouth,
Vnlesse a Pardon, ere I rise, or speake

   Bul. Intended, or committed was this fault?
If on the first, how heynous ere it bee,
To win thy after loue, I pardon thee

   Aum. Then giue me leaue, that I may turne the key,
That no man enter, till my tale be done

   Bul. Haue thy desire.

Yorke within.

  Yor. My Liege beware, looke to thy selfe,
Thou hast a Traitor in thy presence there

   Bul. Villaine, Ile make thee safe

   Aum. Stay thy reuengefull hand, thou hast no cause
to feare

   Yorke. Open the doore, secure foole-hardy King:
Shall I for loue speake treason to thy face?
Open the doore, or I will breake it open.
Enter Yorke.

  Bul. What is the matter (Vnkle) speak, recouer breath,
Tell vs how neere is danger,
That we may arme vs to encounter it

   Yor. Peruse this writing heere, and thou shalt know
The reason that my haste forbids me show

   Aum. Remember as thou read'st, thy promise past:
I do repent me, reade not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand

   Yor. It was (villaine) ere thy hand did set it downe.
I tore it from the Traitors bosome, King.
Feare, and not Loue, begets his penitence;
Forget to pitty him, least thy pitty proue
A Serpent, that will sting thee to the heart

   Bul. Oh heinous, strong, and bold Conspiracie,
O loyall Father of a treacherous Sonne:
Thou sheere, immaculate, and siluer fountaine,
From whence this streame, through muddy passages
Hath had his current, and defil'd himselfe.
Thy ouerflow of good, conuerts to bad,
And thy abundant goodnesse shall excuse
This deadly blot, in thy digressing sonne

   Yorke. So shall my Vertue be his Vices bawd,
And he shall spend mine Honour, with his Shame;
As thriftlesse Sonnes, their scraping Fathers Gold.
Mine honor liues, when his dishonor dies,
Or my sham'd life, in his dishonor lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life, giuing him breath,
The Traitor liues, the true man's put to death.

Dutchesse within.

  Dut. What hoa (my Liege) for heauens sake let me in

   Bul. What shrill-voic'd Suppliant, makes this eager cry?
  Dut. A woman, and thine Aunt (great King) 'tis I.
Speake with me, pitty me, open the dore,
A Begger begs, that neuer begg'd before

   Bul. Our Scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
And now chang'd to the Begger, and the King.
My dangerous Cosin, let your Mother in,
I know she's come, to pray for your foule sin

   Yorke. If thou do pardon, whosoeuer pray,
More sinnes for this forgiuenesse, prosper may.
This fester'd ioynt cut off, the rest rests sound,
This let alone, will all the rest confound.
Enter Dutchesse.

  Dut. O King, beleeue not this hard-hearted man,
Loue, louing not it selfe, none other can

   Yor. Thou franticke woman, what dost y make here,
Shall thy old dugges, once more a Traitor reare?
  Dut. Sweet Yorke be patient, heare me gentle Liege

   Bul. Rise vp good Aunt

   Dut. Not yet, I thee beseech.
For euer will I kneele vpon my knees,
And neuer see day, that the happy sees,
Till thou giue ioy: vntill thou bid me ioy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing Boy

   Aum. Vnto my mothers prayres, I bend my knee

   Yorke. Against them both, my true ioynts bended be

   Dut. Pleades he in earnest? Looke vpon his Face,
His eyes do drop no teares: his prayres are in iest:
His words come from his mouth, ours from our brest.
He prayes but faintly, and would be denide,
We pray with heart, and soule, and all beside:
His weary ioynts would gladly rise, I know,
Our knees shall kneele, till to the ground they grow:
His prayers are full of false hypocrisie,
Ours of true zeale, and deepe integritie:
Our prayers do out-pray his, then let them haue
That mercy, which true prayers ought to haue

   Bul. Good Aunt stand vp

   Dut. Nay, do not say stand vp.
But Pardon first, and afterwards stand vp.
And if I were thy Nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon should be the first word of thy speach.
I neuer long'd to heare a word till now:
Say Pardon (King,) let pitty teach thee how.
The word is short: but not so short as sweet,
No word like Pardon, for Kings mouth's so meet

   Yorke. Speake it in French (King) say Pardon'ne moy

   Dut. Dost thou teach pardon, Pardon to destroy?
Ah my sowre husband, my hard-hearted Lord,
That set's the word it selfe, against the word.
Speake Pardon, as 'tis currant in our Land,
The chopping French we do not vnderstand.
Thine eye begins to speake, set thy tongue there,
Or in thy pitteous heart, plant thou thine eare,
That hearing how our plaints and prayres do pearce,
Pitty may moue thee, Pardon to rehearse

   Bul. Good Aunt, stand vp

   Dut. I do not sue to stand,
Pardon is all the suite I haue in hand

   Bul. I pardon him, as heauen shall pardon mee

   Dut. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee?
Yet am I sicke for feare: Speake it againe,
Twice saying Pardon, doth not pardon twaine,
But makes one pardon strong

   Bul. I pardon him with all my hart

   Dut. A God on earth thou art

   Bul. But for our trusty brother-in-Law, the Abbot,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction straight shall dogge them at the heeles:
Good Vnckle helpe to order seuerall powres
To Oxford, or where ere these Traitors are:
They shall not liue within this world I sweare,
But I will haue them, if I once know where.
Vnckle farewell, and Cosin adieu:
Your mother well hath praid, and proue you true

   Dut. Come my old son, I pray heauen make thee new.

Exeunt.

Enter Exton and Seruants.

  Ext. Didst thou not marke the King what words hee
spake?
Haue I no friend will rid me of this liuing feare:
Was it not so?
  Ser. Those were his very words.

Ex.

Haue I no Friend? (quoth he:) he spake it twice,
And vrg'd it twice together, did he not?
  Ser. He did.

Ex.

And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me,
As who should say, I would thou wer't the man
That would diuorce this terror from my heart,
Meaning the King at Pomfret: Come, let's goe;
I am the Kings Friend, and will rid his Foe.
Enter.

 At the Duke of York's house at Langley, the aged Duke greets his wife, the Duchess of York, and tells her about the long day he has had: when Bolingbroke rode into London in triumph for his coronation, leading Richard in captivity, the people scowled upon Richard and dumped rubbish onto his head, but cheered wildly for Bolingbroke. Throwing open the windows to watch him pass, they cried out, "God save thee, Bolingbroke! / . . . Welcome, Bolingbroke!" . York is upset by the bad treatment given to the former King Richard, but he vows to be loyal to the new king. Aumerle, the son of the Duke and Duchess of York, enters; he is now called "Rutland," apparently having lost his more noble title due to Bolingbroke's judgment on the "trial" of Act IV, scene i. As he listlessly discusses the triumphal celebrations being held at Oxford in honor of the new King Henry IV, his father, York, notices a letter that he is concealing within his shirt. Aumerle tries to prevent his father from seeing it, but York seizes and reads it. He immediately becomes highly agitated, calling his son "Villain! Traitor! Slave!" . The letter, it turns out, reveals that Aumerle has joined in a conspiracy of a dozen noblemen who plan to assassinate King Henry at Oxford. The Duchess tries to reason with York, pleading with him to keep Aumerle's involvement a secret since he is their only son and she is too old to bear more children. York, however, will not listen, and he mounts his horse to ride to King Henry and tell him everything. The Duchess instructs Aumerle to ride after his father and try to reach the King first to beg his forgiveness. She herself will follow as swiftly as she can so that she can plead for Aumerle's life. At Windsor Castle, near London, we find Bolingbroke complaining to young Harry Percy about the wild ways of Bolingbroke's son, whom he has not seen for a full three months. The young prince has apparently been spending his time in taverns and whorehouses and associating with robbers and highwaymen. Bolingbroke is concerned, but still sees signs of hope in the boy. Aumerle enters and begs his cousin Bolingbroke for a private audience. The new king dismisses his companions, and Aumerle falls to his knees and says he will not rise until the king has agreed to forgive him for the crime he has committed--nor will he name the crime until he has the king's pardon. He also begs the king to lock the door until their conference is done. Bolingbroke complies, but suddenly the Duke of York is heard banging at the door. He cries out that Aumerle is a traitor; Bolingbroke draws his sword, but Aumerle swears that the king has nothing to fear from him. York then enters and shows Bolingbroke the traitorous letter. The voice of the Duchess is heard from outside, and she, too, enters the chamber; she has ridden from her home to plead with the king to spare her son's life. A strange three-way conversation, in highly formal language, ensues between the Duchess of York, the Duke of York, and the king: York pleads with the king to execute his son as a traitor, while the Duchess begs him to spare Aumerle's life. At last, the king decides to pardon Aumerle, but adds that all the rest of the conspirators will be arrested and executed immediately.

