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

 At the Duke of York's house, York tells his wife of the scene he witnessed in London. As Richard was led through the streets, people tossed rubbish at him from windows. But Bolingbroke was hailed with enthusiasm by everyone. . Their son Aumerle enters. The duke notices he is carrying a document with a seal on it. Aumerle pretends it is nothing important, but the duke wrests it from him. As soon as he has read the contents he denounces his own son as a traitor. He immediately calls for his horse to be saddled, and announces that he is going straight to the king. His wife rebukes him, saying that he should protect his own; Aumerle is their only son. York replies angrily that the letter tells of a conspiracy by twelve men to kill the king at Oxford. The duchess suggests that Aumerle stay at home, then he can have no part in it. When the duke still refuses to listen, the duchess thinks he must doubt that Aumerle is really his own son. She swears that he is, but when she cannot stop her husband going to the king, she orders Aumerle to ride to the king as well. She urges him to get there before his father does, so he can confess and plead for a pardon before his crime is disclosed. .

