And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black,
For the deposing of a rightful king.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended.

North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed; You must to Pomfret, not unto the tower..

And, madam, there is order ta'en for you;

With all swift speed you must away to France.

K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,— The time shall not be many hours of age More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head, Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think, Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, It is too little, helping him to all;

And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again,

Being ne'er so little urged, another way

To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear;
That fear, to hate; and hate turns one, or both,
To worthy danger, and deserved death.

North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.
K. Rich. Doubly divorced?-Bad men, ye 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,1 or short'st of day.

Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart.

1 All Hallows, i. e. All Saints, Nov. 1. Mason suggests the propriety of reading "or shortest day."

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me
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 woe.
Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here;
Better far off, than-near, be ne'er the near'.2
Go, count thy way with sighs; I, mine with groans.
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest moans.
K. Rich. 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 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.3

So now I have mine own again, begone,

That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

[Kiss again.

K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay. Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same.

A Room in the Duke of York's Palace.

Enter YORK and his Duchess.*

Duch. 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.

1 The quartos give this speech to the king.

2 Never the nigher, i. e. "it is better to be at a great distance, than, being near each other, to find that we are yet not likely to be peaceably and happily united."

3 So in King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 2:

the king hath killed his heart.”

4 The first wife of Edward duke of York was Isabella, daughter of Peter the Cruel, king of Castile and Leon. He married her in 1372, and

York. Where did I leave?

Duch.
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 seemed to know,—
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,
While 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,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus,-I thank you, countrymen;
And thus still doing, thus he passed along.

Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while?
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 ;

1

;

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.

had by her the duke of Aumerle, and all his other children. In introducing her, the Poet has departed widely from history; for she died in 1394, four or five years before the events related in the present play. After her death, York married Joan, daughter of John Holland, earl of Kent, who survived him about thirty-four years, and had three other husbands.

1 "The painting of this description is so lively, and the words so moving, that I have scarce read any thing comparable to it in any other language. —Dryden; Pref. to Troilus and Cressida.

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 honor I for aye allow.

Enter AUMErle.

Duch. Here comes my son, Aumerle.

York.

Aumerle that was ;

But that is lost, for being Richard's friend; .
And, madam, you must call him Rutland1 now.
I am in parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

Duch. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? Aum. 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 cropped before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? Hold those jousts and triumphs?

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

York. You will be there, I know.

Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so.

York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom ??

Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.

Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

York.

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 have seen.

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

1 "The dukes of Aumerle, Surrey, and Exeter, were deprived of their dukedoms by an act of Henry's first parliament, but were allowed to retain the earldoms of Rutland, Kent, and Huntingdon."-Holinshed.

2 The seals of deeds were formerly impressed on slips or labels of parchment appendant to them.

Duch.

What should you fear?

'Tis nothing but some bond that he is entered 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.

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not

show it.

1

York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.

[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 my horse.

God for his mercy! what treachery is here!
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord?

York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.— Now, by mine honor, by my life, my troth,

I will appeach the villain.

Duch.

[Exit Servant.

What's the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.

Duch. I will not peace.-What is the matter, son? Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more

Than my poor life must answer.

Duch.

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

amazed.

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?
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?