King Richard II · Chapter 5Part 5
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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.
Scaena Quarta.
Enter Richard.
Rich. I haue bin studying, how to compare This Prison where I liue, vnto the World: And for because the world is populous, And heere is not a Creature, but my selfe, I cannot do it: yet Ile hammer't out. My Braine, Ile proue the Female to my Soule, My Soule, the Father: and these two beget A generation of still breeding Thoughts; And these same Thoughts, people this Little World In humors, like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort, As thoughts of things Diuine, are intermixt With scruples, and do set the Faith it selfe Against the Faith: as thus: Come litle ones: & then again, It is as hard to come, as for a Camell To thred the posterne of a Needles eye. Thoughts tending to Ambition, they do plot Vnlikely wonders; how these vaine weake nailes May teare a passage through the Flinty ribbes Of this hard world, my ragged prison walles: And for they cannot, dye in their owne pride. Thoughts tending to Content, flatter themselues, That they are not the first of Fortunes slaues, Nor shall not be the last. Like silly Beggars, Who sitting in the Stockes, refuge their shame That many haue, and others must sit there; And in this Thought, they finde a kind of ease, Bearing their owne misfortune on the backe Of such as haue before indur'd the like. Thus play I in one Prison, many people, And none contented. Sometimes am I King; Then Treason makes me wish my selfe a Beggar, And so I am. Then crushing penurie, Perswades me, I was better when a King: Then am I king'd againe: and by and by, Thinke that I am vn-king'd by Bullingbrooke, And straight am nothing. But what ere I am,
Musick
Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd With being nothing. Musicke do I heare? Ha, ha? keepe time: How sowre sweet Musicke is, When Time is broke, and no Proportion kept? So is it in the Musicke of mens liues: And heere haue I the daintinesse of eare, To heare time broke in a disorder'd string: But for the Concord of my State and Time, Had not an eare to heare my true Time broke. I wasted Time, and now doth Time waste me: For now hath Time made me his numbring clocke; My Thoughts, are minutes; and with Sighes they iarre, Their watches on vnto mine eyes, the outward Watch, Whereto my finger, like a Dialls point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from teares. Now sir, the sound that tels what houre it is, Are clamorous groanes, that strike vpon my heart, Which is the bell: so Sighes, and Teares, and Grones, Shew Minutes, Houres, and Times: but my Time Runs poasting on, in Bullingbrookes proud ioy, While I stand fooling heere, his iacke o'th' Clocke. This Musicke mads me, let it sound no more, For though it haue holpe madmen to their wits, In me it seemes, it will make wise-men mad: Yet blessing on his heart that giues it me; For 'tis a signe of loue, and loue to Richard, Is a strange Brooch, in this all-hating world. Enter Groome.
Groo. Haile Royall Prince
Rich. Thankes Noble Peere, The cheapest of vs, is ten groates too deere. What art thou? And how com'st thou hither? Where no man euer comes, but that sad dogge That brings me food, to make misfortune liue? Groo. I was a poore Groome of thy Stable (King) When thou wer't King: who trauelling towards Yorke, With much adoo, at length haue gotten leaue To looke vpon my (sometimes Royall) masters face. O how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld In London streets, that Coronation day, When Bullingbrooke rode on Roane Barbary, That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid, That horse, that I so carefully haue drest
Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me gentle Friend, How went he vnder him? Groo. So proudly, as if he had disdain'd the ground
Rich. So proud, that Bullingbrooke was on his backe; That Iade hath eate bread from my Royall hand. This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? Would he not fall downe (Since Pride must haue a fall) and breake the necke Of that proud man, that did vsurpe his backe? Forgiuenesse horse: Why do I raile on thee, Since thou created to be aw'd by man Was't borne to beare? I was not made a horse, And yet I beare a burthen like an Asse, Spur-gall'd, and tyrd by iauncing Bullingbrooke. Enter Keeper with a Dish.
Keep. Fellow, giue place, heere is no longer stay
Rich. If thou loue me, 'tis time thou wer't away
Groo. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. Enter.
Keep. My Lord, wilt please you to fall too? Rich. Taste of it first, as thou wer't wont to doo
Keep. My Lord I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, Who lately came from th' King, commands the contrary
Rich. The diuell take Henrie of Lancaster, and thee; Patience is stale, and I am weary of it
Keep. Helpe, helpe, helpe. Enter Exton and Seruants.
Ri. How now? what meanes Death in this rude assalt? Villaine, thine owne hand yeelds thy deaths instrument, Go thou and fill another roome in hell.
Exton strikes him downe.
That hand shall burne in neuer-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand, Hath with the Kings blood, stain'd the Kings own land. Mount, mount my soule, thy seate is vp on high, Whil'st my grosse flesh sinkes downward, heere to dye
Exton. As full of Valor, as of Royall blood, Both haue I spilt: Oh would the deed were good. For now the diuell, that told me I did well, Sayes, that this deede is chronicled in hell. This dead King to the liuing King Ile beare, Take hence the rest, and giue them buriall heere. Enter.
Scoena Quinta.
Flourish. Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, with other Lords & attendants.
Bul. Kinde Vnkle Yorke, the latest newes we heare, Is that the Rebels haue consum'd with fire Our Towne of Cicester in Gloucestershire, But whether they be tane or slaine, we heare not. Enter Northumberland.
Welcome my Lord: What is the newes? Nor. First to thy Sacred State, wish I all happinesse: The next newes is, I haue to London sent The heads of Salsbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: The manner of their taking may appeare At large discoursed in this paper heere
Bul. We thank thee gentle Percy for thy paines, And to thy worth will adde right worthy gaines. Enter Fitzwaters.
Fitz. My Lord, I haue from Oxford sent to London, The heads of Broccas, and Sir Bennet Seely, Two of the dangerous consorted Traitors, That sought at Oxford, thy dire ouerthrow
Bul. Thy paines Fitzwaters shall not be forgot, Right Noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter Percy and Carlile.
Per. The grand Conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, With clog of Conscience, and sowre Melancholly, Hath yeelded vp his body to the graue: But heere is Carlile, liuing to abide Thy Kingly doome, and sentence of his pride
Bul. Carlile, this is your doome: Choose out some secret place, some reuerend roome More then thou hast, and with it ioy thy life: So as thou liu'st in peace, dye free from strife: For though mine enemy, thou hast euer beene, High sparkes of Honor in thee haue I seene. Enter Exton with a Coffin.
Exton. Great King, within this Coffin I present Thy buried feare. Heerein all breathlesse lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies Richard of Burdeaux, by me hither brought
Bul. Exton, I thanke thee not, for thou hast wrought A deede of Slaughter, with thy fatall hand, Vpon my head, and all this famous Land.
Ex.
From your owne mouth my Lord, did I this deed
Bul. They loue not poyson, that do poyson neede, Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead, I hate the Murtherer, loue him murthered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor Princely fauour. With Caine go wander through the shade of night, And neuer shew thy head by day, nor light. Lords, I protest my soule is full of woe, That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow. Come mourne with me, for that I do lament, And put on sullen Blacke incontinent: Ile make a voyage to the Holy-land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after, grace my mourning heere, In weeping after this vntimely Beere.
Exeunt.