Northumberland, you ladder with which
the climbing Bolingbroke gets onto my throne,
it won't be very far in the future
before foul sin gathers pace
and explodes into destruction. Even if he
splits the kingdom and gives you half you will think
it is too little, since you helped him to get the whole thing;
and he shall think that you, who knows the way
to install kings who have no right to be there, will,
with just a little provocation, know how to find
a way of throwing him headlong from his stolen throne.
The love of wicked men converts itself to fear,
fear turns to hate, and that hate brings one or both
the danger and death they deserve.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith.
I take responsibility for my guilt, that's the end of it.
Say goodbye, and go; you must part at once.
KING RICHARD.
Doubly divorc'd! Bad men, you 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 or short'st of day.
Divorced twice! Bad men, you have broken
two marriages–the one between me and my crown,
and then the one between me and my married wife.
Let me kiss away the promise between you and me;
and yet I can't, because it was made with a kiss.
Pull us apart, Northumberland; I go north,
where shivering cold and disease fills the air;
my wife goes to France, from where she set out with great ceremony,
when she came here she was like a sweet May day,
she is sent back like Halloween or the shortest day.
QUEEN.
And must we be divided? Must we part?
And must we be split up? Must we part?
KING RICHARD.
Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from
heart.
Yes my love, hand from hand and heart from heart.
QUEEN.
Banish us both, and send the King with me.
Banish us both, and send the King with me.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
That were some love, but little policy.
That would show love, but not sense.
QUEEN.
Then whither he goes thither let me go.
Then let me go with him.
KING RICHARD.
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.
Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans.
So two, weeping together, make one sorrow.
You weep for me in France, I shall weep for you here;
better to be far apart than close but not close enough.
Go, measure your journey with sighs; I shall measure mine with groans.
QUEEN.
So longest way shall have the longest moans.
So the longest journey will have the longest moans.
KING RICHARD.
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 take I thy heart.
As I'm going the shortest way, I will groan twice with every step,
and measure my way with a heavy heart.
Come, come, let's be brief in our wooing of sorrow,
as when we marry it our grief will be so long.
Close our mouths with one kiss, and part in silence;
so I give you mine, and I take your heart.
QUEEN.
Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
So, now I have mine own again, be gone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
Give me mine back; it's not fair
to ask me to keep and kill your heart.
So, I have my own back, now go,
so that I can try to kill it with a groan.
KING RICHARD.
We make woe wanton with this fond delay.
Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say.
We are making sorrow grow with this tender foolish delay.
Once more, goodbye; let sorrow say the rest.
Exeunt
The DUKE OF YORK's palace
Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS
DUCHESS.
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.
My lord, you told me you would tell me the rest
of the story of our cousins' arrival in London,
when your weeping made you break off the story.
YORK.
Where did I leave?
How far had I got?
DUCHESS.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgoverned hands from windows' tops
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.
To that sad point, my lord,
when vulgar badly ruled hands threw dust
and rubbish on King Richard's head from their windows.
YORK.
Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
Whilst 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 the one side to the other turning,
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus, 'I thank you, countrymen.'
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.
Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,
mounted on a hot and fiery horse
which seemed to sympathise with its aspiring rider,
kept on his way with a slow but regal pace,
while everybody cried ‘God save you, Bolingbroke!’
You would have thought the windows themselves were speaking,
so many, both young and old, greedily wanted to
get a glimpse of his face; you would have thought all the walls
were covered with posters which all read
‘Jesus save you! Welcome, Bolingbroke!’
Meanwhile he, turning from one side to the other,
bareheaded, bowed lower than the neck of his proud horse,
spoke these words, ‘I thank you, countrymen.’
And so he did this and moved along.
DUCHESS.
Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?
Alas, poor Richard! Where was he riding while this was going on?
YORK.
As in a theatre the eyes of men
After a well-grac'd actor leaves t
he 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 gentle 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 aye allow.
It was as if in a theatre when a
skilful actor leaves the stage, and the audience
glances at the one who comes on next,
finding his prattle tedious;
that was how, or with even more contempt, men
scowled on gentle Richard; no man cried ‘God save him!’
No happy tongue welcomed him home;
but dust was thrown upon his sacred head;
which he shook off with such gentle sadness,
his face alternating between tears and smiles,
the signs of his sorrow and endurance,
that if God had not, for some great purpose, hardened
the hearts of men, they would surely have melted,
and even barbarians would have pitied him.
But heaven orders these events,
and we must be happy to follow them.
We are now sworn subjects of Bolingbroke,
and I now recognise his position.
DUCHESS.
Here comes my son Aumerle.
Here comes my son Aumerle.
YORK.
Aumerle that was
But that is lost for being Richard's friend,
And madam, you must call him Rutland now.
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
He was Aumerle,
but he has lost his title for being Richard's friend,
and madam, you must now call him Rutland.
I have sworn to his loyalty in Parliament
and promised that he will follow the newly created king.
Enter AUMERLE
DUCHESS.
Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now
That strew the green lap of the new come spring?
Welcome, my son. Who are the violets which now
cover the green fields of this new spring?
AUMERLE.
Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.
God knows I had as lief be none as one.
Madam, I don't know, nor do I much care.
God knows I don't care if I'm one or not.
YORK.
Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold?
Well, behave yourself well in this new springtime,
so that you won't be cut down before your prime.
What news from Oxford? Are they still having these jousts and processions?
AUMERLE.
For aught I know, my lord, they do.
For all I know, my lord, they are.
YORK.
You will be there, I know.
I know you will be there.
AUMERLE.
If God prevent not, I purpose so.
If God doesn't stop me, I intend to be.
YORK.
What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom?
Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the writing.
What's that seal that's hanging outside your shirt?
Why are you looking pale? Let me see the writing.
AUMERLE.
My lord, 'tis nothing.
My Lord, it's nothing.
YORK.
No matter, then, who see it.
I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.
It doesn't matter who sees it then.
You will do as I say; let me see the writing.
AUMERLE.
I do beseech your Grace to pardon me;
It is a matter of small consequence
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
I beg your Grace to excuse me;
it's a matter of little importance
which for some reasons I don't want to be seen.
YORK.
Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear-
And for some reasons, sir, I intend to see it.
I fear, I fear–
DUCHESS.
What should you fear?
'Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent'red into
For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph-day.
Why should you fear?
It's nothing but some loan agreement he's taken out
for flashy clothes on the day of the triumph.
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.
Has he made an agreement with himself? What would he be doing
with his own bond? Wife, you are a fool.
Boy, let me see the writing.
AUMERLE.
I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.
I beg you to excuse me; I can't show it.
YORK.
I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.
[He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it]
Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!
I will be obeyed; let me see it, I say.
Treason, foul treason! Villain! Traitor! Slave!
DUCHESS.
What is the matter, my lord?
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!
Hello! Who's in there?
Saddle my horse.
May God have mercy, what treachery this is!
DUCHESS.
Why, York, what is it, my lord?
Why, York, what is it, my lord?
YORK.
Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.
Exit servant
Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain.
Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.
Now, on my honour, by my life, my oath,
I will impeach the villain.
DUCHESS.
What is the matter?
What is the matter?
YORK.
Peace, foolish woman.
Be quiet, stupid woman.
DUCHESS.
I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?
I won't be quiet. What is the matter, Aumerle?
AUMERLE.
Good mother, be content; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
Good mother, be content; it's only
a matter of my life.
DUCHESS.
Thy life answer!
Your life!
YORK.
Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.
Bring me my boots. I shall go to the king.
His man enters with his boots
DUCHESS.
Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz'd.
Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.
Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, you are stupefied.
Get out, villain! I never want to see you a
gain.
YORK.
Give me my boots, I say.
Give me my boots, I say.
DUCHESS.
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?
Why, York, what are you doing?
Will you not hide the misdemeanours of your own family?
Have we more sons? Or are we likely to have?
Hasn't my time for breeding run out?
Will you steal my fair son away from my old age
and take away my title of a happy mother?
Isn't he like you? Isn't he yours?
YORK.
Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands
To kill the King at Oxford.
You stupid mad woman,
do you want to hide this conspiracy?
A dozen of them have here taken
a holy oath that they will
kill the King at Oxford.
DUCHESS.
He shall be none;
We'll keep him here. Then what is that to him?
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) Page 33
