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North. My lord, the mind of Bullingbrooke is changd,
You must to Pomfret, not vnto the tower.
And madam, there is order tane for you,
With all swift speed you must away to France.
King. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithall
The mounting Bullingbrooke ascends my throne.
The time shall not be many houres of age
More then it is, ere foule sinne gathering head,
Shall breake into corruption, thou shalt thinke,
Though he deuide the realme, and giue thee halfe,
It is too little, helping him to all :
He shall thinke, that thou which knowst the way
To plant vorightfull kings, will know againe,
Beeing nere so little vrgd another way,
To plucke him headlong from the vsurped throne,
The loue of wicked men * conuerts to feare,
That feare, to hate ; and hate turnes one or both
To worthy danger and deserued death.
North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end :
Take leaue and part, for you must part foorthwith.
King. Doubly diuorc't (bad men) you violate
A twofold mariage, betwixt + my crowne and me,
And then betwixt me, and my married wife.
Let me vnkisse the oath betwixt thee and me:
And yet not so, for with a kisse t’was made,
Part vs Northumberland, I towards the north,
Where shiuering cold and sickenesse pines the clime:
My wife to France, from whence set foorth in pompe,
She came adorned hither, like sweete May,
Sent backe like Hollowmas, or shorts of day.
Que. And must we be deuided ? must we part?
King. I, hand from hand (my loue) and heart from heart
Queen. Banish vs both, and send the king with me.
King. That were some loue, but little policie.
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me goe.
King. So two togither weeping, make one woe;
Weepe for * me in France, I for thee here,
Better farre off then neere be neare + the neere:
Goe count thy way with fighes, I mine with groancs.
Queen. So longest way Mall haue the longest moades.
King. Twise for one step Ile grone, the way being fort, And peece
way out with a heauie heart.
Come, come, in wooing forrow lets bc briefe,
Since wedding it, there is such length in griefe :
One kisfe shall stoppe our mouthes, and doubly part,
Thus giue I mine, and thus take I thy heart.
Queen. Giue me my owne againe, cwere no good part,
To take on me to keepe, and kill thy heart.
So now I haue mine owne againe, be gone,
That I may ftrine to kill it with a groane.
King. We make woe wanton with this fond delay,
Once more adew, the rest let sorrow fay.
Enter duke of Yorke and the dutchesse.
Dut. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest,
When weeping made you breake the ftory #
Of our two coofins comming into London.
Yorke. Where did I leave ?
Dutc. At that fad stop my lord,
Where rude misgouernd hands from windowes tops,
Threw duft and rubbish on king Richards head.
Torke. Then (as I said) the duke great Bullingbrooke,
Mounted vpon a hote and fierie steede, ,
Which his aspiring rider seemd to know
With low, but stately pace kept on his course,
+ nere. 1 Sceena Secuada, |gayof.
While all tongues cride, God saue the * Bullingbrooke,
You would haue thought the very windowes spake :
So many greedy lookes of young and old,
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Vpon his visage, and that all the walles,
With painted imagery had fayd at once,
lesu preserue the* welcome Bullingbrooke,
Whilst he from the one side to the other turning
Bare-headed, lower then his proud steeds necke
Bespake them thus, I thanke you countrymen :
And thus still doing, thus he past along.
Du. Alacke poore Richard, where rides he the whilft?
Yorke. As in a theater the eyes of men, After a well graced actor leaues the stage, Are idlely bent on him chat enters next, Thinking his pratule to be tedious: Euen so, or with much more contempt mens eyes Did (coule on gentle † Richard, no man cried God save him : No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home, But dust was throwne vpon his sacred head; Which with such gentle forrow he shooke off, His face still combating with teares and smiles, The badges of his griefe and patience; That had not God for some strong purpose steeld The hearts of men, they must perforce haue melted, And barbarisme it felfe haue pittied him : But heauen hath a hard in thele cuents, To whose high will we bound ocr calme contents, To Bullingbrooke are we forne lubiect now, Whose state and honour I for ay bow.
Dut. Heere comes my fonne Anerle.
Torke. 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 trueth
And lasting fealtie to the new made king.
Dut Welcome my sonne, who art * the violets now,
That strew the greene lappe of the new-come spring.
Aun. 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? do thefe iufts and triumphis hold † ?
Aum. For aught I know (my lord) they do.
Yorke. You will be there I know.
Aum. If God preuent not I purpose fo.
Yorke. What feale is that that hangs without thy bosome Yea, lookst thou pale ? let mee see the writting.
Auw. My lord tis nothing.
Yorke. No matter then who see fit,
I will be satisfied, let me see the writting,
Aum. I do befecch your grace to pardon me,
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not haue feene.
Yorke. Which for some reasons (fir) I meane to see.
I feare, I feare.
Dut. What should you feare?
Tis nothing but some band that he is entred into
For gay apparrel 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 writting.
+ b.id these iufts arod triumpbs.
Aum. I do beseech you pardon me, I may not shew it.
Yorke. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say:
He pluckes it out of his bofome, and reads it. Treason, foule treason : villaine, traytor, Naue.
Dut. What is the matter, my lord?
Yorke. Ho, who is within there? saddle my horse :
God * for his mercy! what trechery is heere?
Du. Why, what is it my lord?
Yorke. Giue me my bootes I say, sadle my horse,
Now by mine honour, my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villaine.
Du. What is the matter?
Yorke. Peace folish woman.
Dutc. I will not peace, what is the matter Aumerle + ?
Aum. Good mother be content, it is no more
Then my poore life must answere.
Dutch. Thy life answere?
Yorke. Bring me my bootes, I will vnto the king.
His man enters wiih his bootes f.
Du. Strike him Aumerle, poore boy thou art amazd, Hence villaine neuer more come in my light.
Torke. Giue me my bootes I say.
Du. Why Yorke, what wilt thou do?
Wilt not thou 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 robbe me of a happie mothers name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine owne ?
Yorke. Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceale this darke conspiracie ?
| Enter servant with bosis. • Вь