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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 made9.
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 10, 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.

Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. North. 11 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' 12. 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.

9 A kiss appears to have been an established circumstance in our ancient marriage ceremonies. So, in Marston's Insatiate Countess, 1613, the duke, on parting with his wife, says to her :'The kiss thou gav'st me in the church here take.'

10 All Hallows, i. e. All Saints, Nov. 1.

11 The quartos give this speech to the king.

12 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.'

Queen. Give me mine own again; 'twere no good

part,

To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart 13.

[Kiss again.

So now I have mine own again, begone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay:

Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt.

The same.

SCENE II.

A Room in the Duke of York's Palace.

Enter YORK, and his Duchess1.

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.
York. Where did I leave?
Duch.
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops,
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling-
broke,-

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,

Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,-
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,

13 So in King Henry V. Act ii. Sc. 2:—

the king hath kill'd his heart?

1 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 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.

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While all tongues cried-God save thee, Boling

broke!

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 imagʼry, 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 pass'd along.

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

York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men2,
After a well grac'd actor leaves the 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 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.

2 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.

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 Rutland3 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.

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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? hold those justs 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 5?

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.

3 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.

4 So in Milton's Song on May Morning :

who from her green lap throws

The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.'

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

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

I fear, I fear,

Duch.

What should you fear?

"Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.

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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

show it.

may not 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 honour, 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 amaz'd:

Hence, villain; never more come in my sight.— [To the Servant.

York. Give me my boots, I say.

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