From which awak'd, the truth of what we are Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, And cloister thee in some religious house: Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, Which our profane hours here have stricken down. Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bolingbroke Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage Which art a lion, and a king of beasts? K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France: Think, I am dead; and that even here thou tak'st, As from my death-bed, my last living leave. In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire With good old folks: and let them tell thee tales And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief, And send the hearers weeping to their beds. 2 And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, attended. North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang'd; 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 And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day. Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? from heart. 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 thee here; Better far off, than-near, be ne'er the near'. And piece the way out with a heavy heart. [They kiss. 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, begone, [Kiss again. That I may strive to kill it with a groan. lay: 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. York. Where did I leave? Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands, from window's tops, Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,— With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while? Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd But heaven hath a hand in these events; To whose high will we bound our calm contents. Enter AUMERLE. Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. York. Aumerle that was; But that is lost, for being Richard's friend, 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 cropp'd before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? hold those justs and tri umphs? Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. |