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DUCHESS OF YORK: A woman, and thy aunt, great king; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door. A beggar begs that never begg'd before. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing, And now changed to 'The Beggar and the King.' My dangerous cousin, let your mother in: I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. |
DUKE OF YORK: If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound; This let alone will all the rest confound. |
DUCHESS OF YORK: O king, believe not this hard-hearted man! Love loving not itself none other can. |
DUKE OF YORK: Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? |
DUCHESS OF YORK: Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Rise up, good aunt. |
DUCHESS OF YORK: Not yet, I thee beseech: For ever will I walk upon my knees, And never see day that the happy sees, Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. |
DUKE OF AUMERLE: Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. |
DUKE OF YORK: Against them both my true joints bended be. Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! |
DUCHESS OF YORK: Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: He prays but faintly and would be denied; We pray with heart and soul and all beside: His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees shall kneel till... |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Good aunt, stand up. |
DUCHESS OF YORK: Nay, do not say, 'stand up;' Say, 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.' And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech. I never long'd to hear a word till now; Say 'pardon,' king; let pity teach thee how: The word is short, but not so short as sweet; ... |
DUKE OF YORK: Speak it in French, king; say, 'pardonne moi.' |
DUCHESS OF YORK: Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That set'st the word itself against the word! Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land; The chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak; set thy tongue there; Or in thy piteous heart plant thou th... |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Good aunt, stand up. |
DUCHESS OF YORK: I do not sue to stand; Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. |
DUCHESS OF YORK: O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again; Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: With all my heart I pardon him. |
DUCHESS OF YORK: A god on earth thou art. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: But for our trusty brother-in-law and the abbot, With all the rest of that consorted crew, Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I o... |
DUCHESS OF YORK: Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new. |
EXTON: Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake, 'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?' Was it not so? |
Servant: These were his very words. |
EXTON: 'Have I no friend?' quoth he: he spake it twice, And urged it twice together, did he not? |
Servant: He did. |
EXTON: And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me, And who should say, 'I would thou wert the man' That would divorce this terror from my heart;' Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go: I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. |
KING RICHARD II: I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world: And for because the world is populous And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer it out. My brain I'll prove the female to my soul, My soul the father; and these two beget A generation of still-b... |
Groom: Hail, royal prince! |
KING RICHARD II: Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live? |
Groom: I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes royal master's face. O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld In London streets, that coronation-day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, That horse th... |
KING RICHARD II: Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him? |
Groom: So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground. |
KING RICHARD II: So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? would he not fall down, Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse! why do I... |
Keeper: Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. |
KING RICHARD II: If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. |
Groom: What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. |
Keeper: My lord, will't please you to fall to? |
KING RICHARD II: Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. |
Keeper: My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, who lately came from the king, commands the contrary. |
KING RICHARD II: The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. |
Keeper: Help, help, help! |
KING RICHARD II: How now! what means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, m... |
EXTON: As full of valour as of royal blood: Both have I spill'd; O would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consumed with fire Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire; But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. Welcome, my lord what is the news? |
NORTHUMBERLAND: First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is, I have to London sent The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent: The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. |
LORD FITZWATER: My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, Two of the dangerous consorted traitors That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. |
HENRY PERCY: The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience and sour melancholy Hath yielded up his body to the grave; But here is Carlisle living, to abide Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Carlisle, this is your doom: Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife: For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. |
EXTON: Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought A deed of slander with thy fatal hand Upon my head and all this famous land. |
EXTON: From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. |
HENRY BOLINGBROKE: They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour: With Cain go wander through shades of night, And never show thy head by day nor ... |
SAMPSON: Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. |
GREGORY: No, for then we should be colliers. |
SAMPSON: I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. |
GREGORY: Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. |
SAMPSON: I strike quickly, being moved. |
GREGORY: But thou art not quickly moved to strike. |
SAMPSON: A dog of the house of Montague moves me. |
GREGORY: To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. |
SAMPSON: A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. |
GREGORY: That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. |
SAMPSON: True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. |
GREGORY: The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. |
SAMPSON: 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. |
GREGORY: The heads of the maids? |
SAMPSON: Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. |
GREGORY: They must take it in sense that feel it. |
SAMPSON: Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. |
GREGORY: 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of the Montagues. |
SAMPSON: My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. |
GREGORY: How! turn thy back and run? |
SAMPSON: Fear me not. |
GREGORY: No, marry; I fear thee! |
SAMPSON: Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. |
GREGORY: I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. |
SAMPSON: Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. |
ABRAHAM: Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? |
SAMPSON: I do bite my thumb, sir. |
ABRAHAM: Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? |
SAMPSON: |
GREGORY: No. |
SAMPSON: No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. |
GREGORY: Do you quarrel, sir? |
ABRAHAM: Quarrel sir! no, sir. |
SAMPSON: If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. |
ABRAHAM: No better. |
SAMPSON: Well, sir. |
GREGORY: Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. |
SAMPSON: Yes, better, sir. |
ABRAHAM: You lie. |
SAMPSON: Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. |
BENVOLIO: Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. |
TYBALT: What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. |
BENVOLIO: I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. |
TYBALT: What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward! |
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