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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. | |
York.Where did I leave? | |
Duch.At that sad stop, my lord, | 5 |
Where rude misgoverned hands, from windows tops, | |
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richards head, | |
York.Then as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, | |
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, | |
Which his aspiring rider seemed to know, | 10 |
With slow but stately pace, kept on his course, | |
While 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 | 15 |
Upon his visage, and that all the walls, | |
With painted imagery, had said at once, | |
Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! | |
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, | |
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steeds neck, | 20 |
Bespake them thus,I thank you, countrymen: | |
And thus still doing, thus he passed along. | |
Duch.Alas, poor Richard, where rides he the while? | |
York.As in a theatre, the eyes of men, | |
After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, | 25 |
Are idly bent on him that enters next, | |
Thinking his prattle to be tedious: | |
Even so, or with much more contempt, mens eyes | |
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him! | |
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: | 30 |
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, steeled | 35 |
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, | |
And barbarism itself have pitied him. | |
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