<SPEECH 1><ACT 1><SCENE 2><7%>
<DUCHESS>	<8%>
	Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
	Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
	Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
	Were as seven vials of his sacred blood,
	Or seven fair branches springing from one root:
	Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
	Some of those branches by the Destinies cut;
	But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,
	One vial full of Edward's sacred blood,
	One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
	Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;
	Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all vaded,
	By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe.
	Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine: that bed, that womb,
	That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee
	Made him a man; and though thou liv'st and breath'st,
	Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent
	In some large measure to thy father's death
	In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
	Who was the model of thy father's life.
	Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair:
	In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd
	Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life,
	Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee:
	That which in mean men we entitle patience
	Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
	What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life,
	The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 2><ACT 1><SCENE 2><8%>
<DUCHESS>	<9%>
	Where then, alas! may I complain myself?
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 3><ACT 1><SCENE 2><8%>
<DUCHESS>	<9%>
	Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
	Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold
	Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight:
	O! sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear,
	That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast.
	Or if misfortune miss the first career,
	Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom
	That they may break his foaming courser's back,
	And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
	A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford!
	Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife
	With her companion grief must end her life.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 4><ACT 1><SCENE 2><9%>
<DUCHESS>	<9%>
	Yet one word more. Grief boundeth where it falls,
	Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:
	I take my leave before I have begun,
	For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
	Commend me to my brother, Edmund York.
	Lo! this is all: nay, yet depart not so;
	Though this be all, do not so quickly go;
	I shall remember more. Bid him—ah, what?—
	With all good speed at Plashy visit me.
	Alack! and what shall good old York there see
	But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls,
	Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones?
	And what hear there for welcome but my groans?
	Therefore commend me; let him not come there,
	To seek out sorrow that dwells every where.
	Desolate, desolate will I hence, and die:
	The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 5><ACT 5><SCENE 2><82%>
<DUCHESS>	<83%>
	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.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 6><ACT 5><SCENE 2><82%>
<DUCHESS>	<83%>
	At that sad stop, my lord,
	Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops,
	Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 7><ACT 5><SCENE 2><83%>
<DUCHESS>	<84%>
	Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst?
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 8><ACT 5><SCENE 2><83%>
<DUCHESS>	<84%>
	Here comes my son Aumerle.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 9><ACT 5><SCENE 2><84%>
<DUCHESS>	<84%>
	Welcome, my son: who are the violets now
	That strew the green lap of the new come spring?
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 10><ACT 5><SCENE 2><84%>
<DUCHESS>	<85%>
	What should you fear?
	'Tis nothing but some bond he's enter'd into
	For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 11><ACT 5><SCENE 2><85%>
<DUCHESS>	<85%>
	What is the matter, my lord?
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 12><ACT 5><SCENE 2><85%>
<DUCHESS>	<86%>
	Why, what is it, my lord?
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 13><ACT 5><SCENE 2><85%>
<DUCHESS>	<86%>
	What's the matter?
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 14><ACT 5><SCENE 2><85%>
<DUCHESS>	<86%>
	I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 15><ACT 5><SCENE 2><85%>
<DUCHESS>	<86%>
	Thy life answer!
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 16><ACT 5><SCENE 2><85%>
<DUCHESS>	<86%>
	Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz'd.
<STAGE DIR>
<To Servant.>
</STAGE DIR> Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 17><ACT 5><SCENE 2><86%>
<DUCHESS>	<86%>
	Why, York, what wilt thou do?
	Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
	Have we more sons, or are we like to have?
	Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
	And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
	And rob me of a happy mother's name?
	Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 18><ACT 5><SCENE 2><86%>
<DUCHESS>	<87%>
	He shall be none;
	We'll keep him here: then, what is that to him?
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 19><ACT 5><SCENE 2><86%>
<DUCHESS>	<87%>
	Hadst thou groan'd for him
	As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful.
	But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect
	That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
	And that he is a bastard, not thy son:
	Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:
	He is as like thee as a man may be,
	Not like to me, nor any of my kin,
	And yet I love him.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 20><ACT 5><SCENE 2><86%>
<DUCHESS>	<87%>
	After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse;
	Spur post, and get before him to the king,
	And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
	I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
	I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
	And never will I rise up from the ground
	Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away! be gone.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 21><ACT 5><SCENE 3><90%>
<DUCHESS>	<90%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Within.>
</STAGE DIR> What ho, my liege! for God's sake let me in.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 22><ACT 5><SCENE 3><90%>
<DUCHESS>	<90%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Within.>
</STAGE DIR> A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I.
	Speak with me, pity me, open the door:
	A beggar begs, that never begg'd before.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 23><ACT 5><SCENE 3><90%>
<DUCHESS>	<91%>
	O king! believe not this hard-hearted man:
	Love, loving not itself, none other can.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 24><ACT 5><SCENE 3><90%>
<DUCHESS>	<91%>
	Sweet York, be-patient.
<STAGE DIR>
<Kneels.>
</STAGE DIR>
	Hear me, gentle liege.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 25><ACT 5><SCENE 3><90%>
<DUCHESS>	<91%>
	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.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 26><ACT 5><SCENE 3><91%>
<DUCHESS>	<91%>
	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 to the ground they grow:
	His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
	Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
	Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have
	That mercy which true prayer ought to have.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 27><ACT 5><SCENE 3><91%>
<DUCHESS>	<92%>
	Nay, do not say 'stand up;'
	But 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.'
	An 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;
	No word like 'pardon,' for kings' mouths so meet.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 28><ACT 5><SCENE 3><92%>
<DUCHESS>	<92%>
	Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?
	Ah! my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
	That sett'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 thine ear,
	That hearing how our plants and prayers do pierce,
	Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 29><ACT 5><SCENE 3><92%>
<DUCHESS>	<92%>
	I do not sue to stand;
	Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 30><ACT 5><SCENE 3><92%>
<DUCHESS>	<92%>
	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.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 31><ACT 5><SCENE 3><92%>
<DUCHESS>	<93%>
	A god on earth thou art.
</DUCHESS>

<SPEECH 32><ACT 5><SCENE 3><92%>
<DUCHESS>	<93%>
	Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new.
</DUCHESS>

