We did observe.—Cousin Aumerle,
How far brought you high Hereford on his way?
We were watching. Cousin Aumerle, How far did you take Henry Hereford on his way?
We saw all of it. Aumerle, How far did you take Bolingbroke?
how far did you take him?
I brought high Hereford, if you call him so,
But to the next highway, and there I left him.
I took high Hereford, if that's what you call him, Only to the next main road, and then I left him.
If you can call him that, I took him To the main road and then left him.
main road. then left.
And say, what store of parting tears were shed?
And tell us: how many parting tears were shed?
So, how many tears were shed at goodbye?
tears? how many?
Faith, none for me, except the northeast wind,
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
None from me, except the northeast wind, Which blew bitterly in our faces And woke the tears that naturally come, So by accident our cold farewell Was graced with tears.
None from me. Just the wind Blew in our faces so hard It made our eyes water. So we got our tears by accident.
just the wind. blew in our faces. made our eyes water.
What said our cousin when you parted with him?
What did our cousin say when you parted from him?
What did he say to you?
what did he say?
Bushy, Bagot, and Green were real historical figures, minor nobles who formed Richard II's inner circle in the 1390s. In Shakespeare's play they function as a kind of composite character — the flatterers who insulate Richard from reality and enable his worst instincts. They have no individual personalities to speak of: they agree, they echo, they follow. When Richard falls, they scatter (Bagot to Ireland, Bushy and Green to Bristol Castle), and two of them are promptly executed by Bolingbroke in Act 3. Bolingbroke's charge against them at their execution — that they 'made a divorce betwixt his queen and him' — is historically murky, but politically clear: they were the instruments of the corrupt court, and removing them is his opening move toward legitimacy. Their Amen at the end of this scene is a perfect summary of their function.
“Farewell.”
And, for my heart disdained that my tongue
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
To counterfeit oppression of such grief
That words seemed buried in my sorrow’s grave.
Marry, would the word “farewell” have lengthened hours
And added years to his short banishment,
He should have had a volume of farewells,
But since it would not, he had none of me.
Farewell. And because my heart refused To let my tongue speak the word, I learned to hide even that much feeling, To pretend my grief was so deep That words seemed dead in my sorrow. If saying 'farewell' could have prolonged his time And added years to his exile, I would have given him volumes of farewells. But since it couldn't help him, he got none from me.
Just 'farewell.' Because my heart couldn't even let me Say that much, I pretended my grief was so deep That I couldn't speak. If saying more could have helped him, I would have said a thousand farewells. But it wouldn't help, so I said nothing.
just farewell. heart too full. couldn't say more. wouldn't help anyway.
He is our cousin, cousin, but ’tis doubt,
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to see his friends.
Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green,
Observed his courtship to the common people,
How he did seem to dive into their hearts
With humble and familiar courtesy,
What reverence he did throw away on slaves,
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles
And patient underbearing of his fortune,
As ’twere to banish their affects with him.
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;
A brace of draymen bid God speed him well,
And had the tribute of his supple knee,
With “Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends”,
As were our England in reversion his,
And he our subjects’ next degree in hope.
He is our cousin, it's true, but we doubt Whether, when time brings him home from exile, He'll come to see his noble friends. We and Bushy, Bagot and Green here, Have seen how he courted the common people. How he seemed to dive into their hearts With humble and friendly speech, Throwing away respect on servants, Winning poor workers with smiles And patient acceptance of his exile, As though he were taking their affection with him. Off comes his hat to an oyster seller; Two draymen blessing him; they get His knee bent to them— 'Thank you, my countrymen, my loving friends'— As though England were his to inherit And he were next in line for the throne.
He's our cousin, yes, but we doubt He'll remember us when he comes home. We've all seen how he charmed the common people. How he played humble with them, Bowing to servants, Smiling at poor workers, Acting like he's their friend. He takes off his hat to an oyster seller. He kneels to draymen. 'Thank you, my friends,' he says. Like he's the real king, not us.
he courted the common people. hat off to servants. kneels to workers. 'thanks friends' he says. like he's the king.
Green is one of Richard's favorites — an efficient courtier who delivers news and executes orders. He speaks in practical terms. His brief appearances suggest someone who knows which way the wind is blowing but is too invested to act on it.
Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts.
Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland,
Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
Ere further leisure yield them further means
For their advantage and your highness’ loss.
Well, he is gone, and let's leave those thoughts behind. Now we must turn to the rebels in Ireland. We must act quickly, my liege, Before they grow stronger And you grow weaker.
He's gone. Let's forget about him. Now we need to deal with the rebels in Ireland. We need to move fast, your majesty, Before they get stronger.
he's gone. now ireland. rebels. we need to move fast.
We will ourself in person to this war.
And, for our coffers, with too great a court
And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
We are enforced to farm our royal realm,
The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand. If that come short,
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold,
And send them after to supply our wants;
For we will make for Ireland presently.
We will lead this war ourselves. But our treasury is depleted By a court that's too large and too generous. So we are forced to lease our kingdom And use the revenue to fund this war. If that's not enough, Our agents at home will have blank charters To fill in with names of rich men And demand large sums from them, Which they'll send to us in Ireland. We leave for Ireland at once.
I'll go to Ireland myself. But our money is running out. We spent too much on court and favors. So we'll lease the kingdom's lands And take the income to pay for war. If that's not enough, We'll have our men at home Force wealthy people to loan us money. We're leaving for Ireland right away.
i'm going to ireland. but we're out of money. so we'll lease the kingdom. and force rich people to loan us money. we leave now.
Scene 4 of Act 1 is structurally essential to the play's argument. Without it, Richard is an ambiguous figure — performing justice, displaying grace, moving with genuine ceremony. With it, we see the reality: a man who mocks his cousin's popularity because he knows he lacks it, who plans to extort his own subjects, who prays for his dying uncle's swift death because he wants the inheritance. None of this is hidden from the audience — it's spoken openly. But in the public scenes of the play, Richard will continue to perform. This gap between public performance and private reality is what Shakespeare is ultimately writing about. Richard is not a hypocrite — he genuinely believes in the sacred nature of his office. But he has separated the office from any ethical content. He wants to be king. He doesn't want to do the work of kingship. And that contradiction will unmake him.
Bushy is another of Richard's inner circle — more of a yes-man than Green, more given to emotional support than practical counsel. He'll follow Richard's favorites wherever they go, which turns out to be to their deaths.
Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,
Suddenly taken, and hath sent posthaste
To entreat your Majesty to visit him.
Old John of Gaunt is very ill, my lord. He's suddenly taken sick and has sent An urgent request for your Majesty to visit him.
Your majesty, John of Gaunt is dying. He's suddenly become very ill And wants you to visit him.
gaunt is dying. he wants to see you.
Where lies he?
Where is he?
Where?
where?
At Ely House.
At Ely House.
Ely House.
ely house.
Now put it, God, in his physician’s mind
To help him to his grave immediately!
The lining of his coffers shall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.
Come, gentlemen, let’s all go visit him.
Pray God we may make haste and come too late!
God, put it into his physician's mind To help him to his grave immediately! His money will pay for our soldiers' uniforms For the Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him. Let's pray that we arrive too late!
God, make his doctor hurry him to the grave! His money will pay for our soldiers' uniforms For Ireland. Come on, let's go see him. Hopefully we'll get there after he's dead!
god let him die. his money pays for uniforms. let's visit him. hope we're too late.
Amen!
Amen.
Amen.
amen.
The Reckoning
The mask comes off. Everything Richard was performing in scenes 1 and 3 — impartial kingship, justice, restraint — drops away the moment the court is private. His contempt for Bolingbroke's popularity is vivid and petty. His financial plans are frankly criminal. And when he hears Gaunt is dying, his response is one of the most casually monstrous lines in the play: 'Pray God we may make haste and come too late.' The audience now knows exactly who this man is.
If this happened today…
A CEO, back from a tense all-hands where he publicly maintained composure, steps into his private office with his inner circle. 'Did you see how he was working the crowd on the way out? Ridiculous.' Then: 'Anyway — we need cash for the Dublin expansion, so we're going to start monetizing the enterprise licenses more aggressively. Think of it as farming the customer base.' Then his assistant arrives: 'Your main investor just had a heart attack.' CEO: 'Perfect timing. Get the legal team ready.'