The Duchess of York (not to be confused with the Duchess of Gloucester from 1-2) is the play's most energetic fighter — she argues with her husband, hides his boots, and races to Windsor to out-kneel him before the king. Her love for her son is unconditional and tactical simultaneously. She will succeed.
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.
My Lord, you said you would tell me the rest of the story, but then you got emotional and stopped talking about our two cousins arriving in London.
My Lord, you said you'd finish the story for me, but then you got too emotional and stopped—the part about our cousins coming to London.
you were gonna tell me the rest but you got too emotional stopped at the part about our cousins in london
Where did I leave?
Where did I stop speaking?
Where was I?
where'd i stop
At that sad stop, my lord,
Where rude misgoverned hands from windows’ tops
Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard’s head.
At that sad moment, my lord, when rough, uncontrolled hands threw dust and garbage down from the windows onto King Richard's head.
Right at that sad part, my lord—when rude people threw dust and trash at King Richard from the windows.
when people threw dirt and trash at king richard from the windows
Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke,
Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed,
Which his aspiring rider seemed to know,
With slow but stately pace kept on his course,
Whilst 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
Upon his visage, and that all the walls
With painted imagery had said at once
“Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!”
Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning,
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed’s neck,
Bespake them thus, “I thank you, countrymen.”
And thus still doing, thus he passed along.
Then, as I said, the Duke, the great Bolingbroke, rode on a hot and fiery horse, which seemed responsive to his ambitious rider, maintaining a slow but dignified pace. Everyone shouted "God protect you, Bolingbroke!" You would have thought the very windows were speaking, so many eager eyes of young and old looked out through the windows and focused their desires on his face. All the walls seemed to have painted decorations that said at once "Jesus preserve you! Welcome, Bolingbroke!" While he, turning from one side to the other, bareheaded and lowering his head below his horse's proud neck, spoke to them thus: "I thank you, my fellow citizens." And doing this repeatedly, he continued along.
So like I said, Duke Bolingbroke rode in on this amazing horse—it was spirited and the horse seemed to understand his rider perfectly. He went at this slow, impressive pace, and everyone was yelling "God save Bolingbroke!" You'd swear the windows themselves were cheering—people of all ages were leaning out, just staring at him with total admiration. It was like even the decorations on the walls were saying "Welcome, Bolingbroke!" The whole time, he kept looking left and right, his head bowed lower than his horse's neck, thanking everyone: "I thank you, citizens." Just kept doing that the whole way.
bolingbroke rode in on this amazing horse everyone screaming god save bolingbroke people packed at the windows staring he kept his head down thanking them perfect entrance
Alack, poor Richard! Where rode he the whilst?
Oh no, poor Richard! Where was he riding during all this?
Oh no, poor Richard! Where was he in all this?
oh god poor richard where was he
As in a theatre the eyes of men
After a well-graced actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious,
Even so, or with much more contempt, men’s eyes
Did scowl on gentle Richard. No man cried “God save him!”
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home,
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
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events,
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
It was like in a theatre when the audience's eyes, after a praised actor leaves the stage, land idly on whoever enters next, thinking their chatter will be tedious. Exactly the same way, or with even more contempt, people's eyes looked down on gentle Richard. No one shouted "God protect him!" No joyful voice welcomed him home, but dust was thrown on his sacred head. He shook it off with such tender sorrow—his face fighting between tears and smiles, the signs of his grief and patience. If God, for some powerful purpose, had not strengthened men's hearts, they would have had to melt with pity, and even barbaric nature itself would have pitied him. But heaven has a hand in these events, and we must accept that. We are sworn subjects to Bolingbroke now, and I accept his state and honour forever.
You know how in a play, when some famous actor leaves and the next person comes on, the audience just gets bored and thinks the new actor is annoying? That's what happened with Richard—even worse, actually. Everyone's eyes turned on him with contempt. No one yelled "God save him!" No warm welcome, just people throwing dust on his head. And he just brushed it off, trying to smile through the tears. His face was torn between grief and trying to keep it together. Honestly, if God hadn't hardened people's hearts, they would've just broken down crying for him—even the cruelest people would have felt sorry for him. But that's heaven's plan, I guess. We're bound to Bolingbroke now, and we have to accept it.
like in a play after the star leaves the new actor gets booed richard got the same but worse no one welcomed him just threw dirt tears and smiles mixed heaven decided this so we accept it
Here comes my son Aumerle.
My son Aumerle is approaching.
There's Aumerle.
aumerle's here
Aumerle that was;
But that is lost for being Richard’s friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now.
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
Aumerle is what he was called, but that name is lost now because he was Richard's friend. And madam, you must call him Rutland from now on. I have pledged in Parliament for his loyalty and lasting faithfulness to the newly crowned king.
He was called Aumerle, but he's lost that title because he was Richard's friend. You have to call him Rutland now. I've promised the whole Parliament that he'll be loyal and faithful to the new king.
he was aumerle but he lost that name for being richard's friend call him rutland now i promised parliament he'd be loyal
Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?
Welcome, my son. Who are the beautiful young people now who decorate this new springtime?
Welcome, my son. So who are the beautiful young people who are the stars of this new season?
welcome home who are the beautiful young ones now
Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not.
God knows I had as lief be none as one.
Madam, I don't know and I don't really care. God knows, I'd just as soon be nobody as be one of them.
I don't know who they are, and honestly, I don't care. I'd rather be nothing than be one of these showy young people.
i don't know and don't really care i'd rather be nobody
Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,
Lest you be cropped before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford? Do these jousts and triumphs hold?
Well, conduct yourself well in this new era of time, or you might be cut down before you reach your prime. What's the news from Oxford? Are these tournaments and celebrations still happening?
Well, stay safe in these new times, or you might get into trouble before your best years. What's happening at Oxford? Are those tournaments still going on?
be careful in these new times don't get cut down before you peak are the tournaments at oxford still happening
For aught I know, my lord, they do.
As far as I know, my lord, they are.
As far as I know, yes, they are.
i guess so
You will be there, I know.
I'm certain you'll attend.
You'll be there, I'm sure of it.
you're gonna go
If God prevent not, I purpose so.
If God doesn't stop me, that's my intention.
Unless something stops me, yes, I plan to go.
unless god stops me i'll be there
What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom?
Yea, look’st thou pale? Let me see the writing.
What is that sealed document hanging outside your chest? And yes, you look pale. Let me see the writing.
What's that sealed letter you've got hanging on you? And why do you look so pale? Let me see what it says.
what sealed letter is that you look pale let me see it
My lord, ’tis nothing.
My lord, it's of no consequence.
Forget about it, my lord.
forget it
York's decision to report his own son to the king is the play's most ruthless act of principle, and Shakespeare doesn't make it heroic or easy. The scene surrounding it is almost farcical — the Duchess hiding the boots, York calling for them anyway, the absurdity of a father and mother arguing over a treasonous document while the son stands there. But the comedy is the medium through which a genuinely terrible moral choice is presented. York has pledged his loyalty to Henry IV in Parliament. He has made his peace with the new regime, told himself heaven has a hand in it, and sworn himself to the new king. Now his son's life is in the balance, and York chooses the oath over the son. The argument the Duchess makes — that he suspects the boy is a bastard, which is why he won't protect him — is the cruelest thing she can say, and it doesn't work. York is not a cold man; he wept describing Richard's humiliation. His choosing duty over family is the act of a man who has decided that public order and personal loyalty cannot coexist when they conflict, and has chosen public order. That choice will define his legacy in the Henry IV plays.
No matter, then, who see it.
I will be satisfied. Let me see the writing.
Then it doesn't matter who sees it. I will have satisfaction. Let me see the writing.
Then there's no reason not to show it to me. I need to see it. Let me see what it says.
if it's nothing let me see it
I do beseech your Grace to pardon me.
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
I beg your Grace to forgive me. It's a matter of little importance, which for some reasons I don't want anyone to see.
I'm asking you, please, forgive me. It's nothing serious, but for some reasons I really don't want anyone to read it.
please forgive me it's not serious i just don't want anyone to see it
Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear—
Which for some reasons, sir, I intend to see. I'm afraid, I'm afraid—
Which is exactly why I need to see it. I'm afraid, I'm afraid—
i need to see it i'm afraid
What should you fear?
’Tis nothing but some bond that he is entered into
For gay apparel ’gainst the triumph day.
What should you fear? It's nothing but some financial obligation he made for fancy clothes for the celebration day.
What are you worried about? It's just a loan he took out to buy fancy clothes for the celebrations.
why are you scared it's just a debt for fancy clothes for the parade
Bound to himself? What doth he with a bond
That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.
Boy, let me see the writing.
Bound to himself? Why would he make a bond if he's bound by it? Wife, you're a fool. Boy, let me see that writing.
Bound to himself? Why would he create an obligation he's stuck with? Wife, you're being foolish. Boy, show me the letter.
bound to himself wife you're foolish show me the letter
I do beseech you, pardon me. I may not show it.
I beg you, forgive me. I cannot show it.
Please, forgive me. I can't show it to you.
i can't show you
I will be satisfied. Let me see it, I say.
I will have satisfaction. Let me see it, I say.
I demand to see it. Show me, now.
show me it now
Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!
Betrayal, foul betrayal! Scoundrel! Turncoat! Wretch!
Betrayal! Disgusting, foul betrayal! You scoundrel, you turncoat, you worthless dog!
no no no no this is betrayal this is wrong
What is the matter, my lord?
What is wrong, my lord?
What's the matter?
what's wrong
Ho! who is within there?
Hey! Who is inside there?
Hey! Is anyone there?
who's inside
Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy, what treachery is here!
Saddle my horse. God have mercy—what betrayal is this!
Get my horse saddled. For God's sake, what kind of conspiracy is this!
saddle my horse what treachery is this
Why, what is it, my lord?
So what's the problem, my lord?
What is it?
what's wrong
Give me my boots, I say. Saddle my horse.
Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain.
Give me my boots, I say. Saddle my horse. Now, by my honour, by my life, by my word, I will accuse the villain.
Get my boots. Saddle my horse. I swear by my honour and my life, I'm going to accuse this traitor.
get my boots saddle my horse i'm going to accuse him
What is the matter?
What's wrong?
What's going on?
what's happening
Peace, foolish woman.
Be quiet, foolish woman.
Hush, you fool.
be quiet fool
York's description of the London procession contains one of the most self-aware moments in Shakespeare: 'As in a theatre the eyes of men / After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, / Are idly bent on him that enters next.' The 'well-graced actor' is Richard — the man who just left — and the audience's quick indifference to whoever comes next mirrors the crowd's behavior. But York is also describing his own audience: the people at the Globe watching Richard II. Shakespeare is writing about the experience of watching his own play. The metaphor has another layer: Richard has throughout the play been the most theatrical character, the one who stages his own grief and his own deposition. He was a 'well-graced actor' in the deepest sense. And the crowd's indifference to him in York's account — turning to Bolingbroke with 'greedy looks' — is precisely what made him a bad king: he performed for an audience that could transfer its attention to the next performer.
I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?
I will not be quiet. What is the matter, Aumerle?
I'm not going to stop. What is it, Aumerle? What's wrong?
tell me what's going on aumerle
Good mother, be content. It is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
Good mother, be satisfied. It's nothing more than what my poor life must pay for.
Mother, please, don't worry. It's just something I have to answer for with my own life.
don't worry mom it's just my life on the line
Thy life answer?
Your life must answer for it?
Your life?
your life
Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.
Bring me my boots. I will go to the King.
Get my boots. I'm going to the King.
boots now heading to the king
Strike him, Aumerle! Poor boy, thou art amazed.
Strike him, Aumerle! Poor boy, you are bewildered.
Hit him, Aumerle! Poor thing, you're in shock.
hit him aumerle
Hence, villain! Never more come in my sight.
Get out, you villain! Never let me see your face again.
Get out of here, you scoundrel! I never want to see you again.
get out villain never come back i don't want to see you
Give me my boots, I say.
Bring me my boots at once.
Get me my boots, now.
boots now
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?
Why, York, what are you going to do? Won't you hide the crime of your own family? Do we have more sons? Or will we have more? Isn't my childbearing age already used up by time? And will you take my beautiful son away from me in my old age and rob me of the joy of being called a mother? Doesn't he look like you? Isn't he your own son?
York, what are you doing? Won't you protect your own family's crime? We don't have other sons. My time for having children is over. Are you really going to take my son away from me and destroy my happiness as a mother? He looks like you. He's your own son.
york what are you doing won't you protect your own family are you taking my son away he looks like you he's your own
Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta’en the sacrament
And interchangeably set down their hands
To kill the King at Oxford.
You foolish, angry woman, will you hide this dark conspiracy? A dozen of them have sworn an oath and signed their names together to kill the King at Oxford.
You're out of your mind, woman. Will you keep this conspiracy secret? Twelve of them swore an oath together and signed their names to kill the King at Oxford.
they swore oaths twelve of them signed up to kill the king at oxford
He shall be none;
We’ll keep him here. Then what is that to him?
He won't be part of it. We'll keep him here at home. Then what does it matter to him?
He won't be involved. We'll keep him home. So what's the problem?
he won't be part of it we'll keep him here at home
Away, fond woman! Were he twenty times my son,
I would appeach him.
Get away, foolish woman! Even if he were twenty times my son, I would accuse him.
Get out of my way, you foolish woman! Even if he were twenty times my son, I'd still accuse him.
get away i'd accuse him no matter what
Hadst thou groaned for him
As I have done, thou wouldst 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, or any of my kin,
And yet I love him.
If you had suffered through his pregnancy as I did, you would be more compassionate. But now I understand what you're thinking: you suspect I've been unfaithful to you in your bed and that he's a bastard, not your true son. Sweet York, sweet husband, don't think that way. He looks as much like you as any child could be, not like me or any of my family, and yet I love him.
If you'd gone through what I did to have him, you'd be more sympathetic. But I know what you're thinking—you think I cheated on you and he's not really your son. York, sweetheart, don't believe that. He looks just like you, not like me or my family at all, and I love him anyway.
if you'd suffered like i did you'd understand you think i cheated that he's not your son but he looks like you and i love him
Make way, unruly woman!
Make way, disorderly woman!
Get out of my way, you defiant woman!
get out of my way
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 pardoned thee. Away, be gone!
After him, Aumerle! Get up on his horse! Ride quickly and get ahead of him to the King, and beg the King's pardon before York accuses you. I won't be long behind. Even though I'm old, I'm sure I can ride as fast as York. And I will never get up from the ground until Bolingbroke has pardoned you. Go quickly!
Go after him, Aumerle! Get on his horse! Ride fast and get to the King before York accuses you—beg for the King's forgiveness. I'm right behind you, even if I'm old, I can keep up with York. I won't stop until Bolingbroke has forgiven you. Go!
go aumerle ride to the king beg for forgiveness before york accuses you i'm coming too go
The Reckoning
Fifty-six chunks, and the tonal contrast with everything around it is deliberate. After 5-1's unbearable quiet farewell, Shakespeare gives us something almost farcical: York demanding his boots, the Duchess trying to hide the boots, the two of them arguing across their son's head about whether to report him. The comedy is real, but it's also serious — a father about to denounce his own son to the king, a mother willing to shelter a traitor. York's choice embodies one of the play's central arguments about what duty requires.
If this happened today…
The deposed CEO's father-in-law gives his wife a debrief on the corporate handover: Bolingbroke rode up Fifth Avenue like a conquering hero, and the old CEO got garbage thrown at him through car windows, shaking it off with this gentle sad smile. Their son comes home — he's been formally demoted. The father-in-law notices a folder visible inside the son's jacket, grabs it, reads it: a signed agreement for a murder plot. He calls for his car keys to drive to the new CEO immediately. The mother-in-law hides the keys. They argue. She tells the son: beat your father there, get the pardon before he can report you.