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King

Gramercy, man, thou highly honourest me.

York

And blest is England in this sweet accord.

Woodstock

Afore my God, sweet Queen, our English ladies

And all the women that this isle contains

Shall sing in praise of this your memory

And keep records of virtuous Anne-a-Beame

Whose discipline hath taught them womanhood.

What erst seemed well by custom, now looks rude.

Our women, till your coming, fairest cousin

Did use like men to straddle when they ride,

But you have taught them now to sit aside.

Yet (by your leave) young practice often reels;

I have seen some of your scholars kick up both their

heels!

Duchess of Gloucester

What have you seen, my Lord?

Woodstock

Nay, nay, nothing, wife.

I see little without spectacles thou knowest.

King

Trust him not, Aunt, for now he is grown so brave

He will be courting, ay, and kissing too.

Nay, Uncle! now I will do as much for you,

And lay your faults all open to the world!

Woodstock

Ay, ay, do, do.

King

I am glad you are grown so careless: now by my crown

I swear, good Uncles York and Lancaster,

When you this morning came to visit me

I did not know him in this strange attire.

How comes this golden metamorphosis

From homespun housewifery? speak, good Uncle!

I never saw you hatched and gilded thus.

Woodstock

I am no stoic, my dear sovereign cousin,

To make my plainness seem canonical,

But to allow myself such ornaments

As might be fitting for your nuptial day

And coronation of your virtuous Queen;

But were the eye of day once closed again

Upon this back they never more should come.

King

You have much graced the day. but, noble Uncle

I did observe what I have wondered at:

As we, today, rode on to Westminster

Methought your horse, that wont to tread the ground

And pace as if he kicked it, scornfully,

Mound and curvet, like strong Bucephalus,

Today he trod as slow and melancholy

As if his legs had failed to bear his load.

Woodstock

And can ye blame the beast? afore my God

He was not wont to bear such loads. indeed,

A hundred oaks upon these shoulders hang

To make me brave upon your wedding day,

And more than that: to make my horse more tire,

Ten acres of good land are stitched up here.

You know, good coz, this was not wont to be.

King

In your tother hose, Uncle?

Green

No, nor his frieze coat neither!

Woodstock

Ay, ay, mock on. my tother hose, say ye?

There is honest plain dealing in my tother hose.

Should this fashion last I must raise new rents,

Undo my poor tenants, turn away my servants,

And guard myself with lace; nay, sell more land

And Lordships too, by the rood. hear me King Richard:

If thus I jet in pride, I still shall lose;

But I will build castles in my tother hose.

Queen

The King but jests, my Lord; and you grow angry.

Woodstock

Tother hose! did some here wear that fashion

They would not tax and pill the commons so!

York

(Sfoot, he forewarned us, and will break

Out himself.)

Lancaster

No matter, we will back him though it grows to blows.

Woodstock

Scoff ye my plainness, I will talk no riddles,

Plain Thomas will speak plainly: there is Bagot there,

And Greene -

Green

And what of them, my Lord?

Woodstock

Upstarts, come down, you have no places there;

Here is better men to Grace King Richard's chair,

If it pleased him Grace them so.

King

Uncle, forbear.

Woodstock

These cuts the columns that should prop thy house

They tax the poor, and I am scandaled for it

That by my fault those late oppressions rise

To set the commons in a mutiny

That London even itself was sacked by them.

And who did all these rank commotions point at?

Even at these two: Bagot here, and Greene,

With false Tresilian, whom your Grace we hear

Hath made chief justice. well, well, be it so.

Mischief on mischief sure will shortly flow.

Pardon my speech, my Lord, since now we are all so

Brave to Grace Queen Anne, this day we will spend in

Sport; but in my tother hose, I will tickle them for it.

Green

Come, come, ye dote, my Lord.