DUCHESS OF YORK 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.

DUKE OF YORK Where did I leave?

DUCHESS OF YORK At that sad stop, my lord,

Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops

Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

DUKE OF YORK Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke,

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed

Which his aspiring rider seem'd 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,