A monologue from the play "RIchard II" by William Shakespeare
About this Monologue
- Character: Duchess
- Gender: Female
- Age Range(s): Young Adult (20-35), Adult (36-50)
- Type of monologue / Character is: Angry, Scolding, Flips out, Frustrated
- Type: Dramatic
- Period: Renaissance
- Genre: Historical, Drama
- Description: The Duchess curses Hereford and Mowbray
- Location: ACT I, Scene 2
In the first scene we find Richard II acting as a judge for a dispute between Henry Bolingbroke, the king's cousin and son of John of Gaunt, and Thomas Mowbray, the Duke of Norfolk. Henry Bolingbroke accuses Thomas Mowbray of having killed the Duke of Gloucester, of being a traitor and conspiring against the king. Eventually they decide to fight in a duel.
In the second scene of the play the Duchess of Gloucester, the widow of the murdered Duke ...
Written by Administrator
Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
Thou goest 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,
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.
[JOHN OF GAUNT
Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry:
As much good stay with thee as go with me!]
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 thy 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.