Scene 2 Enter John of Gaunt with the Duchess of Gloucester. GAUNT
Alas, the part I had in Woodstock’s blood
Doth more solicit me than your exclaims
To stir against the butchers of his life.
But since correction lieth in those hands
Which made the fault that we cannot correct, 5
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven,
Who, when they see the hours ripe on Earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders’ heads. | When the scene opens, John of Gaunt is in the middle of a private chitchat with his sister-in-law, the Duchess of Gloucester. The Duchess is the widow of the late Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester. The Duchess is heartbroken about her husband's murder and has just asked her brother-in-law (John of Gaunt) to avenge his death. Gaunt admits to the Duchess that her husband (his brother) was murdered. But he says she is out of luck if she expects him to do anything about it, because there's no way he's going to lift a finger against the king. (The king? Say what?! Okay, Shmoopsters. Shakespeare's letting us in on the big secret here. It turns out that Mowbray was involved in the murder the king's Uncle Gloucester, but King Richard ordered him to do it. No wonder Mowbray acted all weird when Bolingbroke accused him of the murder.) |
DUCHESS
Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? 10
Edward’s seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
Were as seven vials of his sacred blood
Or seven fair branches springing from one root.
Some of those seven are dried by nature’s course,
Some of those branches by the Destinies cut. 15
But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester,
One vial full of Edward’s sacred blood,
One flourishing branch of his most royal root,
Is cracked and all the precious liquor spilt,
Is hacked down, and his summer leaves all faded, 20
By envy’s hand and murder’s bloody ax.
Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! That bed, that
womb,
That metal, that self mold that fashioned thee
Made him a man; and though thou livest and 25
breathest,
Yet art thou slain in him. Thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father’s death
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father’s life. 30
Call it not patience, Gaunt. It is despair.
In suff’ring thus thy brother to be slaughtered,
Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee.
That which in mean men we entitle patience 35
Is pale, cold cowardice in noble breasts.
What shall I say? To safeguard thine own life,
The best way is to venge my Gloucester’s death. | The Duchess accuses John of Gaunt of being a lousy brother. She argues that loyalty to one's own flesh and blood is the most important thing in the world. Then she reminds him of his family history: he's one of King Edward III's sons. In other words, he's royal, and so was his brother, which is why Richard shouldn't be allowed to get away with murdering his uncle, even if Richard is a king. |
GAUNT
God’s is the quarrel; for God’s substitute,
His deputy anointed in His sight, 40
Hath caused his death, the which if wrongfully
Let heaven revenge, for I may never lift
An angry arm against His minister. DUCHESS
Where, then, alas, may I complain myself? GAUNT
To God, the widow’s champion and defense. 45 | Gaunt disagrees. He argues that he can't do anything to Richard because he's a monarch and, like all kings, he's God's "deputy" on earth. Brain Snack: Gaunt's talking about a political theory that's often referred to as the "divine right of kings," which says that kings have a right to rule because they've been chosen by God to do so. What this means is that kings don't have to answer to anybody but God. This also means that if a subject rebels against the king, he's basically rebelling and sinning against God too. Now, back to the play.
Fine, says the Duchess, but where the heck is she supposed to go for justice if Gaunt's not going to help her get revenge? Gaunt says she'll have to take it up with God – he's the only one who can help her. |
DUCHESS
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! 50
Or if misfortune miss the first career,
Be Mowbray’s sins so heavy in his bosom
That they may break his foaming courser’s back
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! 55
Farewell, old Gaunt. Thy sometime brother’s wife
With her companion, grief, must end her life. GAUNT
Sister, farewell. I must to Coventry.
As much good stay with thee as go with me. DUCHESS
Yet one word more. Grief boundeth where it falls, 60
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! 65
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 unfurnished walls, 70
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 everywhere.
Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die. 75
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. They exit. | The Duchess gives up the argument but adds that she hopes that Bolingbroke's sword will "butcher Mowbray's breast" at the big trial by combat that's coming up. Then the Duchess hints that she's going to go off to die of grief and/or commit suicide. |