No Fear Act 1 Scene 2
No Fear Act 1 Scene 2 Page 2

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JOHN OF GAUNT

God’s is the quarrel; for God’s substitute,
His deputy anointed in His sight,
Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully,
40Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift
An angry arm against His minister.

JOHN OF GAUNT

It’s God’s quarrel now, because it was his chosen king, who serves as God’s deputy on earth, who caused Gloucester’s death. If it was a crime, let heaven punish it, because I won’t raise a hand against God’s minister.

DUCHESS

Where then, alas, may I complain myself?

DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER

Whom should I complain to then?

JOHN OF GAUNT

To God, the widow’s champion and defence.

JOHN OF GAUNT

To God, who defends widows.

DUCHESS

Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
45Thou 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,
50Be 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
55With her companion grief must end her life.

DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER

Why then, I will. Goodbye, old Gaunt. You are going to Coventry to see our kinsman Hereford and ruthless Mowbray fight. I hope that the weight of the crime against my husband will give force to Hereford’s spear, letting it pierce the killer Mowbray’s breast! Or, if he misses in the first attempt, that Mowbray’s sins weigh so heavily on him that his horse’s back breaks and throws him to the ground! Goodbye, old Gaunt. My grief is so great that I must end my life.

JOHN OF GAUNT

Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry:
As much good stay with thee as go with me!

JOHN OF GAUNT

Sister, goodbye. I have to go to Coventry. May we both fare well!

DUCHESS

Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls,
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight:
60I 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;
65I 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?
70And 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.

DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER

Just one more word. When grief falls, it rises again, even though it is heavy and not light and empty. I’ve said goodbye before I said everything that I wanted to say. Give my respects to your brother, Edmund York. That’s all, but wait—don’t leave yet! I’ll think of something else. Tell him—what?—tell him to visit me at Plashy soon. Alas, what will he see there but empty servants’ quarters, bare walls, and floors that no one walks on? What will he hear as a welcome but my groans? So give my greetings, but don’t tell him to visit me there, since he can find sorrow easily enough elsewhere. I’ll go and die alone, and now I weep, having to finally say goodbye to you.

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