BAGOT My lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue
Scorns to unsay what once it hath delivered;
In that dead time when Gloucester’s death was plotted
I heard you say ‘Is not my arm of length
That reacheth from the restful English court
As far as Calais, to mine uncle’s head?’
Amongst much other talk, that very time
I heard you say that you had rather refuse
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns
Than Bolingbroke’s return to England,
Adding withal how blest this land would be
In this your cousin’s death. (4.1.8-19)
This is Bagot’s only speech in the scene (and his last in the play), his big (and perhaps only) chance; he’s got to get everything out. He begins with a sort-of compliment to Aumerle: I know your daring tongue scorns to unsay what once it hath delivered. You’re brave—or reckless—in your speech and conduct; you wouldn’t ever unsay, deny that you’d said something, because that would be dishonourable. In that dead time, dead because it was fatal, but also, perhaps, because it was dark and obscure, as well as past, when Gloucester’s death was plotted, I heard you say… A reminder that Bagot and Aumerle have both been part of Richard’s inner circle; that this is Bagot incriminating if not a friend, then at least a close associate. I was there, he says, heard it with my own ears, when you said—sarcastically, playfully?—is not my arm long enough, of length, to reach from where we are now, in the restful, peaceful English court, across the channel to Calais, as far as my uncle’s head? And at the same time, amongst much other talk—general chatter and gossip and bragging, or Aumerle in particular shooting his mouth off? it’s left nicely indeterminate—I heard you say (I heard you say, again, I was there, I heard you) that you’d rather turn down the offer of a hundred thousand crowns than see Bolingbroke return to England. And then you added, for good measure, how blest this land would be in this your cousin’s death. You hate your cousin Bolingbroke (him, standing right there), don’t you? You want him dead. And you were complicit in your uncle Gloucester’s death.
Bagot is quite clever, as well as desperate (he must be clever, or at least lucky; he’s still alive). Aumerle does talk too much, and sometimes unwisely. What Bagot says is credible (I heard you say; this isn’t just hearsay, as such), and he points it, first, by acknowledging that Aumerle is a man of his word and, second, by emphasising the family relationships. Aumerle has form; if he’d plot the killing of his uncle, of course he wouldn’t have any scruples about hating his cousin and wishing him dead.
