YORK              Then as I said the Duke, great Bolingbroke,

Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed

Which his aspiring rider seemed 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

‘Jesus preserve thee! Welcome Bolingbroke!’

Whilst he from one side to the other turning,

Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed’s neck,

Bespake them thus, ‘I thank you, countrymen.’

And thus still doing, thus he passed along.             (5.2.7-21)

York too is still, whether pointedly or out of habit, referring to Bolingbroke and the Duke (and the coronation has not yet taken place). But what York is describing is a royal entry, Bolingbroke being greeted as the king. The steed is hot and fiery, passionate, difficult to control—but it seems to recognise its aspiring, ambitious rider, and so it behaves, just, and Bolingbroke (and the horse) with slow but stately pace kept on his course. Bolingbroke can control a horse, and be seen to control it, moving with dignity and purpose: Bolingbroke can also control himself, for this hot and fiery steed is Plato’s representation of the passions, in his fable of the charioteer, who is reason.

But the main point (here at least; the horse is going to make another appearance) is the crowd. They’re encountered first as voices, a crowd in the distance: all tongues cried ‘God save thee Bolingbroke!’ They’re at their windows, overlooking the street, leaning out, craning—just as they would be for a royal procession or a mayoral pageant, as the main attraction slowly comes into view. You would have thought the very windows spake, as if the buildings themselves are bidding Bolingbroke welcome. The people are hungry for him, with their greedy looks, their desiring eyes; the suggestion that all the walls with painted imagery are speaking at once makes it sound even more like such a procession, when the custom was for the streets to be decorated by residents hanging tapestries and, especially, painted cloths out of their windows. Or, the walls of city buildings become like a mural, they’re so crammed with faces. A lot of people are vocal in their joy at seeing Bolingbroke, and this is a sly recapitulation of Richard’s own half envious, half mocking account of Bolingbroke’s popularity much earlier in the play, going into exile, his courtship to the common people, how he did seem to dive into their hearts with humble and familiar courtesy, what reverence he did throw away on slaves, wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles…(1.4) Then, Richard sneered, Bolingbroke said, pompously, Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends; now the crowd cries blessings upon him, and, again, he says I thank you, countrymen. The picture is a vivid one: the stately pace, the slow turning from one side to the other, deliberately, making eye contact, dignified, in control. Bareheaded, humble, his head lower than his proud steed’s neck, as he bows from side to side. In control, alert, a finely-calibrated, deliberate performance, reading the room and responding accordingly.