Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed’s neck,
Bespake them thus—I thank you, countrymen:
And thus still doing thus he pass’d along.
Duchess. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while?
York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-grac’d actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
Even so, or with much more contempt, men’s eyes
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried God save him!