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Re-enter servant, with boots.

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art amaz'd*:

Hence, villain; never more come in my sight.—

York. Give me my boots, I say.

[To the servant.

Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
Have we more sons? or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming + date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
And rob me of a happy mother's name?

Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?
York. Thou fond mad woman,

Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?

A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands,

To kill the king at Oxford.

Duch.

He shall be none;

We'll keep him here: Then what is that to him?

York. Away,

Fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
I would appeach him.

Duch.

Hadst thou groan'd for him,

As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful.

But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect,
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,

And that he is a bastard, not thy son:

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind:

He is as like thee as a man may be,

Not like to me, or any of my kin,

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Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his

horse;

Spur, post; and get before him to the king,
And beg his pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
And never will I rise up from the ground,
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away;
Begone.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Windsor. A room in the castle.

Enter Bolingbroke as king; Percy, and other lords.

Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son? 'Tis full three months, since I did see him last:If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.

I would to God, my lords, he might be found:
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loose companions;

Even such, they say, as stand in narrow laues,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour, to support
So dissolute a crew.

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the
prince;

And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.
Boling. And what said the gallant?

Percy. His answer was,-he would unto the stews;
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

Boling. As dissolute, as desperate: yet, through

both

I see some sparkles of a better hope,

Which elder days may happily bring forth.

But who comes here?

Enter Aumerle, hastily.

Aum.

Boling.

Where is the king?

What means

Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your majesty,

To have some conference with your grace alone. Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here [Exeunt Percy and lords.

alone.

What is the matter with our cousin now?
Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,

[Kneels.

My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak.

Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? If but the first, how heinous e'er it be,

To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.

Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done.

Boling. Have thy desire.

[Aumerle locks the door,

York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to thy.

self;

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing.
Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;

Thou hast no cause to fear.

York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool-hardy

king:

Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?

Open the door, or I will break it open.

[Bolingbroke opens the door.

Enter York.

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it.

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know

The treason that my haste forbids me show.
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise
past:

I do repent me; read not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.

I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king:
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspira-
cy!-

O loyal father of a treacherous son!

Thou sheer*, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy passages,
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad;

And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing + son.

York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd;
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame,
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers gold.
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies:
Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.
Duch. [Within.] What ho, my liege! for God's
sake let me in,

* Transparent.

+ Transgressing.

Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry?

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king; 'tis I.

Speak with me, pity me, open the door;

A beggar begs, that never begg'd before.

Boling. Our scene is alter'd,- from a serious thing,

And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King*.--
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ;
I know, she's come to pray for your foul sin.
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound;
This, let alone, will all the rest confound.

Enter Duchess.

Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man; Love, loving not itself, none other can.

York. Thou frantick woman, what dost thou maket here?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?

Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle [Kneels.

liege.

Boling. Rise up, good aunt.

Duch.

Not yet, I thee beseech:

For ever will I kneel upon my knees,

And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.
Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my

knee.

[Kneels. York. Against them both, my true joints bend.

ed be.

[Kneels.

Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face;

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