Dutch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trefpafs of thine own?
Have we more fons ? or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair fon 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 confpiracy?

A dozen of them here have ta en the facrament,
And interchangeably have fet their hands,
To kill the King at Oxford.

Dutch. He fhall be none

We'll keep him here; then what is that to him?
York. Away, fond woman! were he twenty time
My fon, I would appeach him.

Dutch. Hadft thou groan'd for him
As I have done, thou'dft be more pitiful!
But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect
That I have been difloyal to thy bed,

And that he is a baftard, not thy fon:

Sweet Fork, fweet husband, be not of that minds
He is as like thee as a man may be,

Nor like to me, nor any of my kin,
And yet I love him.

York. Make way, unruly woman!

[Exit

·Dutch. After, Aumerle, mount thee upon his horfe,

[Exeunt.

Spur poft, and get before him to the King,
And beg thy pardon, ere he db accufe 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 rife up from the ground,
"Till Bolingbroke, have pardon'd thee. Away!
SCENE VI. Changes to Windfor-Castle.
Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and other Lords.
Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son ?
"Tis full three months fince I did fee him last.
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he:

I would to heav'n, my Lords, he might be found.
Enquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there:

For there, they fay, he daily doth frequent,
With unreftrained loofe companions :

Even fuch, they say, as ftand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our paffengers;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour, to support

So diffolute a crew.

Percy. My Lord, fome two days fince I faw the Prince,
And told him of the triumphs held at Oxford.
Boling. And what faid the gallant?

Percy. His answer was, he would unto the stews,
And from the common'ft creature pluck a glove
And wear it as a favour, and with that
He would unhorfe the luftieft challenger.

Boling. As diffolute as defp'rate; yet through both
I fee fome fparks of hope; which elder days
May happily bring forth. But who comes here?
Enter Aumerle.

Aum. Where is the King?

Boling. What means our coufin, that he ftares And looks fo wildly?

Aum. God fave your Grace! I do befeech your Majesty, To have fome conf'rence with your Grace alone.

Boling. Withdraw your felves, and leave us here alone. [Exeunt Lords.

T

What is the matter with our coufin 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 rife 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,

Boling. Have thy defire.

That no man enter 'till the tale be done.

[York within.

York. My Liege, beware, look to thy felf,

Thou haft a traitor in thy prefence there.

Boling. Villain, I'll make thee fafe.

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand, thou haft no cause to fear. York. Open the door, fecure, fool-hardy King:

Shall

Shall I for love fpeak treafon to thy face?
Open the door, or I will break it open.

SCENE VII. Enter York.

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? fpeak, take breath: Tell us how near is danger,

That we may arm us to encounter it.

York. Perufe this writing here, and thou shalt know
The treafon that my hafte forbids me fhow.

Aum. Remember, as thou read'ft, thy promise past:
I do repent me here, read not my name there,
My heart is not confed'rate with my hand.
Fork. Villain, it was, ere thy hand fet it down.
I tore it from the traitor's bofom, King.
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence;
Forget to pity him, left thy pity prove
A ferpent, that will fting thee to the heart.

Boling. O heinous, ftrong, and bold confpiracy !
O loyal father of a treach'rous fon!

Thou clear, immaculate, and filver fountain,
From whence, this ftream, through muddy paffages,
Hath had his current, and defil'd himself,

Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
And thine abundant goodness fhall excufe
This deadly blot in thy digreffing son.

York. So fhall my virtue be his vice's bawd,
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame;
As thriftless fons their fcraping fathers' gold.
Mine honour lives, when his dishonour dies:
Or my fham'd life in his difhonour lies:
Thou kill'ft me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.

[ Dutchefs withins Dutch. What ho, my Liege! for heav'n's fake let me in. Boling. What fhrill-voic'd fuppliant makes this eager cry? Dutch. 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.

begg'd before.

Boling. Our fcene is alter'd from a ferious thing,
And now chang'd to the beggar, and the King,
My dang'rous coufin, &c.

Ee 3

Boling,

Boling. My dang'rous coufin, let your mother in,
I know the's come to pray for your foul fin.
York. If thou do pardon, whofoever pray,
More fins for this forgiveness profper may;
This fefter'd joint cut off, the reft is found
This let alone will all the reft confound.

i

SCENE VIII. Enter Dutchess.
Dutch. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man ;
Love, loving not itself, none other can.

York. Thou frantick woman, what doft thou do here?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?

Dutch. Sweet Fork, be patient; hear me, gentle Liege!

Boling. Rife up, good aunt.

Dutch. Not yet, I thee befeech;

For ever will I kneel upon my knees,
And never fee day that the happy fees,
'Till thou give joy, until thou bid me joy,

By pard'ning Rutland, my tranfgreffing boy.

[Kneels.

Aum. Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. [Kneels. York. Against them both my true joints bended be. [Kneels. Il may'ft thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!

Dutch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face;
His eyes drop no tears, his prayers are in jeft;
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breaft:
He prays but faintly, and would be deny'd ;
We pray with heart and foul, and all befide.
His weary joints would gladly rife, I know;

Our knees fhall kneel, 'till to the ground they grow,
His prayers are full of falfe hypocrifie,
Ours of true zeal, and deep integrity;
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them crave
That mercy, which true prayers ought to have.
Boling. Good aunt, ftand up.

Dutch. Nay, do not fay' stand up,

But pardon first, fay afterwards ftand up.
An if I were thy nurfe, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon fhould be the first word of thy fpeech.
I never long'd to hear a word 'till now:

Say,

Say, Pardon, King, let pity teach thee how.
Boling. Good aunt, ftand up.
Dutch. I do not fue to ftand,

Pardon is all the fuit I have in hand.

Boling. I pardon him, as heav'n fhall pardon me,
Dutch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
Yet am I fick for fear; fpeak it again :

Twice faying pardon doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon ftrong.

Boling. With all my heart

I pardon him.

Dutch. A God on earth thou art.

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law; the Abbot, With all the reft of that conforted crew,

Deftruction straight fhall dog them at the heels.

Good uncle, help to order feveral powers

To Oxford, or where-e'er these traitors are. †

[Exeunt,

SCENE IX. Enter Exton and a Servant.

Exton. Didft thou not mark the King, what words he fpake?

Have I no friend will rid me of this fear?

Was it not fo?

*

Serv. Thofe were his very words.

Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he; he spake it twice,

teach thee how.

The word is fhort, but not fo fhort as fweet,

No word like pardon, for Kings mouths fo meet.
York, Speak it in French, King, fay Pardonnez moy.
Dutch. Doft thou teach pardon, pardon to deftroy?
Ah, my fow'r husband, my hard-hearted Lord,
That fet'it the word it felf, against the word.
Speak pardon as 'tis currant in our land,
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye begins to fpeak, fet thy tongue there:
Or in thy piteous heart, plant thou thine ear.

That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,
Pity may move thee pardon to rehears.
Boling. Good aunt, &c.

+ traitors are.

They fhall not live within this world, I fwear;
But I will have them, if I once know where.

Uncle, farewel; and, coufin, adieu;

Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.

Dutch Come, my old fon, I pray heav'n make thee new,

SCENE, I.

And