horse.

York. Ho! who is within there? faddle my Heaven, for his mercy! what treachery is here! Dutch. Why, what is it, my lord?

York. Give me my boots, I fay; faddle my horfe :Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth,

I will appeach the villain.

Dutch. What's the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.

Dutch. I will not peace:-What is the matter, fon? Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more Than my poor life must answer.

Dutch. Thy life answer!

Enter fervant, with boots.

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. Dutch. Strike him, Aumerle. — Poor boy, thou art

amaz'd:

Hence, villain; never more come in my fight.

[Speaking to the fervant.

York. Give me my boots, I fay.
Dutch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass 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 fet down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.

Dutch. He fhall be none;

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

• appeach]-accuse, inform against him.

York.

York. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times My fon, I would appeach him.

Dutch. Hadit 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 disloyal to thy bed,

And that he is a baftard, not thy fon:

Sweet York, fweet 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,

And yet I love him.

York. Make way, unruly woman.

[Exit.

Dutch. After, Aumerle: mount thee upon his horse;,

Spur, poft; and get before him to the king,
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I'll not be long behind; though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as faft as York:
And never will I rife up from the ground,

'Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away. [Exeunt.

Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and other Lords.

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

I would to heaven, my lords, he might be found:
Enquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
For there, they fay, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loofe companions;
Even fuch, they fay, as ftand in narrow lanes,

VOL. III.

G g

And

And beat our watch, and rob our paffengers;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour, to fupport

So diffolute a crew.

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

Percy. His anfwer was, he would unto the ftews;
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 defperate: yet, through both
I fee fome fparkles of a better hope,

Which elder days may happily bring forth.

But who comes here?

Enter Aumerle, amazed.

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 conference with your grace alone.
Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.-
What is the matter with our coufin now?

Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,

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

[Kneels.

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 defire.

[York within.

York.

York. My liege, beware; look to thyself;
Thou haft a traitor in thy presence there.
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee fafe.
Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;

Thou haft no cause to fear.

[Drawing.

York. Open the door, fecure, fool-hardy king: Shall I, for love, fpeak treason to thy face?

Open the door, or I will break it

open.

The King 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. Perufe this writing here, and thou fhalt know The treason that my hafte forbids me fhow.

Aum. Remember, as thou read'ft, 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 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, strong, and bold confpiracy!-
O loyal father of a treacherous fon!

Thou sheer, immaculate, and filver fountain,
From whence this ftream through muddy paffages,
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
And thy abundant goodness fhall excufe
This deadly blot in thy digreffing fon.

г

fbeer,]-clear, transparent.

a Tby overflow of good converts to bad;]-Extremes pafs eafily into digreffing-tranfgreffing, offending.

their contraries.

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

[Dutchess within. Dutch. What ho, my liege! for heaven'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.

Boling. Our scene is alter'd; from a serious thing,
And now chang'd to the Beggar and the King.-
My dangerous coufin, let your mother in ;
I know, fhe'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 rests found;
This, let alone, will all the rest confound.

Enter Dutchess.

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

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

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?

Dutch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle liege.

Boling. Rife up, good aunt.

[Kneels.

• the Beggar and the King.]-alluding to the fong of "King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid,"

• make.

Dutch.