Enter AUMERLE.

Duch. Here comes my fon Aumerle.

York.

Aumerle that was;

But that is loft, for being Richard's friend,

And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in parliament pledge for his truth,

And lafting fealty to the new-made king.

Duch. Welcome, my fon: Who are the violets now, That ftrew the green lap of the new-come spring?

Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: God knows, I had as lief be none, as one.

York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Left you be cropp'd before you come to prime.

What news from Oxford ? hold those justs and triumphs?
Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do.
York. You will be there, I know.

Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so.

York. What feal is that, that hangs without thy bofom? Yea, look'ft thou pale? let me see the writing.

Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

York.

No matter then who fees it:

I will be fatisfied, let me fee the writing,
Aum. I do befeech your grace to pardon me;

It is a matter of small confequence,

Which for fome reafons I would not have feen.
York. Which for fome reasons, fir, I mean to fee.
I fear, I fear,

Duch.

What should you fear?

'Tis nothing but fome bond, that he is enter'd into For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.

York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond

That

That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool,-
Boy, let me fee the writing.

Aum. I do befeech you, pardon me

it.

I may not show

York. I will be fatisfied; let me fee it, I say.

[Snatches it, and reads.

Treafon! foul treafon !-villain! traitor! flave!

Duch. What is the matter, my lord?

York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a Servant.] Saddle my horse.

God for his mercy! what treachery is here!

Duch. 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.

Duch.

[Exit Servant,

What's the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.

Duch. I will not peace :-What is the matter, fon?
Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more

Than my poor life must answer.

Duch.

Thy life answer!

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 fight.

York. Give me my boots, I fay.

[To the Servant.

Duch. 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 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 facrament,
And interchangeably fet down their hands,

To kill the king at Oxford.

Duch.

He fhall be none;

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

York. Away,

Fond woman! were he twenty times my fon,

I would appeach him.

Ducb.

Hadft 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 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.

[Exit. his horse;

York.
Make way, unruly woman.
Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon
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 fast as York:
And never will I rise up from the ground,
Till Bolingbroke hath pardon'd thee: Away;
Begone.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE III.

Windfor. 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, fince I did fee him laft :If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.

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

Even fuch, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers;
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 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 commoneft creature pluck a glove,

And wear it as a favour; and with that

He would unhorse the luftieft challenger.

Boling. As diffolute, as defperate; yet, through both I see some sparkles of a better hope,

Which elder days may happily bring forth.

Boling.

What means

Our coufin, that he ftares and looks fo wildly?

Aum. God fave your grace, I do befeech your majesty,

To have some conference with your grace alone.

Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.— [Exeunt PERCY and Lords.

What is the matter with our cousin 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 ere 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.

[AUMERLE locks the door.

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

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.

[Drawing.

York. [Within.] Open the door, fecure, 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.

1

York.