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Enter BOLINGBROKE, as King; Percy, and other
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 heaven, 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 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 dissolute a crew. Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the
Boling. And what said the gallant?
Enter AUMERLE hastily.
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
alone. [Exeunt Percy and Lords. 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
thyself; 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.
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
hand. York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it
Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!--
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
Heaven's sake let me in. 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. My dangerous cousin, let your mother in; I know, she's come to pray
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;
make here? Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me gentle liege.
[Kneels. 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 bended be.
[Kneels. Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon
his face; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest ; His words come from his mouth, ours from our
breast : He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; We
pray with heart, and soul, and all beside : His weary joints would gladly rise, I know ; Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow : His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers
do out-pray his; then let them have That
mercy which true prayers ought to have. Boling. Good aunt, stand up. Duch.
Nay, do not say- stand up; But, pardon, first; and afterwards, stand
up. An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, Pardon — should be the first word of thy speech. I never long'd to hear a word till now; Say-pardon, king; let pity teach thee how :
The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
I do not sue to stand, Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
With all my heart
the abbot, With all the rest of that consorted crew,Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. – Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell, ----and cousin too, adieu : Your mother well hath pray'd,
prove you true. Duch. Come, my make thee new.
old son ;
Enter Exton and a Servant.
Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words
he spake? Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? Was it not so ? Serv.