Aum.
Why dost thou fly me, Piercy? why look strange,
And, when I gaze with Transport on thy Beauties,
Turn'st thy fair Eyes to Earth with sullen Pride,
As Thou did'st envy me the mighty Pleasure?

Piercy.
We must no more indulge the Theme of Love:
The Time's Severity hath interpos'd
A strong Correction: Now Allegiance calls thee,
A Subject's Duty, and a suff'ring Prince,
Demand the Care of thy collected Soul;
And must extinguish ev'ry lighter Thought.

Aum.
Give me not Reason, Fair One, to suspect
Your Heart is fashion'd of that common Stuff,
Which prompts your giddy Sex to sudden Change.
Such is the Rhet'rick of the wav'ring Maid,
Who hunts Occasions to retract her Vows,
And studies to be false with Decency.
Wherefore, if I'm grown cheap in your Opinion,

Did you but now delude my cred'lous Heart,
Why give me Welcome in such tender Terms,
And bless the Pow'rs, that brought me back in Safety?

Piercy.
Heav'n witness to my Truth, I still rejoice,
Still bless th' indulgent Pow'rs, that you're return'd:
But pardon me, my Lord, if I am deaf,
(Deaf as the Adder to the Charmer's Voice)
When you hereafter shall discourse of Love,
Or urge me to confess a mutual Fondness.

Aum.
Amazement seize me Madness wreck my Brain!
Or bear me, Whirlwinds, to the Verge of Earth,
Where the wild infinite Abyss begins,
That I may drop at once, and lose my Sorrows!
Ye list'ning Heav'ns, that register'd her Vows,
In whose sweet Face she has so often sworn,
She wou'd be constant as your glitt'ring Orbs,
Hear This, and wonder at a Woman's Falshood!

Piercy.
Ungen'rous, rash Aumerle! What have I done,
Thus to be branded with the Name of False?
Virtue shou'd blush at such an Imputation,
Where Crimes are multiply'd:—The Breach of Faith
Bespeaks the base Ingratitude of Fiends,
And Infamy of Strumpets.—Can I bear
A Calumny like This, and think the Man,
Who durst impose it, cou'd pretend to love?

Aum.
What can you call it less than Breach of Faith,
Falshood avow'd, to say you wou'd be deaf,
If I hereafter shou'd discourse of Love?

Piercy.
Did you but know the Cause,—

Aum.
I have a Soul,
That, conscious of the Frailties of your Sex,
Can easily devine, some cringing Courtier
Has in my Absence, (or, by Heav'n, he durst not,)
Breathing Perfumes like an Arabian Wind,
Poison'd your Ear with his Extatic Nonsence,
And Prodigality of Protestation;
The Trick of Flatt'ry, which your Self-Conceit

Misconstrues Passion! But take heed, I warn you,
Let me not find the Fav'rite Minion out,
Give him in Charge to trusty Waiting-women,
Let him be closeted from my Resentment,
Or I, in just Revenge, shall rush upon him,
And tear thy Image from his bleeding Heart.

Piercy.
O give me Patience to support this Usage!
The rising Spleen swells in my lab'ring Breast,
And Indignation, and affronted Love,
Like boistrous Tempests, harrow up my Soul.
But that I know thy wild tumultuous Spirit
Hafty as Fire, and as its Flames outrageous,
Silent I shou'd disdain thy mean Suspicions,
And count thy Jealousies beneath my Notice.
To let Thee see how far I can o'erlook
The unbecoming Transports of thy Temper,
Peruse this Paper; and when next we meet,
Spight of your Pride, you must confess you've wrong'd me. [Exit Piercy.

Aumerle Solus.
What Terrors lurk within this mystic Scroll,
That thus I'm seiz'd with unacquainted Tremblings,
Like Prophets lab'ring with a Birth of Fate?
And yet had ev'ry baleful Letter here
The Pow'r of Basilisks, to dart Destruction
By being look'd upon; I'd strain each Nerve
To trace it's Horrors, tho' the Knowledge blast me. [Reads]

You have my Leave still to attend the Queen, but if you any farther listen to the Duke of Aumerle's Address, expect to be the Heir only of my Curses. Your Father, as you shall in This obey him,

Northumberland.

Poor Piercy! I, indeed, have wrong'd thy Goodness:
Rigid Northumberland! Inveterate Lord!
Standeth thy Hate so strict on Sympathies,
That not alone King Richard, but his Friends,
Must be its Objects?—Hear me, gracious Heav'n,
And ratify my Words on this bad Man!
Ruin o'ertake his Pride, and let him fall
By the same Int'rest he would now establish,
Pierc'd to the Soul by black Ingratitude,
And sent to Death, in that unguarded Hour,
When least he dreams of Danger! Enter Salisbury.

Sal.
My Lord Aumerle, the King's impatient for you:
Proud Bolingbroke requires an instant Parly,
Or threatens he will scale our Tower-Walls;
The Council have agreed, his Grace of York,
Your noble Father, and your Self, shou'd meet him,
And hear the Substance of his full Demands.

Aum.
But let him learn to speak them then in Terms
Such as befit a loyal Subject's Mouth,
Or I will ram 'em down his trait'rous Throat,
And see if his own Insolence will choak him.
He knows, I love him not; and We shou'd meet,
Methinks, in Terror, like the Elements
Of Fire and Water, when their bursting Rage
In Thunder tears the cloudy Cheeks of Heav'n. Exeunt.

Next section