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 heav'n, my lords, he might be found.
Enquire 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:(21) ^note

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 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 common'st Creature pluck a glove
And wear it as a favour, and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest Challenger.

Boling.
As dissolute, as desp'rate; yet through both
I see some sparks of hope; which elder days
May happily bring forth. But who comes here? Enter Aumerle.

Aum.
Where is the King?

Boling.
What means our Cousin, that he stares,
And looks so wildly?

Aum.
God save your Grace. I do beseech your Majesty,
To have some conf'rence with your Grace alone.

Boling.
Withdraw your selves, and leave us here alone.
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 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 the Tale be done.

Boling.
Have thy desire. [York within.

York.
My Liege beware, look to thy self,
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.

Boling.
Villain, I'll make thee safe.

Aum.
Stay thy revengeful hand, thou hast no cause to fear.

York.
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. Enter York.

Boling.
What is the matter, uncle? speak, take 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 confed'rate with my hand.

York.
Villain, it was, ere thy hand set it down.
I tore it from the traytor's bosom, King,
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence;
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent, that will sting thee to the heart.

Boling.
O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!
O loyal father of a treach'rous son!

Thou clear, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream, through muddy passages,
Hath had his current, and defil'd himself.
Thy overflow of good converts to bad;(22) ^note
And thine abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot, in thy digressing son.

York.
So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd,
And he shall spend mine honour with his 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 traytor lives, the true man's put to death. [Dutchess within.

Dutch.
What ho, my Liege! for heav'n's sake, let me in.

Boling.
What shrill-voic'd Suppliant 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 dang'rous Cousin, let your mother in;
I know, she's come to pray for your foul sin.

York.
If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins for his forgiveness prosper may;
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest is sound;
This, let alone, will all the rest confound. Enter Dutchess.

Dutch.
O King, believe not this hard-hearted man;
Love, loving not it self, none other can.

York.
Thou frantick woman, what dost thou do here?
Shall thy old dugs once more a traytor rear?

Dutch.
Sweet York, be patient; hear me, gentle Liege. [Kneels.

Boling.
Rise up, good aunt.

Dutch.
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 pard'ning 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!

Dutch.
Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face;
His eyes do drop no tears, his pray'r's in jest;
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast:
He prays but faintly, and would be deny'd;
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 hypocrisie,
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, stand up.

Dutch.
Nay, do not say stand up,
But pardon first; say 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.

Boling.
Good aunt, stand up.

Dutch.
I do not sue to stand,
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

Boling.
I pardon him, as heav'n shall pardon me.

Dutch.
O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
Yet am I sick for fear; speak it again:
Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.
The word is short, but not so short as sweet;

No word like pardon, for Kings mouths so meet.

York.
Speak it in French, King; say, Pardonnez moy.

Dutch.
Dost thou teach pardon, pardon to destroy?
Ah, my sow'r husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That set'st the word it self, against the word.
Speak pardon, as 'tis current in our Land;
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye begins to speak, set 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 rehearse.

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,—(23) ^note
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction streight shall dog them at the heels.
Good Uncle, help to order several Powers
To Oxford, or where-e'er these traytors are.
They shall not live within this world, I swear;
But I will have them, if I once know where.
Uncle, farewel; and cousin too, adieu;
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.

Dutch.
Come, my old son; I pray heav'n make thee new. [Exeunt. 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.
Those were his very words.

Exton.
“Have I no friend?—quoth he; he spake it twice,
And urg'd it twice together; did he not?

Serv.
He did.

Exton.
And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me,
As who shall say,—I would, thou wert the man,
That would divorce this terror from my heart;
Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let's go:
I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt.

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