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For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.
York. Bound to himself! what doth he with
a bond

That he is bound to? Wife, hou art a fool.
Boy, let me see the writing.

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it. 70 York. I will be satisfied: let me see it, I say. [He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it. Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave! Duch. What is the matter, my lord? York. Ho! who is within there?

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Than my poor life must answer.
Duch.

Thy life answer! York. Bring me my boots: I will unto the king.

Re-enter Servant with boots.

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed.

Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.
York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own?
Have we more sons? or are we like to have? 90
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?"
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine
And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?
York. Thou fond mad woman.

age,

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Sweet York, sweet 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! 110 [Exit. Duch. After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse;

Spur post, 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 have pardon'd thee._Away,
be gone!
[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A royal palace.

Enter BOLINGBROKE, PERCY, and other Lords. Boling. Can no man tell me 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 God, 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;
Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, 10
Takes on the point of honor to support
So dissolute a crew.

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince,

And told him of those 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 favor; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

Boling. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both

20

I see some sparks of better hope, which elder

years

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 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, 30

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

Boling. Intended or committed was this fault? If on 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.

York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here?

York. [Within] My liege, beware: look to Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? 90 thyself;

Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe.

40

[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.

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. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know

The treason that my haste forbids me show. 50
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy pro-
mise pass'd:

I do repent me; read not my name there;
My heart is not confederate with my hand.

Duch. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me,

[Kneels.

gentle liege.
Boling. Rise up, good aunt.
Duch.
Not yet, I thee beseech:
Forever will I walk 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
[bended be.

knee.

York. Against them both my true joints Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face;

100

His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are injest;
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:

York. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
down.

I tore it from the traitor'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 conspir-
acy!

O loyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy

sages

Hath held his current and defiled himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing son.

Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.

Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have
That mercy which true prayer ought to have. 110
Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
Duch.

Nay, do not say, 'stand up;'
Say pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.'
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
60 'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech.
I never long'd to hear a word till now;
pas-Say 'pardon,' king; let pity teach thee how:
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 'par-
donnez moi.'

70

York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd;
And he shall spend mine honor with his shame,
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
Mine honor lives when his dishonor dies,
Or my shamed life in his dishonor 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
God's sake, let me in.

Boling. What shrill-voiced suppliant makes
this eager cry?
['tis I.
Duch. A woman, and thy aunt, great king;
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,
[King.

81

And now changed to 'The Beggar and the
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in:
I know she is come to pray for your foul sin.
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound;
This let alone will all the rest confound.

Enter DUCHESS.

Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted

man!

Love loving not itself none other can.

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Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That set'st the word itself 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. Good aunt, stand up.
Duch.
I do not sue to stand:
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
130
Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
Yet I am sick for fear: speak it again;
Twice saying 'pardon doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.
Boling.

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K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare

This prison where I live unto the world:
And for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul,
My soul the father; and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts,
And these same thoughts people this little world,
In humors like the people of this world,
For no thoughtis contented. The better sort,
As thoughts of thing divine, are intermix'd
With scruples and do set the word itself
Against the word:

As thus, 'Come, little ones,' and then again, "It is as hard to come as for a camel

10

20

To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.'
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls,
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves,
Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars
Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame,
That many have and others must sit there;
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortunes on the back
Of such as have before endured the like.
Thus play I in one person many people,
And none contented; sometimes am I king;
Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar,
And so I am: then crushing penury.
Persuades me I was better when a king;
Then am I king again: and by and by
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be,
Nor I nor any man that but man is

30

With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased 40
With being nothing. Music do I hear? [Music.
Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,
When time is broke and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear
To check time broke in a disorder'd string;
But for the concord of my state and time
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me;
For now hath time made me his numbering
clock:

50

My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar

Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch,

Whereto my finger, like a dial's point,

Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now, sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart,

61

Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans
Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy,
While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock.
This music mads me: let it sound no more;
For though it hath holp madmen to their wits,
In me it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me!
For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Enter a Groom of the Stable.
Groom. Hail, royal prince!
K. Rich.
Thanks, noble peer;
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear.
What art thou? and how comest thou hither
Where no man never comes but that sad dog 70
That brings me food to make misfortune live?
Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable,
king,
[York,
When thou wert king; who, travelling towards
With much ado at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometimes royal master's face.
O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld
In London streets, that coronation-day,
When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary,
That horse that thou so often hast bestrid,
That horse that I so carefully have dress'd! 80
K. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me,
gentle friend,

How went he under him?

Groom. So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground.

K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back!

That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping

him.

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KING RICHARD.-"That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,
That staggers thus my person."

SHAKESPEARE.

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"King Richard II."-Act V., Scene V., Page 381.

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