If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.

I would to heav'n, my Lords, he might be found.
Inquire at London, 'mong the taverns there :
For there, they fay, he daily doth frequent,
With unreftrained loofe companions :

Even fuch, they fay, as ftand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our paffengers;
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 faw the Prince, And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. Boling. And what faid the gallant?

Percy. His answer was, he would unto the ftews,
And from the commoneft creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour, and with that
He would unhorfe the luftieft challenger

Boling. As diffolute as defp'rate; yet thro' both
I fee 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 coufin, that he ftares, And looks fo wildly?

Aum. God fave your Grace. I do befeech your MaTo have fome conf'rence with your Grace alone. [jefty Boling. Withdraw yourfelves, and leave us here [Ex. Lords.

alone.

What is the matter with our coufin 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 rife or fpeak!

Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? If but the firft, 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 the tale be done. Boling. Have thy defire.

[York within.

York. 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 caufe to fear.

York. 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.

SCENE VII. Enter York.

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak, take Tell us how near is danger,

That we may arm us to encounter it.

[breath:

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou fnalt know The treason that my halte forbids me fhow.

Aum. Remember as thou read'ft, 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 fet it down.
I tore it from the traitor's bofom, King;
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence;
Forget to pity him, left thy pity prove
A ferpent that will fting thee to the heart.

Boling. O heinous, ftrong, and bold confpiracy!'t O loyal father of a treach'rous fon!

Thou clear, immaculate, and filver fountain,
From whence this ftream, through muddy paffages,
Hath had his current, and defil'd himself;
Thy overflow of good converts the bad;
And thine abundant goodnefs fhall excufe
This deadly blot in thy digreffing fon.

York. So fhall my virtue be his vice's bawd,
And he fhall spend mine honour with his fhame;
As thriftlefs fons their fcraping father's gold.
Mine honour lives, when his difhonour dies:
Or my fham'd life in his difhonour lies:
Thou kill'ft me in his life; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.
[Duchefs within.

Duch. What ho, my Liege! for Heav'n's fake let

me in.

Boling. What fhrill-voice'd fuppliant makes this ea

ger cry?

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great King, 'tis I.

Speak

Speak with me, pity me, open the door ;
A beggar begs that never begg'd before. *

Boling. My dang'rous coufin, let your mother in; I know the's come to pray for your foul fin. York. If thou do pardon, whofoever pray, More fins for his forgivenness prosper may : This fefter d joint cut off, the rest is found; This let alone, will all the rest confound.

SCENE VIII. Enter Duchefs.

Duch. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man; Love, loving not itself, none other can.

York. Thou frantic woman, what doit thou do here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear

Duch. Sweet York, be patient; hear me, gentle Liege,

Boling. Rife up, good aunt.

Duch. Not yet, I thee befeech;

For ever will I kneel upon my knees,
And never fee day that the happy fees,

[Kneels.

Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy,
By pard'ning Rutland, my tranfgreffing boy.
Aum. Unto my mother's pray'rs 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 prayer's in jeft; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: He prays but faintly, and would be deny'd; We pray with heart and foul, and all befide. His weary joints would gladly rife, I know; Our knees fhall kneel till to the ground they grow. His pray'rs are full of false hypocrify,

Ours of true zeal, and deep integrity;

his;

Our prayers do out-pray
then let them crave
That mercy which true prayers ought to have.

never begg'd before.

Boling. Our fcene is alter'd from a frious thing, And now change'd to the beggar and the King:

My dangerous coufin, &c,

Boling.

Boling. Good aunt, ftand up.

Duch. Nay, do not fay, Stand up,

But pardon first; fay afterwards, Stand up.
An' if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon fhould 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.

Duch. I do not fue to ftand,

Pardon is all the fuit I have in hand.

Boling. I pardon him, as Heav'n fhall pardon me,
Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
Yet am I fick for fear; fpeak it again:

Twice faying pardon, doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon ftrong. *

Boling. With all my heart

I pardon him.

Duch. A God on earth thou art.

Boling. But for our trusty-brother-in-law, the AbWith all the rest of that conforted crew, [bot,Deftruction straight shall dog them at the heels. Good uncle, help to order several powers

To Oxford, or where-e'er these traitors are. t

pardon ftrong.

The word is fhort, but not fo fhort as sweet;

No word like pardon for Kings' mouths fo meet.
York. Speak it in French, King; say, Pardonnez moy.
Duch. Dost thou teach pardon, pardon to destroy?

Ah, my four husband, mv hard hearted lord,
That fet'ft the word itself against the word.
Speak pardon, as 'tis current in our land;
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye begin to speak, fet 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.
Beling. With all, &c.

They shall not live within this world, I swear;
But I will have them, if I once know where.

Uncle, farewel; and coufin too, adieu;

Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.

Duch. Come, my old fon; I pray Heav'n make thee new.
SCENE,, &c.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE IX. Enter Exton and a Servant.

Exton. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he fpake?

"Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? Was it not fo?

Serv. Thofe were his very words.

Exton. "Have I no friend?-quoth he; he fpake And urge'd it twice together; did he not? [it twice, Serv. He did.

Exten. And fpeaking it, he wiftly look'd on me, As who fhall fay,-I would thou wert the man, That would divorce this terror from my heart; Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let's I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt.

Changes to the prison at Pomfret caftle.

Enter King Richard.

go:

K. Rich. I have been studying how to 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 on't.

My brain I'll prove the female to my foul,

My foul, the father; and these two beget

A generation of still breeding thoughts;

ones ; and then

[again,

• And these fame thoughts people this little world;
In humour, like the people of this world,
For no thought is contented. The better fort
(As thoughts of things divine) are intermix'd
With fcruples, and do fet the word itself
Against the word; as thus, Come, little
It is as hard to come, as for a camel
To thread the poftern of a needle's eye.
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders; how thefe vain weak nails
May tear a paffage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prifon-walls:
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
VOL. IV.

K

Thoughts