But duft was thrown upon his facred head;
Which with fuch gentle forrow he shook off,
His face ftill combating with tears and fmiles,
The badges of his grief and patience;

That had not God, for fome ftrong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they muft perforce have melted;
And barbarifm it felf have pitied him.

But heaven hath a hand in these events,

To whofe high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we fworn Subjects now,
Whofe State, and Honour, I for aye allow.

Enter Aumerle.

Dutch. Here comes my fon Aumerle.
York. Aumerle that was,

But that is loft, for being Richard's friend.
And, Madam, you must call him Rutland now;
I am in Parliament pledge for his truth,

And lafting fealty to the new-made King.

Dutch. Welcome, my fon; who are the Violets now, That ftrew the green lap of the new-come Spring? Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care: God knows, I had as lief be none, as one.

York. Well, bear you well in this new Spring of time,

Left you be cropt before you come to Prime.

What news from Oxford? hold thofe Jufts and Triumphs?

Aum. For ought I know, they do.

York. You will be there?

Aum. If God prevent me not, I purpose fo.

York. What Seal is that, that hangs without thy bo-
fom?

Yea, look'ft thou pale? let me fee the Writing.
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

York. No matter, then, who fees it.

I will be fatisfied, let me fee the Writing.
Aum. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,

It is a matter of fmall confequence,

Which for fome reasons I would not have feen.

Y 4.

York.

York. Which for fome reasons, Sir, I mean to fee. I fear, I fear

Dutch. What should you fear, my lord?

'Tis nothing but fome bond he's enter'd into, For gay apparel, against the triumph.

York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond, That he is bound to? wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me fee the Writing.

Aum. I do befeech you, pardon me;

fhew it.

I may not

York. I will be fatisfied, let me fee it, I fay.

[Snatches it, and reads. Treafon! foul treason! villain, traitor, flave! Dutch. What's the matter, my lord?

York. Hoa, who's within there? faddle my horse.
Heav'n, for his mercy! what treachery is here?
Dutch. Why, what is't, my lord?

York. Give me my boots, I fay: faddle my horse.
Now by my honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain.

Dutch. What is the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.

Dutch. I will not peace: what is the matter, fon? Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no mɔrę Than my poor life must answer.

Dutch. Thy life answer!

Enter Servant, with boots.

York. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King. Dutch. Strike him, Aumerle. (Poor boy, thou art

amaz'd.)

Hence, villain, never more come in my fight.

York. Give me my boots.

[Speaking to the Servant.

Dutch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trefpafs of thine own?
Have we more fons? or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair fon from mine age,

And

And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own?
York. Thou fond mad-woman,

Wilt thou conceal this dark Confpiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the Sacrament,"
And interchangeably have fet their hands,
To kill the King at Oxford.

Dutch. He fhall be none:

We'll keep him here; then what is that to him?
York. Away, fond woman: were he twenty times
My fon, I would appeach him.

Dutch. Hadft thou groan'd for him,

As I have done, thou'dft be more pitiful:
But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect,
That I have been difloyal to thy bed,

And that he is a bastard, not thy fon:

Sweet York, fweet husband, be not of that mind :
He is as like thee as a man may be,

Nor like to me, nor any of my kin,

And yet I love him.

York. Make way, unruly woman.

[Exit.

Dutch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his horse;

Spur poft, 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 rife up from the ground,

Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away. [Exeunt.

(20) SCENE changes to the Court at WindforCaftle.

Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and other Lords.

Boling is full three months, fince I did fee him

AN no man tell of my unthrifty fon?

laft.

If

(20) Scene changes to Oxford.] This Diftinction of Scenary, which is marked in none of the former Copies, we owe to the happy Efforts of Mr. Pope

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 fay, he daily doth frequent,
With unreftrained loose Companions:

Even fuch, they fay, as ftand in narrow lanės,
And beat our watch, and rob our paffengers: (21)
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour, to fupport
So diffolute a crew.

Percy. My lord, fome two days fince, I faw the Prince,
And told him of thefe Triumphs held at Oxford.
Boling. And what faid the Gallant?

Percy. His answer was; he would unto the Stews, And from the common'ft Creature pluck a glove And wear it as a favour, and with that He would unhorse the luftieft Challenger.

Boling. As diffolute, as defp'rate; yet through both I fee fome 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 stares, And looks fo wildly?

Mr. Pope in his Éditions. But Indolence and Industry work the fame Effects upon this Gentleman in his Discoveries, and are Both the Parents of Error. 'Tis true, the Turnaments, prepar'd for the Deftruction of Bolingbroke, were appointed at Oxford, and thither Bolingbroke was invited by the Confpirators. But the Plot was difcover'd early enough to prevent his fetting out for Oxford; and the Duke of York impeach'd his Son to him, and Aumerle likewife accus'd himself, at the Castle of Windfor, where Bolingbroke then refided, as Mr. Pope might have seen in our English Chronicles: and therefore thither I have remov'd the Scene.

(21) And rob our Watch, and beat our Passengers.] This Fashion feems a little alter'd in our Days, if we were to take this on Truft for the genuine Reading. But tho' the generality of the Copies have fall'n into this blundering Tranfpofition, the good old Quarto, with which one would imagine Mr. Pope had traded fo accurately, bids us read as I have regulated the Text.

And beat our Watch, and rob our Passengers.

Aum.

Aum. God fave your Grace. I do befeech your Majefty,

To have fome conf'rence with your Grace alone. Boling. Withdraw your felves, and leave us here 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 rise or speak!

Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? . If but the firft, 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 defire.

[York within. York. My Liege beware, look to thy felf,

Thou haft a traitor in thy prefence there.

Boling. Villain, I'll make thee fafe.

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

York. Open the door, fecure fool-hardy King: Shall 1 for love fpeak treafon to thy face?

Open the door, or I will break it open.

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? fpeak, take breath: Tell us how near is danger,

That we may arm us to encounter it.

York. Perufe this writing here, and thou fhalt know The Treason that my hafte forbids me show.

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 traytor'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!
O loyal father of a treach'rous fon!

Thou