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 paft:
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 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 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 (a) the bad;
And thine abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot, in thy digreffing fon.

York. So fhall my virtue be his vice's bawd,
And he shall spend mine honour with his fhame;
As thriftless fons their scraping fathers' 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 traytor lives, the true man's put to death.
[Dutchess within.

Dutch. What ho, my Liege! for heav'n's fake, let

me in.

Boling. What fhrill-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:

(a) the. Mr. Theobald-Vu'g. to. ]

My

My dang'rous Coufin, let your mother in;
I know, fhe's come to pray for your foul fin.
York. If thou do pardon, whofoever pray,
More fins for his forgiveness profper may;
This fefter'd joint cut off, the reft is found;
This, let alone, will all the reft confound.

Dutch. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man; Love, loving not itself, none other can. [here? York. Thou frantick woman, what doft thou do

Shall thy old dugs once more a traytor rear?

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

Boling. Rife up, good aunt.

Dutch. Not yet, I thee befeech;

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

'Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy,
By pard'ning Rutland, my tranfgreffing boy.

[Kneels.

Aum. Unto my mother's pray'rs I bend my knee.

[Kneels.

York. Against them Both, my true joints bended be.

[Kneels.

' Ill may'ft thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!
Dutch. Pleads he in earneft? look upon his face;
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayr'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 shall kneel, till to the ground they grow.

Ill mayft thou thrive,] This line from the first Edition,

Mr. Pope.

His pray'rs are full of falfe hypocrifie,

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, ftand up.

Dutch. Nay, do not fay, ftand up,
But pardon firft; fay afterwards, ftand up.
An if I were thy nurfe, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon fhould be the firft word of thy fpeech,
I never long'd to hear a word till now:
Say, Pardon, King; let pity teach thee how.
Boling. Good aunt, ftand up.

Dutch. 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. T Dutch. 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.

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

No word like pardon, for Kings mouths fo meet.

York. Speak it in French, King; fay, Pardonnez moy..
Dutch. Doft thou teach pardon, pardon to destroy?
Ah, my fow'r husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That fet'ft the word it felf, against the word.
Speak pardon, as 'tis current in our land;
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye begins 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.

Boling. With all my heart

I pardon him.

Dutch. A God on earth thou art.

[Abbot,

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, With all the reft of that conforted crew, Deftruction straight fhall dog them at the heels.

the

Good

Good Uncle, help to order feveral Powers
To Oxford, or where-e'er thefe 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 fon; I pray heav'n make thee

new.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

IX.

Enter Exton and a Servant.

Exton. Didft thou not mark the King, what words he spake?

"Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?

Was it not fo?

Serv. Those were his very words.

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

Serv. He did.

Exton. 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 go: I am the King's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt.

S CE N E X.

Changes to the Prison at Pomfret-Castle.
Enter King Richard.

I

Have been studying, how to compare
This prifon, where I live, unto the world;
And, for becaufe the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but my felf,

'I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer on't.

་

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

G 4

• My

My foul, the father; and these two beget
A generation of ftill-breeding thoughts;
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 intermixt
With fcruples, and do fet the word it self

[again, Against the word; as thus ; Come, little ones; and then It is as hard to come, as for a Camel To thread the postern of a needle's eye. Thoughts, tending to ambition, they do plot Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails May tear a paffage 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 firft of fortune's flaves, • And fhall not be the laft: (Like filly beggars, • Who, fitting in the Stocks, refuge their fhame "That many have, and others must sit there;) And, in this thought, they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortune on the back

• Of fuch as have before endur❜d the like.

Thus play I, in one prifon, many people, And none contented. Sometimes am I King, • Then treafon makes me wish my self a beggar, • And fo I am. Then crushing penury • Perfuades me, I was better when a King; • Then am I king'd again; and by and by, Think, that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing but what-e'er I am, Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,

• With nothing fhall be pleas'd, till he be eas'd • With being nothing-Mufick do I hear? [Mufick. Ha, ha, keep time; how fow'r fweet mufick is, When time is broke, and no proportion kept? So is it in the mufick of mens' lives.

And