'You wou'd have thought, the very windows fpake, 'So many greedy looks of young and old Through cafements darted their defiring eyes Upon his vifage, and that all the walls With painted imagery had faid at once,

་

Jefu, preferve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! Whilft he, from one fide to the other turning, 'Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespoke them thus; I thank you, Country-men; And thus ftill doing, thus he past along.'

་

Dutch. Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the while?
York. As in a Theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-grac'd Actor leaves the Stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious:

. Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
* Did fcowl on Richard; no man cry'd, God fave him!
'No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;
'But duft was thrown upon his facred head;

• Which with fuch gentle forrow he shook off, His face ftill combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience;

That had not God, for fome ftrong purpose, fteel'd • The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted; And barbarism it felf have pitied him.'

But heaven hath a hand in thefe events,

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

S C

C E NE IV.

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

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 strew the green lap of the new-come fpring?
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 those Jufts and Triumphs?

Aum. For aught I know, they do.

York. You will be there?

Aum. If God prevent me not, I purpose fo

York. What Seal is that, which hangs without thy
bofom?

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 befeech your Grace to pardon me,
It is a matter of fmall confequence,

Which for fome reasons I would not have seen.
York. Which, for some reasons, Sir, I mean to fee.

I fear, I fear

Dutch. What fhould 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.

[fhew it. Aum. I do befeech you, pardon me; 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.

Dutch. Why, what is't, my lord?
York. Give me my boots, I fay: faddle

Now by my honour, by my life, my troth,

I will appeach the villain.

Dutch. What is the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.

my horse,

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

Dutch. Thy life answer!

SCENE V.

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 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:
VOL. IV.

G

But

But now I know thy mind; thou doft fufpect,
That I have been difloyal to thy bed,

And that he is a baftard, 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 horfe; 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.

Changes to the Court at Windfor-Caftle.
Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and other Lords.

Boling. Cris full three months, fince I did fee him
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he:

AN no man tell of my unthrifty fon?

[laft.

I would to heav'n, my lords, he might be found.
Enquire 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 fupport
So diffolute a Crew.

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

Percy. His anfwer was, he would unto the Stews, And from the common'ft Creature pluck a glove,

And

And wear it as a favour, and with that
He would unhorfe the luftieft Challenger.

Boling. As diffolute, as defp'rate; yet through both
I fee fome fparks 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?

[jefty, Aum God fave your Grace. I do befeech your MaTo 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 rife or fpeak!

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.

[to fear.

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand, thou haft no caufe York. Open the door, fecure, fool-hardy King: Shall I for love fpeak treafon to thy face?

Open the door, or I will break it open.

SCENE

VII.

Enter York.

Boling. What is the matter, uncle? fpeak, take

Tell us how near is danger,.

G 2

[breath;

That