And that he is a baftard, not thy fon

Sweet York, fweet hufband, 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 accufe thee. I'll not be long behind; though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as faft 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 Castle.

Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and other Lords.

Boling Tis full three months, fince I did fee him C

AN no man tell of my unthrifty son?

last.

If any plague hang over us, 'tis he:

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 unrestrained loose 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.

Percy. My lord, fome two days fince I faw the

Prince,

*This is a very proper introduction to the future character of Henry the fifth, to his de

baucheries in his youth, and his greatness in his manhood.

And

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 unhorfe 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 ftares, And looks fo wildly?

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

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 first, 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 safe.

[Drawing.

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

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

The King opens the door, enter York.

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 shalt 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, itrong, 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 the bad;
And thine abundant goodness fhall excuse
This deadly blot, in thy digreffing fon.

York. So fhall ny virtue be his vice's bawd,
And he fhall fpend mine honour with his fhame;
As thriftlefs fons their fcraping fathers' gold.

In former copies, • Thy Overflow of Good converts to Bad;] This is the Reading of all the printed Copies in general; and I never 'till lately fufpected its being faulty. The Reasoning is disjointed, and

inconclufive: My Emendation makes it clear and of a Piece. "Thy Overflow of Good changes "the Complexion of thy Son's

Guilt; and thy Goodness, be"ing fo abundant, fhall excufe his Trefpafs." THEOBALD.

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.
Dutchefs 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. ?
-My dang rous Coufin, let your mother in;
I know, fhe's come to pray for your foul sin.
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.

York. Thou frantick woman, what doft thou do

here?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traytor rear?

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

[Kneels.

The King and Beggar feems thour, who has alluded to it to have been an interlude well more than once. I cannot now known in the time of our au- find that any copy of it is left.

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.
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!

Dutch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face ; His eyes do drop no tears, his pray'r's in jeft; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breaft; 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 falfe hypocrify, 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.

up.

Dutch. Nay, do not fay, ftand up,
But pardon firft; fay afterwards, ftand
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. 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.