For there, they say, 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 Loid, fome two days fince I saw the Prince,
And told him of the triumphs held at Oxford.
Boling. And what said the gallant?

Percy. His answer was, he would unto the ftews,
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 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?

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. [Exeunt Lords.

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 speak!

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

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 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 promife 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 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 hainous, ftrong, and bold conspiracy!
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 to bad,
And thine abundant goodness fhall excufe
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 fcraping fathers' gold.
Mine honour lives, when his difhonour dyes s
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.

[Dutchess within.

Dutch. What ho! my Liege! for heaven's fake let me in. Boling. What fhrill-voice fuppliant 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. * -begg'd before.

Boling. Our fcene is alter'd from a ferious thing, And now chang'd to the beggar, and the King. My dang'rous Coulin, &c.

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 this forgiveness profper may;
This fefter'd joint cut off, the reft is found;
This let alone with all the reft confound.

SCENE VIII. Enter Dutchess.

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 traitor rear?

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

Boling. Rife up, good aunt.

Dutch. Not yet, I thee beseech; 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'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace!

Dutch. Pleads he in earneft? look upon his face;

His eyes drop no tears, his prayers are in jest ;

His words come from his mouth, ours from our breaft;
He prays but faintly, and would be deny'd ;
We pray our 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 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 first word of thy fpeech.
I never long'd to hear a word 'till now:

Say,

Say, Pardon, King, let pity teach thee how *
Boling. Good aunt, ftand up.

Dutch. I do not fue to stand,

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.

Boling. With all my heart

I pardon him.

Dutch. A God on earth thou art.

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law; the Abbot, With all the reft of that conforted crew, Deftruction ftraight fhall dog them at the heels. Good uncle, help to order feveral powers

To Oxford, or where-e'er these traitors are. † [Exeunt. SCENE IX. Enter Exton and a Servant.

Exton. Didft thou not mark the King, what words he Have I no friend will rid me of this fear?

Was it not fo?

Serv. Those were his very words.

[fpake?

Exton, Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake it twice,

teach thee how.

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

No word like pardon, for Kings mouths fo meet.
Tork. 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 itself, against the word.
Speak pardon as 'tis currant in our land,
The chopping French we do not understand.
Thine eye begins to fpeak, 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. Good aunt, &c.

+traitors are.

They fhall not live within this world, I fwear:
But I will have them, if I once know where.

Uncle, farewel; and coufin, adieu;

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

Dutch. Come, my old fon, 1 pray heav'n make thee new.

SCENE, &c.

And

And urg'd it twice together; did he not?

Serv. He did.

Exton. And speaking 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.
SCENE X. A Prison at Pomfret Cafile.
Enter King Richard.

K. Rich. I have been ftudying how to compare
This prifon where I live unto the world;
And, for because the world is populous,
And here is not à creature but myself,
I cannot do it, yet I'll hammer on't.
My brain fhall prove the female to my foul,
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 content. The better fort,
(As thoughts of things divine,) are intermixt
With fcruples, and do fet the word itself

Against the word; as thus; Come, little ones; and then again,
It is as bard 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.
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 refuse their shame,
That many have and others must fit 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