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For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
Percy. My Lord, some two days since 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 stews,
Boling. As diffolute as desp’rate ; yet through both
Boling. What means our cousin, that he stares
Aum. God save your Grace! I do beseech your Majesty, To have some conf'rence with your Grace alone. Boling. Withdraw your selves, and leave us here alone.
[Exeunt Lords. What is the matter with our cousin now ?
Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, (Kneels,
Boling. Intended or committed was this fault?
Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key,
(York witbino York. My Liege, beware, look to thy felf, Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. Boling. Villain, I'll make thee fafe.
Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand, thou haft nocause to fear, York. Open the door, secure, fool-hardy King:
Shall I for love speak treason to thy face ?
SC É NE VII. Enter York.
York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know
Aum. Remember, as thou read'ft, thy promise paft :
York. Villain, it was, ere thy hand set it down,
Boling. O hainous, Atrong, and bold conspiracy !
York. So fhall my virtue be his vice's bawd,
Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath,
[Dutchess wit bino Dutch. What ho! my Liege! for heaven's sake let me in. Boling. What shrill-voice Tuppliant makes this eager cry?
Dutch. A woman, and thine aunt, great King, 'cis I.
- begg'd before.
Boling. My dang'rous cousin, let your mother is, I know she's come to pray for your foul fin.
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray; More fins for this forgiveness prosper may ; This fester’d joint cut off, the rest is found; This let alone with all the rest confound.
SCENE VIII. Enter Dutchess. Dutcb. 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 !
[Kneels. Boling. Rise up, good aunt.
Dutcb. Not yet, I thee beseech;
Aum.Unto my mother's pray'rsi bend my knee. [Kneels.
York. Against them both my true joints bended be. [Kneels.. Ill may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! Dutcb. Pleads he in earnest ? look
upon His eyes drop no tears, his prayers are in jeft; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breaft; He prays but faintly, and would be deny'd ; We pray our heart and soul, and all befide. His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees thall kneel, 'till to the ground they grow, His pray’rs' are full of false hypocrisie, 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, stand up.
Dutch. Nay, do not say stand up,
his face ;
Say, Pardon, King, let pity teach thee how *
Boling. Good aunt, stand up.
Dutch. I do not sue to stand,
Boling. I pardon him, as heav'n shall pardon me,
Dutcb. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee !
Boling. With all my heart
Dutcb. A God on earth thou art.
Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law; the Abbot,
SCENE IX. Enter Exton and a Servant.
Serv. Those were his very words.
...teach thee how.
Tork. Speak it in French, King, fay Pardonnes moy,
Dutch. Dost thou teach pardon, pardon to defroy ?
Boling. Good aunt, &C.
And urg'd it twice together; did he not?
Serv. He did.
Exton. And speaking it he wiftly look'd on me, As who shall say, 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, SCE N E X. A Prison at Pomfret Cafle.
Enter King Richard. K. Rich. I have been studying how to compare This prison where I live unto the world ; And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it, yet I'll hammer on't. My brain shall prove the female to my soul, My soul, the father ; and these two beget A generation of fill-breeding thoughts ; And these same 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 scruples, and do set 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 postern of a needle's eye. Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Unlikely wonders ; how these vain weak nails May tear a passage 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 first of fortune's llaves, And shall not be the last. Like filly beggars, Who sitting 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 such as have before endur'd the like. Thus play I, in one prison, many people, And none contented. Sometimes am I King,