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For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loose companions :
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour, to support
So diffolute a crew.

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,
And from the common't creature pluck a glove
And wear it as a favour, and with that
He would unborse the luftieft challenger.

Boling. As diffolute as desp’rate ; yet through both
I see some 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 cousin, that he stares
And looks so wildly ?

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,
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 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 desire.

(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

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Shall I for love speak treason to thy face ?
Open the door, or I will break it open.

SC É NE VII. Enter York.
Boling. What is the matter, uncle: speak, take breath?
Tell us how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt 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 traitor's bosom, King.
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence;
Forget to pity him, left thy pity prove
A serpent, that will fing thee to the heart,

Boling. O hainous, Atrong, and bold conspiracy !
O loyal father of a treach'rous fon !
Thou clear, immaculate, and filver fountain,
From whence this stream, through muddy passages,
Hath had his current, and defil'd himself,
Thy overflow of good converts to bad,
And thine abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digrefsing son.

York. So fhall my virtue be his vice's bawd,
And he shall spend mine honour with his shame;
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
Mine honour lives, when his dishonour dyes s
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies :

Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath,
The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.

[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.
Speak with me, pity me, open the door ;
A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. *

- begg'd before.
Boling. Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
And now chang'd to the beggar, and the King
My dapg'rous Coulin, &c.

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;
For ever will I kneel upon my knees,
And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give Joy, until thou bid me joy,
By pard’ning Rutland, my tranfgrefsing boy.

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,
But pardon first, say afterwards ftand up.
An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon should be the first word of thy speech.
I never long?d to hear a word 'till now :

Say,

his face ;

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Say, Pardon, King, let pity teach thee how *

Boling. Good aunt, stand up.

Dutch. I do not sue to stand,
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

Boling. I pardon him, as heav'n shall pardon me,

Dutcb. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee !
Yet am i fick for fear; speak it again :
Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.

Boling. With all my heart
I pardon him.

Dutcb. A God on earth thou art.

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law; the Abbot,
With all the rest of that consorted crew,
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.
Good uncle, help to order several powers
To Oxford, or where-e'er these traitors are. † [Exeunt.

SCENE IX. Enter Exton and a Servant.
Exton, Didst thou not mark the King, what words he
Have I no friend will rid me of this fear? [spake?
Was it not so ?

Serv. Those were his very words.
Exton, Have I. no friend? quoth he: he spake it twice,

...teach thee how.
The word is fort, but not so short as sweet,
No word like pardon, for Kings mouchs so meet.

Tork. Speak it in French, King, fay Pardonnes moy,

Dutch. Dost thou teach pardon, pardon to defroy ?
Ah, my fow'r husband, my hard-hearted Lord,
That fer'lt the word itself, against the word.
Speak pardon as 'tis currant in our land,
The chopping French we do not underftand.
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there;
Or in thy piteous heart, plant thou thine car,
That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierće,
Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse.

Boling. Good aunt, &C.
+--- Craitors are.
They shall not live within this world, I swear:
But I will have them, if I once know where,
Uncle, farewel ; and cousin, adieu ;
Your imother_well hath pray'd, and prove you cruci
Durch. Come my old fon, 1 pray heaven make thee new.

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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,

Then

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