Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the whilst?

York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious:

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him!

No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience,

That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,

And barbarism itself have pitied him.

But Heaven hath a hand in these events;
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.

Enter AUMERLE.

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.

York.

Aumerle that was;

But that is lost, for being Richard's friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.

Duch. Welcome, my son: who are the violets

now

That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care

not;

God knows, I had as lief be none, as one.

York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time,

Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs?

Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. York. You will be there, I know.

Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so. York. What seal is that that hangs without thy bosom?

Yea, look'st thou pale?-let me see the writing. Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing..

York.

No matter, then, who sees it: I will be satisfied,-let me see the writing. Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon

me;

It is a matter of small consequence,

Which for some reasons I would not have seen. York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean

to see.

I fear, I fear,

Duch.

What should you fear? 'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd

into

For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.

York. Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond

That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.— Boy, let me see the writing.

Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may

not show it.

York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. [Snatches it, and reads. Treason! foul treason!-villain! traitor! slave! Duch. What's the matter, my lord?

York. Ho! who's within there?

Enter a Servant.

Saddle my horse.

Heaven for his mercy! what treachery is here! Duch. Why, what is't, my lord?

York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my

horse:

[Exit Servant.

Now by my honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain.

Duch.

What's the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.

Duch. I will not peace.- What is the matter,

son?

Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more Than my poor life must answer.

Duch.

Thy life answer? York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king.

Re-enter Servant, with boots.

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed.

[To the Servant.] Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.

York. Give me my boots, I say.

[Exit Servant.

Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? Have we more sons? or are we like to have? Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? And wilt thou pluck my fair son 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 conspiracy?

A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.

Duch.

He shall be none;

We'll keep him here: then what is that to him?

York. Away,

Fond woman! were he twenty times my son
I would appeach him.

Duch.

Hadst thou groan'd for him, As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful.

But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect That I have been disloyal to thy bed,

And that he is a bastard, not thy son:

Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind: He is as like thee as a man may be,

Not like to me, or any of my kin,

And yet I love him.

York.

Make way, unruly woman.

Exit.

Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his

horse;

Spur, post; 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 rise up from the ground,
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee.

Away;

Be gone!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Windsor. A Room in the

Castle.

Enter BOLINGBROKE, as King; PERCY, and other Lords.

Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son? 'Tis full three months since I did see him last: If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.

I would to heaven, my lords, he might be found:

Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
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 dissolute a crew.

Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince,

And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. Boling. And what said the gallant?

Percy. His answer was,-he would unto the stews,

And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
Boling. As dissolute as desperate: yet through
both

I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Which elder days may happily bring forth.
But who comes here?

Aum.
Boling.

Enter AUMERLE, hastily.

Where is the king?

What means

Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly? Aum. God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty,

To have some conference with your grace alone.

Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us

here alone.

[Exeunt PERCY and Lords.

What is the matter with our cousin now?

Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the

earth,

[Kneels.