University of Virginia Library

SCENE the Third.

Bull.
Can no man tell of my ungracious Son,
My Young misgovern'd and licentious Harry?
If any Plague hang over us 'tis He!
Enquire amongst the Taverns where he haunts
With loose Companions, such as beat Our Watch
And rob Our Passengers, which he rash Boy
Mistakes for Feats of Gallantry and Honour.

Pierc.
My Lord, some two days since I saw the Prince,
And told him of those Turnaments at Oxford.

Bull.
And what said the Gallant?

Pierc.
His Answer was, He wou'd to a Brothell
And from the common'st Creature snatch a Glove,
To wear it as a Mistress favour, and
With that unhorse the lustiest Challenger.

Bull.
As dissolute as desperate.

Enter Aumarl.
Aum.

Where's the King?

Bull.

What means our Cousin that he looks so wildly?

Aum.

My Lord, I humbly beg the favour of a word in private
with your Majesty.

King.
Withdraw my Lords; now Cousin to your business.

Aum.
For ever may my knees root to this Earth,
And let Eternal silence bind my Tongue,
Unless you pardon e're I rise or speak.

Bull.
Intended or committed was this fault?
If but the first, how heynous e're it be,
To win thy future Love I pardon Thee.

Aum.
Then Sir, permit me to make fast the door,
That no man Enter e're my Tale be done.

Bull.
Have thy Desire.

York within.
York.
Beware my Liege, look to thy Life, thou hast a
Traytor in thy Presence.

Bull.
Ha! Villain I'll secure Thee.

Aum.
Stay thy revengeful Hand, Thou hast no cause to fear.

York.
Open the Door, or I will force my Passage.

Bull.
The Matter, Uncle, speak, recover Breath.

York.
Peruse this Writing and read there my Bus'ness.

Aum.
Remember as thou read'st thy promise past,
I do repent me, read not my Name There,
My Heart is not Confederate with my Hand.

York.
'Twas Villain when thy Hand did set it down,
I tore it from the Traytors Bosom, King,
Pardon the Villain, do, and in Return be Murder'd.

Bull.
O heynous black Conspiracy! Why Uncle can
This Kindness come from Thee? Let me Embrace Thee.

York.
Embrace not me, It was no Kindness, I owe thee no kindness,
It was my Love to Truth, and Hate to Murder.

Bull.
Give it what Name thou wilt, it shall excuse
This deadly blott in thy transgressing Son.

York.
So shall my Virtue be his Vices Bawd:
Thou kill'st me if he live, sparing his Life
The Traytor scapes, the True Man's put to Death.

Dutchess within.
Dutch.
What hoa my Liege, for Heav'ns sake let me in,
Speak with me, pity me, Open the Door.

Bull.
My dang'rous Cousin let your Mother in,
I know she's come to Entreat for you.

York.
If thou dost pardon whosoever prays,
Thy Mercy makes thee Traytor to thy self.

Dutch.
O King believe not this hard-hearted Man.

York.
Thou frantick Woman what makes thee here?
Wilt thou once more a Traytor nourish?

Dutch.
Dear York be patient, hear me gentle Liege.

Bull.
Rise up good Aunt.

Dutch.
No, never more I'll rise,
'Till thou uncharm me from the Ground with sounds
Of Pardon to my poor transgressing Son.

Aum.
And to my Pray'rs, I bend my Knee.

York.
Against 'em Both my Old stiff Joynts I bend.

Dutch.
Pleads he in Earnest, see, his Eyes are dry.
His Pray'rs come from his Mouth, ours from the Heart;
He beggs but faintly, and wou'd be deny'd.
His weary Joynts wou'd gladly rise I know,
Our Knees shall bend, till to the Earth they grow;
Deny him, King, he kneels in pain to crave
A Boon, that wou'd dismiss him to the Grave:
Granting his Suit, the Suer you destroy,
But yielding ours, you give your Beggar's Joy.

Bull.
Good Madam rise up.

Dutch.
Nay do not say rise up,
But pardon first, and then we rise indeed.
The word is short, but endless Comfort brings,
Pardon, the Language both of Heav'n and Kings.

Bull.
I pardon him as Heav'n shall pardon me.

Dutch. Aum.
Thanks Gracious Liege, a God on Earth thou art.

York.

So much for that,—one word at parting King, Let me
tell thee King, 'twas none of these Politicks that made thee
King, and so farewell to Court.

[Exit.
Bull.
But for the Rest of this Consorted Crew,
Our Justice shall o're-take 'em—injur'd Richard,
Thy wrongs already are too deep reveng'd,
As yet the Crown's scarce settled to my Brow,
When Royal Cares are rooted in my Heart.
Have I no Friend, my Lords, in this fair Train?
No Friend that to his Monarch's Peace will clear
The Way, and ridd me of this Living Fear?

[Exit.