Windsor. A Room in the Castle. | |
| |
Enter BOLINGBROKE as King; HENRY PERCY, and other Lords. | |
| Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son? | |
| ’Tis full three months since I did see him last. | 4 |
| If any plague hang over us, ’tis he. | |
| I would to God, my lords, he might be found: | |
| Inquire at London, ’mongst the taverns there, | |
| For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, | 8 |
| 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, | 12 |
| Takes on the point of honour to support | |
| So dissolute a crew. | |
| H. Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince, | |
| And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. | 16 |
| Boling. And what said the gallant? | |
| H. 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 | 20 |
| 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. | 24 |
| But who comes here? | |
| |
Enter AUMERLE. | |
| Aum. Where is the king? | |
| Boling. What means | 28 |
| 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 H. PERCY and Lords. | 32 |
| What is the matter with our cousin now? | |
| Aum. [Kneels.] For ever may my knees grow to the earth, | |
| My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, | |
| Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. | 36 |
| Boling. Intended or committed was this fault? | |
| If on the first, how heinous e’er it be, | |
| To win thy after-love I pardon thee. | |
| Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, | 40 |
| That no man enter till my tale be done. | |
| Boling. Have thy desire. [AUMERLE locks the door. | |
| York. [Within.] My liege, beware! look to thyself; | |
| Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. | 44 |
| Boling. [Drawing.] Villain, I’ll make thee safe. | |
| Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear. | |
| York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, foolhardy king: | |
| Shall I for love speak treason to thy face? | 48 |
| Open the door, or I will break it open. [BOLINGBROKE unlocks the door; and after wards relocks it. | |
| |
Enter YORK. | |
| Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak; | |
| Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, | 52 |
| That we may arm us to encounter it. | |
| York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know | |
| The treason that my haste forbids me show. | |
| Aum. Remember, as thou read’st, thy promise pass’d: | 56 |
| I do repent me; read not my name there; | |
| My heart is not confederate with my hand. | |
| York. ’Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. | |
| I tore it from the traitor’s bosom, king; | 60 |
| Fear, and not love, begets his penitence. | |
| Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove | |
| A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. | |
| Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy! | 64 |
| O loyal father of a treacherous son! | |
| Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, | |
| From whence this stream through muddy passages | |
| Hath held his current and defil’d himself! | 68 |
| Thy overflow of good converts to bad, | |
| And thy abundant goodness shall excuse | |
| This deadly blot in thy digressing son. | |
| York. So shall my virtue be his vice’s bawd, | 72 |
| And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, | |
| As thriftless sons their scraping fathers’ gold. | |
| Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, | |
| Or my sham’d life in his dishonour lies: | 76 |
| Thou kill’st me in his life; giving him breath, | |
| The traitor lives, the true man’s put to death. | |
| Duch. [Within.] What ho, my liege! for God’s sake let me in. | |
| Boling. What shrill-voic’d suppliant makes this cager cry? | 80 |
| Duch. [Within.] 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. | |
| Boling. Our scene is alter’d from a serious thing, | 84 |
| And now chang’d to ‘The Beggar and the King.’ | |
| My dangerous cousin, let your mother in: | |
| I know she’s come to pray for your foul sin. [AUMERLE unlocks the door. | |
| York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, | 88 |
| More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. | |
| This fester’d joint cut off, the rest rests sound; | |
| This, let alone, will all the rest confound. | |
| |
Enter DUCHESS. | 92 |
| Duch. O king! believe not this hard-hearted man: | |
| Love, loving not itself, none other can. | |
| York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? | |
| Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? | 96 |
| Duch. Sweet York, be patient. [Kneels. | |
| Hear me, gentle liege. | |
| Boling. Rise up, good aunt. | |
| Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech. | 100 |
| For ever will I walk upon my knees, | |
| And never see day that the happy sees, | |
| Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, | |
| By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. | 104 |
| Aum. Unto my mother’s prayers I bend my knee. [Kneels. | |
| York. Against them both my true joints bended be. [Kneels. | |
| Ill mayst thou thrive if thou grant any grace! | |
| Duch. Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face; | 108 |
| His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; | |
| His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: | |
| He prays but faintly and would be denied; | |
| We pray with heart and soul and all beside: | 112 |
| His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; | |
| Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow: | |
| His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; | |
| Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. | 116 |
| Our prayers do out pray his; then let them have | |
| That mercy which true prayer ought to have. | |
| Boling. Good aunt, stand up. | |
| Duch. Nay, do not say ‘stand up;’ | 120 |
| But ‘pardon’ first, and afterwards ‘stand 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; | 124 |
| Say ‘pardon,’ king; let pity teach thee how: | |
| The word is short, but not so short as sweet; | |
| No word like ‘pardon,’ for kings’ mouths so meet. | |
| York. Speak it in French, king; say, ‘pardonnez moy.’ | 128 |
| Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? | |
| Ah! my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, | |
| That sett’st the word itself against the word. | |
| Speak ‘pardon’ as ’tis current in our land; | 132 |
| The chopping French we do not understand. | |
| Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there, | |
| Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear, | |
| That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, | 136 |
| Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse. | |
| Boling. Good aunt, stand up. | |
| Duch. I do not sue to stand; | |
| Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. | 140 |
| Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. | |
| Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! | |
| Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again; | |
| Twice saying ‘pardon’ doth not pardon twain, | 144 |
| But makes one pardon strong. | |
| Boling. With all my heart | |
| I pardon him. | |
| Duch. A god on earth thou art. | 148 |
| Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law and 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 | 152 |
| To Oxford, or where’er these traitors are: | |
| They shall not live within this world, I swear, | |
| But I will have them, if I once know where. | |
| Uncle, farewell: and cousin too, adieu: | 156 |
| Your mother well hath pray’d, and prove you true. | |
| Duch. Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new. [Exeunt. | |
