· Dutch. Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the while?
York. As in a Theatre, the eyes of men,
After a well-grac'd Actor leaves the Stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious?

Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did fcowl on Richard; no man cry'd, God fave him;
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;
But duft was thrown upon his facred head;
Which with fuch gentle forrow he shook off,
His face ftill combating with tears and fmiles,
The badges of his grief and patience;

That had not God, for fome strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they muft perforce have melted;
And barbarifm itfelf have pitied him,

But heav'n hath a hand in thefe events,
To whofe high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we fworn Subjects now,
Whofe State, and Honour, I for aye allow,

Dutch. Here comes my fon Aumerle.
York. Aumerle that was,

But that is loft, 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.

Dutch. Welcome, my fon; who are the Violets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care:

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

*

York. Well, bear you well in this new Spring of time, Left you be cropt before you come to Prime.

5 Are idly bent] That is, carelefly turned, thrown without attention. This the poet learned by his attendance and Į

practice on the ftage.

bear you well] That is, conduct yourself with prudence.

What

What news from Oxford? hold thefe Jufts and Tri

umphs?

༔

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

Aum. If God prevent me not, I purpose fo.

York. What Seal is that, which hangs without thy
bofom?

Yea, look'ft thou pale? let me fee the Writing f
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

York. No matter then who fees it.
I will be fatisfied, let me fee the Writing,
Aum, I do befeech your Grace to pardon me,
It is a matter of fmall confequence,

Which for fome reasons I would not have seen.
York. Which, for fome reafons, Sir, I mean to fee,
I fear, I fear-

Dutch. What fhould you fear, my lord?

"Tis nothing but fome bond he's enter'd into, For gay apparel, against the triumph.

York. Bound to himfelf? what doth he with a bond, That he is bound to? wife, thou art a fool.

Boy, let me fee the Writing.

Aum. I do befeech you, pardon me; I may not

fhew it.

York. I will be fatisfied, let me fee it, I fay.

[Snatches it and reads, Treafon! foul treafon! villain, traitor,, flave!

Dutch. What's the matter, my lord?

York. Hoa, who's within there? faddle my horfe, Heav'n, for his mercy! what treachery is here? Dutch. Why, what is't, my lord?

York. Give me my boots, I fay. Saddle my horse, Now by my honour, by my life, my troth,

I will appeach the villain.

Yea, look'st thou pale? lot me fee the Writing.] Such harsh and defective lines as this, are probably corrupt, and might

be eafily fupplied, but that it would be dangerous to let conjecture loose on such flight occafions.

Dutch.

Dutch. What is the matter?

York. Peace, foolish woman.

Dutch. I will not Peace; what is the matter, fon? Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more Than my poor life muft anfwer, Dutch, Thy life answer!

SCENE V.

Enter Servant with boots.

York. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King. Dutch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art

amaz'd.

Hence, villain, never more come in my fight.

[Speaking to the Servants,

York. Give me my boots.
Dutch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt not not hide the trefpafs of thine own?
Have we more fons? or are we like to have?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair fon 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 Confpiracy?
A dozen of them here haye ta'en the Sacrament,
And interchangeably have fet their hands,
To kill the King at Oxford.

Dutch. He shall be none:

We'll keep him here; then what is that to him? York. Away, fond woman; were he twenty times My fon, I would appeach him,

Dutch. Hadft thou groan'd for him,

As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful.
But now I know thy mind; thou doft fufpect,
That I have been difloyal to thy bed,

And

And that he is a bastard, not thy fon;

Sweet York, fweet husband, be not of that mind:
He is as like thee as a man may be abl
Nor like to me, nor any of my kin,

And yet I love him. base vil s es i

York. Make way, unruly woman, orts Cl[Exit. Dutch. After, Aumerle, mount thee upon his horse; Spur poft, and get before him to the King, And beg thy pardon, ere he do accufe thee, I'll not be long behind; though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as faft as York: And never will I rife up from the ground, 'Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Changes to the Court at Windfor Caftle.
Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and other Lards.

Boling.C

YAN no man tell of my unthrifty fon?
'Tis full three months, fince I did fee him
laft.

If any plague hang over us, 'tis he:

I would to heav'n, my lords, he might be found,
* Enquire at London, 'mong the taverns there;
For there, they fay, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loofe Companions,

Even fuch, they fay, as ftand in narrow lanes,
And beat our watch, and rob our paffengers,
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,
Takes on the point of honour, to fupport
So diffolute a Crew..

Percy. My lord, fome two days fince I saw the
Prince,

This is a very proper introduction to the future character of Henry the fifth, to his de

baucheries in his youth, and his greatnefs in his manhood.

And

And told him of thefe Triumphs held at Oxford.
Boling. And what faid the Gallant?

Percy. His answer was, he would unto the Stews,
And from the common'ft Creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour, and with that
He would unhorfe the luftieft Challenger.

Boling. As diffolute, as defp'rate; yet through both
I fee 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 Coufin, that he ftares, And looks fo wildly?

Aum. God fave your Grace. I do befeech your Majefty,

To have fome conf'rence with your Grace alone. Boling. Withdraw yourfelves, and leave us here alone. 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 rife or speak!

Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault? If but the firft, how heinous ere 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 defire.

[York within. York. My Liege, beware, look to thyself, Thou haft a traitor in thy prefence there. Boling. Villain, I'll make thee fafe.

[Drawing. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand, thou haft no caufe to fear.

Tork. Open the door, fecure, fool-hardy King, Shall I for love fpeak treafon to thy face?

Open the door, or I will break it open.

SCENE