The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works
Page 303
Treason, foul treason! Villain! Traitor! Slave!
DUCHESS OF YORK What is the matter, my lord?
YORK Ho, who is within there? Saddle my horse!
God for his mercy! What treachery is here!
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DUCHESS OF YORK Why, what is it, my lord?
YORK Give me my boots, I say! Saddle my horse!
Now by mine honour, by my life, by my troth,
I will appeach the villain.
DUCHESS OF YORK What is the matter?
YORK Peace, foolish woman.
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DUCHESS OF YORK
I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?
AUMERLE Good mother, be content – it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
DUCHESS OF YORK Thy life answer!
YORK Bring me my boots: I will unto the king.
His man enters with his boots.
DUCHESS OF YORK
Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz’d.
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Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.
YORK Give me my boots, I say.
DUCHESS OF YORK 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?
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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,
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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.
DUCHESS OF YORK He shall be none;
We’ll keep him here, then what is that to him?
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YORK Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son
I would appeach him.
DUCHESS OF YORK Had’st thou groan’d for him
As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful.
But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
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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.
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DUCHESS OF YORK
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;
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And never will I rise up from the ground
Till Bolingbroke have pardoned thee. Away, be gone.
Exeunt.
5.3 Enter BOLINGBROKE, PERCY and other lords.
BOLINGBROKE Can no man tell me 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 God, my lords, he might be found.
Inquire at London, ’mongst the taverns there,
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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,
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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 those triumphs held at Oxford.
BOLINGBROKE And what said the gallant?
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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.
BOLINGBROKE As dissolute as desperate! But yet
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Through both I see some sparks of better hope,
Which elder years may happily bring forth.
But who comes here?
Enter AUMERLE, amazed.
AUMERLE Where is the king?
BOLINGBROKE What means
Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly?
AUMERLE
God save your grace! I do beseech your Majesty
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To have some conference with your grace alone.
BOLINGBROKE
Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone.
Exeunt Percy and lords.
What is the matter with our cousin now?
AUMERLE For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth,
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Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.
BOLINGBROKE Intended, or committed, was this fault?
If on the first, how heinous e’er it be,
To win thy after-love I pardon thee.
AUMERLE Then give me leave that I may turn the key,
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That no man enter till my tale be done.
BOLINGBROKE Have thy desire.
[The Duke of York knocks at the door and crieth.]
YORK My liege, beware; look to thyself;
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
BOLINGBROKE I’ll make thee safe. [Draws his sword.]
AUMERLE Stay thy revengeful hand,
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Thou hast no cause to fear.
YORK Open the door,
Secure, foolhardy king. Shall I, for love,
Speak treason to thy face? Open the door,
Or I will break it open.
Enter YORK.
BOLINGBROKE Uncle, speak,
Recover breath, tell us how near is danger
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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.
AUMERLE
Remember, as thou read’st, thy promise pass’d;
I do repent me, read not my name there,
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My heart is not confederate with my hand.
YORK It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down.
I tore it from the traitor’s bosom, king;
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence.
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
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A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
BOLINGBROKE O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy!
O loyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain,
From whence this stream, through muddy passages,
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Hath held his current and defil’d himself,
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,
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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;
Thou kill’st me in his life – giving him breath,
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The traitor lives, the true man’s put to death.
DUCHESS OF YORK [within]
What ho, my liege, for God’s sake, let me in!
BOLINGBROKE
What shrill-voic’d suppliant makes this eager cry?
DUCHESS OF YORK
A woman
, and thine aunt, great king, – ’tis I.
Speak with me, pity me, open the door,
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A beggar begs that never begg’d before.
BOLINGBROKE
Our scene is alt’red from a serious thing,
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.
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YORK If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.
This fest’red joint cut off, the rest rest sound;
This, let alone, will all the rest confound.
Enter DUCHESS.
DUCHESS OF YORK
O king, believe not this hard-hearted man!
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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?
DUCHESS OF YORK
Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege.
BOLINGBROKE Rise up, good aunt.
DUCHESS OF YORK Not yet, I thee beseech:
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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.
AUMERLE Unto my mother’s prayers I bend my knee.
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YORK Against them both my true joints bended be.
Ill may’st thou thrive if thou grant any grace!
DUCHESS OF YORK
Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face.
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest,
His words come from his mouth, ours from our
breast;
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He prays but faintly and would be denied,
We pray with heart and soul, and all beside;
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow;
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy,
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Ours of true zeal and deep integrity;
Our prayers do outpray his – then let them have
That mercy which true prayer ought to have.
BOLINGBROKE Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS OF YORK Nay, do not say ‘stand up’;
Say ‘pardon’ first, and afterwards ‘stand up’.
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And 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 ‘pardon’, king, let pity teach thee how;
The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
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No word like ‘pardon’ for kings’ mouths so meet.
YORK Speak it in French, king, say ‘pardonne moy’.
DUCHESS OF YORK
Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?
Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,
That sets the word itself against the word!
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Speak ‘pardon’ as ’tis current in our land,
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,
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Pity may move thee ‘pardon’ to rehearse.
BOLINGBROKE Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS OF YORK I do not sue to stand.
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
BOLINGBROKE I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
DUCHESS OF YORK
O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!
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Yet am I sick for fear – speak it again:
Twice saying ‘pardon’ doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.
BOLINGBROKE With all my heart
I pardon him.
DUCHESS OF YORK A god on earth thou art.
BOLINGBROKE
But for our trusty brother-in-law and the abbot,
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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’er these traitors are.
They shall not live within this world, I swear,
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But I will have them, if I once know where.
Uncle, farewell; and cousin too, adieu:
Your mother well hath pray’d, and prove you true.