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To take on me to keep, and kill thy heart. (Kiss again.
So, now I have mine own again, be gone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.

K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond delay: Once more, adieu ; the rest, let sorrow say. [Exeunt,

SCENE II.

The duke of York’s palace.
Enter York and bis Dutchess.

Dutch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the

rest, When weeping made you break the story off Of our two coulins coming into London.

York: Where did I leave?

Dutch. At that fad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands, from window-tops, Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.

York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, With flow, but stately pace, kept on his course, While all tongues cry’d, God save thee, Bolingbroke! You wou'd have thought the very windows spake, So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage ; and that all the walls With painted imag'ry had said at once, Jesu, preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! Whilft he, from one side to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespoke them thus; I thank you, countrymen : And thus still doing, thus he past along. 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

4 Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious :
Even so, or with much more contempt, mens' eyes
Did scowl on Richard; no man cry'd, 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, steeld
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted;
And barbarisin 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 Auinerle.
Dutch. 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.

Dutch. Welcome, my fon : who are the violets now, 5 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

cropt
before

you come to prime. + Are idly bent-] That is carelesly turned, thrown without attention. This the poet learned by his attendance and practice on the fage. JOHNSON.

s That firer the green lap of the new-come spring ??] So Milton in one of his songs,

who from her green lap throws “ The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.” STEEV.

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

What

you be

What news from Oxford ? hold these justs and tri

umphs ? Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. York. You will be there, I know. Aum. If God prevent me not; I purpose fo. York. What feal is that, which hangs without thy

bosom? 7 Yea, look'st thou pale ? let me see the writing.

Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

Tork. No matter then who fees 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

Dutch. What should you fear ? 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into, For gay apparel, against the triumph.

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

shew it. York. I will be satisfied, let me see it, I say.

[Snatches it and reads. Treason! foul treason! villain ! traitor ! slave!

Dutch. What is the matter, my lord ?
York. Ho ! who is within there ? saddle

my

horse. Heaven, for his mercy! what treachery is here?

Dutch. Why, what is it, my lord ?
York. Give me my boots, I say : fiddle my

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

Yea, look's thou pale? let me see the writing.) Such harih and defective lines as this, are probably corrupt, and might be easily supplied, but that it would be dangerous to let conjeciure loose on fuck fight occafions. JOHNSON.

Dutch.

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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 must answer.
Dutch. Thy life answer !

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 sight.-

[Speaking to the servant. York. Give me my boots.

Dutch. 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 facrament,
And interchangeably have set 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 son, 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 dost suspect,
That I have been disoyal 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,
Nor like to me, nor any of my kin,
And yet I love him.

York.

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York. Make way, unruly woman! [Exit.

Dutch. 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. (Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The court at Windfor-castle. Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and other lords. Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty fon? 'Tis fuil three months since I did see him lait. If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. I would to heaven, my lords, he might be found. 8

Enquire at London, 'mong 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 diffolute 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't creature pluck a glove, And wear it as a favour; and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.

Enquire at London, &c.] This is a very proper introduction to the future character of Henry the Fifth, to his debaucheries in his youth, and his greatness in his manhood. Johnson,

Boling:

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