Yorke. Well, beare you well in this new-spring of time Least you be cropt before you come to prime. What newes from Oxford? Hold those Iusts & Triumphs? Aum. For ought I know my Lord, they do
Yorke. You will be there I know
Aum. If God preuent not, I purpose so
Yor. What Seale is that that hangs without thy bosom? Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the Writing
Aum. My Lord, 'tis nothing
Yorke. No matter then who sees 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 haue seene
Yorke. Which for some reasons sir, I meane to see: I feare, I feare
Dut. What should you feare? 'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into For gay apparrell, against the Triumph
Yorke. Bound to himselfe? What doth he with a Bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a foole. Boy, let me see the Writing
Aum. I do beseech you pardon me, I may not shew it
Yor. I will be satisfied: let me see it I say.
Snatches it
Treason, foule Treason, Villaine, Traitor, Slaue
Dut. What's the matter, my Lord? Yorke. Hoa, who's within there? Saddle my horse. Heauen for his mercy: what treachery is heere? Dut. Why, what is't my Lord? Yorke. Giue me my boots, I say: Saddle my horse: Now by my Honor, my life, my troth, I will appeach the Villaine
Dut. What is the matter? Yorke. Peace foolish Woman
Dut. I will not peace. What is the matter Sonne? Aum. Good Mother be content, it is no more Then my poore life must answer
Dut. Thy life answer? Enter Seruant with Boots.
Yor. Bring me my Boots, I will vnto the King
Dut. Strike him Aumerle. Poore boy, y art amaz'd, Hence Villaine, neuer more come in my sight
Yor. Giue me my Boots, I say
Dut. Why Yorke, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou not hide the Trespasse of thine owne? Haue we more Sonnes? Or are we like to haue? Is not my teeming date drunke vp with time? And wilt thou plucke my faire Sonne from mine Age, And rob me of a happy Mothers name? Is he not like thee? Is he not thine owne? Yor. Thou fond mad woman: Wilt thou conceale this darke Conspiracy? A dozen of them heere haue tane the Sacrament, And interchangeably set downe their hands To kill the King at Oxford
Dut. He shall be none: Wee'l keepe him heere: then what is that to him? Yor. Away fond woman: were hee twenty times my Son, I would appeach him
Dut. Hadst thou groan'd for him as I haue done, Thou wouldest be more pittifull: But now I know thy minde; thou do'st suspect That I haue bene disloyall to thy bed, And that he is a Bastard, not thy Sonne: Sweet Yorke, sweet husband, be not of that minde: He is as like thee, as a man may bee, Not like to me, nor any of my Kin, And yet I loue him
Yorke. Make way, vnruly Woman.
Exit
Dut. After Aumerle. Mount thee vpon his horse, Spurre post, and get before him to the King, And begge thy pardon, ere he do accuse thee, Ile not be long behind: though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as fast as Yorke: And neuer will I rise vp from the ground, Till Bullingbrooke haue pardon'd thee: Away be gone.
Exit
Scoena Tertia.
Enter Bullingbrooke, Percie, and other Lords.