Bespoke them thus; I thank you, Country-men; Dutch. Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the while? ; Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's eyes That had not God, for fome ftrong purpose, fteel'd But heaven hath a hand in these events, Enter Aumerle. Dutch. Here comes my fon Aumerle. But that is loft, for being Richard's Friend. And lafting fealty to the new-made King. Dutch. Welcome, my fon; who are the Violets now, That ftrew the green lap of the new-come fpring? 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. What news from Oxford? hold thofe Jufts and Triumphs? Aum. For aught I know, they do. York. You will be there? Aum. If God prevent me not, I parpose so. York. King RICHARD II, 75 York. What Seal is that, which hangs without thy bofom? Yea, look'st thou pale ? let me fee the Writing. 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 reasons, 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 himself? 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 say. [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 horse. Heav'n for his mercy! what treachery is here? Dutch. Why, what is't, my lord? York. Give me my boots, I fay: faddle my horse. Now by my honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain. 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 anfwer! 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. York. Give me my boots. [Speaking to the Servant. Dutch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou conceal this dark Confpiracy? Dutch. He fhall be none: We'll keep him here; then what is that to him? Dutch. Hadft thou groan'd for him, But now I know thy mind; thou doft suspect, And that he is a bastard, not thy fon: Sweet York, fweet husband, be not of that mind : Nor like to me, nor any of my kin, And yet I love him. York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit. Dutch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his horse; Spur poft, and get before him to the King, 3 SCENE (10) SCENE changes to the Court at Windfor Caftle. Enter Bolingbroke, Percy, and other Lords. Boling C AN 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. Even fuch, they fay, as ftand in narrow lanes, So diffolute a Crew. Percy. My lord, fome two days fince I faw the And told him of these Triumphs held at Oxford, Percy. His answer was, he would unto the Stews, He would unhorse the luftieft Challenger. Boling. As diffolute as defp'rate; yet through both (10) Scene changes to Oxford.] This Diftinction of Scenary, which is mark'd in none of the former Copies, we owe to the bappy Efforts of Mr. Pope in his Editions. But Indolence and Industry work the fame Effects upon this Gentleman in his Discoveries, and are both the Parents of Error. 'Tis true, the Turnaments, prepar'd for the Destruction of Bolingbroke, were appointed at @xford, and thither Bolingbroke was invited by the Confpirators. But the Plot was discovered early enough to prevent his fetting out for Oxford; and the Duke of York impeached his Son to him, and Aumerle likewise accused himself, at the Caftle of Windfor, where Bolingbroke then refided, as Mr. Pope might have feen in our English Chronicles: and therefore thither I have removed the Scene. I fee fome fparks of hope; which elder days May happily bring forth. But who comes here! 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 Ma jefty, To have fome conf'rence with your Grace alone. Boling. Withdraw your felves, and leave us here alone. What is the matter with our Coufin now? Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, Boling. Intended, or committed was this fault? 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. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand, thou haft no caufe... to fear. York. Open the door, fecure, fool-hardy King: Shall I for love speak treafon to thy face? Open the door, or I will break it open. Enter York. Boling. What is the matter, uncle? fpeak, take breath: Tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it. York. Perufe this writing here, and thou fhalt know The Treafon that my hafte forbids, me fhow. Aum. Remember, as thou read'ft, thy Promise paft: I do repent me, read not my name there, My |