Act 5. Scene II - Page 2

those justs and triumphs?

DUKE OF AUMERLE
For aught I know, my lord, they do.

DUKE OF YORK
You will be there, I know.

DUKE OF AUMERLE
If God prevent not, I purpose so.

DUKE OF YORK
What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom?
Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.

DUKE OF AUMERLE
My lord, 'tis nothing.

DUKE OF YORK
No matter, then, who see it;
I will be satisfied; let me see the writing.

DUKE OF AUMERLE
I do beseech your grace to pardon me:
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.

DUKE OF YORK
Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear,--

DUCHESS OF YORK
What should you fear?
'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into
For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day.

DUKE OF 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.

DUKE OF AUMERLE
I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it.

DUKE OF YORK
I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.

He plucks it out of his bosom and reads it

Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave!

DUCHESS OF YORK
What is the matter, my lord?

DUKE OF YORK
Ho! who is within there?

Enter a Servant

Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy, what treachery is here!

DUCHESS OF YORK
Why, what is it, my lord?

DUKE OF 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?

DUKE OF YORK
Peace, foolish woman.

DUCHESS OF YORK
I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle.

DUKE OF AUMERLE
Good mother, be content; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.

DUCHESS OF YORK
Thy life answer!

DUKE OF YORK
Bring me my boots: I will unto the king.

Re-enter Servant with boots

DUCHESS OF YORK
Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed.
Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.

DUKE OF 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?
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?

DUKE OF YORK
Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their