Part 14 (1/2)

_Aum._ I do beseech you, pardon me. I may not show it.

_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!

_Duch._ What is the matter, my lord?

_York._ Ho! who is within there?

_Enter a Servant_

Saddle my horse.

G.o.d for his mercy, what treachery is here!

_Duch._ Why, what is it, my lord?

_York._ Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse.

(_Exit Servant._) Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth, I will appeach the villain.

_Duch._ What is the matter?

_York._ Peace, foolish woman.

_Duch._ I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?

_Aum._ Good mother, have content; it is no more Than my poor life must answer.

_Duch._ Thy life answer!

_York._ Bring me my boots; I will unto the King.

_Reenter Servant with boots_

_Duch._ Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz'd.

--Hence villain! never more come in my sight.

_York._ Give me my boots, I say.

_Duch._ Why, York, what wilt thou do?

Wilt thou not hide the trespa.s.s 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 sacrament, And interchangeably set down their hands, To kill the King at Oxford.

_Duch._ 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.