Hadst thou groan'd for him As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect That I have been disloyal 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, Not like to me, or any of my kin, And yet I love him. Make way, unruly woman! 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, be gone! Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son? 'Tis full three months since I did see him last; If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. I would to God, my lords, he might be found: Inquire at London, 'mongst 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; Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, Takes on the point of honour to support So dissolute a crew. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince, And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford. And what said the gallant? His answer was, he would unto the stews, And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, And wear it as a favour; and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years May happily bring forth. But who comes here? Where is the king? What means our cousin, that he stares and looks So wildly? God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty, To have some conference with your grace alone. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. What is the matter with our cousin now? For ever may my knees grow to the earth, My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. Intended or committed was this fault? If on the first, how heinous e'er it be, To win thy after-love I pardon thee. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. Have thy desire. My liege, beware; look