to thyself; Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. Villain, I'll make thee safe. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear. Open the door, secure, foolhardy king: Shall I for love speak treason to thy face? Open the door, or I will break it open. What is the matter, uncle? speak; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me show. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd: I do repent me; read not my name there My heart is not confederate with my hand. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king; Fear, and not love, begets his penitence: Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. O heinous, strong and bold conspiracy! O loyal father of a treacherous son! Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain, From when this stream through muddy passages Hath held his current and defiled himself! Thy overflow of good converts to bad, And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly blot in thy digressing son. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies: Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. What ho, my liege! for God's sake, let me in. What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry? A woman, and thy aunt, great king; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door. A beggar begs that never begg'd before. Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing, And now changed to 'The Beggar and the King.' My dangerous cousin, let your mother in: I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound; This let alone will all the rest confound. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man! Love loving not itself none other can. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege. Rise up, good aunt. Not yet, I thee beseech: For ever will I walk upon my knees