[To Servant.] Hence, villain! never more come in my sight. [Exit Servant.]
York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? 88
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, 92
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? 96
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? 100
York. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times
My son, I would appeach him.
Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him
As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful.
But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect 104
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, 108
Not like to me, nor any of my kin,
And yet I love him.
York. Make way, unruly woman! Exit.
Duch. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse;
Spur post, and get before him to the king, 112
91 teeming: child-bearing
98 And . . . hands: 'reciprocally signed an agreement'
99 none: not of them
112 post: in haste
