York. No matter, then, who see it.
I will be satisfied: let me see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me.
It is a matter of small consequence,
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear,—
Duch. What should you fear?
’Tis nothing but some hand, which he has ent’red into
For gay apparel ’gainst the triumph day.
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.
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!