YORK.
Give me my boots, I say. Saddle my horse.
Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain.
[Exit Servant.]
DUCHESS.
What is the matter?
YORK.
Peace, foolish woman.
DUCHESS.
I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle?
AUMERLE.
Good mother, be content. It is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
DUCHESS.
Thy life answer?
YORK.
Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.
Re-enter Servant with boots.
DUCHESS.
Strike him, Aumerle! Poor boy, thou art amazed.
[To Servant.]
Hence, villain! Never more come in my sight.