DUCHESS.
Sweet York, be patient. [Kneels.] Hear me, gentle liege.
KING HENRY.
Rise up, good aunt.
DUCHESS.
Not yet, I thee beseech.
For ever will I walk upon my knees
And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give joy, until thou bid me joy
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.
AUMERLE.
Unto my mother’s prayers I bend my knee.
[Kneels.]
YORK.
Against them both, my true joints bended be.
[Kneels.]
Ill mayst thou thrive if thou grant any grace!
DUCHESS.
Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face.
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest;
His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast.
He prays but faintly and would be denied;
We pray with heart and soul and all beside:
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know;
Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow.
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy;
Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do outpray his; then let them have
That mercy which true prayer ought to have.
KING HENRY.
Good aunt, stand up.