Enter a Servant.
Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy, what treachery is here!
DUCHESS.
Why, what is it, my lord?
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?