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York. Speak it in French, king; say, 'pardonnez moy.'

Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy?

Ah! my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord,

That sett'st the word itself against the word.

Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land;

The chopping French we do not understand.

Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there,

Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear,

That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,

Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse.

Boling. Good aunt, stand up.

Duch. I do not sue to stand;

Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.

Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.

Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee!

Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again;

Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain,

But makes one pardon strong.

Boling. With all my heart

I pardon him.

Duch. A god on earth thou art.

Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law and the abbot,

With all the rest of that consorted crew,

Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels.

Good uncle, help to order several powers

To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are:

They shall not live within this world, I swear,

But I will have them, if I once know where.

 119 pardonnez moy: excuse me (from granting it)

124 chopping: changing the meaning of words

128 rehearse: recite

137 brother-in-law; cf. n.

138 consorted: leagued

140 order: regulate the dispatch of

