The Duke of York knocks at the door and crieth
YORK [within] My liege, beware, look to thyself.
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
BOLINGBROKE Villain, I’ll make thee safe.
AUMERLE Stay thy revengeful hand, thou hast no cause to fear.
YORK Open the door, secure foolhardy King.
Shall I for love speak treason to thy face.
Open the door or I will break it open.
[Bolingbroke opens the door to admit York, then relocks it]
BOLINGBROKE What is the matter, uncle? Speak,
Recover breath, tell us how near is danger
That we may arm us to encounter it. (5.3.38-47)
There’s comedy in the old man, beaten to the court, just, by his son (who did after all steal his horse)—and it’s now clear just how close behind Aumerle he’s been. Noises off, that is, sound effects from off-stage, within, are a comedy staple for a reason, as are locked doors which are suddenly opened, now you see it now you don’t—but Shakespeare is good at mixing that with threat and fear, seen most of all in the Porter scene in Macbeth. York is, of course, being his customarily scrupulous, deferential self: my liege, he addresses Bolingbroke, my liege even more than ‘my lord’ emphasising his loyalty; this is the address of vassal to his sworn lord. Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there, stark and uncompromising. You’re in danger; the person locked in there with you, not just present with you, but in your royal presence, wants to kill you, wants to kill the king. Bolingbroke very often goes for his sword or (I think more likely) his dagger on the line Villain, I’ll make thee safe, perhaps even drawing and threatening Aumerle. As ever, villain is not just scoundrel but churl, commoner, inferior. Aumerle’s on his knees, and Bolingbroke’s keeping him there, perhaps with a dagger at his throat, in his revengeful hand. But Aumerle protests, hands up (presumably), thou hast no cause to fear. He’s run out of time to say his piece, to confess, before York drops him in it.
Because that’s what York is about to do, just as soon as he can get Bolingbroke to open the door, to stop being so foolhardy, secure and rash about his own safety. Shall I for love speak treason to thy face: the syntax here is odd and ambiguous, and editors punctuate in various ways, but the sense is, really, I shall—once you unlock the door and let me in—for the sake of the love I bear you, speak treason to thy face, tell you, in person, about a treasonous plot laid against you. So open the door or I will break it open. (The actor will have to be judicious in balancing the need for furious hammering with audibility.) So Bolingbroke unlocks (and crucially relocks) the door, and dials down the formality a little, taking pity (perhaps) on his old uncle: what is the matter? Catch your breath so that you’re able to speak, and tell us (that is, me) the nature of this danger and, especially, how near it is, so that I can be prepared to meet and fight it. (Has he put away his dagger, quickly, so that York won’t see him threatening his son? Or—this is, after all, Bolingbroke the machiavel, the pragmatist: has he already worked out that there’s a plot, that Aumerle’s involved, but he’s not going to let on, he’s going to let York speak first, in case he’s involved too?) All.very.tense.
