DUCHESS [within] A woman and thy aunt, great King, ’tis I.
Speak with me, pity me, open the door,
A beggar begs that never begged before.
BOLINGBROKE Our scene is altered from a serious thing
And now is changed to ‘The Beggar and the King’.
My dangerous cousin, let your mother in—
I know she’s come to pray for your foul sin.
YORK If thou do pardon whosoever pray,
More sins for this forgiveness prosper may.
This festered joint cut off, the rest rest sound,
This let alone will all the rest confound.
Enter Duchess of York (5.3.75-85)
The scene properly tilts towards comedy at this point, not least because it’s switched into rhyming couplets, with many of the couplets being shared between the speakers, like a hectic game of pass the parcel. And there’s ample opportunity for glances of understanding between Bolingbroke and York, or Bolingbroke and Aumerle—it’s your mother, again! typical!—or of fellow feeling between York and Aumerle, even—oh no, here we go!—which could be quickly concealed (we are meant to be very cross with each other, but, oh no, here we go…). Having first addressed Bolingbroke (through the door) as my liege, she switches to remind him that she’s family, a woman and thy aunt, great King (respectful again). Speak with me, pity me (respectful, pathetic), open the door (or else, do what you’re told). A beggar begs that never begged before: that can be believed, the Duchess is surely accustomed to being obeyed and getting what she wants.
This is Bolingbroke’s moment to demonstrate that he has a sense of humour: even if he’s exasperated and frustrated and angry, he can see how ridiculous this is, how stagey, and so he cites what’s probably a popular ballad or interlude, that of ‘The Beggar and the King’, probably the well-known story of King Cophetua and the beggar maid. (As editors point out, the title works here, but the actual story has nothing to do with the situation at hand.) This scene has tipped into the farce which it’s promised for some time now; Aumerle’s off the hook, no matter what his parents continue to say and do. My dangerous cousin—said affectionately; Aumerle might perk up?—let your mother in. We all know why she’s here (you’re her little boy!): she’s come to pray for your foul sin.
But York’s not going to let this go that easily. If you give in now, as King, to whosoever prays, you’re only going to encourage other people to do (or plan to do) bad things and then ask for forgiveness. You’ll get a reputation as a soft touch, and so more sins for this forgiveness—of Aumerle, in this specific case—will prosper. It would be better to cut off this festered joint (Aumerle might look particularly wounded at being described thus, as a gangrenous limb, or even fearful once more) so that the rest of the body can rest sound, remain healthy. If you leave him be, if you don’t come down hard on this, then you’re risking that the corruption, the poison, will spread.
Enter the Duchess of York, Aumerle having once more unlocked and opened the door.
