BOLINGBROKE          Good aunt, stand up.

DUCHESS                                                       Nay, do not say ‘stand up’.

Say ‘pardon’ first and afterwards ‘stand up’.

And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,

‘Pardon’ should be the first word of thy speech.

I never longed to hear a word till now—

Say ‘pardon’ King, let pity teach thee how.

The word is short but not so short as sweet,

No word like ‘pardon’ for kings’ mouths so meet.(5.3.110-117)

Bolingbroke is possibly patient, possibly exasperated, possibly amused, or all three, as he says—again—good aunt, stand up. This is embarrassing, inappropriate, unnecessary. But the Duchess is in full flow and she’s not doing anything without a guarantee; she knows that she’s got the floor and that her nephew’s own embarrassment, his desire for this situation simply not to be, is one of her most powerful assets. And it is proper full-on comedy now, the Duchess’s refusal to move, to stand up, until Bolingbroke has explicitly agreed to pardon Aumerle. Not moving until you say it. Nope. Even more absurd, this riffing on pardon (and the repetition makes it more and more comic). Oh, it’s a lovely word, pardon, it’s the word I most long to hear, that you should be most eager to speak. Come on, give in to the pity that you surely feel. It’s just a little word, only two syllables, and sweeter even than it is short. It’s the most fitting word to be on a king’s lips, the tip of his tongue, at all times: no word like ‘pardon’ for kings’ mouths so meet! (It’s what a proper king would say, a sign of his legitimate authority, even.)  SAY IT. You know you want to.

And part of the point of this, and the scene’s next movement, is to humanise Bolingbroke. If he cracks a smile here, even a rueful grin, has to stop himself laughing, then the next short scene, let alone the one that follows, become even more powerful.