To see this business: To-morrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow;
And we create, in absence of ourself,
Our uncle York lord governor of England,
For he is just, and always lov'd us well.-
Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
Be merry, for our time of stay is short.

[Flourish. Exeunt King, Queen, Bushy,
Aumerle, Greene, and Bagot.

North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead.

Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke.
Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.
North. Richly in both, if justice had their right.
Ross. My heart is great; but it must break
with silence,

Ere it be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more,

That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm! Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of Hereford ?

If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.
Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him;
Unless you call it good to pity him,
Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such wrongs are borne,

In him a royal prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land.
The king is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform
Merely in hate 'gainst any of us all,
That will the king severely prosecute
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with griev-

ous taxes,

And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fiu'd

For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd;
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what :
But what, o' God's name, doth become of this?
North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd
he hath not,

But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows:
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.
Ross. The carl of Wiltshire hath the realm in

farm.

Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man.

North Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him.

Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdensome taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.

North. His noble kinsman; most degenerate king!

But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm:
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.
Ross. We see the very wreck that we must
suffer;

And unavoided is the danger now,
For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

[The son of Richard earl of Arundel,]
That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton, and
Francis Quoint,-

All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,

Are making hither with all due expedience,
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt,
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg:
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.
Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them
that fear.

Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be
there.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.

Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promis'd, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition.

Queen. To please the king, I did: to please myself,

I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: Yet, again, methinks,
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming towards me; and my inward soul
With nothing trembles: at some thing, i
grieves,

More than with parting from my lord the king. Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows,

Which show like grief itself, but are not so;
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds shapes of griefs, more than himself, to
wail;

Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not;

more's not seen:

Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.
Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me, it is otherwise: Howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad,
As,-though, in thinking, on no thought 1
think,-

Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.

of death,

spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.

Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be

bold.

North. Then thus-I have from Port le Blanc, a bay

In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence,

That Harry Hereford, Reignold Lord Cobham,

From some fore-father grief: mine is not so;
For nothing hath begot my something grief;"
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve
"Tis in reversion that I do possess ;
But what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless wo, I wot.
Enter Green.

Green. God save your majesty !—and well met, gentlemen:

I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope, he is ;

shipp'd?

Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power,

And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land:
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplift'd arms is safe arriv'd
At Ravenspurg.

Queen.
Now God in heaven forbid!
Green. O, madam, 'tis too true; and that is

worse,

The Lord Northumberland, his young son Henry Percy,

The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland,

And all the rest of the revolted faction, traitors? Green. We have: whereon the earl of Wor

cester

Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke.

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my
Wo,

And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
Have wo to wo, sorrow to sorrow join'd.
Bushy. Despair not, madam.
Queen.

Go, fellow, To the Servant.] get thee home, provide some carts,

And bring away the armour that is there.-
[Exit Servant.
Gentlemen, will you go muster men? if I know
How, or which way, to order these affairs,
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ;-
The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend: the other again,"
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd;
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin, I'll
Dispose of you: Gentlemen, go, muster up your

men,

I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false hope lingers in extremity.

Enter York.

Green. Here comes the duke of York. Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck; O, full of careful business are his looks!Uncle,

For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts:

Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief.
Your husband he is gone to save far off,
Whilst others come to make him lose at home:
Here am I left to underprop his land;
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made;
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.
Enter a Servant.

Serv. My lord, your son was gone before 1

condemn'd.

Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol Castle;

The earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office Will the hateful commons perform for us; Except like curs to tear us all to pieces Will you go along with us?

Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell if heart's presages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is-numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry: Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever.

Green. Well, we may meet again.
Bagot.

I fear me, never. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Wilds in Glostershire.

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, with

Forces.

Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woful land at once! I know not what to do:-I would to God (So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,) The king had cut off my head with my broner's.

What are there no posts despatch'd for Ire

land?

How shall we do for money for these wars 7

pany:

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester,

ever.

Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you.

North. Why, is he not with the queen?
Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the
court,

Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd
The household of the king.
North.

What was his reason? He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake together.

Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed

traitor.

But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg,
To offer service to the duke of Hereford;
And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover
What power the duke of York had levied there;
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg.
North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford,
boy!

Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot,

Which ne'er I did remember; to my knowledge,
I never in my life did look on him.
North. Then learn to know him now: this is
the duke.

Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service,

Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young;
Which elder days shall ripen and confirm
To more approved service and desert.

And fright our native peace with self-born arms. Enter York, attended.

Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you;

Here comes his grace in person. -My noble
uncle !
[Kneels.
York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy
knee,

Whose duty is deceivable and false.
Boling. My gracious uncle!-
York. Tut, tut!

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle:

I am no traitor's uncle; and that word-grace,
In an ungracious month, is but profane.
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But then more why-Why have they dar'd
to march

So many miles upon her peaceful bosom ;
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war,
And ostentation of despised arms?
Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself,
Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of

men,

North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,

Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard:

And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour ;

None else of name, and noble estimate.

Enter Ross and Willoughby.

North. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby,

Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. Boling. Welcome, my lords: I wot your love

pursues

A banish'd traitor: all my treasury

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, Shall be your love and labour's recompense. Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord.

Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain

And minister correction to thy fault!

Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my

fault;

On what condition stands it, and wherein?
York. Even in condition of the worst degree,-
In gross rebellion, and detested treason:
Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come,
Before the expiration of thy time,
In braving arms against thy sovereign.
Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd
Hereford;

But as I come, I come for Lancaster,
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace,
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
You are my father, for, methinks, in you
I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father!
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
A wand'ring vagabond; my rights and royalties
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born 7
If that my cousin king, be king of England,
It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster.
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman;
Had you first died, and he had been thus trod

down,

He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay.
I am denied to sue my livery here,
And yet my letters patent give me leave:
My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold;
And these, and all, are all amiss employed.
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And challenge law: Attornies are denied me;"
And therefore personally I lay my claim
To my inheritance of free descent.

North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd.

Ross. It stands your grace upon to do him right. Will. Base men by his endowments are made

I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs,
And labour'd all I could to do him right:
But in this kind to come, in braving arms,
Be his own carver, and cut out his way,
To find out right with wrong,-it may not be ;
And you, that do abet him in this kind,
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.
North. The noble duke hath sworn, his co-
ming is

But for his own: and, for the right of that,
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;
And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath.
York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms;
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
Because my power is weak, and all ill left:
But, if I could, by him that gave me life,
I would attach you all, and make you stoop
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;
But, since I cannot, be it known to you,
I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well;-
Unless you please to enter in the castle,
And there repose you for this night.

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.
But we must win your grace, to go with us
To Bristol Castle; which, they say, is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away.
York. It may be, I will go with you :-but yet
I'll pause;

For I am loath to break our country's laws.
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are:
Things past redress, are now with me past care.
[Exeunt

SCENE IV. A camp in Wales.
Enter Salisbury, and a Captain.
Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten
days,

And hardly kept our countrymen together,
And yet we hear no tidings from the king:
Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell.
Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welsh-
man;

The king reposeth all his confidence

In thee.

Cap. 'Tis thought the king is dead: we will not

stay.

The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd,
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth,
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and
leap,-

The one in fear to lose what they enjoy,
The other to enjoy by rage and war:
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.
Farewell; our countrymen are gone and fled,
As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead.

[Exit.
Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind,
I see thy glory, like a shooting star,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament!
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
Witnessing storms to come, wo and unrest:
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes:
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol. Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Percy, Willoughby, Ross: Officers behind with Bushy and Green, prisoners. Boling. Bring forth these men.Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls (Since presently your souls must part your bodies,)

With too much urging your pernicious lives, For 'twere no charity: yet, to wash your blood From off my hands, here, in the view of men,

I will unfold some causes of your death.
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied and disfigured clean.
You have, in manner, with your sinful hours,
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him;
Broke the possession of a royal bed,

And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes with your foul wrongs.

Myself-a prince, by fortune of my birth,
Near to the king in blood; and near in love,
Till you did make him misinterpret me,
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,
And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds
Eating the bitter bread of banishment:
Whilst you have fed upon my signiories,
Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods;
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign,-
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,-
To show the world I'am a gentleman.
This, and much more, much more than twice all
this,

Condemns you to the death :-See them deliver'd

over

To execution and the hand of death.

Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me,

Than Bolingbroke to England.-Lords, farewell Green. My comfort is,-that heaven will take

our souls,

And plague injustice with the pains of hell. Boling. My Lord Northumberland, see them despatch'd.

[Exeunt North. and others, with Prisoners. Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house; For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated; Tell her, I send to her my kind commends; Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd With letters of your love to her at large. Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.-Come, lords,

for joy,

To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horses'
hoofs:

As a long parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles, in meet-
ing;

So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way;
Which with usurping steps do trample thee.
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies :
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.-
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords;
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stonos
Prove armed soldiers, tre her native king