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Aum.'Faith, none by me: except the north-east wind, York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,

breath!
Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so, by chance, For all in vain comes connsel to his ear.
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

Gaunt. 0, but they say, the tongues of dying men
K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted Enforce attention, like deep harmony.
with him?

Where words are scarce, they are seldom spentin vain; Aum. Farewell!

For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in And, for my heart disdained, that my tongue

pain.
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft, He, that no more must stay, is listen'd more,
To counterfeit oppression of such grief,

Than they, whom youth and ease have taught to
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. glose.
Marry, would the word farewell havelengthen'd hours, Moreare men's ends mark'd, than their lives before.
And added years to his short banishment,

The setting sun, and music at the close,
He should have had a volume of farewells;

As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last;
But since it would not, he had none of me.

Writ in remembrance, more than things long past.
K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
When time shall call him home from banishment, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.
Whether onr kinsman come to see his friends.

York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, As, praises of his state: then there are found
Observ'd his courtship to the common people, – Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound
How he did seem to dive into their hearts,

The open ear of youth doth always listen.
With humble and familiar courtesy;

Report of fashions in proud Italy,
What reverence he did throw away on slaves; Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles, Limps after, in base imitation.
And patient underbearing of his fortune,

Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity,
As 'twere, to banish their affects with him.

(So it be new, there's no respect, how vile,)
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;

That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears?
A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well, Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
And had the tribute of his supple knee,

Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
With— Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;- Direct not him, whose way himself will choose!
As were our England in reversion his,

'Tis breath thoa lack'st, and that breath wilt thou And he our subject ’next degree in hope,

lose. Green. Well, he is gone, and with him go

these Gaunt, Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd, thoughts.

And thus, expiring, do foretell of him:
Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland ! His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last;
Expedient manage must be made, my liege,

For violent fires soon burn out themselves :
Ere further leisure yield them farther means Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short.
For their advantage, and your highness' loss. He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes;

K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war. With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder.
And, for our cofl'ers with too great a court, Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm;

This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
The revenue whereof shall furnish as

This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
For our affairs in hand. Ii' that come short, This other Eden, demi-paradise;
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters, This fortress, built by nature for herself,
Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, Against infection, and the land of war;
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold This happy breed of men, this little world;
And send them after, to supply our wants; Tiis precious stone set in the silver sea,
For we will make for Ireland presently!

Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Enter Bushy.

Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Bushy, what news?

Against the envy of less happier lands;
Busly. Old John of Gauntis grievous sick, my lord, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
Suddenly taken, and hath sent post-haste,

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
To entreat your majesty to visit him.

Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth,
K. Rich. Where lies he?

Renowned for their deeds as far froin home,
Bushy. At Ely-house.

For Christian service, and true chivalry,
K. Řich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician's As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
mind,

Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son:
To help him to his grave immediately!

This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,
The lining of his coffers shall make coats, Dear for her reputation through the world,
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. -- Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it)
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him !

Like to a tenement, or pelting farm.
Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late! England, bound in with the triumphant sea,

(Exeunt. Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege

Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
A CT

With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds;
II.

That England, that was wont to conquer others,
SCENE I. - London. A room in Ely-house. Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Gaust on a couch; the Duke of York, and others, o, would the scandal vanish with my life,
standing by him.

How happy then were my ensuing death!
Gaunt. Will the king come ? that I may breathe my Enter King Richard, and Queen; AUMEALE, Bushy,
last

Green, Bagot, Ross, and WılLOUGHBY.
In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth.

York. The king is come: deal mildly with his yonth!

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318
KING RICHARD II.

[Act II.
For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. Love they to live, that love and honour have!
Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster?

{Exit, borne out by his attendants, K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't with aged K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens have! Gaunt?

For both hast thou, and both become the grave. Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition! York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old;

To wayward sickliness and age in him!
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;

He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear,
And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt? As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here.
For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; K. Rich. Right; you say true: as Hereford's love,
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt:

so his;
The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon, As theirs, so mine; and all be, as it is!
Is my strict fast, I mean-my children's looks;

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.
And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt. North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,

majesty.
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. K. Rich. What says he now?
K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their North. Nay, nothing; all is said.
names?

His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself. Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. Sincethou dost seek to kill my name in me,

York. Be York the next, that must be bankrupt so! I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that K. Rich. Theripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;
live?

His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be.
Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die. So much for that!- Now for our Irish wars !
K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say’st, thou flatter'st We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,,

Which live like venom, where no venom else,
Gaunt. Oh! no; thou diest, though I the sicker be. But only they, hath privilege to live.
K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. And for these great affairs do ask some charge,
Gaunt. Now, He, that made me, knows, I see thee ill; Towards our assistance, we do seize to us
Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill,

The plate, coin, «revenues, and moveables,
Thy death-bed is no lesser, than the land,

Whereofour uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. Wherein thou liest in reputation sick:

York. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long And thou, too careless patient as thou art,

Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Commit'st thy anointed body to the care

Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's bauishment, Of those physicians, that first wounded thee.

Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,

Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke Whose compass is no bigger, than thy head;

About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, And yet, incaged in so small a verge,

Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, The waste is no whit lesser,than thy land.

Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. – 0, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye,

I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first.
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, In war was never lion rag'd more fierce,
Deposiug thee, before thou wert possess'd,

In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.

Than was that young and princely gentleman. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,

i It were a shanie, to let this land by lease :

Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ; But, for thy world, enjoying but this land,

But, when he frown'd, it was against the French, Is it not more, than shame, to shameit so?

Aud not against his friends; his noble hand Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Did win what he did spend, and spent not that, Thy state of law is boodslave to the law;

Which his triumphant father's hand had won. And thou

His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood, K. Rich, A lunatic, lean-witted fool,

But bloody with the enemies of his kin. Presumingon an ague's privilege,

0, Richard ! York is too far gone with grief, Dar'st with thy frozen admonition

Or else he never would compare between. Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood, K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter? With fury, from his native residence.

York. O, my liege,
Now by my seat's right royal majesty,

Pardon me, if you please! if not, I, pleas'd
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
This tongue, that runs so roundly in thy head, Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands,
Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. The royalties aud'rights of banish'd Hereford ?

Gaunt. 0, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live?
For that I was his father Edward's son!

Was not Gaunt just ? and is not Harry true?
That blood already, like the pelican,

Did not the one deserve to have an heir ?
Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd. Is not his heir a well-deserving son?
My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time
(Whom fair befal in heaven’mongst happy souls !) His charters, and his customary rights!
May be a precedent and witness good,

Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood.

Be not thyself, for how art thon a king, Join with the present sickness that I have,

But by fair sequence and succession ? And thy unkindness be like erooked age,

Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true!) To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower!

If

you do wrongtnlly seize Hereford's rights, Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! Call in the letters patent, that he hath These words hereafter thy tormentors be!

By his attornies-general to sue Couvey me to my bed, then to my grave :

His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,

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Yon pluck a thousand dangers on your head, And anavoided is the danger now,
You lose a thousand well-dispused hearts,

For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts, North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

death,
K. Rich. Think what you will; we seize into our I spy life peering; but I dare not say,
hands

How near the tidings of our comfort is.
His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost
York. I'll not be by, the while: my liege, farewell!

ours ! What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell. Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland! But by bad courses may be understood,

We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, That their events can never fall out good. [Exit. Thy words are but as thoughts'; therefore, be bold !

K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight, North. Then thus ! - I have from Port le Blanc. Bid him repair to as to Ely-house,

a bay To see this business! To-morrow next

In Britanny, receiv'd intelligence, We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, Itrow;

That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, And we create, in absence of ourself,

(The son of Richard earl of Arundel) Our uncle York lord governor of England;

That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
For he is just, and always lov'd us well. -

His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
Come on, our queen! to-morrow must we part; Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramstop,
Be merry, for our
time of stayis short.

Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
(Flourish. Exeunt King, Queen, Bushy, Au Quoint,
merle, Green, und Bagot.

All these, well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, North. Well, lords, the dake of Lancaster is dead. With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke. Are maki:g hither with all due expedience, Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.

And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay Ross. My heart is great, but it must break with The first departing of the king for Ireland. silence,

If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.

Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, North. Nay, speak thy mind, and let him ne'er speak Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, more,

Wipe off the dust, that hides our scepter's gilt,
That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm! And make high majesty look like itself,
Willo. Tends that, thou’dst speak, to the duke of Away, with me, in post to Ravepspurg!
Hereford ?

But, if you faint, as fearing to do so,
If it beso, out with it boldly, man!

Stay, and be secret, and myself will go. Quick is mine ear, to hear of good towards him. Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them, that Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him;

fear ! Unless you call it good, to pity him,

Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Bereft and gelded of his patrimony,

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

SCENE II. The same. A room in the palace. In him a royal prince, and many more

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bacot. Of noble blood in this declining land.

Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad. The king is not himself, but basely led

You promis'd, when you parted with the king, By flatterers; and what they will inform,

To lay aside life-harming heaviness, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,

And entertain a cheerful disposition. That will the king severely prosecute

Queen. To please the king, I did; to please myself, 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. I cannot do it; yet I know no cause, Ross. The commons hath he pill’d with grievous Why I should welcome such a guest, as grief, taxes,

Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest,
And lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fin'd As my sweet Richard. Yet again, methinks,
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,

Willo. And daily new exactions are devis’d, Is coming towards me; and my inward soul
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: With nothing trembles: at something it grieves,
Bat what, o'God's name, doth become of this? More than with parting from my lord the king.
North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty sha-
not,

dows, But basely yielded upon compromise

Which show like grief itself, but are not so;
That, which his ancestors achiev'd with blows. For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. Divides one thing entire to many objects:
Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,

Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
North. Reproach, and dissolution hangeth over him. Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail:
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,

Which, look'd on, as it is, is nought but shadows But by the robbing of the bapish'd duke.

Of what it is not. Then, thrice gracious queen, North. His noblekinsman; most degenerate king ! More than your lord's departure weep not; more's But lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet seek po shelter, to avoid the storm;

Or ifit be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,

Which, forthings true, weeps things imaginary. And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul Ross. We see the very wreck, that we must suffer; Persuades me, it is otherwise. Howe'er it be,

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I cannot but be sad, so heavy sad,

Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster;
As, - though, in thinking, on no thought I think, - Bid her send me presently a thousand pound !-
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. Hold, take
Dushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship:
Queen. "Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd To-day, as I came by, I called there;-
From some fore-father grief; mine is not so; But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
For nothing hath begot my something grief;

York. What is it, knave?
Or something hath the nothing, that I grieve.

Serv. An hour before I came, the dutchess died. "Tis in reversion, that I do possess;

York. God for his mercy! what atide of woes But what it is, that is not yet known; what

Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

I know not what to do.— I would to God,
Enter GREEN.

(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,)
Green. God save your majesty! and well met, The king had cut off my head with my brother's. —
gentlemen !-

What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland ? –
I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. How shall we do for money for these wars ? —

Pon. Why hop'st thou so ? 'tis better hope, he is; Come, sister, - cousin, I would say: pray, pardon
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope;

me! -
Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd ? Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, provide
Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his some carts,
power,

And bring away the armour,

that is there! And driven into despair an enemy's hope,

[Exit Servant. Who strongly hath set footing in this land, Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? if I know The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,

Now, or which way, to order these affairs, And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd

Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, At Ravenspurg.

Never believe me! Both are my kinsmen;
Queen. Now God in heaven forbid !

The one's my sovereign, whom both oath
Green. 0, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse,- And duty bids defend; the other, again,
The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry Is my kirsman, whom the king hath wrong'd;
Percy,

Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, Well, somewhat we must do. -

Come, cousin, I'll
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Dispose of you. Go, muster up your men,
Busly. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumber- And meet me preseutly at Berkley-castle!
land,

I should to Plashy too;
And all the rest of the revolting faction,

But time will not permit.

Allis uneven, Traitors?

And every thing is left at six and seven. Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester

(Exeunt York and Queen. llath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, And all the household servants fled with him

But none returns. For us to levy power,
To Bolingbroke.

Proportionable to the enemy,
Queen. So, Green, thon art the midwife to my woe, Is all impossible.
Aud Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir.

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love,
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, Is near the hate ofthose, love not the king.
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,

Bagot. And that's the wavering commons; for their
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.

love Bushy. Despair not, madam!

Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, Queen. Who shall hinder me?

By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate, I will despair, and be at enmity

Bushy. Wherein the king stands geverally conWith cozening hope; he is a flatterer,

demn’d. A parasite, a keeper-back of death,

Bagot. If judgement lie in them, then so do we, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,

Because we ever have been near the king.
Which false hope lingers in extremity.

Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol castle;
Enter YORK.

The earl of Wiltshire is already there.
Green. Here comes the duke of York.

Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office Queer. With signs of war about his aged neck; The hateful commons will perform for us; o, full of careful business are his looks!

Except like curs to tear us allin pieces. —
Unele,

Will you go along with us?
For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty.

York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts. Farewell! If heart's presages be not vain,
Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Wethree here part, that ne'er shall meet again.
Where nothing lives, but crosses, care, and grief. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Boling-
Your husbaud he is gone to save far off,

broke. Whilst others come to make him lose at home.

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes, Here am I left to underprop his land;

Is numb’ring sands, and drinking oceans dry;
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself. Where one ou his side fights, thousands will fly.
Now comes the sick hour, that his surfeit made; Bushy. Farewell at once ; for once, for all, and ever!
Now shall he try his friends, that flatter'd him. Green. Well, we may meet again.
Enter a Servant.

Bagot. I fear me, never.
Seru. My lord, your sou was gone, before I came.
York. He was? - Why, so!- go all which way it SCENELI. - The Wilds in Glostershire.
will! -

Enter BOLIncerobe and NORTHUMBERLAND, with
The nobles they are sed, the commons cold,

forces. And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.

Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? Sirrah,

North. Believe me,

noble lord,

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Enter BERKLEY.
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, North. It is my lord of Berkley, as Igness.
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome; Berk. My lord of Ilereford, my message is to you.
And yet your fair discourse bath been as sugar, Boling. My lord, my answer is--to Lancaster;
Making the hard way sweet and délectable.

And I am come to seek that name in England,
But, I bethink me, what a weary way

And I must find that title in your tongue,
From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found Before I make reply to aught, you say.
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,

Berk, Mistake me not, my lord ! 'tis not my meaning,
Which, I protest, hath very much beguild

To raze one title of your honour out.
The tediousness and process of my travel.

To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,)
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have From the most glorious regent of thisland,
The present benefit, which I possess:

The duke of York, to know, what pricks you on
And hope to joy is little less in joy,

To take advantage of the absent time,
Than hope enjoy’d: by this the weary lords

And fright our native peace with self-born arms.
Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done

Enter York, attended.
By sight of what I have, your noble company. Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you;
Boling. Of much less value is my company, Here comes his grace in person. — My noble uncle!
Than
your good words. But who comes here?

(Kneels. Enter HARRY Percy.

York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,
North. It is my son, young Harry Percy,

Whose duty is deceivable and false,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. Boling. My gracious uncle! -
Harry, how fares your uncle?

York. Tut, tut!
Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn’d his Grace meno grace, nor uncle meno uncle!
hcalth of you.

I am no traitor's uncle, and that word grace
North. Why, is he not with the queen ?

In an ungracions month, is but profane.
Percy, No, my good lord; he hath forsook the court, Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
Broken his staff of office, and dispers’d

Dar d once to touch a dust of England's ground? The household of the king.

But then more why! Why have they dar'd to march
North. What was his reason?

So many miles upon her peaceful bosom,
He was not so resolv’d, when last we spake together. Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war,
Perry. Because your lordship was proclaimed And ostentation of despised arms ?
traitor.

Com'st thou, because the anointed king is hence? But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg,

Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, To offer service to the duke of Hereford,

And in my loyal bosom lies his power. And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover,

Were I but now the lord of such hot youth,
What power the duke of York had levied there, As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself,
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,

North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy? From forth the ranks of many thousand French:
Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot, 0, then, how quickly should this arm of mine,
Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge, Now prisoner to the palsy, chástise thee,
I never in my life did look on him.

And minister correction to thy fault!
North. Then learn to know him now; this is the Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my

fault! duke.

On what condition stands it, and wherein ? Percy. My gracious lord, Itender you my service, York. Even in condition of the worst degree: Such as it is, being tender, raw, and yo

In gross rebellion, and detested treason. Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm

Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come, To more approved service and desert.

Before the expiration of thy time, Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy, and be sure, In braving arms against thy sovereign. I count myself is nothing else so happy,

Boling As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford ; As in a soul rememb’ring my good friends;

But as I come, I come for Lancaster. Aud, as my fortune ripens with thy love,

And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace, It shall be sti'lthy true love's recompense.

Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. You are my father, for, methinks, in you

North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir I see old Gaunt alive. O, then, my father!
Keeps good old York there, with his men of war?

Will yon permit, that I shall stand condemn'd
Perey. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, A wavd’ring vagabond ? my rites and'royalties
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard : Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away
And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour ; To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
None else of name and noble estimate.

If that my cousin king be king of England,
Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY.

I must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster.
North. Here come the lords of Rossand Willoughby, You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman:
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,
Boling. Welcome, my lords ! I wot, your love pur- He should have found his uncle Gaunia father,

To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay.
A banish'd traitor. All my treasury

I am denied to sue my livery here,
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, And yet my letters patent give me leave:
Shall be your love and labour's recompense.

My father's goods are all distrain’d, and sold;
Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. And these, and all, are all amiss employ’d.
Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. What would you have me do? I am a subject,
Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the And challenge law: attcrnies are denied me;
poor,

And therefore personally Nay my claim Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, Tomy inheritance of free descent. Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

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

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