Depose him in the justice of his cause.

Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.Mar. What is thy name, and wherefore com’st thou Order the trial, marshal, and begin. hither,

Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, Before King Richard in his royal lists ?

Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! Against whom com'st thou? and what is thy quarrel ? Boling. Strong as a tower in hope, I cry, amen. Speak like a true knight; so defend thee heaven! Mar. Go bear this lance [To an Officer.) to Thomas, Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,

duke of Norfolk. Am I; who ready here do stand in arms,

1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, prove by God's grace, and my body's valour, Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous,

To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me;

A traitor to his God, his king, and him; And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven!

And dares him to set forward to the fight. Mar. On pain of death no person be so bold, 2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of Or daring hardy, as to touch the lists;

Norfolk, Except the marshal, and such officers

On pain to be found false and recreant, Appointed to direct these fair designs.

Both to defend himself, and to approve Boling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, hand,

To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal; And bow my knee before his majesty :

Courageously, and with a free desire, For Mowbray and myself are like two men

Attending but the signal to begin. That vow a long and weary pilgrimage;

Mar. Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. Then let us take a ceremonious leave,

[4 Charge sounded. And loving farewell of our several friends.

Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your highness, K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave.

spears, K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. And both return back to their chairs again.Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,

Withdraw with us; and let the trumpets sound, So be thy fortune in this royal fight.

While we return these dukes what we decree.Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed,

[A long flourish. Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.

Draw near, [To the Combatants.] and list, what with Boling. O! let no noble eye profane a tear

our council we have done. For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear.

For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd As confident as is the falcon's flight

With that dear blood which it hath fostered ; Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.

And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect My loving lord, I take my leave of you ;

Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords; of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle ;

And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Not sick, although I have to do with death,

Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. With rival-hating envy, set on you
Lo! as at English feasts, so I regreet

To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep;
O! thou, [To Gaunt.) the earthly author of my blood, Which so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums,
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,

With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up

And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, To reach at victory above my head,

Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ; And make us wade even in our kindred's blood : And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, Therefore, we banish you our territories :That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat,

You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt,

Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields, Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.

Shall not regreet our fair dominions,
Gaunt. God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Be swift like lightning in the execution;

Boling. Your will be done. This must my comfort be, And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,

That sun that warms you here shall shine on me; Fall like amazing thunder on the casque

And those his golden beams, to you here lent, Of thy adverse pernicious enemy:

Shall point on me, and gild my

banishment. Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,

Boling. Mine innocence, and Saint George to thrive! Which I with some unwillingness pronounce :

Nor. However God, or fortune, cast my lot, The fly-slow hours shall not determinate
There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne, The dateless limit of thy dear exile.
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman.

The hopeless word of_never to return
Never did captive with a freer heart

Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace

Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, His golden uncontroll’d enfranchisement,

And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth : More than my dancing soul doth celebrate

A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
This feast of battle with mine adversary.-

As to be cast forth in the common air,
Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Have I deserved at your highness' hands.
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years : The language I have learn’d these forty years,
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest,

My native English, now I must forego;
Go I to fight. Truth bath a quiet breast.

And now my tongue's use is to me no more, K. Rich. Farewell, my lord: securely I espy Than an unstringed viol, or a harp;

Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up,

Thy word is current with him for my death, Or, being open, put into his hands

But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. That knows no touch to tune the harmony.

K. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Within my mouth you have enjail'd my tongue,

Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave : Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth and lips ; Why at our justice seem'st thou, then, to lower? And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance

Gaunt. Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. Is made my jailor to attend on me.

You urg'd me as a judge; but I had rather, I am too old to fawn upon a nurse,

You would have bid me argue like a father. Too far in years to be a pupil now;

O! had it been a stranger, not my child, What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild : Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? A partial slander sought I to avoid,

K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate : And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. After our sentence plaining comes too late.

Alas! I look'd when some of you should

say, Nor. Then, thus I turn me from my country's light, I was too strict to make mine own away; To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [Retiring. But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue,

K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. Against my will to do myself this wrong. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands;

K. Rich. Cousin, farewell;—and, uncle, bid him so: Swear by the duty that ye owe to God,

Six years we banish him, and he shall go. (Our part therein we banish with yourselves)

(Flourish. Exeunt King Richard, and Train. To keep the oath that we administer :

Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, You never shall (so help you truth and God !) From where do you remain, let paper

show. Embrace each other's love in banishment;

Mar. My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, Nor never look upon each other's face ;

As far as land will let me, by your side. Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile

Gaunt. O! to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate ; That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? Nor never by advised purpose meet,

Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you, To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,

When the tongue's office should be prodigal 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. To breathe th' abundant dolour of the heart. Boling. I swear.

Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. Nor. And I, to keep all this.

Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time. [They kiss the king's sword. Gaunt. What is six winters ? they are quickly gone. Boling. Norfolk, so fare, as to mine enemy:

Boling. To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. By this time, had the king permitted us,

Gaunt. Call it a travel, that thou tak'st for pleasure. One of our souls had wander'd in the air,

Boling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh,

Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. As now our flesh is banish'd from this land :

Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm ;

Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set Since thou hast far to go, bear not along

The precious jewel of thy home-return. The clogging burden of a guilty soul.

Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Nor. No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor, Will but remember me, what a deal of world My name be blotted from the book of life,

I wander from the jewels that I love.
And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence.

Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; To foreign passages, and in the end,
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue.- Having my freedom, boast of nothing else
Farewell, my liege.—Now no way can I stray:

But that I was a journeyman to grief?
Save back to England, all the world's my way. (Exit. Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits,

K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. I see thy grieved heart : thy sad aspect

Teach thy necessity to reason thus; Hath from the number of his banishi'd years

There is no virtue like necessity : Pluck'd four away.-[To BOLINGBROKE] Six frozen Think not the king did banish thee, winters spent,

But thou the king : woe doth the heavier sit, Return with welcome home from banishment.

Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Boling. How long a time lies in one little word! Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour, Four lagging winters and four wanton springs, And not the king exild thee; or suppose, End in a word : such is the breath of kings.

Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, Gaunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of me And thou art flying to a fresher clime : He shortens four years of my son's exile ;

Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it But little vantage shall I reap thereby,

To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st: For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend,

Suppose the singing birds musicians, Can change their moons, and bring their times about, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light,

The Howers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Shall be extinct with age and endless night:

Than a delightful measure, or a dance; My inch of taper will be burnt and done,

For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
And blindfold death not let me see my son.

The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. Boling. O! who can hold a fire in his hand,

Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow. By bare imagination of a feast?
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age,

Or wallow naked in December snow,
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:

By thinking on fantastic summer's beat?

O! no: the apprehension of the good,

How he did seem to dive into their hearts, Gives but the greater feeling to the worse :

With humble and familiar courtesy; Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more,

What reverence he did throw away on slaves; Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.

Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles, Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy And patient underbearing of his fortune, way :

As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay.


goes his bonnet to an oyster wench; Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell: sweet A brace of draymen bid God speed him well, soil, adieu;

And had the tribute of his supple knee, My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! With Thanks, my countrymen, my loving Where-e'er I wander, boast of this I can,

Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. [Exeunt. As were our England in reversion his,
SCENE IV.-The Same. A Room in the King's

And he our subjects' next degree in hope.

Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these

thoughts. Enter King Richard, Bagor, and Green, at one door; Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland, AUMERLE at another.

Expedient manage must be made, my liege,
K. Rich. We did observe.—Cousin Aumerle, Ere farther leisure yield them farther means,
How far brought you high Hereford on his way? For their advantage, and your highness' loss.

Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war:
But to the next highway, and there I left him. And, for our coffers with too great a court,
K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears were And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
shed ?

We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm ;
Aum. 'Faith, none for me ; except the north-east wind, The revenue whereof shall furnish us
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,

For our affairs in hand. If that come short, Awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters ; Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, with him?

And send them after to supply our wants, Aum. Farewell: and, for my heart disdain'd my For we will make for Ireland presently. tongue

Enter Bushy.
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft Bushy, what news ?
To counterfeit oppression of such grief,

Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord,
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Suddenly taken, and hath sent post-haste,
Marry, would the word “farewell” have lengthen'd To entreat your majesty to visit him.

K. Rich. Where lies he now? And added years to his short banishment,

Bushy. At Ely-house, my liege. He should have had a volume of farewells;

K. Rich. Now put it, God, in his physician's mind, But, since it would not, he had none of me.

To help him to his grave immediately!
K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, The lining of his coffers shall make coats
When time shall call him home from banishment, To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.-
Whether pur
kinsman come to see his friends.

Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him :
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,

Pray God, we may make haste, and come too late ! Observ'd his courtship to the common people :


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SCENE I.-London. An Apartment in Ely-house. My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.
Gaunt on a Couch; the Duke of York, and Others,

York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,

As praises of his state : then, there are found standing by him.

Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound Gaunt. Will the king come, that I may breathe my The open ear of youth doth always listen : last

Report of fashions in proud Italy; In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth.

Whose manners still our tardy apish nation York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your Limps after, in base imitation. breath;

Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

So it be new there's no respect how vile,
Gaunt. O! but they say, the tongues of dying men That is not quickly buzz'd'into his ears ?
Enforce attention like deep harmony:

Then, all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain; Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. Direct not him, whose way himself will choose :
He that no more may say is listen'd more,

'Tis breath thou lack’st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
Than-they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd,
More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before. And thus, expiring, do foretell of him.
The setting sun, and music at the close,

His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last,

For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Writ in remembrance more than things long past. Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short ; Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes;

With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,

O! had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye,
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.

Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,

From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, This other Eden, demi-paradise ;

Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. This fortress, built by nature for herself,

Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, Against infection, and the hand of war;

It were a shame to let this land by lease; This happy breed of men, this little world,

But for thy world enjoying but this land, This precious stone set in the silver sea,

Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Which serves it in the office of a wall,

Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Or as a moat defensive to a house,

Thy state of law is bondslave to the law,
Against the envy of less happier lands;

And thou-
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, K. Rich. A lunatic lean-witted fool,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, Dar’st with thy frozen admonition
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,

Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood
For Christian service and true chivalry,

With fury from his native residence. As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry

Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son:

Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, Dear for her reputation through the world,

Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. Is now leas'd out, I die pronouncing it,

Gaunt. O! spare me not, my brother Edward's son, Like to a tenement, or pelting farm.

For that I was his father Edward's son: England, bound in with the triumphant sea,

That blood already, like the pelican, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd. Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul, With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds : Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls, That England, that was wont to conquer others, May be a precedent and witness good, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood. Ah! would the scandal vanish with my life,

Join with the present sickness that I have, How happy then were my ensuing death.

And thy unkindness be like crooked age, Enter King RICHARD, and QUEEN; AUMERLE, Bushy, To crop at once a too-long withered flower.

Green, Bagot, Ross, and Willoughby. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee:
York. The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; These words hereafter thy tormentors be.-
For young hot colts, being urg'd, do rage the more. Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:

Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster ? Love they to live, that love and honour have.
K. Rich. What, comfort, man! How is't with aged

[Exit, borne out by his Attendants. Gaunt?

K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens have, Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition ! For both hast thou, and both become the grave. Old Gaunt, indeed; and gaunt in being old:

York. I do beseech your majesty, impute his words Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast;

To wayward sickliness and age in him : And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt? He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; As Harry, duke of Hereford, were he here. Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: K. Rich. Right, you say true; as Hereford's love, The pleasure that some fathers feed upon Is my strict fast, I mean my children's looks; As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. And therein fasting hast thou made me gaunt.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND. Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave,

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.

majesty. K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their names? K. Rich. What


he? Gaunt. No; misery makes sport to mock itself: North. Nay, nothing; all is said. Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,

His tongue is now a stringless instrument: I mock my name, great king, to fatter thee.

Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that live? York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so ! Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die. Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. K. Rich. Thou, now a-dying, say'st—thou flatter'st K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he:

His time is spent; our pilgrimage must be. Gaunt. O! no; thou diest, though I the sicker be. So much for that.-Now for our Irish wars. K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns,

Gaunt. Now, He that made me knows I see thee ill; Which live like venom, where no venom else, Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.

But only they, hath privilege to live : Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land,

And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;

Towards our assistance we do seize to us And thou, too careless patient as thou art,

The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables, Commit'st thy 'nointed body to the cure

Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. Of those physicians that first wounded thee.

York. How long shall I patient? `Ah! how long A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,

Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Whose compass is no bigger than thy head,

Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, And yet, incaged in so small a verge,

Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,

so his :


Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke

Willo. Tends that thou’dst speak, to the duke of About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,

Hereford ? Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,

If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.

Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.
I am the last of noble Edward's sons,

Ross. No good at all that I can do for him,
Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first: Unless you call it good to pity him,
In war was never lion rag'd more fierce,

Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,

North. Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are Than was that yomg and princely gentleman.

borne His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,

In him, a royal prince, and many more
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; Of noble blood in this declining land.
But when he frown'd, it was against the French, The king is not himself, but basely led
And not against his friends : his noble hand

By flatterers; and what they will inform,
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
Which his triumphant father's hand had won: That will the king severely prosecute,
His hands were guilty of no kindred blood,

'Gainst us, our wives, our children, and our heirs. But bloody with the enemies of his kin.

Ross. The commons hath he pill’d with grievous taxes, 0, Richard ! York too far gone with grief,

And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fin'd Or else he never would compare between.

For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter?

Willo. And daily new exactions are devis d; York.

O, my liege! As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd

But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.

North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands,

But basely yielded upon compromise The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford ? That which his noble ancestors achiev'd with blows : Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true?

Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. Did not the one deserve to have an heir ?

Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. Is not his heir a well-deserving son?

North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him. Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His charters and his customary rights;

His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, Let not to-morrow, then, ensue to-day;

But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. Be not thyself; for how art thou a king,

North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king ! But by fair sequence and succession ?

But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true!)

Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm : If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,

We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, Call in the letters patents that he hath

And yet we strike not, but securely perish. By his attornies-general to sue

Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer; His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,

And unavoided is the danger now,
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,

North. Not so: even through the hollow eyes of And prick my tender patience to those thoughts,

death, Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

I spy life peering; but I dare not say K. Rich. Think what you will: we seize into our How near the tidings of our comfort is. hands

Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands.

York. I'll not be by the while. My liege, farewell : Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, But by bad courses may be understood,

Thy words are but our thoughts: therefore, be bold. That their events can never fall out good. [Exit. North. Then thus.— I have from Port le Blanc, a bay

K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight: In Brittany, receiv’d intelligence,
Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,

That Harry duke of Hereford, Reginald lord Cobham, To see this business. To-morrow next

That late broke from the duke of Exeter, We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow:

His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, And we create, in absence of ourself,

Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston, Our uncle York lord governor of England,

Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis For he is just, and always lov'd us well.

Come on, our queen : to-morrow must we part; All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne,
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish. With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,

[Exeunt King, Queen, Bushy, Āumerle, Are making hither with all due expedience,
GREEN, and Bagot.

And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. Perhaps, they had ere this, but that they stay
Ross. And living too, for now his son is duke. The first departing of the king for Ireland.
Willo. Barely in title, not in revenues.

If, then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,

Ross. My heart is great; butit must break with silence, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.

Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter's gilt, North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er And make high majesty look like itself, speak more,

Away with me in post to Ravenspurg; That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! But if you faint, as fearing to do so,


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