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Stay and be secret, and myself will go.
Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd NorthumRoss. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that berland, fear.
And all the rest of the revolted faction, traitors ? Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Green. We have: whereupon the earl of Worcester
[Exeunt. Hath broken his staff, resign'd his stewardship, SCENE II.—The Same. An Apartment in the
And all the household servants fled with him
Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join’d.
Bushy. Despair not, madam. Queen. To please the king, I did; to please myself, Queen.
Who shall hinder me? I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
I will despair, and be at enmity Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
With cozening hope: he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
Enter the Duke of York, part-armed.
Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. Which show like grief itself, but are not so:
York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts : For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon, Your husband, he is gone to save far off, Show nothing but confusion : ey'd awry,
Whilst others come to make him lose at home : Distinguish form : so your sweet majesty,
Here am I left to underprop his land, Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself. Finds shapes of grief more than himself to wail ; Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Of what it is not. Then, thrice gracious queen,
Enter a Servant. More than your lord's departure weep not: more's Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. not seen;
York. He was ?—Why, so :-go all which way it Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
will. Which for things true weeps things imaginary. The nobles they are fled, the commons cold,
Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.Persuades me, it is otherwise : howe'er it be,
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad,
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound. As, though unthinking on no thought I think, Hold; take my ring: Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship :
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. To-day, as I came by, I called there;
Queen. 'Tis nothing less : conceit is still deriv'd But I shall grieve you to report the rest. From some forefather grief; mine is not so,
York. What is't, knave? For nothing hath begot my something woe;
Serv. An hour before I came the duchess died. Or something hath the nothing that I guess :
York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes 'Tis in reversion that I do possess,
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! But what it is, that is not yet known, what
I know not what to do :- I would to God, I cannot name: 'tis nameless woe, I wot.
(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it) Enter GREEN.
The king had cut off my head with my brother's.Green. God save your majesty :-and well met, What! are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland ?gentlemen.
How shall we do for money for these wars ?I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. Come, sister, -cousin, I would say: pray, pardon me.
Queen. Why hop'st thou so ? 'tis better hope he is, Go, fellow, ( To the Servant.] get thee home; provide For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope;
some carts, Then, wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd ? And bring away the armour that is there.Green. That he, our hope, might have retir’d his
[Exit Servant. power,
Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
If I know how, or which way, to order these affairs, Who strongly hath set footing in this land.
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands, The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen : And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
Th’ one is my sovereign, whom both my oath At Ravenspurg.
And duty bids defend; th' other again, Queen.
Now, God in heaven forbid ! Is my near kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, Green. Ah! madam, 'tis too true: and what is worse, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. The lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, Well, somewhat we must do.—Come, cousin, The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, I'll dispose of you.—Gentlemen,go muster up your men, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. And meet me presently at Berkley.
I should to Plashy too,
What was his reason ? But time will not permit.-All is uneven,
He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake And every thing is left at six and seven.
Together. [Exeunt York and Queen. Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go for Ireland, But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, But none returns. For us to levy power,
To offer service to the duke of Hereford ; Proportionable to the enemy,
And sent me over by Berkley, to discover
the duke of York had levied there; Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love Then, with directions to repair to Ravenspurg. Is near the hate of those love not the king.
North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy? Bagot. And that's the wavering commons; for Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot, their love
Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge,
North. Then learn to know him now: this is the duke. Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, demn'd.
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young, Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Which elder days shall ripen, and confirm Because we ever have been near the king.
To more approved service and desert. Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol castle: Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, The earl of Wiltshire is already there.
I count myself in nothing else so happy, Bushy. Thither will I with you; for little office As in a soul remembering my good friends; Will the hateful commons perforın for us,
And as my fortune ripens with thy love, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
It shall be still thy true love's recompense : Will you go along with us?
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. Bagot. No; I will to Ireland to his majesty.
North. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain,
Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Percy. There stands the castle, by yond' tuft of trees, Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Boling. Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard; broke.
And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour; Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes None else of name, and noble estimate. Is numbering sands, and drinking oceans dry:
Enter Russ and WILLOUGHBY. Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. North. Here come the lords of Ross and WilFarewell at once; for once, for all, and ever.
loughby, Bushy. Well, we may meet again.
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. Bagot.
I fear me, never. [Exeunt. Boling. Welcome, my lords. I wot, your love pursues SCENE III.-The Wilds in Glostershire.
A banish'd traitor: all my treasury
Is but yet unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, Enter BOLINGBROKE and NorthUMBERLAND,
Shall be your love and labour's recompense. with Forces.
Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? Willo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. North. Believe me, noble lord,
Boling. Evermore thanks, th' exchequer of the poor; I am a stranger here in Glostershire.
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome;
Enter BERKLEY. And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. But, I bethink me, what a weary way
Boling. My lord, my answer is—to Lancaster, From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found
And I am come to seek that name in England; In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,
And I must find that title in your tongue, Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd
Before I make reply to aught you say. The tediousness and process of my travel:
Berk. Mistake me not, my lord: 'tis not my meaning, But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have
To raze one title of your honour out. The present benefit which I possess;
To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will, And hope to joy is little less in joy,
From the most gracious regent of this land,
The duke of York, to know what pricks you on
And fright our native peace with self-borne arms. Boling. Of much less value is my company,
Enter York attended. Than your good words. But who comes here? Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you: Enter Harry Percy.
Here comes his grace in person.—My noble uncle. North. It is my son, young Harry Percy,
[Kneels. Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.- York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Harry, how fares your uncle?
Whose duty is deceivable and false. Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn’d his Boling. My gracious unclehealth of you.
York. Tut, tut! Grace me no grace, nor uncle me North. Why, is he not with the queen?
no uncle : Percy. No, my good lord: he hath forsook the I am no traitor's uncle; and that word “ grace," court,
In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. Broken his staff of office, and dispers’d
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs The household of the king.
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But then, more why,--why have they dar'd to march And you, that do abet him in this kind,
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.
North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is And ostentation of despoiling arms ?
But for his own; and for the right of that, Com'st thou because th' anointed king is hence ? We all have strongly sworn to give him aid, Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath. And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms. Were I but now the lord of such hot youth,
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
But, since I cannot, be it known unto you,
I do remain as neuter. So, farewell; Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault: Unless you please to enter in the castle, On what condition stands it, and wherein ?
And there, my lords, repose you for this night. York. Even in condition of the worst degree; Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept: In gross rebellion, and detested treason :
But we must win your grace, to go with us Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come
To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held Before the expiration of thy time,
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
York. It may be, I will go with you;—but yet I'll And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace,
pause, Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
For I am loath to break our country's laws. You are my father, for, methinks, in you
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are : I see old Gaunt alive: 0! then, my father,
Things past redress are now with me past care. [Exeunt. Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
SCENE IV.-A Camp in Wales.
Enter SalisBURY, and a Welsh Captain.
Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days, If that my cousin king be king of England,
And hardly kept our countrymen together, It must be granted I am duke of Lancaster.
And yet we hear no tidings from the king; You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ; Therefore, we will disperse ourselves. Farewell. Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman : He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, The king reposeth all his confidence in thee. To rouse his wrongers, chase them to the bay.
Cap. 'Tis thought, the king is dead: we will not stay. I am denied to sue my livery here,
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd, And yet my letters patent give me leave :
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold; The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth, And these, and all, are all amiss employ’d.
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change : What would you have me do? I am a subject, Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, And challenge law: attornies are denied me,
The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, And therefore personally I lay my claim
The other to enjoy by rage and war: To my inheritance of free descent.
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. North. The noble duke hath been too much abused. Farewell : our countrymen are gone and fled, Ross. It stands your grace upon to do him right. As well assur'd Richard, their king, is dead. [Exit. Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. Sal. Ah, Richard ! with the eyes of heavy mind, York. My lords of England, let me tell you this: I see thy glory, like a shooting star, I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament. And labour'd all I could to do him right;
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, But in this kind to come; in braving arms,
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest: Be his own carver, and cut out his way,
Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes, To find out right with wrong,—it may not be: And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Erit.
ACT III. SCENE I.—BOLINGBROKE's Camp at Bristol.
I will unfold some causes of your deaths.
You have misled a prince, a royal king, Enter BOLINGBROKE, York, NorthumBERLAND, Percy, A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, WILLOUGHBY, Ross: Bushy and Green, prisoners.
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean:
You have, in manner, with your sinful hours,
With tears, drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.
Near to the king in blood, and near in love,
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great in substance, and in power. And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st thou not, Eating the bitter bread of banishment,
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
But when from under this terrestrial ball
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, To show the world I am a gentleman.
And darts his light through every guilty hole, This and much more, much more than twice all this, Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, Condemns you to the death.—See them deliver'd over The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, To execution, and the hand of death.
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves ? Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me, So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke, Than Bolingbroke to England.—Lords, farewell. Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
Green. My comfort is, that heaven will take our souls, Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, And plague injustice with the pains of hell.
Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them dis- His treasons will sit blushing in his face, patch'd.
Not able to endure the sight of day, [Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and Others, with Bushy But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin, and GREEN.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king :
The breath of worldly men cannot depose Tell her I send to her my kind commends ;
The deputy elected by the Lord. Take special care my greetings be deliver'd.
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd, York. A gentleman of mine I bave dispatch'd
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, With letters of your love to her at large.
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.-Come, my lords, A glorious angel : then, if angels fight, away,
Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right. To fight with Glendower and his complices :
Enter SALISBURY. Awhile to work, and after holiday. [Exeunt. Welcome, my lord. How far off lies your power ? SCENE II.- The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view.
Sal. Nor near, nor farther off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue,
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men: After late tossing on the breaking seas?
To-day, to-day, unhappy day too late, K. Rich. Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy, O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state ; To stand upon my kingdom once again..
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead, Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Are gone to Boling broke, dispers’d, or fled. Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs : Aum. Comfort, my liege! why looks your grace so pale? As a long parted mother with her child
K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand men Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting, Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And till so much blood thither come again,
Have I not reason to look pale and dead?
Aum. Comfort, my liege! remember who you are. And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way,
K. Rich. I had forgot myself. Am I not king? Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest. Which with usurping steps do trample thee.
Is not the king's name twenty thousand names ? Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, At thy great glory:-Look not to the ground, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,
Ye favourites of a king: are we not high? Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch High be our thoughts. I know, my uncle York Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords :
here! This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Enter SCROOP. Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege, Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.
Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him. Bishop. Fear not, my lord : that power that made K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepard : you king,
The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold.
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be : if he serve God, The proffer'd means of succour and redress.
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so. Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; Revolt our subjects ? that we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God, as well as us.
Comes at the last, and with a little pin Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay.
Bores through his castle wall, and—-farewell king! The worst is death, and death will have his day. Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd With solemn reverence: throw away respect, To bear the tidings of calamity.
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while :
Taste grief, need friends : subjected thus,
How can you say to me-I am a king ? Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
Bishop. My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel.
woes, White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps But presently prevent the ways to wail. Against thy majesty; and boys, with women's voices, To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Strive to speak big, and clasp their feeble joints Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, In stiff unwieldy armour 'gainst thy crown:
And so your follies fight against yourself. Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Fear, and be slain ; no worse can come to fight: of double-fatal yew against thy state;
And fight and die is death destroying death ; Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,
Aum. My father hath a power, enquire of him, And all goes worse than I have power to tell. And learn to make a body of a limb.
K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell’st a tale so ill. K. Rich. Thou chid'st me well.—Proud Bolingbroke, Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
I come What is become of Bushy? where is Green ?
To change blows with thee for our day of doom. That they have let the dangerous enemy
This ague-fit of fear is over-blown: Measure our confines with such peaceful steps ? An easy task it is, to win our own.If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power ? I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky lord.
The state and inclination of the day; K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn’d without redemp- So may you by my dull and heavy eye, tion !
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
I play the torturer, by small and small,
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
K. Rich. Thou hast said enough.—
me forth Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground. What say you now?
What comfort have we now? Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire, dead? By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly, Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. That bids me be of comfort any more. Aum. Where is the duke, my father, with his power? Go to Flint castle : there I'll pine away;
K. Rich. No matter where. Of comfort no man speak: A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ;
power I have, discharge; and let them go Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
For I have none.—Let no man speak again Let's choose executors, and talk of wills:
To alter this, for counsel is but vain. And yet not so,-for what can we bequeath,
Aum. My liege, one word. Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
He does me double wrong, Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. And nothing can we call our own but death,
Discharge my followers : let them hence away, And that small model of the barren earth,
From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.
(Exeunt. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground,
SCENE III.--Wales. A Plain before Flint Castle. And tell sad stories of the death of kings :
Enter, with Drum and Colours, BOLINGBROKE and How some have been depos'd, some slain in war,
Forces; York, NorthUMBERLAND, and Others. Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd, Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd, Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn, All murder'd ;-for within the hollow crown,
The Welshmen are dispers'd ; and Salisbury That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed Keeps death his court, and there the antick sits, With some few private friends upon this coast. Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp;
North. The news is very fair and good, my lord : | Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
Richard, not far from hence, hath bid his head. To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks ;
York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
To say, king Richard :- Alack, the heavy day, As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
When such a sacred king should hide his head ! Were brass impregnable; and, humour'd thus,
North. Your grace mistakes me ; only to be brief,