I cannot but be sad, so heavy sad,

As, though, in thinking, on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
Bushy. "Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady.
Queen. 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still deriv'd
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 woe, I wot.
Enter GREEN.

Green. God save your majesty! gentlemen! I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope, he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope; Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not 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 uplifted 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 revolting faction,

Traitors?

Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester 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 woe,
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir.
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy,
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd
Bushy. Despair not, madam!
Queen. Who shall hinder me?
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 sigus of war about his aged neck;
O, full of careful business are his looks! →
Unele,

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 I came. York. He was?- Why, so!- go all which way it will!

The nobles they are fled, the commons cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. -
Sirrah,

me!

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 thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me! Both are my kinsmen; The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath Aud 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. Go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkley-castle! I should to Plashy too ;· But time will not permit.

--

All is uneven,

And every thing is left at six and seven.

[Exeunt York and Queen. Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power, Proportionable to the enemy,

Is all impossible.

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love, Is near the hate of those, love not the king.

Bagot. And that's the wavering commons; for their love

Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them,
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con-

demu'd.

Bagot. If judgement 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 The hateful commons will perform for us; Except like curs to tear us all in 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 sauds, and drinking oceans dry; Where one ou his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy, Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever! Green. Well, we may meet again.

I am a stranger here in Glostershire.

These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome;
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and delectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way
From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company,
Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd
The tediousness and process of my travel.
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have
The present benefit, which I possess:
And hope to joy is little less in joy,
Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords

Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done
By sight of what I have, your noble company.
Boling. Of much less value is my company,
Than your good words. But who comes here?
Enter HARRY PERCY.

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

Enter BERKLEY.

North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess.

Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you.
Boling. My lord, my answer is-to Lancaster;
And I am come to seek that name in England,
And I must find that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught, you say.

Berk. Mistake me not, my lord! 'tis not my meaning, To raze one title of your honour out.

To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,)
From the most glorious regent of this land,
The duke of York, to know, what pricks you on
To take advantage of the absent time,
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 mouth, is but profane.

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, Itender 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.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy, and be sure, I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompense. My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. 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 pur

sues

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 it.
Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the
poor,

Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?

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,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French:
O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine,
Now prisoner to the palsy, chástise thee,
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 rites and royalties
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
If that my cousin king be king of England,
must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster.
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman:
Had you first died, and he 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 employ'd.
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.

I

Ross. It stands your grace upon, to do him right. Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. York. My lords of England, let me tell you this: 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 coming 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.

(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 disfigur'd 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 by 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 signories,
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!

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 Welshman! The king reposeth all his confidence

In thee.

souls,

And plague injustice with the pains of hell.

Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd!

[Exeunt Northumberland 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 dispatch'd
With letters of your love to her at large.
Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle!-Come, lords, away,
To fight with Glendower and his complices!
Awhile to work, and, after, holiday!

[Exeunt.

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.
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, woe, and unrest.
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes,
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

A CT III.

Flourish: drums and trumpets. Enter King Richard,
Bishop of CARLISLE, AUMERLE, and Soldiers.
K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand?
Aum. Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air,
After late tossing on the breaking seas?

K. Rich. Needs must I like it well; I weep 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 meeting,
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 rav'nous sense!
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way,
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with usurping steps do trample thee!
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies:
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 stones

Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.

you king,

Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.
The means, that heaven yields, must be embrac'd,
And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse,
The proffer'd means of succour and redress.
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss,
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great in substance and in friends.
K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not,
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,

The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs,
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night,
Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes,
Shall see us rising in our throne the east,
His treason will sit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day,
But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king;
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord.

For every man, that Bolingbroke hath press'd,
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel; then, if angels fight,

Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the right.
Enter SALISbury.

Welcome, my lord! - How far off lies your power?
Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm. Discomfort guides my tongue,
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth!
O, call back yesterday, bid timereturn,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;
For all the Welhsmen, hearing thou wert dead,
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled.

Aum. Comfort, my liege! why looks your grace so pale?

K. Rich. But now, the blood of twenty thousand

men

Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;
And, till so much blood thither come again,
Have not I reason to look pale and dead?
All souls, that will be safe, fly from my side;
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.
Aum. Comfort, my liege, remember who you are!
K. Rich. I had forgot myself: am I not king?
Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st.
Is not the king's name forty thousand names?
Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes
At thy great glory.—Look not to the ground,
Ye favourites ofa king! Are we not high?
High be our thoughts: I know, my uncle York
Hath power enough to serve our turn.
Comes here?

Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care;
And what loss is it, to be rid of care?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great, as we?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so:
Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God, as well as us,
Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay:
The worst is-death, and death will have his day.
Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.

Like an unseasonable stormy day,

Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears,
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land

With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps

Against thy majesty; boys with women's voices
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat; both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse, than I have power to tell.

K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill.
Where is the earl of Wiltshire? Where is Bagot?
What is become of Bushy? Where is Green?
That they have let the dangerons enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?

If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.

I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke. Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my lord.

K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption!

Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man!
Snakes in my heart-blood warm'd,that sting my hear
Three Judasses, each one thrice worse, than Judas!
Would they make peace? terrible hell make war
Upon their spotted souls for this offence!

Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property,
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate.
Again uncurse their souls! their peace is made
With heads, and not with hands: those, whom you

curse,

Enter SCROOP.

--

But who