Disorderly thus thrust into my hands,

Never believe me. They are both my kinfmen;
The one my Sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th' other again

My kinfman is, one whom the King hath wrong'd;
Whom confcience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, fomewhat we must do: come, coufin, I'll
Difpofe of you, Go mufter up your men,

And meet me prefently at Berkley castle.
I fhould to Plathie too;

But time will not permit.

All is uneven,

And every thing is feft at fix and feven.

[Exeunt York and Queen.

S CEN E VIII,

Bulby, The wind fits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns, for us to levy power,

Proportionable to the enemy,

Is all impoffible.

Green. Befides, our nearness to the King in love,

Is near the hate of those love not the King.

Bagot. And that's the wav'ring Commons; for their Lies in their purfes; and who empties them,

By fo much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

[love

Bufhy. Wherein the King ftands generally condemn'd. Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then fo do we; Because we have been ever near the King.

Green. Well; I'll for refuge ftraight 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 with us?

Bagot. No: I'll to Ireland to his Majefty. Farewel: if heart's prefages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er fhall meet again." Bufby. That's as York thrives, to beat back Bo

lingbroke.

Green. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes Is numb'ring fands, and drinking oceans dry'; Where one on his fide fights, thoufands will fly.

اور

Buy. Farewel at once, for once, for all, and ever.

[Exeunt:

Green. Well, we may meet again.
Bagot. I fear me, never.

SCENE IX.

Changes to a wild profpect in Gloucestershire.
Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland.

Boling. How far is it, my Lord, to Berkley now?
North. I am a stranger here in Glo'stershire :
Thefe high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearifome:
And yet your fair discourse has been as fugar,
Making the hard way fweet and delectable.
But I bethink me what a weary way,

From Ravenfpurg to Cotfhold, will be found
In Rofs and Willoughby, wanting your company,
Which, I proteft, hath very much beguil'd
The tedioufnefs and procefs of my travel;
But theirs is sweet'ned with the hope to have
The prefent benefit that I poffefs:

And hope to joy, is little lefs in joy

Than hope enjoy'd, By this the weary Lords
Shall make their way feem fhort, as mine hath done,
By fight of what I have, your noble company.
Boling. Of much lefs value is my company,
Than your good words. But who comes here?
Enter Percy.

North. It is my fon, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester. Whencefoever,
Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I thought, my Lord, t'have learn'd his health North. Why, is he not with the Queen? [of you. Percy. No, my good Lord, he hath forfook the court, Broken his itaff of office, and difpers'd

The houfhold of the King.

North. What was his reafon ?

He was not fo refolv'd when last we fpake together.
Percy. Because your Lordfhip was proclaimed traitor.
But he, my Lord is gone to Ravenípurg,
To offer fervice to the Duke of Hereford;
And fent me o'er by Berkley, to discover
VOL. IV.

E

What

What pow'r the Duke of York had levy'd there, ba A
Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgis
North. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?
Percy. No, my good Lord; for that is not forgot,
Which ne'er I did remember; to my knowledge,
I never in my life did look on him.

North. Then learn to know him now; this is the Duke.
Percy. My gracious Lord, I tender you my fervice,
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,
Which elder days thall ripen and confirm
To more approved fervice and defert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be fure, I count myfelf in nothing elfe fo happy, As in a foul remerab'ring my good friends; And as my fortune ripen's with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompence. My heart this cov'nant makes, my hand thus feals it. North. How far is it to Berkley? and what stir Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

Percy. There ftands the castle by yond tuft of trees, Mann'd with three hundred men as I have heard; And in it are the Lords, York, Berkley, Seymour None else of name and noble estimate.

Enter Rofs and Willoughby.

North. Here comes the Lords of Rofs and Willoughby. Bloody with fpurring, fiery-red with haste.

Boling. Welcome, my Lords; I wot, your love purfues A banish'd traitor; all my 'treasury

Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd,
Shall be your love and labour's recompence.

Rofs. Your prefence makes us rich, most noble Lord, Willo. And far furmounts our labour to attain it. Boling. Evermore, thanks;-(th' exchequer of the Which, till my infant-fortune comes to years, [poor) Stands for my bounty. But who now comes here?

North. It is my Lord of Berkley, as I guess. Berk. My Lord of Hereford, my meffage is to you. Boling. My Lord, my anfwer is to Lancafter; And I am come to feek that name in England,'

And

And I must find that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you fay.

Berk. Miftake 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 of this land,

The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on
To take advantage of the abfent * time,

And fright our native peace with felf-born arms,
X. Enter York.

SCENE

Boling. I fhall not need transport my words by you. Here comes his Grace in perfon. Noble uncle !

[Kneels. York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whofe duty is deceivable and falfe.

Boling. My gracious uncle!

Tork. 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.
Why have thofe banifh'd and forbidden legs.
Dar'd once to touch a duft of England's ground!
But more than, -why, why, have they dar'd to marchi
So many miles upon her peaceful bofom,

Frighting her pale-face'd villages with war,
And oftentation of difpofed arms?

Com't thou because th' anointed King is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind;
And in my loyal bofom lies his power.
Were I but now the ord of fuch hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myfelf
Refcu'd the black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of
many thousand French;
Oh! then, how quickly fhould this arm of mine,
Now prifoner to the palfy, chaftise thee,

And minifter correction to thy fault.

Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;

On what condition ftands it, and wherein?

Tork, Ev'n in condition of the worit, degree, In grofs rebellion, and detefted treaton.

* i. e. unprepared. wi»«

E 2

Thou

Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come,
Before the expiration of thy time,

f

In braving arms against thy fovereignored
Boling. As I was banifh'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 fee old Gaunt alive. O then, my father!
Will you permit that I fhall stand condemn'd
A wand'ring vagabond; my rights and royalties
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and giv'n away
To upftart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
If that my coufin King be King of England,
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.
You have a fon, Aumerle, my noble kinfman.
Had you first dy'd, and he been thus trod down,
He fhould have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
To roufe his wrongs, and chase them to the bay.
I am deny'd to fue my livery here,

And yet my letters patents give me leave.
My father's goods are all diftrain'd and fold,
And these, and aff, are all amifs employ'd.
What would you have me do? I am a fubject,
And challenge law; attorneys are deny'd me;
And therefore perfonally I lay my claim
To mine inheritance of free defcent.

North. The noble Duke hath been too much abus’d.
Rofs. It ftands your Grace upon to do him right.
Willo. Bafe men by his endowments are made great.
York. My Lords of England, let me tell you this,
I have had feeling of my coufin'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 wrongs, it may not be;/
And you that do abet him in this kind,
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.

North. The noble Duke hath fworn, his coming is But for his own; and, for the right of that, We all have ftrongly fworn to give him aid; And let him ne'er fee joy that breaks that oath.

York.