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Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.

K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with these that live?

Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die.

K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st

be.

-thou flat

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to
your majesty.
K. Rich. What says he now?
North.

Nay, nothing; all is said:

ter'st me. Gaunt. Oh! no; thou diest, though I the sicker His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!

K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill;

Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land,
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick :
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;
And yet, incaged in so small a verge,
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye,
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,

From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame;
Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd,
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,
It were a shame, to let this land by lease:
But, for thy world, enjoying but this land,
Is it not more than shame, to shame it so?
Landlord of England art thou now, not king:
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law;
And thou

K. Rich. - a lunatick lean-witted fool,
Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Dar'st with thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood,
With fury, from his native residence.
Now by my seat's right royal majesty,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head,
Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders.
Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's

son,

For that I was his father Edward's son ;
That blood already, like the pelican,

Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd.
My brother Gloster, plain well meaning soul,
(Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls!)
May be a precedent and witness good,

That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood:
Join with the present sickness that I have;
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower.
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!
These words hereafter thy tormentors be! -
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
Love they to live, that love and honour have.

[Exit, borne out by his Attendants.

K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens have;

For both hast thou, and both become the grave.
York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words

To wayward sickliness and age in him:
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here.

K. Rich. Right; you say true: as Hereford's love, so his :

As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

Though death be poor it ends a mortal woe.

K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;

His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be :
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars.
We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns;
Which live like venom, where no venom else,

But only they, hath privilege to live.
And for these great affairs do ask some charge,
Towards our assistance, we do seize to us
The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.
York. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how

long

Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment,
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.
I am the last of noble Edward's sons,

Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first;
In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce,
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely gentleman:
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;
But, when he frown'd, it was against the French,
And not against his friends: his noble hand
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won :
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
O, Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or else he never would compare between.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter?
York.
O, my liege,
Pardon me, if you please; if not, I pleas'd
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
Scek you to seize, and gripe into your hands,
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir?

Is not his heir a well-deserving son?

Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time
His charters, and his customary rights;
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day;

Be not thyself, for how art thou a king,
But by fair sequence and succession?
Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true!)
If
you
do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,
Call in the letters patents that he hath
By his attornies-general to sue

His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

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K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight;

Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,

To see this business: To-morrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow;
And we create, in absence of ourself,
Our uncle York lord governor of England,
For he is just, and always lov'd us well.
Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part;
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish.
[Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE,
GREEN, and BAGOT.

North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is
dead.

Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke.
Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.
North. Richly in both, if justice had her right.
Ross. My heart is great; but it must break with
silence,

Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.

North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more,

That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm!

Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm :
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.

Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer: And unavoided is the danger now,

For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death,

I spy life peering; but I dare not say

How near the tidings of our comfort is.

Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours.

Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland :
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so,

Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.
North. Then thus: - I have from Port le Blanc

a bay

In Britanny, receiv'd intelligence,
That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham,
[The son of Richard Earl of Arundel,]
That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
Quoint,

All these, well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.

Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,

Hereford?

If it be so, out with it boldly, man;

Quick is mine ear, to hear of good towards him.
Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him;

Unless you call it good, to pity him,

Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our scepter's gilt,
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away, with me in post to Ravenspurg :
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,

North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such Stay and be secret, and myself will go.

wrongs are borne,

In him a royal prince, and many more

Of noble blood in this declining land.

The king is not himself, but basely led

By flatterers; and what they will inform,
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
That will the king severely prosecute

'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with grievous
taxes,

And lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fin'd
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd;
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what;
But what, o'God's name, doth become of this?

Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them

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The same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT.
Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad.
You promis'd, when you parted with the king,
To lay aside life-harming heaviness,

And entertain a cheerful disposition.

Queen. To please the king, I did; to please myself,

I cannot do it; yet I know no cause

North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,

hath not,

But basely yielded upon compromise

That which his ancestors achieved with blows:
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars.
Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in
farm.

Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken

man.

North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over
him.

Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars,
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding,
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.

North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king!
But lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,

Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: Yet, again, methinks,
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming towards me; and my inward soul
With nothing trembles at something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.

Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty

shadows,

Which show like grief itself, but are not so:
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears.
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like pérspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,
| Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,

Finds shapes of griefs, more than himself, to wail; Which, look'd on it as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not; more's

not seen:

Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.
Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me, it is otherwise: Howe'er it be,
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.

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Now God in heaven forbid!

Green. O, madam, 'tis too true; and that is

worse,

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Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do: - I would to God, (So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,) The king had cut off my head with my brother's.What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland?. How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister, cousin, I would say: pray, pardon

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

The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry How, or which way, to order these affairs,

Percy,

The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
Bushy. Why have you not prochim'd Northum-
berland,

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 signs of war about his aged neck;
O, full of careful business are his looks!
Uncle,

For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words.

York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts:

Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ;
The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath
And 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-
demn'd.

Bagot. If judgment 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.

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I fear me, never. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Wilds in Glostershire.

Forces.

Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with

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Percy. My gracious lord, I tender 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 Sey

mour;

None else of name, and noble estimate.

Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY.

North. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby,

Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

North. Believe me, noble lord,

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 délectable.
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?

Boling. Welcome, my lords: I wot your love

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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,

Percy. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the And fright our native peace with self-born arms.

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Here comes his grace in person. - My noble uncle! [Kneels.

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.

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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.

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,

Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Here- Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away.

ford:

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 rights 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,
It 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.

North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd.
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;

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York. It may be, I will go with you: I'll pause;

:-but

For I am loath to break our country's laws.
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are:
Things past redress, are now with me past care.
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.A Camp in Wales.

Enter SALISBURY and a Captain.

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.

Cap. 'Tis thought, the king is dead; we will not

stay.

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. [Erit.
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.

ACT III.

· Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol.

Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, ROSS: Officers behind, with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners.

Boling. Bring forth these men.

Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls

[Erit.

(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.

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