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QUEEN. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe,
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir :
Now hath my soul brought forth ber prodigy;
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow, join'd.
BUSHY. Despair not, madam.
Who shall binder 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.
GREEN. Here comes the duke of York.
QUEEN. With signs of war about his aged neck;
O, full of careful business are his looks !
For beaven'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 be try his friends that flatter'd him.
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 they are cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster ;-
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:
Hold, take my ring.
SERV. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship: .
To-day, I came by, and called there ;
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
YORK. What is it, knave?
SERV. An hour before I came, the duchess died.
• This line is wanting in the folío.
YORK. Heaven for bis mercy! what a tide of woes
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once!
I know not what to do :- I would to heaven,
(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it,)
The king bad 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.-
Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? if I know
How, or which way, to order these affairs,
Thus disorderly thrust into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ;-
The one is my sorereign, 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 :-Gentlemen, go muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkley castle.
I should to Plasby too ;
But time will not permit:-All is uneven,
And everything 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 condemn'd.
Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we,
Because we have been ever 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
Will the hateful commons perform for us ;
Except, like curs, to tear us all in pieces.-
Will you go along with us ?
Bagot. No; I will to Ireland to his majesty.
• The first quarto has no posts.
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 be undertakes
Is numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry;
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
Farėwell at once; for once, for all, and ever.
Bushy. Well, we may meet again.
I fear me, nevera
SCENE III.-The Wilds in Glostershire.
Enter BOLINGRROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND, with Forces.
BOLING. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?
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 our fair discourse bath 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, hatb very much beguil'd
The tediousness and process of my travel :
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to bave
The present benefit which I possess :
And hope to joy b 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 ? .
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.
• We agree with Mr. Collier in assigning the last three lines to the speakers indicated by the quarto editions.
To joy is here used as a verb.
NORTH. Why, is he not with the queen ?
PERCY. No, my good lord; he bath forsook the court,
Broken his staff of office, and dispersd
The household of the king. NORTH.
What was his reason ?
He was not so resolv'd when we last 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 over 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, 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 band 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 you 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 pursues
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, th' exchequer of the poor;
Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?
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 a :
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; 't is not my meaning
To raze one title of your honour out:-
To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,)
From the most gracious 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.
BOLING. I shall not need transport my words by you;
Here comes his grace in person.--My noble uncle !
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.
Why have these banish'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground ?
But more then, 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 armsd ?
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.
• To Lancaster. I do not answer to the name of Hereford-my answer is to the name of Lancaster.
Gracious in the first quarto;-glorious in the folio, which also omits regent. • This is the reading of the first quarto. The folio reads,
“ Tut, tut, grace me no grace, nor uncle me." In “Romeo and Juliet' we have,
“ Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds." « Despised arms. The ostentation of arms which we despise.