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If I know how to order these affairs,
Disorderly thus thrust into my hands,
Never believe me. They are both my kinsmen ;
The one my Sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; th' other again
My kinsman is, One 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 mufter up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkley castle-
I should to Plafhie too ;
But time will not permit. All is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven.

(Exeunt York and Queen.

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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 impoffible.

Green. Besides, 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

love Lies in their purses; and who empties them, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

Bushy. Wherein the King stands generally condemn’d.

Bagot. If judgment lye 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.

Busby. 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?
Bagct. No, I'll to Ireland to his Majesty.


Farewel. 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 Poling-

Green. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes
Is numb’ring sands, and drinking oceans dry ;
Where one on his side figits, thousands will Ay.

Bushy. Farewel at once, for once, for all and ever.
Green. Well, we may meet again.
Bagot. I fear me, never.



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Changes to a wild Prospeet in Glocestershire.

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland. Boling. LOW far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?

North. I am a stranger here in Glosterskire.
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome,

yet your fair discourse has 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 beguild
The tediousness and process of my travel ;
But theirs is sweetned with the hope to have
The present benefit that I possess ;
And hope to joy, is little less in joy,
Than hope enjoy’d. By this, the weary lords
Shall make their

eir way seem short, as mine hath dons, By light of what I have, your noble company.

Boling. Of much less 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, whencesoever.

Harry, how fares your uncle ?
Percy. I thought, my lord, t'have learn'd his health

of you.

North. Why, is he not with the Queen ?

Percy. No, my good lord, he hath forsook the Court, Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd The Houshold 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 Pow'r the Duke of York had levy'd there ; Then with directions 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 my self in nothing else so happy, As in a foul remembring my good friends ; And as my Fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompence. My heart this cov’nant makes, my hand thus seals it.

North. How far is it to Berkley ? and what stir Keeps good old l'ork there with his men of war?


Percy. There stands 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 Ross and Willoughby. North. Here come the lords of Rofs and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with hafte.

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 recompence.

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 now comes here?

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 of this Land, The Duke of York, to know, what pricks you on To take advantage of the absent time, 9 And fright our native peace with self-born arms.

9 the absent time,] For He means nothing more than, unprepared. Not an inelegant time of the king's abjence. fynecdoche. WARBURTON.



Enter York.

Bcling. I shall not need transport my words by you. Here comes his Grace in person. Noble Uncle !

[Kneels. York. Shew 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 Uncie:I am no traitor's uncle, and that word Grace, In an ungracious mouth, is but prophane. Why have thosc banish'd, and forbidden legs Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground? But more than why; why, have they dar'd to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war, *And oftentation of despised arms? Com'st thou because th’anointed King is hence ? Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind; And in my loyal bosom lies his Power, Vere I but now the lord of such hot youth, As when brave Gount, thy father, and my self Rescu'd the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, From forth the ranks of many thousand French; . Oh! then, how quickly should this arm of mine,

· And oiintation of DESPISED proof that our authour uses the

orns] But sure the olien- pallive pårticiple in an active tation of despied arms would fenfe. The copies all agree. not fright any one. We should Perhaps the old Duke means to read

treat h'in with contempt as well

as with feverity, and to infinuate i. e, forces in battle-array. War. that he despise's his power, as be

This alteration is harih. Siring able to master is. In this T. Harmer reads de pizbofil. Mr. leníe all is right. Lipton gives this paffage as a


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