If I know how to order these affairs, Never believe me. They are both my kinfmen; My kinfman is, One whom the King hath wrong'd But time will not permit. All is uneven, [Exeunt York and Queen. VIII. 1 SCENE Busby. 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, Green. Well; I'll for Refuge ftraight to Bristol Castle; The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. Bufby. Thither will I with you; for little office Baget. No, I'll to Ireland to his Majesty. Farewel. Farewel. If heart's Prefages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er fhall meet again. Busby. That's as York thrives, to beat back Polingbroke. 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. Bushy. Farewel at once, for once, for all and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot. I fear me, never. SCENE IX. [Exeunt. Changes to a wild Profpe&t in Glocestershire. Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland. Than hope enjoy'd. By this, the weary lords Enter 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 of you. North. Why, is he not with the Queen? Percy. No, my good lord, he hath forfook the Court, Broken his staff 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. North. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy? 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 fervice and defert. Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be fure, I count my felf in nothing elfe fo happy, As in a foul remembring my good friends; And as my Fortune ripens with thy love, It fhall be ftill 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 ftir Keeps good old Fork there with his men of war? Percy. 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 come the lords of Rofs and Willoughby, Bloody with fpurring, fiery-red with hafte. Boling. Welcome, my lords; I wot, your love pursues A banih'd traitor; all my Treafury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, Rofs. Your prefence makes us rich, most noble lord. Which, 'till my infant-fortune comes to years, Enter Berkley. 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 Lancaster; And I am come to feek that Name in England, And I must find that Title in your tongue, Before I make reply to aught you fay. 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 And fright our native peace with felf-born arms. 9 the absent time,] For He means nothing more than, unprepared. Not an inelegant time of the king's abjence. fynecdoche. WARBURTON. SCENE SCENE X. Enter York. Beling. I fhall not need tranfport 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! York. Tut, tut! Grace me no Grace, nor Uncle me no Uncie: And oftentation of defp.fed arms? Com'st thou because th'anointed King is hence? And oftentetion of DESPISED arns] Bet fure the oflentation of defpifed arms would not fright any one. We should read DISPOSFD arms. i. e. forces in battle-array. WAR. proof that our authour ufes the pallive participle in an active fenfe. The copies all agree. Perhaps the old Duke means to treat him with contempt as well as with feverity, and to infinuate that he defpifes his power, as being able to mafter it. In this fenfe all is right. |