Makes me with heavy nothing faint and fhrink.
Bufby. 'Tis nothing but Conceit, my gracious lady.
Queen. 'Tis nothing lefs; Conceit is ftill deriv'd'
From fome fore-father grief; mine is not fo;
For nothing hath begot my fomething grief;
Or fomething hath, the nothing that I grieve;
"Tis in reverfion That I do poffefs;

But what it is, that is not yet known, what
I cannot name, 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

Enter Green.

Green. Heav'n fave your Majefty! and well met, gentlemen:

I hope, the King is not yet fhipt for Ireland.

Queen. Why hop'ft thou fo? 'tis better hope, he is: For his defigns crave hafte, his hafte good hope: Then wherefore doft thou hope, he is not fhipt? Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his Powers

And driv'n into defpair an enemy's Hope,

Who ftrongly hath fet footing in this Land.
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself;
And with uplifted arms is fafe arriv'd

At Ravenfturg.

Queen. Now God in heav'n forbid!

Green. O, Madam, 'tis too true; and what is worse, The lord Northumberland, his young fon Percy, The lords of Rofs, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their pow'rful friends, are fled to him. Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland, And all of that revolted faction, traitors?

Green. We have: whereon the Earl of Worcester Hath broke his ftaff, refign'd his Stewardship; And all the houfhold fervants filed with him

To Bolingbroke.

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe,
And Bolingbroke my forrow's difmal heir:
Now hath my foul brought forth her prodigy,
And I, a gafping new-deliver'd mother,

Have woe to woe, forrow to forrow, join'd.

Busby

Bushy. Defpair hot, Madam.
Queen. Who fhall hinder me ?
I will defpair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,
A parafite, a keeper back of death;

Who gently would diffolve the bands of life,
Which falfe hopes linger, in extremity.

Enter York.

Green. Here comes the Duke of York.
Queen. With figns of war about his aged neck;
Oh, full of careful business are his looks!
Uncle, for heav'n's fake, comfortable words.

York. Should I do fo, I fhould bely my thoughts :.
Comfort's in heav'n, and we are on the earth,
Where nothing lives but Croffes, Care, and Grief..
Your husband he is gone to fave far off,
Whilft others come to make him lofe at home.
Here am I left to underprop this Land ;·
Who, weak with age, cannot fupport my felf.
Now comes the fick hour, that his furfeit made ;.
Now fhall he try his friends, that flatter'd him.

Enter a Servant.

Serro. My lord, your fon was gone before I came.
York. He was; why, fo, go all, which way it will;
The Nobles they are fled, the Commons cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's fide.
Get thee to Plafhie, (5) to my fifter Glofter;
Bid her fend prefently a thousand pound:
Hold, take my ring.

Serv. My lord, I had forgot

To tell, to day I came by, and call'd there;.
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

York. What is't.?...

(5) Get thee to Plafhie,

-] The Lordship of Plafbie was a

Town of the Dutchess of Gloucester's in Effex, See Hall's Chro

Bicle, P. 13.

Serm.

Serv. An hour before I came, the Dutchefs dyd.
York. Heav'n for his mercy, what a tide of woes
Come rufhing on this woful land at once!

I know not what to do: I would to heav'n,
(So my untruth had not provok'd him to it)
The King had cut off my head with my brother's.
What, are there pofts dispatch'd for Ireland?
How fhall we do for mony for these wars?

Come, fifter; (coufin, I would fay;) pray, pardon me.
Go, fellow, get thee home, provide fome carts,

[To the Servant.
And bring away the armour that is there.
Gentlemen, will you go and mufter men?
If I know how to order these affairs,
Disorderly thus thruft 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 kinfman is, One whom the King hath wrong'd;.
Whom confcience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, fomewhat we muft do: come, coufin, I'll
Difpofe of you. Go. mufter up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkley caftle:
I fhould to Plafbie too ; —

But time will not permit. All is uneven,
And every thing is left at fix and seven,

[Exeunt York and Queen. Bulky. The wind fits fair for news to go to Irelandž 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

love

Lies in their purfes and who empties them,
By fo much fills their hearts with deadly hate.

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

Green

Green. Well; I'll for Refuge ftrait 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?

Bagot. No: I'll to Ireland to his Majesty.
Farewel: if heart's Prefages be not vain,

We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Busby. That's as York thrives, to beat back Boling. brake.

Green. Alas, poor Duke.! the task he undertakes Is numb'ring fands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his fide fights, thousands will flye. Bushy. Farewel at once, for once, for all, and ever.. Green. Well, we may meet again..

Bagot. I fear me, never.

[Exeunt

SCENE changes to a wild Profpect in
Glocefterfhire.

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland.

Boling H

OW far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? North. I am a ftranger here in Gloftershire These 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 sweet and delectable. But, I bethink me, what a weary way, From Ravenfpurg to Cotfbold, will be found In Rofs and Willoughby, wanting your Company; Which, I proteft, hath very much beguil'd The tedioufnefs and procefs of thy travel: But theirs is fweetned 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 seem short, as mine hath done,
By fight of what I have, your noble company.

Boling.

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: 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 Houshold of the King.

North. What was his reafon ?

He was not fo refolv'd, when laft we fpake together.
Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed Traitor.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenfpurg,

To offer fervice to the Duke of Hereford;
And fent me o'er by Berkley, to difcover
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 fervice,
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,
Which elder days fhall ripen and confirm
To more approved fervice and defert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be fure,
I count my felf in nothing else 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 stir
Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

Percy.