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!—

Enter the DUKE OF YORK.

Uncle, for God'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 he try his friends that flatter'd him.

Enter a Servant.

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, as I came by, I called there ;-

But I shall grieve you to report the rest.

York. What is 't, knave?

Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woful 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 no posts despatch'd for Ireland?—

How shall we do for money for these wars?—

[To the QUEEN.] Come, sister, cousin, I would say,—pray,

pardon me.

[To the Servant.] Go, fellow, get thee home; provide some

carts,

And bring away the armour that is there.

Gentlemen, will you go muster men?

[Exit Servant.

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 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.-Gentlemen, 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 wav'ring 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 ever have been 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 to pieces.

Will you go along with us?

Bagot. No; I will to Ireland to his majesty. 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 he undertakes Is numbering sands, and drinking oceans dry: Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once,-for once, for all, and ever. Bushy. Well, we may meet again. Bagot.

I fear me, never. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The Wilds in GLOSTERSHIRE.

Enter BOLINGBROKE 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 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?
North. It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.—

Enter HENRY PERCY.

Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of

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 household of the king.

North.

What was his reason?

He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake

Together.

Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimèd 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,

[you.

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 remembering 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 yond' 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.

North. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.

Enter Ross and WILLOUGHBY.

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, the 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.

Enter BERKLEY.

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 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.

Enter YORK, attended.

[Kneels.] 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 those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But then, more 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 despisèd 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.

Were I but now the lord of such hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself,
Rescu'd 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.

Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;

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 wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties