With cozening hope; he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper-back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Enter YORK. Green. Here comes the duke of York. Uncle, For heaven'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: Enter a Servant. Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. will! The nobles they are fled, the commons cold †, Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; + "the commons they are cold,”—Malone. 9 Get thee to Plashy,] The lordship of Plashy was a town of the duchess of Gloster's in Essex. Its history and antiquities were published some years ago by Mr. Gough; but this work does not appear to have been consulted by the commentators. Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship: Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. some carts, And bring away the armour that is there. [Exit Servant. Gentlemen, will you go muster men? if I know How, or which way, to order these affairs, Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd; 9 untruth - That is, disloyalty, treachery. The king had cut off my head with my brother's.] None of York's brothers had his head cut off, either by the king or any one else. The duke of Gloster, to whose death he probably alludes, was secretly murdered at Calais, being smothered between two beds. "What, are there no posts," &c.-MALONE. Come sister,-cousin, I would say:] This is one of Shakspeare's touches of nature. York is talking to the queen his cousin, but the recent death of his sister is uppermost in his mind. "Thus disorderly thrust "-MALONE. "Gentlemen, go," &c.-MALONE. And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. But time will not permit :-All is uneven, [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, 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 Bagot. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Boling broke. Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is-numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again. Bagot. I fear me, never. "Will the hateful commons "-MALONE. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The Wilds in Glostershire. Enter BOLINGBROKE and NORTHUMBERLAND with Forces. Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now? I am a stranger here in Glostershire. These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, 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? Enter HARRY PERCY. North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Harry, how fares your uncle? Percy. I had thought, my lord, to 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 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 proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, To offer service to the duke of Hereford; 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 Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, It shall be still thy true love's recompense: 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, |