Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.

Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man.

North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over him.

Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.

North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king!

But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm:
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish. +
Ross. We see the very wreck that we must
suffer:

And unavoided is the danger now,

For suffering so the causes of our wreck.

Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear.

Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. [Exeunt

SCENE II.-The same.-A Room in the

Palace.

Enter QUEEN, BUSHY, and BAGOT. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad:

You promis'd, when you parted with the king,
To lay aside life-barniing heaviness,
And entertain a cheerful disposition.

Queen. To please the king, I did; to please myself,

I cannot do it; yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: Yet, again, methinks,
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming towards me and my inward soul
With nothing trembles: at something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.
Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty
shadows,

Which show like grief itself, but are not so:
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like pérspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Show nothing but coufusion; ey'd awry,
Distinguish form so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to
wail :

Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not; more's

not seen:

of death,

I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.
Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou

dost ours.

Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland:

We three are but thyself; and, speaking, so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.

North. Then thus :-I have from Port le Blanc, a bay

In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence,

That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham,
[The son of Richard Earl of Arundel,]
That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and
Francis Quoint,-

All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne, With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,

Are making hither with all due expedience,
And shortly mean to touch our northen shore:
Perhaps, they had ere this; but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.
If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke,
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd

As, though, in thinking, on no thought I

And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in this land:
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
At Ravenspurg.

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid !
Green. O madam, 'tis too true: and that is

worse,

The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry Percy,

The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.

Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland,

And all the rest of the revolting faction
Traitors?

Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester

Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him
To Bolingbroke.

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe,

And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy:
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.
Bushy. Despair not, madam.
Queen. Who shall hinder me?

I will despair, and be at cnmity
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper-back of death,

Who gently would dissolve the bauds of life,
Which false hope lingers in extremity.
Enter YORK.

Green. Here comes the duke of York.
Queen. With signs of war about his aged
neck:

O full of careful business are his looks!--
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:
Here am I left to underprop his land;
Who, weak with age, cannot support inyself:-
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.

died.

don me.-

• Disloyalty.

ווי

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, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally condemu'd.

Bugot. If judgment lie in them, then go 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

The hateful commons will perform for us:
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.-
Will you go along with us?

Bagot. No: I'll 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 under

takes

Is-numb’ring sands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his side fights, thousands will y. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all,

and ever.

Green. Well, we may meet again, Bago. I fear me, never.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 111.-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
Froin Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your com
pany;

Which, I protest hath very much beguil'd
The tediousness and process of my travel:
But their's 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, But who comes here? Than your good words.

Enter HARRY PERCY. North It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whenceso

arms;

I cannot mend it, I must needs confess,
Because my power is weak, and all ill left:
But if I could, by him that gave me life
I would attach you all, and make you stoop
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king;
But, since I cannot, be it known to you,
I do remain as neuter. So fare you well;-
Unless you please to enter in the castle,
And there repose you for this night.

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.
But we must win your grace, to go with us
To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away.
York. It may be I will go with you :-but yet
I'll pause;

For I am loath to break our country's laws.
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are :
Things past redress, are now with me past care.
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV-A Camp in Wales.
Enter SALISBURY, and a CAPTAIN.
Capt. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten
days,

And hardly kept our countrymen together,
And yet we hear no tidings from the king ;
Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell.
Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welsh-
man;

The king reposeth all his confidence
In thee.

Capt. 'Tis thought, the king is dead; we will

not stay.

The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd,
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth,
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change;
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and
leap;

The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy,
The other, to enjoy by rage and war:
These signs forerun the death

kings.

or fall of

ACT III.

wrongs.

to me,

Than Bolingbroke to England.-Lords, farewell. Green. My comfort is,-that heaven will take our souls,

And plague injustice with the pains of hell. Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them despatch'd.

[Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND and others, with Prisoners. Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house; For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated: Tell her, I send to her my kind commends; Take special care my greetings be deliver'd,

York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd With letters of your love to her at large. Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.-Come, lords, away;

To fight with Glendower and his complices; [Exeunt. Awhile to work, and, after, holiday.

SCENE II.-The Coast of Wales.-A castle in view.

Enter Flourish: Drums and Trumpets. King RICHARD, Bishop of CARLISLE, AUMERLE, and Soldiers.

K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand?

Aum. Yea, my lord: how brooks your grace

the air,

After late tossing on the breaking seas?

K. Rich. Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy.

To stand upon my kingdom once again.-
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand,
Though rebels wound thee with their horses'
hoofs:

As a long parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in

meeting;

soners.

And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way; Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, Which with usurping steps do trample thee.

Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies ;
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.-
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords;
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebellious arms.

Car. Fear not, my lord; that Power, that made you king,

Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. The means that heaven yields must be brac'd,

em

And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse;
The proffer'd means of succour and redress.
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too
remiss;

Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
Grows strong and great, in substance and in
friends.

K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not,

That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers rauge abroad unseen,
In murders and in outrage bloody here;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their
backs,

Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?

So when this thief, this traitor Bolingbroke,
(Who all this while hath revel'd in the night,
Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes,)
Shall see us rising in our throne the east,
His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day,
But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king:
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord;

For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd,
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards
the right.

Enter SALISBURY.

Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power ?

Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord,

Than this weak arm: Discomfort guides my tongue,

And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth :
O call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting
men!

To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy

Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st.
Is not the king's name forty thousand names ?
Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes
At thy great glory.-Look not to the ground,
Ye favourites of a king: Are we not high?
High be our thoughts: I know my uncle
York

Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who
Comes here ?

Enter SCROOP.

Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege,

Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him.

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd ;

The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care;
And what loss is it, to be rid of care?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so:
Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God, as well as us :
Cry woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay;
The worst is-death, and death will have his
day.

Scroop. Glad am that your highness is so arm'd

To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day,
Which makes the silver rivers drown their
shores,

As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears;
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than
steel.

White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps

Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,

Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
Thy very beadsinen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat: both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a

tale so ill.

Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?

What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
I warrant they have made peace with Boling-
broke.

Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, my lord.

K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption !

Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! Suakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart!

Three Judasses, each one thrice worse than Judas!

Would they make peace? terrible hell make