Which, till my infant fortune comes to years,
Stands for my bounty. But who comes here?
Enter BERkley.
North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess.
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 honor 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. 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.
I am no traitor's uncle; and that word
In an ungracious mouth, is but profane.
Why have those banished and forbidden legs
Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But then more why: why have they dared to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom;
Frighting her pale-faced villages with war,
And ostentation of despised arms?
Com'st thou because the 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,
Rescued 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, chastise 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 banished man, and here art come
Before the expiration of thy time,
In braving arms against thy sovereign.
Boling. As I was banished, I was banished 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 condemned A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties Plucked from my arms perforce, and given away To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? If that my cousin king be king of England, It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman; Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay. I am denied to sue my livery here, And yet my letters patent give me leave: My father's goods are all distrained, and sold; And these, and all, are all amiss employed. What would you have me do? I am a subject, And challenge law. Attorneys are denied me; And therefore personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent.
North. The noble duke hath been too much abused.
Ross. It stands your grace upon to do him right.
Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great.
York. My lords of England, let me tell you this,-
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs,
And labored all I could to do him right.
But in this kind to come, in braving arms,
Be his own carver, and cut out his way,
To find out right with wrong,-it may not be;
And you, that do abet him in this kind,
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.
North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is
But for his own; and, for the right of that,
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid;
And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath.
York. Well, well, I see the issue of these 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.
SCENE IV. A Camp in Wales.
Enter SALISBURY, and a Captain.
Cap. 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 Welshman. The king reposeth all his confidence
Cap. 'Tis thought the king is dead: we will not stay.
The bay-trees in our country are all withered,
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven;
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth,
And lean-looked 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 or fall of kings.-
Farewell; our countrymen are gone and fled,
As well assured, Richard their king is dead.
Sal. Ah, Richard! with the eyes of heavy mind,
I see thy glory, like a shooting star,
Fall to the base earth from the firmament!
Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west,
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest.
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes;
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.
SCENE I. Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol.
Enter BOLINGBROKE, YORK, NORTHUMBERLAND, PERCY, WILLOUGHBY, Ross. Officers behind, with BUSHY and GREEN, prisoners.
Boling. Bring forth these men.
Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls
(Since presently your souls must part your bodies)
With too much urging your pernicious lives,
For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood
From off my hands, here, in the view of men,
I will unfold some causes of your deaths.
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied and disfigured clean.
You have, in manner, with your sinful hours,
Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him;
Broke the possession of a royal bed,
And stained the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.
Myself a prince, by fortune of my birth,
Near to the king in blood, and near in love,
Till you did make him misinterpret me,-
Have stooped my neck under your injuries,
And sighed my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
Whilst you have fed upon my seigniories,
Disparked my parks, and felled my forest woods;
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Razed out my impress, leaving me no sign,-
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,-
To show the world I am a gentleman.
This, and much more, much more than twice all this,
Condemns you to the death.-See them delivered over
To execution and the hand of death.
Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death 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 despatched. [Exeunt NORTHUMBERLAND, and others,
Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house; 1
For Heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated.
Tell her, I send to her my kind commends;
Take special care my greetings be delivered.
York. A gentleman of mine I have despatched.
With letters of your love to her at large.
Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.-Come, lords, away,
To fight with Glendower and his complices;
Awhile to work, and, after, holiday.
SCENE II. The Coast of Wales: A Castle in view. Flourish: drums and trumpets.
Enter 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 your 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,
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favor with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
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.
Bishop. 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 embraced,
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