Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. 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,) The duke of York; to know, what pricks you on And fright our native peace with self-born arms. Enter YORK, attended. Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you; Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle! [Kneels. 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. grace, 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? Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; York. Even in condition of the worst degree,— Thou art a banished man, and here art come 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. To find out right with wrong,-it may not be; North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is Because my power is weak, and all ill left. Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. 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; SCENE IV. A Camp in Wales. Enter SALISBURY, and a Captain. [Exeunt. 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 In thee. Cap. 'Tis thought the king is dead: we will not stay. I see thy glory, like a shooting star, [Exit. [Exit. ACT III. 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 And stained the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks Near to the king in blood, and near in love, Till you did make him misinterpret me,- This, and much more, much more than twice all this, 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, with Prisoners. Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house; 1 Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle.-Come, lords, away, [Exeunt. 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, Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles, in meeting, 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. |