SCENE I.-London.-A Room in Ely-house. GAUNT on a Couch; the Duke of YORK, and others standing by him.

Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe my last

In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth. York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath;

For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.

Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying Enforce attention, like deep harmony: [men Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain : [in pain. For they breathe truth, that breathe their words He, that no more may say, is listen'd more Then they whom youth and ease have taught to glose ;* [before: More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; Writ in remembrance, more than things long past: [hear, Though Richard my life's counsel would not My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,

As, praises of his state: then, there are found
Lascivious metres; to whose venom sound
The open ear of youth doth always listen:
Report of fashions in proud Italy;
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
Limps after, in base imitation,

Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity,
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile,)
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
Direct not him, whose way himself will choose;
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt
thon lose.

Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd;

And thus, expiring, do foretell of him;
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last;
For violent fires soon burn out themselves:
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are

short;

He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder:
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise;

This fortress, built by nature for herself,

Flatter.

Against infection, and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world;
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,

Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this
England,

Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth,

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,

Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
(For Christian service, and true chivalry,)
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son:
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear
land,

Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,)
Like to a tenement, or pelting* farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with
shame,

With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds;
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself:
O, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!
Enter King RICHARD, and QUEEN; Aumerle,
BUSHY, GREEN, BAGOT, Ross, and WIL-

Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those
that live?

Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die.

K. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say'st-thou flatter'st me.

Gaunt. Oh! no; thou diest, though I the sicker be.

K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see

thee ill

Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;
And yet, incaged in so small a verge,
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
D, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye,
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy
shame;

Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd,
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,
It were a shame to let this land by lease:
But, for thy world, enjoying but this land,
Is it not more than shame, to shame it so?
Landlord of England art thou now, not king:
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law;
And thou-

K. Rich. a Innatic lean-witted fool,
Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Dar'st with thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood,
With fury, from his native residence.
Now by my seat's right royal majesty,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head,
Should run thy head from thy unreverend
shoulders.

Gaunt. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son,

For that I was his father Edward's son;
That blood already, like the pelican,
Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd:
My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul,
(Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy
May be a precedent and witness good, [souls!)
That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's
blood:

Join with the present sickness that I have;
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower.
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with
thee!-

Which live like venom, where no venom else,
But only they, hath privilege to live.*
And for these great affairs do ask some charge,
Towards our assistance, we do seize to us
The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.
York. How long shall I be patient? Ah,
how long

ment,

Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong?
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banish-
[wrongs,
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private
Nor the pervention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, nor my own disgrace,
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face.-
I am the last of noble Edward's sons,
Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first;
In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce,
In peace, was never gentle lamb more mild,
Than was that young and princely gentleman:
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours;t
But, when he frown'd, it was against the
French,

And not against his friends: his noble hand
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won:
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood,
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
O, Richard! York is too far gone with grief,
Or else he never would compare between.
K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter?
York. O, my liege,

Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands,
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford
live?

lens have;

For both hast thou, and both become the grave.
York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his
To wayward sickliness and age in him: [words
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here.
K. Rich. Right; you say true: as Hereford's
love, so his:

As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

Enter NORTHUMBERLAND.

North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty.

K. Rich. What says he now? North. Nay, nothing; all is said: His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so!

Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. K. Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he;

His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be:
So much for that.- -Now for our Irish wars:
We must supplant those rough rug-headed

kerns

If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights,
Call in the letters patent that he hath
By his attornies-general to sue
His livery, and deny his offer'd homage,
You pluck a thousand dangers on your head,
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts,
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

K. Rich. Think what you will; we seize into our hands

His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. York. I'll not be by, the while: My liege, farewell:

What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell;
But by bad courses may be understood,
That their events can never fall out good.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire straight;

Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,
To see this business: To-morrow next
We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow;
And we create, in absence of ourself,
Our uncle York lord governor of England,
For he is just, and always lov'd us well.-

Alluding to the idea that no venomous reptiles lig in Ireland. + When of thy age. Taking possession.

[Flourish.

[Exeunt KING, QUEEN, BUSHY, AUMERLE, GREEN, and BAGOT.

North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead.

Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke.

Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue. North. Richly in both, if justice had her right.

Ross. My heart is great; but it must break with silence,

Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal* tongue. North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more,

That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm! Willo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of Hereford?

If it be so, out with it boldly, man;
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.
Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him;
Unless you call it good to pity him,
Bereft and geldedt of his patrimony.

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,-
[tagne,
All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bre-
With eight tall* ships, three thousand men of

war,

Are making hither with all due expedience,+
And shortly mean to touch our northern 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

crown,

wrongs are borne,

In him a royal prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land.
The king is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform,
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
That will the king severely prosecute [heirs.
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our
Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with
grievous taxes,

And lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fin'd For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.

Willo. And daily new exactions are devis'd; As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o'God's name, doth become of this? North. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not,

But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows:
More hath he spent in peace, than they in

wars.

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
And unavoided is the danger now, [suffer;
For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
North. Not so; even through the hollow eyes
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:

Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg:
But if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.
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-harming heaviness,
And entertain a cheerful disposition.

shadows,

Queen. To please the king, I did; to lease
I cannot do it; yet I know no cause [myself,
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
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 perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Show nothing but confusion; 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;
[dows
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but sha-
Of what is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not
more's not seen:

Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye,
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary
Queen. It may be so; but yet my inwag

soul

Green. God save your majesty !-and well met, gentleman:

I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope, he is; [hope; For his designs crave haste, his haste good Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd?

Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his power,t

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 North-
umberland,

And all the rest of the revolting faction
Traitors?

Green. We have: whereon the earl of Wor

cester

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 enmity
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
Tho gently would dissolve the bands 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;

• Fanciful conception. + Know. ↑ Drawn it back.

Who, weak with age, cannot supy rt 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 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 lord-
To-day, as I came by, I called there; [ship:
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
York. What is it, 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 these posts despatch'd for Ireland?— How shall we do for money for these wars ?— Come, sister, cousin, I would say: pray pardon me.

Go, fellow, [To the SERVANT.] get thee home, provide 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,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ;-
The one's 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 :-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 wavering comnions

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 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.

[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,

1 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 delectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way
From 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 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?

Enter HARRY PERCY.

North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whence

soever.

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?

[together.

He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor.

But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg,
To offer service to the duke of Hereford;
And sent me o'er 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 Here-
ford, boy?

Percy. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot, [ledge, Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowI 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

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be

sure,

I count myself in nothing else so happy,
As in a soul rememb'ring 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

[war? Keeps good old York there, with his men of Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, [heard: Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour;

None else of name, and noble estimate.

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,
Shall be your love and Labour's recompense.
Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most

noble lord.

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 glorious regent of this land,
The duke of York; to know, what pricks you
To take advantage of the absent time,t
And fright our native peace with self-born

arms.

Enter YORK, attended.

Lon

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,