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York. O my Liege *.

Seek you to feize, and grip into your hands,
The royalties and rights of banifh'd Hereford?
Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt juft, and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deferve to have an heir ?

Is not his heir a well-deferving fon?

Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time
His charters, and his customary rights.

Let not to-morrow then enfue to-day;

Be not thyfelf.

- For how art thou a King,

But by fair fequence and fucceffion?

If you do wrongfully feize Hereford's right,
Call in his letters patents that he hath,
By his attorneys-general, to fue

His livery, and deny his offer'd homage;
You pluck a thoufand dangers on your head;
You lose a thousand well-difpofed hearts;
And prick my tender patience to thofe thoughts,
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.

K. Rich. Think what you will; we feize into our His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. [hands York. I'll not be by the while; my Liege, farewel: What will enfue hereof there's none can tell.

But by bad courfes may be understood,

That their events can never fall out good.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Go, Bufhy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight,

Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,

To fee this bufinefs done: to-morrow next

We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow.

And we create, in abfence of ourself,

Our uncle York Lord Governor of England:
For he is juft, and always lov'd us well.

Come on, our Queen; to-morrow muft we part;
Be merry, for our time of stay is fhort.

my Liege.

[Flourish. [Exeunt King, Queen, &c.

Pardon me, if you pleafe; if not, I, pleas'd
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
Scek you to feize, &c.

SCENE

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Manent Northumberland, Willoughby, and Rofs.

North. Well, Lords, the Duke, of Lancaster is dead. Rofs. And living too, for now his fon is Duke. Willo. Barely in title, not in revenue.

North. Richly in both, if juftice had her right. Rofs. My heart is great; but it muft break with filence, Ere't be difburthen'd with a lib'ral tongue.

North. Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak That speaks thy words again to do thee harm. [more, Willo. Tends what you'd fpeak to the Duke of If it be fo, out with it boldly, man : [Hereford? Quick is mine ear to hear of good tow'rds him. Rofs. No good at all that I can do for him, Unless you call it good to pity him,

Bereft and gelded of his patrimony.

[are borne

North. Now, afore heav'n, it's fhame fuch wrongs
In him a royal prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land,
The King is not himself, but bafely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform
Merely in hate 'gainst any of us all,
That will the King feverely profecute
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
Rofs.The Commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes,
And loft their hearts; the nobles he hath fin'd
For ancient quarrels, and quite loft their hearts.
Will. And daily new exactions are devis'd;

As blanks, benevolences, I wot not what :
But what o'God's name doth become of this?

North. Wars have not wafted it, for warr'd he hath But bafely yielded upon compromife

[not,

That which his ancestors atchiev'd with blows:
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars.
Rofs. The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
Willo. The King's grown bankrupt, like a broken man.
North. Reproach and diffolution hangeth over him.
Rofs. He hath not money for these Irish wars,
(His burthenous taxations notwithstanding),
But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke.

D 2

North.

North. His noble kinfman-moft degenerate King!
But, Lords, we hear this fearful tempeft fing,
Yet feek no fhelter to avoid the ftorm:

We fee the wind fit fore upon our fails,
And yet we ftrike not, but fecurely perish.

Rofs. We fee the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now,

For fuff'ring fo the causes of our wreck.

North. Not fo: ev'n thro' the hollow eyes of death I fpy life peering; but I dare not fay

How near the tidings, of our comfort is.

Willo. Nay, let us fhare thy thoughts, as thou doft ours.
Rofs. Be confident to fpeak, Northumberland;
We three are but thyfelf, and speaking fo,
Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold.
North. Then thus, my friends. I have from Port le
A bay in Bretagne, had intelligence,
[Blanc,

That Harry Hereford, Rainald Lord Cobham,
That late broke from the Duke of Exeter,
His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Rainston,

Sir John Norberie, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
Coines,

All these well furnifh'd by the Duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall fhips, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And fhortly 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 fhall fhake off our flavish yoke,
Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the duft that hides our fceptre's gilt,
And make high majefty look like itself;
Away with me in poft to Ravenfpurg.
But if you faint, as fearing to do fo,
Stay, and be fecret, and myself will

go.

[fear.

Rofs. To horfe, to horfe; urge doubts to them that
Willo. Hold out my horfe, and I will first be there.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE V. The court.

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.

Bushy. Madam, your Majefty is much too fad : You promis'd, when you parted with the King, To lay afide felf-harming heaviness,

And entertain a chearful difpofition.

Queen. To please the King, I did; to please myself, I cannot do it. Yet I know no caufe

Why I fhould welcome fuch a guest as grief;
Save bidding farewel to fo fweet a guest
As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks,
Some unborn forrow, ripe în Fortune's womb,
Is coming tow'rd me; and my inward foul
With fomething trembles, yet at nothing grieves,
More than with parting from my Lord the King.
Bushy. Each fubftance of a grief hath twenty fhadows,
Which fhew like grief itself, but are not fo.
For Sorrow's eye, glaz'd with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire, to many objects;
Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Shew nothing but confufion; ey'd awry,
Distinguish form. — So your sweet Majesty,
Looking awry upon your Lord's departure,
Finds fhapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which look'd on, as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Gracious Queen, then weep not
More than your Lord's departure; morė's not seen :
Or if it be, 'tis with falfe Sorrow's eye,

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Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.
Queen. It may be fo; but yet my inward foul
Perfuades me otherwife: howe'er it be,

I cannot but be fad; fo heavy-sad *,

Bufby. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious Lady. Queen. 'Tis nothing lefs; conceit is till deriv'd From fome forefather grief: mine is not fot;

fo heavy-fad,

As though, on thinking, on no thought I think,
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and fhrink.

Bufby. 'Tis nothing, &c.

SCENE

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SCENE VI. Enter Green.

Green. Heav'n fave your Majefty! and well met, Gentlemen.

I hope the King is not yet fhipp'd for Ireland.

Queen. Why hop'ft thou fo? 'tis better hope he is : For his defigns crave hafte, his hafte good hope. Then wherefore doft thou hope he is not shipp'd? Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his And driv'n into defpair an enemy's hope, [power; Who ftrongly hath fet footing in this land. The banifh'd Bolingbroke repeals himself; And with uplifted arms is fafe arriv'd At Ravenfpurg.

Queen. Now God in heav'n forbid !

Green. O, Madam, 'tis too true; and what is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his young fon Percy, The Lords of Rofs, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their pow'rful friends, are fled to him.

Busby. Why have you not proclaim'd NorthumberAnd all of that revolted faction, traitors?

[land,

Green. We have: whereon the Earl of Worcester
Hath broke his ftaff, refign'd his ftewardship;
And all the houfhold-fervants fled with him
To Bolingbroke.

Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife of my woe, And Bolingbroke my forrow's difmal heir.

Now hath my foul brought forth her prodigy,

And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,

Have woe to woe, forrow to forrow join'd.
Bushy. Defpair not, Madam.

Queen. Who fhall hinder me?

I will defpair, and be at enmity
With cozening Hope; he is a flatterer,
A parafite, a keeper back of death;

Who gently would diffolve the bands of life,
Which falfe hopes linger, in extremity.

Or fomething hath the nothing that I grieve;

"Tis in reverfion that I do pofleis;

But what it is, that is not yet known, what
I cannot name, 'tis nameless woe, I wot.

SCENE, &c.

SCENE

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