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SCENE I.

ACT IV.

Changes to a forest in Yorkshire.

Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, Haftings, and

York.

Colevile.

Hat is this forest call'd?

WH

Haft. 'Tis Gaultree foreft.

York. Here stand, my Lords, and fend difcoverers To know the numbers of our enemies.

Haft. We have fent forth already.

York. 'Tis well done.

[forth,

My friends and brethren in these great affairs,
I must acquaint you, that I have receiv'd
New-dated letters from Northumberland;
Their cold intent, tenor, and fubftance thus:
Here doth he wish his perfon, with fuch powers
As might hold fortance with his quality,
The which he could not levy; whereupon
He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes,
To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers,
That your attempts may over-live the hazard
And fearful meetings of their opposite.

Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch And dafh themselves to pieces.

Enter a Mejenger.

Haft. Now, what news?

[ground,

Me. Weft of this foreft, fcarcely off a mile, In goodly form comes on the enemy:

And by the ground they hide, I judge their number Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand.

Mowb. The juft proportion that we gave them out. Let us way on, and face them in the field.

SCENE II. Enter Westmorland.

York. What well-appointed leader fronts us here? Mob. I think it is my Lord of Westmorland. Weft. Health and fair greeting from our general, The Prince, Lord John, and Duke of Lancaster. York. Say on, my Lord of Westmorland, in peace: VOL. IV. What

D d

What doth concern your coming?

Weft. Then, my Lord,

Unto your Grace do I in chief addrefs

The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
Came like itself, in bafe and abject routs,
Led on by heady youth, goaded with rage,
And countenance'd by boys and beggary;
I fay, if damn'd commotion fo appear'd
In his true, native, and most proper shape,
You, reverend father, and thefe Noble Lords,
Had not been here to drefs the ugly form
Of bafe and bloody infurrection

With your fair honours. You, my Lord Archbishop,
Whofe fee is by a civil peace maintain'd,

Whofe beard the filver hand of peace hath touch'd,
Whofe learning and good letters peace hath tutor❜d,
Whofe white investments figure innocence,
The dove and very bleffed Spirit of peace;
Wherefore do you fo ill tranflate yourself,
Out of the fpeech of peace, that bears fuch grace,
Into the harsh and boift'rous tongue of war?
Turning your books to glaves, your ink to blood,
Your pens to launces, and your tongue divine *
To a loud trumpet and a point of war?

York. Wherefore do I this? fo the question ftands.
Briefly, to this end: we are all difeas'd,
And with our furfeiting and wanton hours,
Have brought ourfelves into a. burning fever,
And we muft bleed for it: of which disease
Our late King Richard being infected, dy'd.
But, my most Noble Lord of Westmorland,
I take not on me here as a phyfician :
Nor do I, as an enemy to peace,
Troop in the throngs of military men:
But rather fhew a while like fearful war,
To diet rank minds, fick of happiness;
And purge th' obstructions which begin to ftop
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly,
I have in equal balance juftly weigh'd

What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we fuffer; And find our griefs heavier than our offences.

* i. e. preaching in the meckness of the gospel.

We

We fee which way the ftream of time doth run,
And are inforce'd from our moft quiet fphere,
By the rough torrent of occafion;

And have the fummary of all our griefs,
When time fhall ferve, to fhew in articles;
Which long ere this we offer'd to the King,
And might by no fuit gain our audience.
When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs,
We are deny'd accefs unto his person,

Ev'n by those men that most have done us wrong.
The danger of the days but newly gone,
(Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet-appearing blood), and the examples
Of every minute's inftance, prefent now,
Have put us in thefe ill-befeeming arms:
Not to break peace, or any branch of it;
But to establish here a peace indeed,
Concurring both in name and quality.

Weft. When ever yet was your appeal deny'd?
Wherein have you been galled by the King?
What Peer hath been fuborn'd to grate on you,
That you fhould feal this lawless bloody book
Of forge'd rebellion with a feal divine,
And confecrate Commotion's civil edge?
York. My brother general, the commonwealth,
To brother born an houfhold-cruelty,

I make my quarrel in particular.

Weft. There is no need of any fuch redress; Or if there were, it not belongs to you.

Motob. Why not to him in part, and to us all,

That feel the bruifes of the days before;

And fuffer the condition of thefe times
To lay an heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honours?

Weft. O my good Lord Mowbray,
Conftrue the times to their neceffities,
And you fhall fay indeed it is the time,
And not the King, that doth you injuries.
Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,
Or from the King, or in the present time,
That you fhould have an inch of any ground
To build a grief on. Were you not restor'd

To all the Duke of Norfolk's feigniories,

Your noble and right-well-remember'd father?

Mob. What thing, in honour, had my father loft, That need to be reviv'd and breath'd in me? The King, that lov'd him, as the state stood then, Was, force perforce, compell'd to banifh him. And then, when Harry Bolingbroke and he Being mounted, and both roufed in their feats, Their neighing courfers daring of the fpur, Their armed flaves in charge, their beavers down, Their eyes of fire sparkling through fights of steel, And the loud trumpet blowing them together; Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid My father from the breaft of Bolingbroke; O, when the King did throw his warder down, His own life hung upon the staff he threw ; Then threw he down himself, and all their lives, That by indictment, or by dint of fword, Have fince mifcarried under Bolingbroke.

Weft. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now, you know The Earl of Hereford was reputed then

In England the most valiant gentleman.

[not what.

Who knows on whom Fortune would then have fmil'd?
But if your father had been victor there,
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry;

For all the country in a general voice

Cry'd hate upon him; all their prayers and love
Were fet on Hereford, whom they doated on,

And blefs'd, and grace'd, indeed, more than the King.
But this is mere digreffion from my purpose.-

Here come I from our princely General,

To know your griefs; to tell you from his Grace,
That he will give you audience; and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are juft,
You fhall enjoy them; every thing fet off,
That might fo much as think you enemies.

Mob. But he hath force'd us to compel this offer.

And it proceeds from policy, not love.

Weft. Mowbray, you over-ween to take it fo:
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear.
For, lo! within a ken, our army lies;
Upon mine honour, all too confident

T

To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the use of arms,
Our armour all as ftrong, our cause the best;
Then reason wills our hearts fhould be as good.
Say you not then, our offer is compell'd.

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Mob. Well; by my will, we fhall admit no parley. Weft. That argues but the fhame of your offence: rotten cafe abides no handling.

Haft. Hath the Prince John a full commiffion, In very ample virtue of his father,

To hear and abfolutely to determine

k. Of what conditions we fhall stand upon?

Weft. That is intended in the General's name :

I mufe you make fo flight a question.

York. Then take, my Lord of Westmorland, this

For this contains our general grievances:
Each feveral article herein redrefs'd,

fchedule,

All members of our caufe, both here and hence,
That are infinew'd to this action,
Acquitted by a true fubftantial form;
And prefent executions of our wills
To us, and to our properties, confin'd;
We come within our lawful banks again,
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.
Weft. This will I fhew the General.
In fight of both our battles, we may meet;
[Lords,
And either end in peace, (which Heav'n fo frame !),
Or to the place of difference call the fwords,
Which muft decide it.

York. My Lord, we will do fo.

SCENE

Please you,

[Exit Weft.

III.

Mowb. There is a thing within my bofom tells me, That no conditions of our peace can stand.

Haft. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace Upon fuch large terms, and so absolute,

As our conditions fhall infift upon,

Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
Mowb. Ay, but our valuation fhall be fuch,
That ev'ry flight and falfe-deriv'd cause,
Yea, ev'ry idle, nice and wanton reason,

Shall

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