What pow'r the Duke of York had levy'd there;
Then with directions to repair to Ravenfpurg.

North. Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy?
Percy. No, my good Lord; for that is not forgot,
Which ne'er I did remember; to my knowledge,
I 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 service, Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young, Which elder days fhall ripen and confirm To more approved fervice and defert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be fure, I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a foul rememb'ring my good friends; And as my fortune ripen's with thy love, It fhall be still thy true love's recompence. My heart this cov'nant makes, my hand thus feals it. North. How far is it to Berkley? and what ftir Keeps good old York there with his men of war?

Percy. There ftands the caftle by yond tuft of trees, Mann'd with three hundred men as I have heard; And in it are the Lords, York, Berkley, Seymour; None elfe of name and noble estimate.

Enter Rofs and Willoughby.

North. Here comes the Lords of Rofs and Willoughby. Bloody with fpurring, fiery-red with hafte.

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 recompence.

Rofs. Your prefence makes us rich, moft noble Lord. Willo. And far furmounts our labour to attain it. Boling. Evermore, thanks;-(th' exchequer of the Which, till my infant-fortune comes to years, [poor) Stands for my bounty. But who now comes here?

Enter Berkley.

North. It is my Lord of Berkley, as I guess. Berk. My Lord of Hereford, my meffage is to you. Boling. My Lord, my answer is to Lancaster; And I am come to feek that name in England,

And

And I must find that title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you fay.

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 moft glorious 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,
X. Enter York.

SCENE

Boling. I fhall not need tranfport my words by you. Here comes his Grace in perfon.

Noble uncle!

[Kneels.

York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whofe duty is deceivable and false.

Boling. My gracious uncle!

York. Tut, tut, 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 thofe banith'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a duft of England's ground!
But more than, why, why, have they dar'd to march
So many miles upon her peaceful boiom,
Frighting her pale-face'd villages with war,
And oftentation of difpofed arms?

Com'ft thou because th' anointed King is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind;
And in my loyal bofom lies his power.
Were I but now the Lord of fuch hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself
Refcu'd the black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thou and French;
Oh! then, how quickly fhould this arm of mine,
Now prifoner to the palfy, chaftife thee,
And minifter correction to thy fault.

Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; On what condition ftands it, and wherein?

York. Ev'n in condition of the worst degree,

In grofs rebellion, and detefted treason.

i. e. unprepared.

E 2

Thou

Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come,
Before the expiration of thy time,

In braving arms against thy fovereign.

Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;
But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
And, noble uncle, I befeech your Grace,
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye.
You are my father; for, methinks, in you
I fee old Gaunt alive. O then, my father!
Will you permit that I fhall ftand condemn'd
A wand'ring vagabond; my rights and royalties
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and giv'n away
To upftart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
If that my coufin King be King of England,
It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster.
You have a fon, Aumerle, my noble kinfman.
Had you first dy'd, and he been thus trod down,
He fhould have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
To roufe his wrongs, and chase them to the bay.
I am deny'd to fue my livery here,

And yet my letters patents give me leave.
My father's goods are all diftrain'd and fold,
And these, and all, are all amifs employ'd.
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And challenge law; attorneys are deny'd me;
And therefore perfonally I lay my claim
To mine inheritance of free descent.

North. The noble Duke hath been too much abus'd.
Rofs. It ftands your Grace upon to do him right.
Willo. Bafe men by his endowments are made great.
York. My Lords of England, let me tell you this,
I have had feeling of my coufin's wrongs,
And labour'd 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 wrongs, it may not be ;
And you that do abet him in this kind,
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.

North. The noble Duke hath fworn, his coming is But for his own; and, for the right of that, We all have strongly fworn to give him aid; And let him ne'er fee joy that breaks that oath.

York.

York. Well, well, I fee the iffue of these arms.
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, ·
Because my pow'r 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 fov'reign mercy of the King.
But fince I cannot, be it known to you,
I do remain as neuter. So, farewel;
Unless you please to enter in the castle,
And there repofe you for this night.

your

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept;
But we muft win
with us
Grace to go
To Bristol-castle, which they fay, is held
By Bufhy, Bagot, and their complices;
The caterpillars of the commonwealth,
Which I have fworn to weed, and pluck away.

York. It may be I will go, but yet I'll paufe; For I am loth to break our country's laws : Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are; Things paft redress are now with me past care. [Exeunt.

SCENE XI. 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. Farewel. Salif. Stay yet another day thou trufty Welchman: The King repofeth all his truft in thee.

Cap. 'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay. "The bay-trees in our country all are wither'd,

And meteors fright the fixed stars of heav'n; "The pale-face'd moon looks bloody on the earth, "And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change. Rich men look fad, and ruffians dance and leap The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy; Th' other, in hope t'enjoy by rage and war. Thefe figns forerun the death of Kings Farewel; our countrymen are gone and fled, As well affur'd Richard their King is dead.

[Exit.

Salif. Ah, Richard, ah! with eyes of heavy mind, I fee thy glory, like a fhooting star,

Fall to the base earth from the firmament:
The fun fets weeping in the lowly weft,
Witneffing ftorms to come, woe, and unreft:
Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes,
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes.

[Exit.

ACT

III.

SCENE I.

Bolingbroke's camp at Bristol.

Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Rofs, Percy, Willoughby, with Bushy and Green prifoners RING forth these men.

Boling Bushy and Green, I will not vex your fouls

(Since presently your fouls muft 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 fome caufes of
your deaths.
You have mifled a Prince, a royal King,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappy'd, and disfigur'd clean.
You have, in manner, with your finful hours
Made a divorce betwixt his Queen and him;
Broke the poffeffion of a royal bed,

And ftain'd the beauty of a fair Queen's cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes, with your foul wrongs.
Myfelf, a prince, by fortune of my birth,

Near to the King in blood, (and near in love,
Till you did make him mifinterpret me),
Have ftoop'd my neck under your injuries,
And figh'd my English breath in foreign clouds,
Eating the bitter bread of banishment;
While you have fed upon my figniories;
Difpark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest-woods;
From mine own windows torn my houfhold coat,
Raz'd out my imprefs; leaving me no fign,
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,
To fhew the world I am a gentleman.