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 ihall ripen and confirm To more approved service and defert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, 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 shall be still thy true love's recompence. My heart this cov'nant makes, my hand thus seals it.

North. How far is it to Berkley? and what stir Keeps good old York there with his men of war ?

Percy. There stands the castle 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 else of name and noble estimate.

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

Boling. Welcome, my Lords; I wot, your love pursues A banili'd traitor; all my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich’d, Shall be your love and labour's recompence.

Rofs. Your presence makes us rich, most noble Lord. Willo. And far surmounts 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 message is to you.

Boling. My Lord, my answer is to Lancaster; And I am come to seek that name in England,

And

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 Te raze one title of

your

honour out. To you, my Lord, I come, (what Lord you will), From the most 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,

S CE N E X.: Enter York. Boling. I shall not need transport my words by you. Here comes his Grace in perfon. Noble uncle !

[Kneels. York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whole 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 those banith'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust 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 diíposed arms? Com'ít thou because th' anointed King is hence ? Why, foolish boy, the King is left behind; And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the Lord of such hot youth, As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself Rescu'd the black Prince, that young Mars of men, From forth the ranks of inany thousand French; Oh! then, how quickly should this arm of mine, Now prisoner to the paisy, chastise thee, And minister correction to thy fault.

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

York. Ev’n in condition of the worit degree,
In gross rebellion, and detelted 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 sovereign.

Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd 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 condemn'd
A wand’ring vagabond; my rights and royaltie's
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and giv’n 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 dy'd, 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 deny’d to sue my livery here,
And yet my letters patents give me leave.
My father's goods are all distrain’d and sold,
And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd.
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And challenge law; attorneys are denyd me;
And therefore personally I lay my claim
To mine inheritance of free descent.

North. The noble Duke hath been too much abus'd. Rofs. It stands your Grace upon to do him right. Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great.

York. My Lords of England, let me tell you this,
I have had feeling of my cousin'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 sworn to give him aid;
And let him ne'er fee joy that breaks that oath.

York.

York. Well, well; I see the issue 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 sov'reign mercy of the King.
But since I cannot, be it known to you,
I do remain as neuter. So, farewel;
Unless you please to enter in the castle,
And there repose you for this night.

Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept;
But we must win your Grace to go with us
To Bristol-castle, which they say, is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices;
The caterpillars of the coinmonwealth,
Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away.

York. It may be I will go, but yet I'll pause;
For I am loth to break our country's laws :
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are ;
Things past 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.

Salis. Stay yet another day thou trusty Welchman : The King reposeth all his trust 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 sad, and ruffians dance and leap :" The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy ; Th’ other, in hope t'enjoy by rage and war. These figns forerun the death of Kings Farewel; our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assur'd Richard their King is dead. [Exit.

Boling Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls

Salif. Ah, Richard, ah! with eyes of heavy mind, I see thy glory, like a fhooting itar, Fall to the base earth from the firmament : The sun sets weeping in the lowly welt, Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unreít: Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes, And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit. ACT III. S C Ε Ν Ε I.

Bolingbroke's camp at Bristol. Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, Ross, Percy, Willoughby, with Bushy and Green prisoners.

RING forth these men.

your

(Since presently your souls must 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 some causes of 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 possession of a royal bed,
And stain’d the beauty of a fair Queen's cheeks
With tears drawn from her eyes, with your
Myfelf, a prince, by fortune of my birth,
Near to the King in blood, (and ncar in love,
*Till you did make him misinterpret me),
Have stoop'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 ;
Dispark'd my parks, and felld my forest-woods;
From mine ow'n windows torn my houshold coat,
Raz'd out my impress; leaving me no sign,
Save men's opinions, and my living blood,
To thew the world I am a gentleman.

foul wrongs.