Committ'st thy anointed body to the cure K. Rich. a lunatic, lean-witted fool, Make pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood, 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 unreverent 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 tapped out, and drunkenly caroused. That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee!— [Exit, borne out by his Attendants. K. Rich. And let them die, that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. York. I do beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him. He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 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? 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; And, for these great affairs do ask some charge, The plate, coin, revenues, and movables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possessed. York. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first; O, Richard! York is too far gone with grief, K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter? O, my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time His livery, and deny his offered homage, And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 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; [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 disburdened 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 wouldst 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. Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. North. Now, afore Heaven, 'tis shame, such wrongs are borne, In him a royal prince, and many more 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. Willo. And daily new exactions are devised; North. Wars have not wasted it, for warred he hath not, But basely yielded, upon compromise, That which his ancestors achieved with blows. 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 suffer, And unavoided is the danger now, 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: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. North. Then thus:-I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received 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 John Norberry, Sir Robert Waterton, and Francis All these well furnished by the duke of Bretagne, Ross. To horse, to horse! Urge doubts to them that fear. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Queen, BUSHY, and BAGOT. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad. And entertain a cheerful disposition. Queen. To please the king, I did; to please myself, I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, |