Green. Befides, our Nearness to the King in Love Is near the Hate of those, love not the King.

Bagot. And that's the wav'ring Commons, for their love

Lies in their purfes; and who empties them,
By fo much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
Busby. Wherein the King ftands generally condemn'd.
Bagot. If judgment lye in them, then so do we;
Because we have been ever near the King.

Green. Well, I'll for Refuge ftraight to Bristol Castle; The Earl of Wiltshire is already there.

Bufby. Thither will I with you; for little office
The hateful Commons will perform for us;
Except, like curs, to tear us all in pieces :
Will you go with us?

Bagot. No: I'll to Ireland to his Majesty.
Farewel: If heart's Prefages be not vain,

We three here part, that ne'er fhall meet again. Busby. That's as York thrives, to beat back Bolingbroke.

Green. Alas, poor Duke! the task he undertakes Is numb'ring fands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his fide fights, thousands will fly. Busby. Farewel at once, for once, for all and ever. Green. Well, we may meet again.

Bagot. I fear me, never.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

IX.

Changes to a wild Profpect in Glocestershire.

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland.
Boling. HOW far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?
North. I am a ftranger here in Glo' ftershire:

These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearifome:
And yet your fair difcourfe has been as fugar,

D 4

Making

Making the hard way fweet and delectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way,
From Ravenfpurg to Cotfhold, will be found
In Rofs and Willoughby, wanting your Company;
Which, I proteft, hath very much beguil'd
The tedioufnefs and procefs of my travel:
But theirs is fweetned with the hope to have
The prefent benefit that I poffefs:
And hope to joy, is little lefs in joy,

Than hope enjoy'd. By this, the weary lords
Shall make their way feem fhort, as mine hath done,
By fight of what I have, your noble company.
Boling. Of much less value is my company,
Than your good words: but who comes here?
Enter Percy.

North. It is my fon, young Harry Percy,.
Sent from my brother Worcester: whencefoever,
Harry, how fares your uncle?

Percy. I thought, my lord, t'have learn'd his health of you,

North. Why, is he not with the Queen?

Percy. No, my good lord, he hath forfook the Court, Broken his staff of office, and difpers'd

The Houfhold of the King.

North. What was his reafon ?

He was not fo refolv'd, when last we spake together.
Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed Traitor.
But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenfpurg,
To offer fervice to the Duke of Hereford;
And fent me o'er by Berkley, to discover
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.

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 service and defert.

Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be fure, I count my self in nothing else fo happy, As in a foul remembring my good friends; And as my Fortune ripens with thy love, It fhall be ftill 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 stir Keeps good old York there with his men of war? Percy. There ftands 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 Rofs and Willoughby.

North. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with fpurring, fiery-red with haste.

Boling. Welcome, my lords; I wot, your love pursues A banish'd traitor; all my Treafury

Is

yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, Shall be your love and labour's recompence.

Rofs. Your prefence makes us rich, most noble lord. Willo. And far furmounts our labour to attain it. Boling. Evermore, thanks; (th' exchequer of the poor)

Which, 'till my infant-fortune comes to years, 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 muft find that Title in your tongue,
Before I make reply to aught you say.

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 most glorious of this Land,

The Duke of York, to know, what pricks you on
To take advantage of the abfent time,

And fright our native peace with felf-born arms.

Boling. I fhall 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, Whofe duty is deceivable and falfe.

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 prophane.
Why have those banish'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 bofom,

Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war,

7 And oftentation of disposed 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.

6 the abfent time,] For unprepared. Not an inelegant fynecdoche.

7 And oftentation of DESPISED arms?] But fure the oftentation of despised arms would not fright any one. We should read

DISPOSED arms

i. e. forces in battle-array.

Were

Were I but now the lord of fuch hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and my felf
Refcu'd the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French
Oh! then, how quickly fhould this arm of mine,
Now prifoner to the palfie, chastise 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 Treafon:
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 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 Pluckt 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 Kinsman: Had you first dy'd, and he been thus trod down, He fhould have found his uncle Gaunt a father, To rowze his wrongs, and chafe 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 imploy'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

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