had been sworn brother to him: and I'll be sworn he never saw him but once in the Tilt-yard; and then he burst his head, for crowding among the marshal's men. I saw it; and told John of Gaunt, he beat his own name: for you might have truss'd him, and all his apparel, into an eel-skin; the case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a court; and now has he land and beeves. Well; I will be acquainted with him, if I return: and it shall go hard, but I will make him a philosopher's two stones to me: If the young dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason, in the law of nature, but I may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. A FOREST IN YORKSHIRE. Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, Hastings, and Others. Arch. What is this forest call'd? Hast. "Tis Gualtree forest, an't shall please your grace. Arch. Here stand, my lords; and send discoverers, forth, To know the numbers of our enemies. Hast. We have sent forth already. 'Tis well done. Arch. Their cold intent, tenour and substance, thus:- Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch ground, And dash themselves to pieces. Hast. Enter a Messenger. Now, what news? Mess. West of this forest, scarcely 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 just proportion that we gave them out. Let us sway on, and face them in the field. Enter Westmoreland. Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here? Mowb. I think, it is my lord of Westmoreland. West. Health and fair greeting from our general, The prince, lord John and duke of Lancaster. Arch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace; What doth concern your coming? West. Unto Then, my lord, your grace do I in chief address The substance of my speech. If that rebellion With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop,- Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd; Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd; Whose white investments figure innocence, grace, The dove and very blessed spirit of peace,- Arch. Wherefore do I this?-so the question stands. Briefly to this end:-We are all diseas'd; And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we suffer, And find our griefs heavier than our offences. We see which way the stream of time doth run, And have the summary of all our griefs, When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs, Even by those men that most have done us wrong. (Whose memory is written on the earth West. When ever yet was your appeal deny'd: Arch. My brother general, the commonwealth, To brother born an household-cruelty, I make my quarrel in particular. West. There is no need of any such redress; Or, if there were, it not belongs to you. Mowb. Why not to him, in part; and to us all, That feel the bruises of the days before; And suffer the condition of these times To lay a heavy and unequal hand Upon our honours? West. O my good lord Mowbray, |