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; And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England, [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. Unless you call it good to pity 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. North. Wars have not wasted it, for warred he hath not, But basely yielded, upon compromise, That which his ancestors achieved with blows. Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. But by the robbing of the banished duke. 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,] 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, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary. As-though, in thinking, on no thought I think- Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. But what it is, that is not yet known; what Enter GREEN. Green. God save your majesty!-and well met, gentlemen. I hope the king is not yet shipped for Ireland. Queen. Now, God in heaven forbid! Green. O, madam, 'tis too true; and that is worse,— The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry Percy, The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Bushy. Why have you not proclaimed Northumberland, And all the rest of the revolted faction, traitors? Green. We have; whereon the earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resigned his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir. Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy; And I, a gasping, new-delivered mother, Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity A parasite, a keeper-back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Enter YORK. Green. Here comes the duke of York. Uncle, For Heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts. Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. Your husband he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land; Who, weak with age, cannot support myself.Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flattered him. Enter a Servant. Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came. York. He was?-Why, so!-go all which way it will!The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster; |